emma | 23

you checked your watch again. almost six. you probably should’ve been already changing into scrubs, getting to know the other doctors and nurses. instead you were rocking back and forth on your feet outside the hospital entrance. people were passing you, moving inside and outside. day shift coming in, night shift leaving. two worlds mixing together for a few hours in a day.

another few minutes pass and you dare take a step forward. thankfully people inside help you find the surgery locker rooms and before you know it, while you’re pulling up the deep purple scrub pants up, a tall woman from admin finds you. she introduces herself as gloria and she tells you how happy she is to have another trauma surgery attending. you fight rolling your eyes.

“here’s your badge,” she hands you a plastic card with your photo that says ‘trauma surgery attending’ and… oh, god.

“wait, there must have been a mistake…”

gloria looks confused and you explain that you no longer go by abbot. that those days are way behind you.

“god, i’m so sorry. they must’ve made a mistake upstairs. maybe some of your papers weren’t updated?”

sure, blame it on the doctor.

“maybe,” you just deadpan.

“well, there’s not much i can do right now, but after your shift you can fill out a request for a new badge,” she gives you that smile, only people running hospitals give.

“nevermind,” you sigh and follow her to the med/surg ward.

the lights in the break room are full on, people are eating breakfast, drinking coffee and talking, either about personal life or the crammed programme. before you even have a chance to introduce yourself, a nurse is giving you a pager and a phone labeled “the pitt”. you’re a trauma surgeon so you’ll be answering the calls coming from the er, so the general surgeons and other specialties can focus on getting the or programme moving. you’re free to call for a consult of course, but only do so when necessary, hence why you’re the trauma surgeon.

“you might be called in to help with some cases, especially if the other attendings are busy, but er and traumas are all yours,” gloria says with a smile as she introduces you to the med/surg charge nurse and leaves.

“nice to meet you, doc,” the charge nurse, maria, gives you a firm handshake and goes around the break room, introducing the people there. whole lot of specialties are mixed inside, but it seems like general surgeons take over, because, as you learn later, orthos, cardiothoracics and neurosurgeons are just too good to be there with them.

at first you’re introduced to the night shift attending, emery walsh, who’s excited to see that you’re holding onto “the pitt” phone.

“you’re never gonna forget the first time it rings, because then it never stops,” she smirks and turns around to continue her conversation about a surgery they had in the night.

“and this is dr. garcia, she was recently knighted an attending,” maria smirks as she introduces you to another colleague. dr. garcia is a bit taller than you and her thick hair is pulled up into a practical bun.

“nice to meet you.”

“you can just call me yolanda,” she shakes your extended hand and you nod, in return telling her your name.

yolanda then introduces you to the residents on day shift and a couple of med students. to say the break room is full would be an understatement of the century. you feel like you’re starting to suffocate amongst so many new faces and since you don’t really eat breakfast, there’s nothing for you to do.

maria sees you just standing around and she takes you to see the ward quickly, before the first elective operations start and before they start letting patients after surgeries home. the department is huge and full of patients. you wonder how many patients does one nurse have. you honestly admire the med/surg nurses, because from your own experience, they’re one of the most overworked nurses in the hospital. it should be illegal to have more patients than fingers, to take care of day in and day out.

“since you’ll be on the traumas, mostly, you will do post-op rounds with them, see the post-op trauma patients and then, if you’re magically still not needed in the pitt, you can watch the surgeries that are on schedule,” the nurse explains and you give her a quick thank you.

“perfect, thanks,” you give her a warm smile. 

“sure, doc. always happy to help.”

during morning rounds you stick to yolanda, the younger attending seemingly having everything under control. when you see how the residents are trying not to shake when they present a case, you smirk a little. she may be younger by a bit, but you need to be on this woman’s good side.

you’re introduced to the trauma patients from the day before. a teenager from a motorbike accident and a couple that were in a car accident. the woman flew head first through the windshield and the man’s legs got locked in under the steering wheel. someone from ortho was to check in on him later, but he’s your patient from now on until he’s released into home care.

there are also some patients in the icu as you gather from one of the residents and you make a mental note to check in on them as well during the day. when you see one of the last patients, the phone labeled “the pitt” rings and as you put it to your ear, yolanda gives you a knowing look. you excuse yourself as you take the call.

the emergency room is expecting an older patient with sudden onset abdominal pain. you tell the nurse on the phone you’ll be right down, grab your stethoscope - that a lot of people think surgeons don’t need - from the break room and take the stairs down because the personnel elevator is jammed, maria says. the only running one is the emergency one they use for patients being transported up and down on their beds or in wheelchairs. but someone’s supposedly working on it.

as you descend to the lower level of the hospital, people change from purple scrubs to black ones. you think that’s a smart choice. bodily fluids hide better in dark colors. you put the stethoscope in your scrub pocket, keeping in mind how a distressed patient might want to grab it from around your neck. it makes you sad that healthcare workers have to keep things like this in mind at all times.

just as you stepped into the emergency room, you could understand why they called it “the pitt”. you were used to working in a high stakes environment, learning to function and save lives amongst the chaos during your missions, but you were glad that as a surgeon you had the option of running to the stillness of an operating room.

“somebody called for a surgical consult?” you ask as you approach the nurses station. a charge nurse, as her badge says, with shorter blonde hair turns to you and eyes you up and down with no shame.

“you a new resident?” she asks, propping the glasses higher up her nose.

you’d be lying if you said she didn’t flatter you. you were well past your resident years and though you liked to think you looked good for your age, you weren’t trying to fool anyone.

you quickly introduced yourself. “i’m the new trauma attending,” you added.

“well, nice to meet you. i’m dana, the day shift charge nurse. i guess we’ll be seeing each other a lot, yeah?” she smirks and points you towards a trauma bay, to which paramedics are wheeling an older woman clutching her abdomen. 

“a new face? did they finally fire yolanda?” a tall, dark haired man with piercing blue eyes asks when he sees you follow after them into the trauma bay.

you smile and introduce yourself. he introduces himself as frank langdon, a senior er resident. next to him a younger resident, eyes as piercing as his, introduces herself as trinity santos.

“so what do we got?” you ask, dressing yourself up in a gown and putting gloves on.

“63 year old female, brought in by an ambulance after experiencing sudden onset pain in the right upper quadrant.”

“good morning, ma’am,” you step closer. “i’m going to palpate your stomach, tell me if something hurts.”

“vitals are good, pulse slightly elevated,” a nurse says and you hum.

you touch the woman’s belly, starting at the left side, moving to the right. and when you push down slightly, she yelps out in pain, curling her legs.

“let’s start an iv and do an ultrasound.”

“she’s got a history of high blood pressure, but other than that nothing.”

“ma’am did you eat something that might’ve upset your stomach?” langdon asks and you step back to let trinity do the ultrasound. the screen starts moving as all three of you assess what you see.

“no, i don’t think so. though i had chinese leftovers for breakfast,” the patient says just as trinity glides the probe over the woman’s gallbladder. at the contact she yelps again and the resident wants to set the probe aside and wait for the patient to calm down, but you stop her.

“there, see?” you point with a finger.

“it might’ve not been the greatest idea to eat chinese for breakfast.”

“ma’am, a gallstone is blocking your biliary duct and that’s what’s causing the pain. a small surgery will sort it all out,” you say, grabbing the phone in your pocket to call it in, so they might prepare upstairs. or prepare to manage her for long enough until there’s an opening in the programme.

“all good here?” the door to the trauma bay opens up and there’s a tall, dark haired man in a blue hoodie standing.

“yeah, we’re sending a patient up for surgery. gall stones,” trinity answers for all of you.

“oh, perfect,” he replies, crows feet forming around his eyes as he smiles. “do we know each other?”

“i don’t think so. it’s my first day. i’m the new trauma surgeon,” you introduce yourself for what feels like a thousandth time today, but if that’s what it takes to get you settled into the new environment, then so be it.

“oh, nice to meet you. my name’s michael robinavitch, but everybody just calls me robby. i’m the day shift attending.”

you take his extended hand into yours and don’t miss the way his eyes seem to sparkle when you touch him. it makes you smile a little. it’s been a while since anybody looked at you that way. out in the world, in the field, there wasn’t time for any kind of personal relationships. people were either too busy or too traumatised.

your pager goes off and you take a peak at the small screen. “they’re ready for us. we can bring her up.”

dr. robby nods, helping you with the monitors and then opens the trauma bay door for you and other staff as you push the bed outside.

“hope to see you again soon, doc,” he smiles as you brush past him.

“you’ll be tired of me by the end of shift,” you chuckle, leaving the tall man behind you. you don’t catch the way his hands fly into his hair, brushing them back nervously.

the gallbladder patient gets sorted quite quickly and she’s resting in post-op in less than two hours from admission. thankfully the pitt phone stays silent for a while and you get to check on all your patients, even paying a visit to the icu one, but it seems the icu doctors have them all under control. at least you get to introduce yourself to a bunch of new people again.

you’re hoping you didn’t jinx the pitt phone in any way, because of course the next time it rings you’re sitting down on a toilet. you finish before you even start, pulling your pants up and taking the call there in the stall. you flush the toilet nevertheless and fly down the stairs to help with a stab wound. the elevator guys are almost finished, maria promises when you run past her.

this time it’s doctor robby and a resident called samira mohan working the case. you wonder how it's possible for gang members to go around stabbing people at 9am, but then you remember that you’ve endured far crazier cases.

you have to put in sutures to make the wound in the abdomen stop bleeding, because of course they didn’t leave the knife in and you had to make sure the patient was going to make it upstairs into an or. samira asks if she can help and you let her. it’s actually nice to have some help as well as someone to teach. and before you know it, you’re calling it up, asking for a resident to be ready when you arrive with the patient.

it’s unusual how fast the first 12 hours of your shift go. you were so in between the emergency department and operating room that you made a mental note to ask the admin if it wouldn’t be more effective to have the trauma surgery team at the same floor. a little supply room with a computer and a small operating room would be enough for most urgent cases and you wouldn’t have to waste time bringing them up and down. also elective surgeries wouldn’t have to be moved down in the programme because it was interrupted constantly by the emergencies. you save these ideas for another day though. or for never actually, because you know how admin is with any sort of changes to the system in their hospital.

“i was definitely not missing garcia’s snarky remarks today,” frank langdon states as he shifts forward on his feet, arms touching his lower back, eyebrows drawing together. he’s trying to relieve the 12h tension that had built up in his body.

“oh, be careful what you wish for. you might find i’m way worse than yolanda,“ you laugh scrolling through the patient’s chart, trying to type in an update on their condition. you were deciding whether it was a surgical case that needed an intermediate attention or they could wait for upstairs to clear out a bit, before you send them up. it was definitely not critical, but without supervision they could take a turn for the worse.

it was already past 7pm when you finished the chart and packed up your stuff from around the computer. you’ve seen new, unknown faces come in and talk to the day shift staff so you just guessed hand offs are happening soon.

one doctor in particular caught your eye. he was nursing a tall cup of iced coffee, looking as unbothered as ever. nothing is getting to this man, you thought. it actually reminded you of someone from your past, but you pushed that thought away before it could have had any effect on you.

you were just standing up when the phone on the nurses station rang. dana went to pick it up but another nurse, one with red hair and a wide smile, was faster. she listened to the message from dispatch and then put the phone down.

“we have an mvc incoming, eta 2 minutes!” she shouts to get everyone’s attention. people start scurrying around, getting ready for the swarm of new patients.

“hey, doc, you might want to wait down here,” dana adds, looking at you over the rim of her eyeglasses. you just nod, putting your stethoscope in your pocket followed by the pitt phone. 

in the two minutes you have enough time to find yourself a gown. the night shift doctor lets go of his iced coffee and you send him a small smile as you reach for the same box of gloves.

“shen,” he says plainly.

you tell him your name and specialty, so he’s not confused.

“it’s nice to meet you. the night is starting off good, eh?”

“already been here for 12 hours, doctor. you can’t surprise me anymore.”

“ooh, don’t jinx it,” he smiles and you two walk over to the ambulance bay door, as you hear the sirens and the entrance is lit up in blue and red.

paramedics wheel in the first patient.

“male, late 60s. he was the driver who caused the collision. partner says he complained of a headache before he lost consciousness behind the wheel and crashed into the car in front of them. he regained consciousness on scene but now’s unresponsive. pressure is 162/103, pulse 105, sats 98 after intubation.”

“okay, let’s hook him up to the monitor asap, get a second iv going and a set of labs. ellis come here!” dr. shen shouts and before you know it, a tall, dark skinned woman is following you into the trauma bay. 

“let’s do a full neuro. this sounds like a textbook brain bleed to me,” he instructs the female doctor and you watch for a second, how they move like a well oiled machine. you follow dr. ellis to the patient’s head and see that there’s a minor laceration, probably from the impact itself.

“what do you guys have here?”

you’re halfway to inspecting the patient’s pupils, when you hear that voice. you stop dead in your tracks and almost don’t notice how dr. ellis pushes you gently out of the way, using her own pen light and opening the man’s eyes one by one.

you know that voice. though you’re trying to convince yourself otherwise in that moment. the gentle rasp in his voice. the concentration audible. the order that he brought with him anywhere he went. you saw peripherally how dr. shen straightened his back, before you turned your head.

and there he was. jack fucking abbot. in all his glory. dressed in a gown similar to yours, hands rubbing the antiseptic into his skin. his hazel eyes met yours. and you thought you would crumble.

“right pupil’s blown,“ dr. ellis’ voice interrupts the trail of your thoughts.

“alright, let’s get him started on mannitol and hyperventilate,” jack steps into action, calm and collected.

you’d like to think you’re calm and collected, but you’re breaking down. at least on the inside. your chest is tight, all the blood in your body has gone to your head now, ears ringing. but you scramble up the remains of your professionalism and focus on the patient.

“call neuro they need to get here, stat.”

“i did doctor, but the neurosurgeon on call is in the or. they say it’s gonna be ten minutes at least,” as the nurse finishes her sentence, the monitors go off and the patient starts seizing.

“he doesn’t have ten minutes. he could herniate at any time,” you say with a stern voice and hold down his shoulders, trying to prevent the patient from hurting himself any more.

“give him 4mg ativan,” jack barks an order and steps closer to the bed. closer to you.

“his intracranial pressure must be through the roof,” dr. shen says and orders more diuretics to be given.

“we don’t know that without an evd. without that neurologist. call them again and tell them that in ten minutes they can might as well be signing a death certificate,” jack turns to the nurse, voice low and urgent.

the ativan works, for now. but there’s a risk of another seizure coming soon after the first one. you must think quickly.

“he’s gonna seize again. we need to relieve the pressure,” you say, looking at jack.

“that’s risky business.”

“since when do you not like risky?” you bite back, a little more intensely than you anticipated.

“the best they can give us is a resident right now,” the nurse announces when she puts down the phone.

“fuck,” jack lets out a breath, shoulder slouching. he’s thinking. but you don’t have time to think.

“let’s prep for a burr hole,” you say, trying to hide the shake of your voice. everybody’s looking at you like you’re a little crazy. “i’m the next best thing you have to a neurosurgeon.”

“have you ever done this?” jack turns to you as the others drape the patient.

“more times than i’d have liked. never killed anyone, thankfully.”

he lets out an unimpressed chuckle. “okay. let’s do it and hope he doesn’t sue your ass later.”

everybody gets a sterile gown and the nurse pours iodine down the side of the patient’s head. it’s a small miracle the patient doesn’t seize in the small time it takes you to prep him. his blood pressure had gone down a little, but there’s nothing to be happy about yet.

first you make a small incision and as the nurse hands you the drill, you take a breath. it’s okay, you’ve done this about a million times with far simpler instruments. and sometimes while being shot at. you can do this now, under the eyes of your ex. your husband.

you start gently drilling into the patient's head. apart from the drill and the for now steady monitors, everybody’s dead silent. you wait for the gentle pop and then you instruct ellis on checking the pupils again. 

“pupils look good. now equal and reactive,” dr. ellis says and you can hear her smile, though you can’t see it through the mask. fluid mixed with blood starts pooling around the hole and you take a piece of gauze to cover it. it’s a neurosurgeon’s problem now.

soon after the neurosurgeon arrives and scolds you for doing the burr holes, but thanks you for saving the man’s life, you’re exiting the trauma bay as if someone lit it on fire. you tear the gown away from your body, throwing it in the first trash can you can find along with your gloves. you hope jack isn’t trailing after you and thank god he isn’t because the way your legs feel like jelly, you probably couldn’t withstand a conversation with him about anything.

you’re late for evening hand offs at the med/surg ward, but when you explain what you’ve been doing, they let it go. you greet dr. walsh back and after hand off you ask her if you can talk.

“what’s up? how’s your first day going?”

“it’s intense,” you let out a huff.

“more than medecins sans frontieres? that’s what you did before right?”

“i’d say a different kind of intense. you didn’t have much time for personal drama out there in the desert,” you explain, not wanting to go too deep into the details.

“okay, i understand. so what did you want from me?”

“as there’s no elective surgeries through the night, would you mind splitting the er calls?” you ask, voice hopeful. emery draws her eyebrows together, looking you up and down.

“did something happen? do i need to go yell at robinavitch?”

the image of this short yet fierce woman yelling at dr. robby makes you smirk and you shake your head. you definitely don’t need your colleagues saving your ass from the mean girls. you just don’t want to spend the whole night down there. with jack.

“no, no. he was fine, actually. i’m just beat from the day.”

“i get it. i’ll do it for you because it’s your first day and night here. but i’m not touching that phone any more after tonight.”

you get it. you’re the trauma surgeon. you’re supposed to answer the er calls. that’s literally why you were hired. you thank her, profusely and she tells you to go take a nap in the doctor’s lounge. she even told you where the clean, least used blankets were.

you manage to get a whole 30 minutes of sleep before the fucking pitt phone rings again and you go down, telling walsh you’ll take the first one.

thankfully jack’s still working the mvc patients and you get called down for a quick consult by a resident. you sort out the patient and disappear from the seventh ring of hell before jack has a chance to see you. in the elevator you’re mentally slapping yourself. that’s real adult behaviour, what you’re doing. why can’t you just act professionally like you did with that man with a brain bleed.

you wish you weren’t working any more cases with jack through the night. and though you’re feeling lucky, at 4am it breaks and you have to work together with jack and walsh to take care of another multiple vehicle collision. you exchange only the necessary amount of words, keeping it as professional as you can, to not endanger your patients, but you’re either boiling on the inside or wanting to run away. how’s it possible that seeing him makes your chest hurt with heartbreak and want to curl up on yourself but also put your fist to his face. 6am can’t come quick enough.

after you operate on the 4am mvc patients together with specialists from ortho and cardiothoracics, you fall down on the couch in the doctor's lounge and fall into a deep slumber. the pitt phone doesn’t ring again, until you’re putting it in the hands of your colleague who’s come to take over in the morning.

you have zero energy left to change from your scrubs, so you just put on your outside shoes, a jacket, grab your bag and drag your feet out the hospital. the crisp morning air greets you. it definitely rained through the night as you’re met with puddles and air smelling like a garden that’s just been watered. you have to stop for a moment, take a deep breath in and out, before you start walking to the parking lot.

“wait!”

that voice. that fucking voice. it almost makes you freeze for a second time in a day, but this time you don’t let it. you whip your head around and see jack walking towards you, equally as drained. there’s a slight limp in his walk and you wonder if he maybe got hurt during the shift or it’s just his old man joints speaking up.

“what do you want?” you snap. it comes out harsher than expected and you let out a sigh, massaging your temples with your fingers. you let jack approach, but he’s smart enough to stop at a reasonable distance. maybe he can sense that you want to punch him in the face.

“can we talk?”

“i’ve been here for 24 hours and got 2 hours sleep. i’d rather not.”

you’re halfway to turning back and leaving for your car, when he talks again.

“it’ll just be a minute.”

you don’t have enough energy to fight him on this and you know him well enough to know that he won’t back down just like that. and you realise the talk is inevitable. you can’t work in the same place, going around each other like you’re strangers.

when jack realises you’ve stopped and you’re not running away, he takes a step closer.

“h-how are you here?” he asks, voice almost breaking.

you shift on your feet. the way his eyes glisten, as if he was about to cry, makes your chest tight for a hundredth time today. you look to your feet, debating what to answer.

“took a flight from new york,” you opt for raw honesty. if he wants to talk, you’ll talk.

“all those years… you were in new york?” he asks, and you hear the slight break in his voice. you want to feel bad, but what you feel… what he feels, it’s probably nothing compared to how he left you feeling. you don’t want to be cruel, but he needed the taste of his own medicine.

“more or less. i was all around the world actually. got inspired by someone i knew a long time ago. and i must give it to you, it’s a great way to deal with your problems. just leaving everything behind and going off to a third world country,” you say, irony lacing your voice. 

you hope he sees the hurt in your voice, your eyes. damn, you hope he feels the hurt, that he hurts himself. maybe then he can finally understand how he left you behind.

he slouches. his usual straight up posture curling in on itself. he doesn’t reply straight away, shifting the weight to the other leg. you almost don’t catch the painful expression in his face from where you’re standing.

“i’m so sorry.”

is all comes out of his mouth after a moment.

“yeah, me too. but it’s too late jack,” you reply, head shaking. you attempt to end the conversation for the second time, but jack’s intent on getting through with this.

“will you let me explain?”

“what’s there to explain, huh?” 

you desperately want to leave because you can feel the tears starting to pool in the corners of your eyes. you fold your arms at your chest, trying to shield yourself from whatever jack has to say. you hate how you started all confident and now you feel smaller and smaller with every word said.

“i’ve made a mistake. several, actually. i know that now.”

“well, good for you then,” you reply, unimpressed. you’re not gonna clap for him just because he’s realised he’d made a mistake. it’d actually surprise you if he hadn’t acknowledged his mistakes. you remembered jack as someone who wasn’t too scared of taking accountability. but after all those years, it was a little bit too late.

you know jack has probably more to say, but nevertheless you attempt to leave for the third time. you move towards the parking lot and jack actually lets you take a few strides, before he moves and speaks up again.

“wait, hold up.”

but you’re tired of listening to him telling you to wait, and stop and let him talk more and more and more.

“really, jack. i’m tired. i just want to go home and fall asleep in a hot bath. i don’t have the energy to listen to any more of your excuses.” 

“i’m not here to make excuses. i want to explain what happened.”

“there’s nothing to explain. you just disappeared,” you scoff. your words hurt jack, you see how his body reacts.

“i know,” he lowers his voice, arms shifting to prop the backpack higher up on his shoulder.

“and now you’re suddenly here and we’re supposed to do what? work traumas together like nothing happened?”

“i don’t expect that.”

“then what do you expect?” you unlace your hands, throwing them in the air. your eyebrows are drawn together, any sign of tears long gone. 

“honestly? nothing. i know i handled things badly.”

“that’s one way of putting it,” you say with a whole lot of sarcasm.

“i’m not asking for forgiveness.”

“good, because you’re not getting it.”

“i know, i just… don’t want us to act like complete strangers, like what we had didn’t matter.”

“that’s the problem, jack. it mattered, it matters…”

you speak before you think. and jack catches what you’ve said immediately. he draws his eyebrows together in a thought. you close your eyes, hands rubbing them.

“i can’t do this right now.”

“i know.”

“stop saying that,” you plead.

he’s so infuriating. the way he’s so above everything. how calm he seems despite all the stuff you said, everything you held against him. 

“i’ve been in therapy. ever since coming back.” 

that explains it. can you be envious of someone who’s grabbed the reins and fixed their life? even if that meant hurting you along the way?

“you think that fixes it?”

“no, but it explains a lot of things. a lot of things i didn’t understand before.”

you nod, giving up on running away.

“i just… need space. i mean it.”

“okay.”

“and i’m not promising anything.”

“okay.”

“stop with that.”

“okay.”

you have to fight a chuckle. it’s the sleep deprivation, shock of seeing him again. you don’t want to laugh but his little ‘okays’ make you want to punch him maybe a little less.

you don’t say anything more. he neither. you just stand there, in the cold morning air, looking at each other. you bite your lower lip and turn around to walk away. he’s not gonna stop you now.

“i’ll see you around,” you hear from distance and the corners of your mouth twitch as you approach your car.

the fate has been graceful. during the next few weeks you don’t work many 24 hour shifts or night shifts so you don’t see jack that much. it’s not like you don’t see him at all, but you get small, digestible doses of him.

after one particularly hard 12 hour shift, you enter the med/surg break room, plopping down on the chair, throwing the never-stops-ringing pitt phone on the table, finding your cup of coffee from the morning that had gone stale and cold by now.

“i need a tequila.”

garcia is raiding the cupboards for some sort of snack, just finishing a 5 hour surgery herself. 

“i could’ve sworn this was full yesterday,” she grabs an empty hershey’s packet and throws it in the trash.

“wait, i might have one in my pocket,” you say, angling your hips up to reach into your pants pocket. you fish out a half melted plastic covered chocolate and hand it to her. she’s reluctant at first, but takes it from you.

“don’t you need a tequila?” you ask, hopeful.

“every fucking day,” she says with mouth full of chocolate, eyes closing with pleasure.

you wouldn’t say you and yolanda were friends. you were friendly, yes, but you’ve never talked outside of work or anything. so you just hope you’re not overstepping and won’t end up rejected like a teen asking someone to go to prom with them.

“do you want to go after work?”

she thinks for a second and you’re surprised when she says yes. and when she proposes to go to the bar closest to the hospital. it’s quite nice, she says.

so after shift, dressed in mundane clothes you emerge from the hospital together. yolanda has her hair down and you’re surprised how long it actually is. you’re used to her having it up in a tight bun, for practical and hygienic purposes. you can’t really wear your hair down in the or.

“i know a guy here. he’ll give us first responders discount,” yolanda says as she pushes the door that says pull and then finally pulls it. it opens into a small bar that's not too packed. lights are soft and dim and you find two stools right at the bar. she calls over the bartender, orders two shots for you and tells the bartender to keep them coming.

“we’re not exactly first responders,” you say as you sit down.

“we spend enough time down there we could qualify,” she shrugs her shoulders, throwing her bag on the bar stool next to her.

“touche.”

it doesn’t take long and two shot glasses appear in front of you. you clink them together, trying not to spill any of the liquid courage and you both down it. you try not to make a face, but the alcohol’s stronger than you expect. yolanda doesn’t even squirm. barely touching the glasses down on the bar, the bartender pulls the tequila bottle from behind him and pours you another.

you make small talk and find that it’s not too hard to talk to yolanda. she seems quite serious and harsh at work, but it’s like she’s a different person now. you don’t expect it, but three shots in, when you have to order a coke so you don’t throw up from the pure alcohol, she starts telling you about a situationship.

she doesn’t really hide the fact that she’s been sleeping with a resident, an emergency room resident nonetheless. it doesn’t take long for you to figure out she’s talking about santos, but again, yolanda isn’t really hiding that.

“okay, but listen, if she says she doesn’t want anything serious but gets upset when i don’t text her for twelve hours, what exactly am i supposed to do?” she scoffs, hands gesturing.

you take a sip from the coke. “for starters, maybe don’t sleep with a resident? that could help.”

she rolls her eyes, pushing a strand of curly hair behind her ear, as she beckons the bartender for another round of shots. at this rate you’ll be leaving the bar on all fours, as you’ve always been kind of a lightweight, but you take it. the alcohol has taken an edge off of everything. the surroundings aren’t as distracting and the conversation is flowing nicely.

“like you’ve never done the same thing.”

“never,” you purse your lips together. yolanda deadpans.

“sure, whatever you say.”

“i mean it. i’ve never slept with a resident.” 

you know how it sounds. and yolanda isn’t dumb, she catches on right away. you don’t mind. this situation with jack, it’s been kind of weighing on you and because you haven’t found many friends since coming back, you don’t mind sharing something with garcia. not after the countless rounds of tequila.

“okay, not a resident. attending then?”

you don’t elaborate, looking down into your glass.

“oh my god! it was an attending,” she smiles widely in triumph. you feel the points of your ears go warm and you hope she doesn’t see it. blame it on the alcohol, if anything.

“well, he wasn’t my attending.”

“is that what you tell yourself to feel better?” she teases.

the bartender pours you another round, but you don’t drink it right away. you don’t really do nothing, just stir the remaining of the soft drink in your other glass. 

“what happened?” yolanda asks, sensing the sudden shift in your behaviour.

“it’s, uh… complicated.”

“sure, what workplace relationship isn’t.”

“we were together for a… long time.”

“how long?”

“married long,” you give her a small smile. or more like a grimace.

“oh shit,” she says, nodding her head. then she grabs the shot glass and you follow her, downing the tequila. it doesn’t burn your throat anymore. 

“i guess my resident problems aren’t all that serious after all. so what’d he do?”

“he kept leaving.”

“cheating?”

“no, never that. he wouldn’t do that,” you shake your head. jack was a lot of things. but not a cheater. well, if you don’t count him loving his work more than anyone, as cheating.

“okay…” yolanda draws out, sounding not too impressed.

“he just… he always had somewhere else to be.”

“sounds like a loser.”

she’s got no filter. you’ve learned that by now. and you could understand that what you were saying sounded crazy, but some part of you wanted to defend jack’s actions. yes, you were mad about how he left and all. but it wasn’t like he was a bad person.

“that’s what’s so infuriating. he wasn’t… isn’t a loser. he was in the military, a medic. how can you be mad at someone who just wants to help people out there in the world?”

“okay, i’m sorry, but why do you defend him?” she asks, leaning on the bar, propping her chin up with the back of her hand. her eyes never leave you.

“uhm, maybe because we had a chance to talk… lately.”

“wait, like, here? in pittsburgh?”

“like, in the hospital.”

this sentence prompts yolanda to order more tequila and you don’t protest, though you’re not sure what more you can handle. you order another coke with it.

“so he works in ptmc? what specialty?”

“guess,” you smirk, tequila taking over, your head becoming a little fuzzy.

“not your attending, so he’s not in surgery. married to his work. emotionally unavailable. army medic… wait, hold on,” she draws her eyebrows together and you see the wheels turning in her head. you’re not dumb, she surely knows jack. from your experience, usually everyone knows the emergency room staff, because they’re always in need of a consult. 

“were you married to abbot?”

you hoped it would take her a little longer than that. maybe you underestimated her guessing skills.

“still am, theoretically. neither of us ever filed for divorce.”

you don’t think her eyes can go any wider. you sip on the coke, letting her process all the information, but she snaps back quick, though a little confused still.

“what? why? how?” garcia’s dropping all the right questions one after the other.

“i don’t know, really,” you draw your eyebrows together, thinking. “like i said, it’s complicated. he’d leave for months, come back, leave again. everytime i thought maybe now he’d stay. turns out i was more naive than anyone would’ve thought.”

you really don’t know why you didn’t get divorced. you could’ve easily send jack the signed divorce papers and you know he’d probably sign them, in his own time though, and send them back. it probably would’ve been easier that way, for both of you. making you free to do what you want with the sudden free time. but you were so angry with him at first and then got all caught up with moving to new york and getting signed up for your first medecines sans frontiers mission, that you hadn’t given the divorce any thought. jack obviously hadn’t either.

“i don’t think it’s naive to want the person you married to stay. i mean, that’s why people do get married in the first place, no? to be with each other forever,” yolanda says, extending her hand and gently touching your knee in silent comfort. you give her a weak smile.

the tequila took an edge off everything, but it also made you unnecessarily emotional. her gesture almost brings tears to your eyes. it’s different, talking about this with jack and with a stranger, basically.

“well, i thought so.”

“so, then, you got tired of waiting?”

“eventually i realised he was not coming back. and if he was, it would be to pack clean underwear and leave again.”

yolanda shifts in her seat, but doesn’t prompt the bartender to bring more booze. you’re thankful, because you think she’d need to keep you upright after one more round. you finish the sugary drink and slouch a bit more, elbows digging into your knees.

“it’s… interesting. i mean, this is a slightly different abbot that i know.”

“good for you, i guess,” you scoff and yolanda shakes her head.

“no, i didn’t mean it like that. it’s just that people can be different with different people. different at different times.”

you tilt your head to the side. gently, or you’d risk falling to that exact side.

“he’s good with patients. staff like him even though there’s that gloomy vibe to him. but, hell, after everything with the deployment and him getting injured in combat, i'm surprised he even works where he works.”

the world around you stops.

your heart stops. the sounds, music, people conversing in the background. it’s all hazy and you’re processing garcia’s words.

you slowly shift your gaze from your legs to her. she’s waiting for your reaction, quite not understanding why’d you go silent.

“wha-... what did you just say?”

your voice comes all shaky and your hands get clammy.

“that i’m surprised…”

“no, no. before that. about him getting injured?” you have to make sure you articulate properly, the shock and tequila making every word harder and harder to pronounce.

“yeah, he lost his leg in combat.”

it’s like a slap in the face.

but you don’t suddenly sober up. you wish.

the world starts moving again. but it feels like it’s going the other way. against you. like you’re trying to catch up, but can’t. still too in shock from the new information.

your stomach grumbles and you have to put your hand against the bar top to steady yourself.

“wait, you didn’t… shit, i thought you knew,” yolanda exhales through her nose, rubbing at her temples. the smile on her face fades and it’s like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands either.

you just shake your head, debating whether you’re going to throw up right now or in the comfort of your new apartment.

you felt like the worst person ever, replayed the conversation you had a few weeks back. he didn’t say anything. you knew there was something different about him, but all you could see was the jack that left you behind. you didn’t even stop to think there was something different. that he could possibly change. or experience something like losing his leg.

the tequila was not sitting in your stomach right.

you held it against him. that he left you. all alone.

and there he was. after all those years, trying to make amends. make amends with a woman who got tired of waiting and left. and then he came back with a life altering injury. and the house was empty. you, nowhere to be found. no note. nothing.

you thought you were being the bigger person for letting him talk to you in that parking lot. for letting him come up with apologies and explanations that you weren’t very willing to listen to.

you were sick with yourself.

your body was quicker than your mind. your legs dragging you to the restrooms, opening the first available stall, falling on your knees and bending over the toilet. you didn’t even hear yolanda trail after you. you just felt her grab at your hair, keeping it away from your face.

when you finished heaving you stood up, grabbing onto the stall walls. you thanked her, and she just nodded, handing you a bottle of water she probably grabbed from the bar on her way after you.

you take a sip, worried your stomach might not agree.

“i’m really sorry. i genuinely thought you knew,” she says, voice softer.

“no.”

“sorry. he should’ve been the one to tell you. not me.”

“it’s okay.”

after your conversation with garcia you can’t stop overthinking every second of your life since leaving pittsburgh. and then since coming back. you genuinely thought you had your life under control and can’t believe one conversation just kicked that to the curb.

you tried your best to not let it affect your work, but seeing jack when you worked nights made your heart ache. in the worst way possible. and if he suspected something, he was too good at hiding it.

to say guilt was eating you alive was an understatement of the century.

you were standing by the computer near nurses station, biting down on a pen, mind spiralling, not being able to focus on the chart opened before you.

“you okay dude?” garcia asks. she’s finishing up her shift, while you’re staying for another twelve hours, yet again. these 24h shifts are gonna be the death of you.

“uhm, yeah.”

“did he do something? ” she asks and follows your line of sight. jack’s talking to an intern, probably explaining some kind of procedure or care plan for a patient they have. he’s favouring his left leg, leaning on it heavily. you see it now. now that you know.

“no. i did,” you exhale through your nose, letting go of the build up tension.

“what?” she asks, not quite comprehending what you’re on about.

you were a little worried that after the bar incident, she might stop talking to you, either because of how you completely lost yourself or because she regretted being the one to tell you the big news.

“i just… don’t understand how he’s so okay. after what happened. after i left him.”

“you mean, after he left you?” she scoffs, lifting an eyebrow.

“yeah, but i didn’t come back after an injury like his, finding no one’s home,” you grit through your teeth in an attempt to keep your conversations somehow quiet. it was a small miracle that the hospital staff still didn’t suspect anything.

“do you listen to yourself?”

you turn your head to her, eyebrows drawn together in question.

“yes, it’s incredibly sad that he had to go through all that. but he was the one who left in the first place,” garcia says, not hiding the fact that she’s really not on your side. neither on jack’s though. maybe you need that kind of insight into your life. or you’d be falling further down that spiral right now.

“it still doesn’t make me feel better. just imagine it…”

“and imagine being left by the person you loved the most over and over again. wait… you don’t have to, because he actually did leave you.”

her words are like a cold shower.

“you make him sound way worse than he actually is.”

“when are you gonna stop defending him? i mean, yeah, he’d changed, but that doesn’t erase what he’d done to you.”

“maybe you’re right,” you say, clicking the pen close and putting it away into your pocket. you straighten yourself up, eyes moving back to the computer.

“i’m always right,” she smirks, closes the chart and puts the ipad away. saying a quick bye, she strides towards the elevator and before you know it, you’re left alone again. alone with your thoughts. it’s not the safest place to be left alone, you think. so you try to find yourself more work to keep you distracted.

thankfully the people of pittsburgh always have something in their pocket. mainly during the night hours. you sort through multiple car accidents, people getting hurt by kitchen utensils and doing adrenaline sports in the middle of the night.

your back is aching by the time you scrub out of the last surgery, your hands crying for help as you force the soap and antiseptic into your skin. when you approach the nurses station, you see jack again. working with him, you managed well enough to suppress the quilt that was eating you from the inside out. but now, in the rare moment of peace, you had to try twice as hard to keep it down. he wasn’t a saint, you kept telling yourself. you were hurt too.

he’s leaning on the higher end of the tables, mimicking the movements you just did in the scrub room, to ease the tension in your back. neither of you are getting any younger and these jobs are incredibly demanding.

the intern from before approaches him again. he straightens up, hands rubbing his lower back. they talk for a moment and then they start walking away. you see it, it’s subtle but it’s there. how he has to push from the counter to take the first step, left leg leading. the slight wobble on his right side. it must be terrible, twelve hours being on your feet in his condition. you’d be surprised if he wasn’t limping after working the night in the er.

you don’t know how to approach him, knowing what you know without him actually telling you. it’s probably not a secret, as if anything could be down there, but you don’t want to pry. and he didn’t talk to you outside work either. he’s respecting your space, just like you’d asked him. it infuriates you a little, that he actually listened. because the old jack didn’t. he didn’t listen to your pleas and left. just like many times before.

you don’t scramble enough courage to talk to him until you see him leaving a little past 7am, slowly making his way out, backpack thrown over a shoulder, being stopped by staff to ask questions.

you basically run for your own bag upstairs, already having handed off your patients to the day shift attending. you take the stairs down by two, hoping to catch him in the parking lot. apparently leaving the er takes a lot of time and he’s almost in his car, when you run out, still dressed in the purple scrubs.

“jack, wait!”

he stops, the car keys in his hands. he turns around and you see the way his face scrunches with discomfort. you should’ve probably let him sit down in the car before shouting at him.

“hey, what’s up?” he asks, voice unusually soft. around the er, he’s all serious, voice stern, guiding everyone. but you know he has a soft side to him. a vulnerable one. but he only ever let you see it.

“i just…” your voice cracks and you’re not really sure how to continue. jack senses there’s something going on. his face goes into full on investigative mode, looking you up and down, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

“i know. about the injury.” 

you opt for the truth. it’s not like you can make it any better or easier with going all around it and never speaking about it. your eyes trail, unwillingly, to his legs. it doesn’t take him long to realise what you’re talking about.

“oh.”

that’s all he’s got to say.

“why didn’t you tell me before? when we talked,” you ask, hands clutching your bag nervously.

“i don’t know, it just didn’t seem important then,” he shrugs his shoulders.

“what do you mean not important. jack, you…” lost a leg.

the words die in your throat. like you’re scared of them. maybe you are a little. like speaking them aloud would make it all true. that he’s been hurt and you’ve left. hurt as well. two people, each hurting in their own way.

he doesn’t say anything, just watches you intensely as ever. as if he was afraid himself. to say something that would make you run away or bite back again. he was glad for the peace that seemed to have set between the two of you after your last conversation. ruining it all by making you feel guilty because of his leg didn’t seem worth it.

“i’m sorry. that you had to go through all that… alone,” you let out a long exhale and look down to your feet. 

“it’s okay,” he replies. you look up. there’s that gentle smile on his face. the one you used to know so well. “it was naive of me to think you’d stay, after what i put you through.”

his words make your chest tighten. how’s he so different? so adult. he’s been an adult before, why couldn’t he act like it. that’s what makes your heart ache the most.

“still, no one deserves to be alone after something like that.”

“hey, don’t do that,” he steps closer, hand almost reaching out to touch you, but it’s like there’s something holding him back. like he’s afraid he’s gonna ruin the effort he put into getting you to talk to him.

“what?” you ask, trying so hard not to cry. you’ve never been this emotional. it’s as if returning back and meeting jack again opened this well of suppressed emotions deep down in you and it was all coming up right now.

“place the blame on yourself. this… what happened to me, isn’t a get out of jail free card.”

it makes you chuckle. the joke makes the conversation a little lighter.

jack has to shift his weight again, propping the backpack higher on his shoulder. there’s an almost inaudible hiss that he lets out.

“you’re hurting,” you say as a matter of fact, straightening yourself up.

“i’m fine,” he says in that annoying dismissive tone. you know he’s not. he knows he’s not.

“liar. gimme your keys,” you extend your hand towards him with a stern look on your face.

“what?” he asks confused, juggling the keys in his hand.

“c’mon. i’m driving,” you demand, standing firmly in your place, moving your fingers to show him you need the car keys.

“you don’t have to…”

“i know i don’t.”

he’s still debating the idea in his head. you can see the wheels turning. but you don’t back away.

“please, just let me do this without arguing,” you plead, softening your voice.

he doesn’t fight any longer. with a loud exhale he drops the keys in the palm of your hand and gives you a small smile. you smile back, triumphantly. it reminded you of the old times with jack. he hated arguing even back then and almost always let you get away with what you wanted.

you unlock the car and drop your bag on the back seat, next to jack’s. he then proceeds to open the driver’s door for you, even through your protests. you sit down and adjust the seat while jack gets into the passenger’s seat. when he’s in the car, you see how his hand goes to his right leg, rubbing the pain away.

“alright. where to?” you ask as you start the car and put it into drive.

jack tells you the address. you’re glad you’re standing on the breaks or you might’ve ended in the car in front of you.

he must be kidding.

“what?” you slowly turn your head towards him. he thinks for a moment before replying.

“i couldn’t sell it.”

simple as that.

and you can understand it. at least some of it. 

you choose not to continue this conversation in the car because you’re scared you might crash in the midst of all the explaining. 

the drive is silent. but not the embarrassing kind of silence. more like you’re expecting something bad to happen as you drive by the streets and houses you used to know. it’s all so familiar and strange at the same time.

the outside didn’t change much. there’s been a wheelchair ramp added to make it more accessible, but other than that everything’s the same. the lawn is still taken care of, like it used to be and there’s still the christmas elf statue left from many christmases before, both of you being too lazy to put it away. you said it was guarding your house all year long. you smile at the memory as you unbuckle the seatbelt and hop out of the car.

jack unlocks the front door with what you think is the same key as you remember. you could definitely find your own copy somewhere in your new apartment and let yourself in. he didn’t even change the locks. as if he’s been waiting for you to barge through that door all these years. it just deepens the pit in your stomach.

inside is still the same as well. there’s less of you, of course, but everything else stayed the same. you think you caught a glimpse of your old, green rainboots near the shoerack, but you don’t focus on that as you follow jack into the kitchen.

“do you want coffee?” he asks, one arm bracing on the counter top as he reaches for the coffee blend.

“why don’t you sit. i can make us coffee,” you say. you’re not particularly craving coffee, but you’d take anything to keep your hand busy.

jack lets you take the tin box from his hands and he continues to sit down. even the coffee machine is still the same. you reach for the upper cupboard and… bingo, the espresso cups are still there. your hand stops mid air when you see the hand painted couple of cups you and jack got on your vacation around europe.

your breath hitches and you move around the priced possession to grab the basic, ikea ones. the espresso machine purrs silently as it brews the coffee. it takes only about a minute when you put down one of the miniature cups in front of jack. he thanks you in a soft voice and you sit down next to him.

you catch how one of his hands move to where you guess the prosthetic connects with his body and he rubs the spot.

“how bad is it?”

“pretty bad,” he admits and you see it in his face, that he isn’t used to it. admitting he’s in pain. letting anyone help him with it.

“can i see?”

“you don’t have to.”

he’s giving you one more chance to run away. to leave him again. because this would be a lot on anyone, he wouldn’t put it past you to leave.

“i know,” you reply without thinking. 

“i’ve got some supplies in the bedroom,” jack says, finishing his coffee and standing up, bracing his arms on the table.

you want to reach out to help him, but he lifts up his hands, murmuring it’s fine as he leads you to the what used to be guest bedroom. the bed is made, neatly, as ever. but it doesn’t have much character apart from a small bookshelf with a bunch of medical books. there’s also the door to the en suite bathroom and a wheelchair folded beside it but still within the reach from the bed.

you instruct jack to sit down and to tell you where the supplies are. when you come back, he’s got the right pant rolled up, moving to take off the prosthetic. you try not to stare too much, as you fumble with the small bag of medical supplies and sit down next to him.

“so, uhm, you moved bedrooms?”

poor attempt at small talk.

“i don’t do well with stairs.”

fuck.

“right. sorry,” you let out a sigh, rubbing at your temples. jack just gives you a smile.

“it’s fine,” he says, laying the prosthetic down.

you look at him once more and when he nods, you take a look at the stump, touching the skin gently. it doesn’t look bad, but there are some warning signs that hit your eye. if he doesn’t slow down a bit, he might be looking at a terrible pressure wound from where the prosthetic is pressing on the skin.

“you’ve been overcompensating the other side. your hip must be killing you too,” you say.

jack rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “a little bit.”

“little bit? you’re impossible.”

“some things never change i guess,” he replies as you shuffle through the supply bag, looking at what he’s got inside. a cooling gel, antibiotic ointment, some basic supplies for taking care of pressure wounds. you ask him what he usually does after shift and then do it for him.

“i can refer you to a good pt. they can usually give you an appointment fast with a surgeon’s note,” you smirk and jack just rolls his eyes.

“i already have a pt.”

“when’s the last time you saw them?”

jack doesn’t reply instantly. and you don’t pry it out of him.

“you seem like you know what you’re doing,” he says after you’re done.

“i’ve had a lot of practice. unfortunately.”

“hm. where were you, actually?”

you told jack that you’ve been all around the world, but never explicitly what you’ve been doing. he’s not dumb, he might’ve figured it out.

“africa, at first. for almost two years. then the middle east. i’ve lost count of how many amputations i did out there.”

“that must’ve been tough.”

“yes. it was. guess i wanted to see what the appeal was,” you can’t help but take a dig at him. jack takes it like a champ, not giving you any reaction. “but then i stayed for them. for the people. and…”

you fold your hands in your lap, eyes following them. it’s hard to say those words, but jack deserves them. it’s been a long time coming.

“and suddenly i understood. how could you leave them? with danger and war surrounding them, with all the pain they had to go through…”

“that’s still not good enough of an excuse,” he says, shuffling to the edge of the bed with a skilled set of movements. he lets his left leg fall to the floor, his body suddenly being so close to you, your shoulders almost touching. he carefully put his hand on your thigh, right above your knee. the touch is so soft as if he was afraid he’s gonna get burned. but he didn’t flinch. neither did you.

it felt like you were about to have the same conversation all over again. you pack up all his stuff back, busying your hands so you’re not rubbing them together in your lap nervously. as you look around and see the photos and pictures on the wall, you quickly change the theme.

“you, uh, really kept everything,” you exhaled and pointed to the small painting you remember choosing at a local art show, to decorate the guest room with so it wouldn’t be just a bed and a bedside table.

“i tried packing it all up, once. made it about ten minutes.”

“should’ve sold the house.”

the words come out of your mouth faster than you could think about what they meant. before your brain catches up. just like that. you told him to sell your house. the one you two chose and lived in together. the one that still held every little memory and detail of your past shared life. you could see the twitch in his face. and you regretted saying it. hell, you still had the old house key without even knowing whether jack kept the house or not.

“probably.”

he hides the pain in his eyes. but it’s too late to take the words back. so he just gives you a small, broken smile.

“why didn’t you?” you ask, thinking there’s nothing more hurtful you could probably say by now.

“i, uh, don’t know. maybe i kept believing you might walk through that door once again.”

straight to the chest. he hits back. no mercy. and just like that, you feel like crying and curling up on the floor again. for like a thousandth time in the hour or so you’ve been in the house. you should probably consider therapy as well.

“jack… you can’t say stuff like that,” you stand up from the bed and his hand falls from your thigh into his lap. you rub your temples with your fingers, back turned to jack.

“why?” 

you turn around, looking at him. it doesn’t feel right, standing there, above him, while he’s all… vulnerable and all. but the bed is lava. you can’t sit next to him and have this conversation. you have to pace around, hands in your hair or on your face, self-regulating so as to not fall apart from the overload of emotions.

“because i don’t know what to do with that.”

your eyebrows are drawn together as you’re trying to process everything. could it be that… no, it definitely couldn’t.

you feel like you’re on a bad trip. 

head spinning.

ears ringing.

“you don’t have to do anything,” he says, hands rubbing together. you know that if he could, he'd stand up and hold you, ground you. so you wouldn’t fall into that spiral again. and you hated to admit how much you needed that right now.

“i was so angry at you.”

you stop moving, hands falling to your hips, eyes locked on jack.

“i know.”

“i thought you chose everything else first.”

“sometimes i did. but not because i didn’t love you.”

everything comes to a halt. world stops spinning, your mind stops spiralling. and you collapse. on the bed. next to jack. you hunch over, supporting your head in your hands, covering your face. your eyes are welling with tears and you try your best to keep them away from spilling over. now you really don’t know what to do with jack’s words.

he just sits there, in silence. keeps his hands to himself, shuffling on the bed a little, to keep his balance. and then, he freezes. because you’re leaning in. your head softly touching his shoulder. he’s like a statue. worried that even a small movement would send you running. it’s only when he hears your soft breaths, chest moving in rhythm with his, that he relaxes a little, his own head leaning on yours. and when you don’t flinch away, he lets out a long exhale.

few moments later, when your breaths become too regular and jack looks down at your face, he finds you with eyes closed, sleeping.

he chuckles silently, because of course you’d fall asleep in any position after working 24 hour shift. he manages to gently lay you down, legs still off the bed. he thinks for a second how he could put you into a more comfortable position, but the act of putting you down seemed to wake you.

“no, no. stay. it’s been a long night,” he says softly as you start sitting up. half asleep, you don’t seem to want to argue anymore so you just kick off your shoes and turn your back to him as you lay down on the left side of the bed.

he isn’t sure if he should stay. he’d sleep on the couch, as a gentleman, but honestly, he doesn’t want to. his body is aching and he’s been excited to get to bed since around 2am. so he moves the blanket between you two, creating a border. it’s the least he can do. then he lays down next to your sleeping figure. but sleep evades him. considering how exhausted he was, it’s strange. but he knows it’s because of you. he should’ve taken the couch.

the sun wakes you up before your body does. it’s strange. as if your body’s protective walls and mechanisms completely turned off. you’re on your side and you turn on your back, hands coming to your eyes, rubbing them. they’re still heavy and puffy from sleeping. you take the environment in. just then you realise where you are and it’s as if those mechanisms start working again. your mind panics for a moment as you look around.

the guest room. jack is sleeping next to you, one arm over his stomach, still dressed in the same clothes. his chest is rising slowly and regularly. you sit up slowly, trying not to move the mattress too much, so as to not disturb jack.

you don’t even know what you’re doing. it’s like your body took over every action. you’re usually not the one bailing. well, not in this relationship. if you can still say there’s a relationship between you and jack, apart from the professional one.

you pad softly around the bed, grabbing your shoes that are just thrown near the bed, where jack’s sleeping. as you duck down to pick them up and leave, a soft voice stops you.

“you’re leaving.”

not a question. not an accusation. just plain facts.

you straighten your back, holding the shoes in your hands, unable to scratch the back of your neck nervously.

“i, uh, need to…”

“you can stay. if you want,” he says, sleep lacing his voice, as he pulls the blanket higher and turns to his side. he closes his eyes again and you wait for a moment. maybe if you stand here long enough, he’ll fall back asleep and you’ll run then.

but something about the way he said those words. as if it was nothing. a friend offering a friend a place to crash. and your mind somehow calmed down. you relaxed your shoulders, still debating whether you should just go or stay. both choices felt incredibly wrong and right at the same time.

but then you hands let go of the shoes and your legs brought you back to the left side of the bed. you laid back down, turning sideways, looking at jack’s back as sleep overcame you once again.

returning to work after learning about jack’s injury, your old house, the never ending conversations about your past and present, felt incredibly overwhelming. it was at times like these you wished you chose a different specialty. locking yourself away in a pathology lab or being in work for 8 hours as a dermatology attending sounded way better than facing this man almost every day.

you allowed your walls to come down a little, which hasn’t happened in a long time. and it scared you. that jack still had that power. of getting through to you, when you promised yourself you wouldn’t let him. when you specifically built those walls because of him.

you hadn’t talked much that morning, or evening actually, when you woke up next to each other. it only so happened that after the well-deserved sleep, you woke up with your arm thrown over jack’s abdomen, his arm under your neck. obviously both of you moved away quickly, embarrassed, faces heating up. but you didn’t talk about it further.

you helped him make dinner and another batch of coffee. you ate, made small talk. and it felt strangely normal, despite the embarrassment you both felt from moments before. he then offered to drive you back to the hospital. neither of you were working that night, but you did leave your car in the parking lot in the morning. you were considering declining, needing some time by yourself but the walk to the hospital was too far. so you accepted.

the drive was silent, only the songs playing from the radio filling up the space between you and jack. it was as if neither of you knew where to start the conversation. or what it even should be about. but you didn’t mind the silence. and you knew jack well enough to know that he didn’t mind either. and that he probably wasn’t overthinking every decision made right now. you had enough decency to at least not bite your nails in front of him.

“see you around,” he says as you step out of his truck, your bag propped on your shoulder. you almost want to laugh. because of course you will, you work together.

“right. bye,” you reply and roll your eyes. you see the way jack smiles as he drives off.

you search your bag for your car keys.

“see you around, huh?”

you turn around at the familiar voice.

yolanda is standing behind you, giant smirk plastered on her face. she has her hair let down and you see she’s wearing normal clothes.

of course jack would drive you to the hospital parking lot exactly at shift change.

“we work together,” you roll your eyes again. but this time at yolanda. she doesn’t even try to hide the amusement.

“and apparently it’s going very well.”

“that… was not what you think.”

“right,” she says, drawing out the i. you should probably shut up, before you dig yourself a bigger hole. you see the wheels turning in her head already and there’s nothing you can do.

“i just… helped him with his, uhm, leg. he was in pain.”

“you don’t have to explain yourself to me. just, be careful,” she replies, holding her hands up in a defensive gesture.

“it was nothing,” you scoff, playing with the car keys in your hand.

“he didn’t look like he got the memo.”

her words punch you in the gut. so maybe it wasn’t just you. to see the subtle signs in jack. but you still didn’t want to admit it. that it could be possible.

“you know what, you’re right. i don’t have to explain anything. i’m beat, i gotta go,” you say with a stern voice and turn around. you find your car before garcia even have a chance to respond and get in.

you need to go home, shower and collect your thoughts. before you spiral again.

next shift, he’s there. acting as if nothing has happened. and you’re trying your best to do the same. be nonchalant. be a man, they always act like nothing ever happened.

you’re sitting down at one of the computer, desperately trying to think of some medical words to put down in the patients chart, but your eyes keep wandering off to the trauma bay. the ambulance brought in a patient seconds ago and jack’s already in there, commanding the room calmly. everybody knows their place. or so it seems.

you hear the monitors go off in the trauma bay. your eyebrows are drawn together in curiosity. from what you’ve overheard this was not a critical patient. they were supposed to be sorted out quite quickly and moved on from the trauma bay onto the next level of care.

“we need a surgeon!” dennis whitaker, an intern, comes running out of the trauma bay, looking like a spooked puppy. you’ve really only seen him during the day shift, but you suppose interns must pick up some night shifts as well.

you quickly stand up from your chair, following after him into the trauma bay. the calm was now exchanged by a slight chaos. a nurse is already waiting for you with a gown and gloves and you thank her silently, before walking over to the table.

“what do you have?” you ask, looking at each, dennis, a by standing med student by the name james ogilvie, and jack. he’s currently holding an ultrasound probe to the patient’s belly, looking at the pool of black inside their abdomen.

“ehm, a suspected bowel perf…”

you gotta hand it to him, whitaker’s got balls.

“i thought this was just a stomach ache,” you said, putting your hands on the patient’s abdomen. it was stiff as a board, and what jack was ewing was probably a pool of blood or a bowel content being flooded into the abdominal cavity.

“well, we did also, but then ogilvie…”

“hey, it’s not my fault-...” ogilvie starts defending himself, but jack cuts them both off before they start fighting.

“gentlemen. it doesn’t matter now. we take care of the patient now.”

you order another line, a course of antibiotics and pain medication for the patient. but their heart rate is through the roof and blood pressure is tanking.

“we need to do something now, he can’t wait for an or,” you say after your assessment and you’re right. the patient is not looking good.

“let’s prep for a lap,” you decide. everyone moves like a well oiled machine, prepping the patient and the staff for the unexpected operation in the trauma bay.

“scrub them in,” you nod your head to the intern and the student. “they might as well hold retractors and suction.”

jack just smiles and nods. the prep is quick, jack intubates the patient with skill and precision and handles the meds orders. meanwhile you’re grabbing the scalpel from the nurse, waiting for whitaker to finish pouring iodine on the patient’s stomach.

“the light, please.”

jack moves around the table, grabbing the light and angling it just right. as if he read your mind. knew exactly what you needed from him.

“thanks.”

“no worries,” he just waves his hand, circling back to the patient’s head.

you smell it as soon as you cut through the peritoneum. the sharp and acidic smell of the bowel contents is unmistakable. you tell the nurse to prep a lavage as you work on the perforation. thankfully it’s not too big and whitaker and ogilvie are trying hard to help you any way they can. you give them careful instructions, so no more mistakes are made.

the beeping of the machines and humming of the ventilator are the only sounds filling the room. and then your phone joins in. you’d love to just cancel the call and work in silence again, but you can’t, because you’re elbows deep in shit. literally. 

it stops after a moment. and then rings again. 

“jesus christ,” you mutter into your mask, threading the needle through the tissue of the bowel. whitaker is suctioning everything around your hands and ogilvie is holding onto the retractors, hard. he doesn’t show it, but you know his hands are hurting.

when the phone rings a third time, you hand the nurse the instrument a little harder than you intend.

“if it’s fucking…”

you don’t finish your sentence, because your voice catches in your throat. your whole body goes rigid. and you feel your heart in your throat.

“i got it,” a silent, raspy voice says, dangerously close to your ear.

a warm set of hands, that feels way too familiar, is moving over your hips, under the sterile gown, grabbing the ringing phone from your scrub pocket and turning it off. jack then puts it next to the computer and walks over to the ventilator again, as if nothing happened.

you’re looking at him in complete shock, frozen over the patient’s open belly.

you don’t know how much time passes. you only know that the nurse is asking you if you’re going to lavage the abdominal cavity.

“what?” you snap back, turning your head to her.

“the lavage?”

“uhm. yeah, let’s do it.”

the silence is filled with the sound of suction and it draws you back to reality. you check the site for any remains of fluid that isn’t supposed to be there and you close the patient up. ordering more iv antibiotics, pain meds and frequent checks, you pull off your gown and gloves and walk out of the trauma bay before jack says anything. again. you’re running. because you can feel him chipping away at your protective walls. and you’re not sure how to feel about that.

“the vitals look good for now. finish in here and bring the patient up to post op,” dr. abbot instructs dennis. he just nods and pulls off his gown as well. abbot leaves the trauma bay and dennis can hear the med student behind him exhale.

“that was a close call,” dennis says to the other man.

“yeah. they work good together,” ogilvie points to the nurses station.

“what?” dennis asks, a little clueless. he turns his head and sees you and jack talking at the nurses station. you’re looking down into an ipad, but that doesn’t seem to bother abbot at all. he’s standing a little too close to you, and his lips are moving, but dennis cannot decipher what he’s saying.

“i mean, she says light, he’s right there. then the phone. it’s like they know each other pretty well.”

dennis thinks for a moment. he usually isn’t interested in staff rumours. but after taking a second look at you and jack, he might just ask trinity in the morning if she hasn’t heard anything.

“yeah. maybe a little too well.”

…

you don’t realise jack’s following after you until you’re standing at the nursing station, hand running through your hair. you bring up the patient’s chart on a nearby computer, thinking about how to start typing out the trauma bay procedure that should’ve really taken place in an or. 

“the patient was lucky you were nearby,” he speaks up first, when he sees your fingers hover over the keyboard mindlessly.

“so what happened in there?” you ask, turning you body sideways to look at him.

“a minor mishap from a student.”

“minor? the patient’s bowel had blown out into their abdomen.”

“and i told him what he did was wrong and he’s hopefully gonna learn from that.”

you squint your eyes at him. he’s so calm it’s almost unbelievable.

“the old you would bite his head clean off.”

jack chuckles. “yeah, probably.”

“maybe people can change, after all,” you say, the corners of your lips turning upwards. you don’t even realise you’re smiling. it’s jack, his eyes follow your lips and you quickly realise, turning back to the computer, ending your conversation right there.

by the end of the night, or rather start of the new day, you’ve fixed a perforated bowel, had to step into an ortho case because the resident was clueless, fixed an animal bite and had to go elbows deep into someone’s chest cavity. as if deep diving into someone’s abdomen wasn’t enough for one night.

right now you’re considering using laparoscopic instruments on the vending machine that’s refusing to dispense your morning dose of sugar and chocolate. it doesn’t budge no matter how much you punch the glass, looking desperately at the snickers halfway on it’s way down.

“fuuuck,” you draw out, leaning against the cold glass, giving up. you would drive your fist through, if you didn’t need your hands for your job.

“need a hand?”

you lift your eyes up from the linoleum. jack’s standing nearby, looking quite amused, his muscular arms crossed at his chest. of course you need a hand, one that’s about three feet long to go and grab your snickers. but you’re too much of a feminist to go asking for help. you’d quite literally rather starve.

“it’s fine, i’ll go look for something in the breakroom.”

“if you want to eat the crumbs after the donuts someone brought, be my guest.”

“there were donuts?”

“yeah, i think patient’s family brought it over.”

“damn. that’s what i get for screwing around in people’s guts,” you throw your hand in the air, frustrated.

“just, let me…” he steps in and gently moves your body to the side, to look at the vending machine. you almost freeze again at the touch of his arms to your body, but this time you control yourself a little better.

“oh, i see. this fucker’s been jammed forever, next time choose a different row,” he explains.

you run a hand through your hand again. of course you chose the jammed one. of course. and before you know it, jack’s taking out his wallet, grabbing some coins and punching in different numbers.

“jack, no, you don’t need…”

the vending machine whirrs and you see the snickers bar move towards the glass and fall down. the relief that washes over you is indescribable. you’d probably be close to losing it if another chocolate bar got jammed in there. and you’d hate jack losing his money on you, even if it wasn’t any vast amount.

as you reach down to grab the candy, jack seems to have the same idea and your hands touch as you both reach for the bin down below. you don’t yank your hand away this time, but he’s faster, as always, and grabs the snickers from the bin for you.

“here.”

it’s as if he’s doing it on purpose. because of course your hands are touching again when you take the bar from him. you gaze up and he’s looking right at you. it’s so him, the eye contact. and you don’t look away this time, because you know it. you know him. your body does. and it isn’t sending warning signals anymore. or they’re just really tuned down.

“thanks,” you manage to reply. jack just smiles, letting go of the candy.

“well if you’re done yearning, i’d like a little chat with her.”

both you and jack whip your heads to the side, finding very amused garcia standing right there. now the horror takes over as you stuff the snickers down your pocket. but jack isn’t too shaken up by this situation.

“sure,” he murmurs and leaves with a smirk on his face.

you turn to yolanda, mortified.

“what the hell was that?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“the hell you don’t. you guys were seconds from eating off your faces,” she smirks, walking to the elevator. you quickly look around, checking that nobody needs you right now and you follow her. the pitt phone is sitting on your pocket, but you’re hoping it’s gonna remain silent.

“oh, shut up. he was just helping me with the vending machine.”

“so very damsel in distress from you. i might use it sometimes too.”

“you could never be a damsel in distress,” you say with a chuckle and open the snickers as the elevator door closes behind you.

“touche,” yolanda replies. her phone beeps and she looks at the screen, rolling her eyes.

“what’s up?”

“just my eager student. he managed to convince me to come an hour early so we could go over the surgical cases on the floor.”

“wow, that’s a first. this place really changes people, i guess,” you say, licking the melting chocolate off your fingers. “wait, is it that late already?”

“you wanted to say soon? and yes, it’s only 6 and i’m already here. if admin wasn’t up my ass about teaching more and being more approachable, i’d still be in bed,” she gives you the signature ironic smile and you smile as well, understanding of her behaviour.

“but let’s get back to you and abbot,” she says as you both exit the elevator on the med/surg floor.

“yeah, no, thanks,” you try dodging, but you know yolanda can be very persistent.

“you guys were like groping each other. so, you getting back together?”

“what?!” you whip your head around, looking at her, eyes bulging out of your face.

“why are you looking at me like that? is that so crazy to think?”

“well, first of all, we weren’t groping each other. he just bought me a candy bar. second of all… i don’t know,” you deflate. you honestly don’t know. 

it probably isn’t so crazy to think a person you married is in love with you. your head just cannot get past the whys and hows. and past the fact, that you’d spent so much time repairing what he broke, that you don’t want to admit there could be any feelings left or beginning to build up again. it was just not a possibility right now.

“i saw the way he looks at you. how he was looking at you for the past two weeks. and i’ll say what i’d said before. i don’t think he’s over it. over you.”

you look at her, fear creeping up your spine. it’s honestly scary.

“you can’t just say that.”

“dude, it’s the truth. and you know you’ll get nothing less from me,” she says as a matter of fact. you want to run and hide. but you’re a big girl. and maybe it’s time to finally face it all. you can’t be the runner now.

“it’s just… scary,” you admit.

“i understand. but why don’t you just tell abbot? he will understand too. i mean, ever since he’s been to therapy, he’s all about communication and understanding emotions and all that shit.”

she looks at you and you see her eyes soften with genuinity. like she’s worried about you a little.

“like i said… it’s scary.”

“okay. but for what it’s worth, i don’t think you need to be scared of talking to the one person you love,” she says and in that exact moment her phone rings. she picks it up, excuses herself and leaves you alone, in the med/surg breakroom.

love, not loved.

present tense.

she probably figured it sooner than you have. sooner than you have even admitted it to yourself. you scoff and throw the empty candy bar packaging into the nearest bin.

you survive hand offs, meet yolanda’s student who’s already been making a name for himself by making some interesting remarks while visiting post op patients and then grab all your stuff from your locker and leave.

the elevator ride seems to take 12 another hours and you lean your back on the elevator wall, trying hard not to fall asleep. when you step out, you meet a familiar figure.

“hi,” jack says as if you hadn’t seen each other just an hour ago.

“you’re off?”

“yeah, robby’s come in early so i’m leaving.”

“so, you’re going home?” you ask, not really knowing yourself where you’re going with this.

“yeah,” he says, looking over to you, as you fall into step next to each other, reaching the parking lot.

“gonna shower, probably make some breakfast. i bought too many eggs again,” he continues, still checking on you, as if he expected you to just say bye and run off. but you’re trying your best not to do that.

you both maneuver the parking lot, trying to remember where you parked the day before. you yawn as you fish through your bag for your car keys.

“have you eaten anything? i mean, aside from the vending machine candy.”

you stop, bringing your arm out of the bag pocket. it’s been a busy day. you’ve eaten a half of the infamous cafeteria sandwich before being dragged to another trauma and then, well… then the snickers bar.

“i’ll just order something when I wake up.”

“it’s not good to go to sleep with an empty stomach.”

he didn’t exactly say it, but it feels like an offer. and thought you’re scared of admitting there might be some feelings still between you two, you’re afraid you’re gonna agree.

“it’s not empty. i just had the chocolate.”

“can you not fight with me, for once?” he pleads and you deflate. you look down to your shoes, a little embarrassed.

“c’mon, i’ll make you a proper breakfast,” he says as a matter of fact and starts walking. you are left standing there, surprised at his stern voice. he was so soft with you, until now. so you quickly follow after him.

“but i want bacon as well.”

“okay,” he just replies, unlocking the truck.

“and none of that grilled mushroom stuff.”

jack stops in his tracks, looking at you as if you’ve just kicked a puppy. 

“i always thought you liked the mushrooms.”

“oops. there’s obviously a lot we have to talk about,” you say, smiling innocently.

“obviously.”

you get in the car. as the door closes, leaving everything outside, and it’s just you and jack in, you feel like you need to say this.

“this doesn’t mean anything. i mean, i don’t know if i’m ready this being… anything.”

“okay.”

“i’m not saying that i won’t be ready, like, ever… it’s just i need to take it slow. we need to take it slow.”

“okay,” he says, turning the key in the ignition.

“can you stop being so agreeable?”

28 weeks

it’s been 14 weeks since you’ve been diagnosed with hyperemesis. since your daily routine has changed, but luckily was coming back to normal. you attended each and every iv therapy your obgyn prescribed and when the nausea subsided and you looked alive again, still a little underweight but alive, she moved you to oral medication that you were gonna take for the remnants of your pregnancy. it was a small victory in your fight with your own body.

you needed to go to more regular check ups still, but the baby was growing beautifully and your bloodwork improved with every visit. you even went a few weeks without vomiting completely. then, getting ahead of yourself, you ate a whole lot more than you should’ve and even the medications couldn’t stop you from running to the bathroom. but it was definitely better than vomiting through your day.

jack was more at ease too. he wasn’t so anxious about leaving you and dennis, who was slowly but surely growing over your head, at home alone. each day that he didn’t have to work was a blessing and you tried to get him to let dr. shen take over more so jack could spend more time with you. but you knew you could never keep the man away from the er as he occasionally showed up even between shifts. it seemed that it was a trait all of the pitt doctors possessed. no one could stay away.

dennis whitaker was still part of your lives and now more than ever, you were grateful to have him. on days when toddler dennis was a little too much for you to handle, though he was still the best kid you could’ve ever asked for, whitaker helped you without ever questioning you or protesting. he was just there when you needed a minute of quiet and solitude.

but you knew this couldn’t go on forever. the first hint was, when dennis came a few days ago, announcing…

“hey could i talk to you two?” dennis stopped in his tracks in the living room doorframe, rubbing his hands together nervously.

you and jack were seated on the couch, his big, strong body behind you, hands splayed across your bare stomach. these days you always wore your belly out of every top, complaining that everything was too tight and too hot and touching your skin in an uncomfortable way. bag of crisps layed next to you and baby dennis was sleeping on the other side of the couch, a barricade of blankets and pillows around him to prevent him from falling.

“hold on, alan carr is about to win the celebrity traitors,” you hold up your finger to stop whitaker from ruining this special television moment. but jack, as the considerate and responsible adult, stops the reality show with the remote, shifting focus to whitaker.

“what’s up?” jack asks and though you’re a little annoyed that anyone dared to interrupt your favourite part of the evening, you sit up straight, crumbs that have fallen on your chest from eating the crisps now falling on your legs.

“so about what happened last week…”

you suspected for a while that whitaker was seeing somebody. but he never opened up to you about his dating life. though you thought you had enough trust in between the two of you, he felt quite comfortable bringing them over. but it was always too late for you to meet them and they both left too soon for you to snoop out who it was. 

you didn’t mind dennis having someone over. it was as much as his house as yours. also his bedroom was tucked away downstairs while you and baby dennis slept upstairs on the other side fo the house. but you knew you would have to talk to jack about it, as he wasn’t quite that open to the idea of strangers roaming the lower floor. 

but before you even had the chance to talk to jack, one morning, the stars aligned and chaos erupted, when you ran into a naked, wet body outside the upstairs bathroom. jack was currently occupying the shower in your bedroom ensuite, but it so happened you needed to shower as well so you decided to use the shared upstairs bathroom.

“what the fuck?” you gasped when another naked abdomen touched your naked belly while you were trying to get into the bathroom.

“oh my god. i-i am so sorry, mrs.”

you looked up. a tall, skinny man with towel hanging around his hips was standing in the doorway, water dripping from his damp blond hair on the floorboards.

“it’s doctor actually,” you corrected him and squinted.

“of course it is. again, i apologize, i didn’t mean to tackle you. i’m sorry. but dennis said i could use this bathroom. he’s using the one in his room.”

“and you are?” you raised an eyebrow, trying not to cringe at the droplets on the floor and trying not to wipe them with the person causing it.

he introduced himself and told you that he actually worked as a respiratory therapist in ptmc. but before he could ramble on about his and whitaker’s meeting and lovestory, you raised a finger to stop him.

“nice to meet you. and as much as i’d love to hear all of it, i need to shower. so why don’t you and whitaker make us all a coffee and i’ll meet you downstairs in twenty?”

he nodded, apologized again and basically ran down the stairs, leaving a trail of droplets behind him. you rolled your eyes and let out a huff. 

exactly ten minutes later you were waddling on your bare feet back to the bedroom. jack was just getting dressed and you caught a peak of his toned, naked torso when you entered the room. baby dennis was building some sort of fort from the pillows on the bed and you plopped down next to him.

“you won’t believe what just happened.”

“what? are you alright? are you bleeding?” jack turned around, alert and ready to save your life.

“no. i’m fine. everything’s fine. it’s whitaker…”

“what’d he do?”

“he's got a boy… a man over. i just met him in the bathroom.”

“what? you were in a bathroom with another man?” jack eyebrows shot up.

“no, god, jack listen to me. whitaker's sleeping with a man. in our house.” 

it was as if something snapped inside jack. he drew his eyebrows together, pursing his lips in a tight line.

“what the fuck?” 

“jack, language! dennis is right here.”

“i’m sorry baby boy,” jack puts his hands over dennis’ small ears and repeats what the just said.

“we need to have a talk,” jack continues, letting go of dennis’ head and marching for the door.

“jack, babe, hold on,” you say, grabbing baby dennis and following him. when jack looks around and sees you handling the toddler all by yourself, he slows down, grabs the little bundle of chaos from your hands and you give him a soft ‘thanks’.

“just don’t get too mad. he’s an adult and he deserves a life outside of the hospital,” you whisper to jack as you descend down the stairs, holding onto your lower back. your balance has shifted from when you were not pregnant and with the growing bump, every step felt like it could send you flying down. stairs were becoming your worst enemy as well.

downstairs jack lets go of toddler dennis, who is basically flying towards the smell coming from the kitchen. before you enter after him, you put a hand on jack’s shoulder in an attempt to ground him a bit more, but you sense the tension in his muscles.

but it seems as if the boys, the men, in the kitchen have an emergency plan of how to get through this conversation alive. you start salivating before you even see what’s on the table as you step into the kitchen.

whitaker’s already got baby dennis sat in his high chair, a small animal shaped bowl with dividers sat in front of him, with basically everything that is on the big table for the adults, just adjusted to his age. you don’t even wanna guess who cooked the breakfast because you’ve probably never seen whitaker cook and thinking about a stranger being this comfortable in your kitchen makes you a bit queasy.

“so, what do we have here?” jack asks.

you know he doesn’t care about the food one bit.

whitaker’s handing him a cup of coffee, a small symbol of peace, before the uncomfortable questions starts. you sit down next to toddler dennis, trying to convince him not to stuff the whole waffle into his mouth but rather take bites. jack takes the cup reluctantly and wants to sit down next to you too, but an extended hand stops him in his tracks.

“i should introduce myself. i’m matt.”

jack looks the bit frightened respiratory therapist up and down, before he gives a grimace that you know is a smile, and shakes his hand. everybody sits down and you wonder who’s gonna be the first to break the awkward silence. well, if you don’t count the loud chewing of baby dennis who’s switched from waffles to stabbing the scrambled eggs with his kiddie fork.

“so…” whitaker lets out a sigh and you take a peak at jack, who’s holding his cup of coffee, taking a small sip, not breaking eye contact with either of the men sitting in front of him.

“so you’re sneaking around with people around our house?” jack fills in when he sees whitaker opening and closing his mouth like a confused fish.

“i mean… we were not sneaking around… you just never really paid much attention,” whitaker scoffs, relying to lighten the situation, but you see how he shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“really?” jack’s eyebrows rise up and dennis scoots backwards in his seat, matt putting a comforting hand on his upper arm. 

“we’re not scolding you, dennis, you have your own parents for that i guess. but we’re adults and we’d like you to be honest with us. we don’t mind you having a person over, right jack?”

you put your hand on jack’s thigh, giving him a little squeeze. you can feel the way his quads relax and he leans back in his seat, taking another gulp of the black coffee.

“yeah, right,” he says, voice more relaxed but you still catch the way his eyebrows are drawn together.

“just next time, it’d be nice to know before we bump into each other in the bathroom,” you try cracking a joke and you see a smile creep up on the respiratory therapist’s face.

“you mean when you had your boyfriend over?” jack teases and you have to give his arm a little push to bring him back to the ground.

“yeah, sorry about that, again. but i wanted to tell you that we’re kind of moving in together.”

it’s as if someone poured an ice bucket on your head. you sit up straighter confused look on your face.

“what?” you let out even though you’re very sure you heard him the first time.

“i’m moving out in a few weeks. finally be out of your hair.”

“whitaker, i realise we might’ve said stuff…” jack starts to say but is stopped by a whimper. he looks around to see if baby dennis is waking up being fussy, but he’s met with your glimmering eyes.

to say that a wave of feelings washed over you after whitaker said he’d be out of you hair, was an understatement of the century. it was more like a tornado, or a tsunami for that matter. your eyes were already getting puffy, tears streaming down your cheeks one by one, seeping into the material of your sweatshirt, right next to the crisps crumbles.

“baby, are you…” jack’s hand was on your back, rubbing a small circles into your skin.

“god. doc, i didn’t mean to…” whitaker moves next to you, carefully not to disturb sleeping dennis. he also puts his hands gently on your shoulder, caressing it. his face looks like he’s about to start crying too.

“what do you mean you’ll be out of our hair?” you say in between sobs.

jack glares at whitaker, mouthing ‘you did this’ to him. dennis takes that as a warning and starts talking.

“of course i didn’t mean it like that. you were nothing but hospitable to me. you were like a family. but it’s my time to leave. you need space for your family. and if you ever need me, i’m just a phone call away.”

“but you are our family,” you pout, leaning into jack for emotional support. thankfully you miss the way his eyes roll at whitaker, or you’d just start crying even more.

“i know. that’s why i’ll visit. and i can babysit dennis at any time,” whitaker’s desperately trying to save the situation, but the tears are still running down your face.

there’s a minute of silence in which the hormones finally calm down and you rub your puffy eyes.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know why i’m crying. this just made me really emotional for no reason,” you start apologizing.

“it’s okay babe,” jack rubs your back again, his voice soothing.

“i didn’t want to make you cry, ever. i just never realised you considered me family.”

this was whitaker’s second tsunami. it was as if he couldn’t decipher social clues, ever. another wave of emotions shakes your shoulders and you start sobbing once again. when whitaker dares to look up at jack, who’s trying to console you, he’s met with ‘i’m gonna kill you’ on jack’s lips. 

30 weeks

it was sad seeing whitaker and jack carrying the boxes out of his room and out of your house into his car and seeing them being driven away to someone else’s place. but you managed not to ugly cry again. 

toddler dennis tried helping too, but he didn’t quite understand the difference between packing and unpacking, so for every piece of clothing whitaker put in a box, baby dennis unpacked two. you had to take him into the living room to play, so whitaker moving wouldn’t take him years.

you were sad, but happy. it seemed like him and the respiratory therapist matt really hit it off. after that breakfast thing, you met him one more time for dinner, when you discussed the moving arrangements. you saw how they were with each other and it made you think of the times you and jack started your relationship. you were one of the lucky ones who still acted like dumb teenagers in love sometimes, even though you had baby number two on the way. 

you still didn’t know the baby’s gender. you didn’t even know why or how, because the last time you were convinced you didn’t want to know, but then woke up in the middle of the night and needed to know. it was probably amongst all the chaos you endured during this pregnancy that this didn’t seem like an important thing to know. the most important thing was that you and the baby were okay. well, as okay as you could be while still trying to battle hyperemesis, even in the later stage of pregnancy.

you were painfully aware that it was slowly coming to an end and though you loved being pregnant with your and jack’s child, the nausea, the ever growing bump, the ever active baby dancing on your bladder… you couldn’t wait to have this baby in your arms rather than in your uterus.

“baby?” jack’s voice sounded through the empty house. well not empty, but there was a certain emptiness, after dennis vacated the downstairs bedroom and bathroom.

“here,” you spoke up from the living room, putting legos together with dennis. you somehow managed to take a seat on the floor, but you’ll probably need to call the firefighters to stand you back up.

“whitaker’s all packed up and on his way to wonderland,” jack says and smartly takes a seat on the couch. a pregnant lady, a war veteran without a leg and a toddler on the floor unable to stand up would make for a funny 911 phone call.

“i’ll kinda miss him. miss the help.”

“i could take fewer shifts, you know.”

this wasn’t the first time he offered. and though you were grateful jack was willing to go to work less, you knew it was something he loved and couldn’t really stay away from even if he tried.

“no, jack. that’s fine. i can manage dennis and honestly i need to be preparing for handling another one pretty soon,” you smile and duck just in time to not let a flying lego horse hit you in the face.

“i know i’ll just be repeating myself but… you know there’s two of us right? i can always let john cover the night shift and be with all of you.”

“jack you’d go mad,” you let out a laugh. “you need the escape to the er, trust me. and once i’m done bleeding and breastfeeding i’ll take a month long vacation and you can enjoy the kids all you want.”

“i’ll pay for it.”

“duh. yes you will. i will have pushed out two kids out of my sacred lady parts by that point.”

“sacred?” jack smirks. “after everything we have done?” 

“jack! not in front of the toddler,” you gasp, covering dennis’ ears which just makes him a bit angry because it disturbs his lego building process. 

“it’s almost lunch time. i’m gonna look in the fridge and whip up something for us, what do you say?” jack says while looking at his phone.

“sounds good…”

“why do i feel there’s a but coming?”

“but… i don’t think there’s anything cookable in the fridge. i mean if we don’t want to dip cold vegetables into mustard. can we order?” you bat your eyelashes and smooth a hand over your bare bump. you know jack cannot resist this ultra sexy move.

“what were you thinking?”

“well, your son was thinking some big, fat, juicy burger might do the trick,” you give him a wide smile.

“would my daughter like fries with it too?” he retorted quickly, phone already in his hand, typing up your usual order.

“son… and the good sauce too.”

jack just rolled his eyer but you saw the way the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile. he ordered lunch for all of you and then helped you up from the floor because you needed to use the toilet for like a millionth time this day.

by the point the food arrived you were famished and when the doorbell rang, you practically ran, if it could be called that in this stage of the pregnancy, and yanked the paper bag from the deliver guy’s hands.

at the dinner table, dennis decided to disassemble his kiddie burger and eat one fry while simultaneously throwing one at the floor. your own cheeks were stuffed and jack just shook his head, big smile on his face as he watched you.

“baby have food?” dennis asked while trying to hand you a fry.

“don’t worry denny. baby’s got plenty,” you answered with a laugh and peripherally you saw jack’s shoulders shake with laughter too.

“where baby?” dennis continued with his questions.

you point to your bump, that was half hidden behind the table. “here. baby’s here.”

“no. baby,” the toddler points at himself, chewing on the meat patty that was scattered across the plate.

“yes, denny, you’re our baby too. but there’s another baby. baby sister or baby brother,” you try explaining the best way you can.

“this meaningful conversation between you and our son got me thinking. what are we gonna call our daughter?” jack chimes in when dennis gets bored of the explaining and is back to feeding himself the disassembled burger.

“or son… and i don’t know, haven’t really given it a thought.”

“so, if it’s a son… jack’s still a pretty good name.”

you deadpaned and jack just smirked.

“i know you didn’t bring this up just to suggest your own name all over again.”

“well, we kind of went rogue the last time. maybe this time it’d be good to be more prepared.”

“so what were you thinking?” you ask, licking the sauce off from your fingers and wiping them in a paper towel.

“with all the crazy names kids got these days. i was thinking something traditional might do the trick. you know my grandparents, right?”

“oh, someone’s sentimental.”

“what’s wrong with that?”

“jack, babe. i’m so sorry, i know you loved them, but i’m not naming our child after grandma or grandpa abbot.”

“why?”

“do you think being named mildred abbot or howard abbot is better than any variation of the name hailey or being named after a day of the week?”

“they’re not the worst names,” jack scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“i didn’t say that.”

“okay, so what would you choose?”

“why don’t we go for something universal? usable both for a girl or a boy.”

“like what?” jack lifts an eyebrow. the light uplift in his voice when asking sounds like he doesn’t trust you at all.

“i don’t know. something like parker.”

“wanna name our kid after ellis?”

“fu-...” you stop yourself before you swear in front of the toddler. “i forgot about that. but it was just an example, so you’d know how i meant it.”

“this is gonna be hard,” jack sighs and you laugh.

“you came up with it.”

“yeah, but i thought it was gonna be easier the second time.”

“don’t worry. i’m sure it will come to us the same way it did the first time.”

34 weeks

you felt something was different from the moment you woke up. you couldn’t really pinpoint what it was, so you went on with your morning routine as usual. jack offered to drop dennis off at daycare when he came back from work and it was also his day off, so you two met in the bathroom when he was getting ready to go to sleep and you were getting ready to start the day.

“how was your shift?” you ask drowsily as you squeeze out a toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“eventful, as usual,” jack scoffs and takes of the black scrub top, throwing it onto a pile of other black scrub tops and pants that he has to take back into the scrub machine before it runs out.

you laugh and when you start brushing your teeth, a sudden, dull ache runs through your insides. you stop, putting a hand on your belly. 

“are you alright?” jack asks, picking up on the shift in the air. you take a breath through your nose and draw your eyebrows together as you run your hand over the skin of your bump to ease the ache.

“baby, talk to me,” jack’s right behind you, hand touching your lower back.

“fine. i’m fine, it’s probably nausea, i’ll just take my meds and it will be fine,” you babble, trying not to spit toothpaste everywhere.

“are you sure? shouldn’t we go for a check up?” jack’s worried eyes meet yours and you give him a smile and a nod.

“i’m sure. the check up is in a week anyways.”

“okay. i’m gonna shower and then lay down for a while, but if something happens you just shout and i’ll be there,” jack says, gives you a quick kiss to the temple and undresses himself completely. 

you quickly finish brushing your teeth and decide against changing from the pajamas for a little more while. it’s one of the three pieces of clothing that isn’t suffocating you in the heat of the starting summer. as usual you leave your big belly out and continue downstairs to make some breakfast and fetch your nausea meds.

every step down the stairs makes your knees scream a little and you make a mental note to remind jack that you need to furnish whitaker’s old room and make it into a nursery with at least a queen sized bed as well, because you won’t be hauling yourself up and down the stairs at 40 weeks pregnant.

you find your meds and make a little breakfast to eat it with, but the dull ache comes back when you sit down. it’s like someone was squeezing your insides, not too hard, but it was there. and it wasn’t nausea really, because you could still eat. could it be braxton hicks already? wasn’t it a little too soon for that?

you take a few deep breaths, the ache subsiding again and you push the idea of braxton-hicks into the back of your mind. it definitely wasn’t that.

you finish breakfast and enjoy the quiet moments in the house, though you definitely miss having dennis around. you get a little annoyed at times, because you’re growing too slow and too tired more easily, but time with your son is always time well spent.

jack wakes up around twelve. he wasn’t much of a sleeper after his shifts. always grumbling about how it messes up his rhythm. you were surprised there even was a rhythm with his lifestyle choice. night shifts messed with a lot of people’s sleep schedule and general well-being. but jack always claimed that on his days, well, nights off, he wanted to act as normal as he could, sleeping a little after shift then surviving throughout the day and again sleeping through the night next to you like a ‘normal person’. how was he alive and without some serious heart or nervous system condition, was beside you.

unfortunately your lunch with your man is cut short when robby calls him, begging to come in and help with the never ending surplus of patients. apparently there’s been a big accident on the highway and the crushed patients never stopped coming. of course jack couldn’t say no. and you didn’t want him to.

“jack?” you approached him as he was packing up his stuff for work, grabbing some of the used scrubs and stuffing them into a plastic bag.

“yes? are you in pain again?” he turned around quickly looking you up and down, as you were standing in the doorway.

“no, no, i’m alright. can i come with you to the hospital? we could stop for coffees and muffins in that bakery y’all love. i’m sure they could use it.”

“are you sure? wouldn’t you rather lay down and rest?” he comes to you, big hand gently touching the bare skin of your belly. it’s like a warm hug and you both can feel the baby kick against the palm of his hand. smile creeps up to your face and when you look up at jack, the worry in his eyes melted away and was exchanged with softness.

“jack i’m pregnant, not gravely ill.”

“i know, baby. i just want you and baby girl to be alright.”

“or baby boy. and we are. it’s completely normal for me to experience discomfort this far along,” you put your hands on top of his that’s still caressing your bump. you let your fingers run along the knuckles of his hands, feeling the roughness. years of hard training and constant use of antiseptic doesn’t really account for the softest skin. nevertheless, you love his hands.

“i know,” he lets out a defeated huff.

“and i can pick up dennis from daycare on my way back. the walk will be good for us both.”

“sure, why not. but i want updates on everything. if something feels off, you call me first. then 911.”

“i’m not sure i should be calling 911 just for an off feeling,” you laugh.

“you’ll call them with anything. and they can take it up with me afterwards if they don’t feel like the call was reasonable.”

you make a quick stop at the bakery near the hospital and jack helps you pick up the coffees and baked goods. you both waltz, hands full, into the chaos of the er. dana spots you first as the good charge nurse she is. 

“doctors abbot incoming!” she lets everyone else know with a big smile on her face, as if the whole er isn’t crumbling down around you. but if someone can keep it from completely collapsing it’s her.

“hi dana,” you greet her with a smile and put the paper bag with the baked sweets down on the table at central. 

“still a doctor, but not an abbot. yet,” you add, flashing a look behind you where jack with the coffees has been already surrounded by his co-workers. he catches your remark and just smirks and shakes his head. 

“as if this place needed two abbots,” a laughing voice comes from somewhere behind jack and you see robby walking towards central, rubbing the antiseptic into his palms. he greets jack with a tight hug and then hugs you as well, not as tight, being aware of your growing belly.

“speaking of abbots, where’s my favourite one?”

“daycare. figured i’ll pick him up once i say hi to you all,” you gave robby a smile and let him get through to the pastries.

“really? you think that’s good idea?” robby asks, munching on a pain au chocolat. 

“somehow everybody thinks pregnancy equal being bedridden. we’re not in the middle ages anymore,” you roll your eyes, looking between both robby and jack. dana laughs from behind you.

a young girl approaches her with a chart in her hand. she’s dressed in a dark grey scrubs and her hair is very nicely braided, so your guess is she’s a new nurse. must’ve come in during your leave with dennis and unexpected conception of your second child.

“oh, emma. meet the better dr. abbot,” dana winks and introduces you to the nurse. you shake her hand as she says ‘nice to meet you’.

“nice to meet you, emma. not an abbot, but i’m stuck with one… well two… shit, three,” you surprise yourself with how many abbots you surrounded yourself with through the years. emma and dana laugh at your realizations.

“ignore me, it’s the pregnancy brain. have a coffee and a snack, i feel like you’re gonna need it. and the break room stuff is probably a few days old and disgusting,” you smile.

your good mood is interrupted by another dull ache in your stomach and your hand lands on the skin of your stomach. dana catches on immediately.

“why don’t you sit down, mama,” she pushes her own chair towards you, which makes jack go into emergency mode once again. 

“babe, what is it?”

you put a hand in the air, stopping everyone in their moves as your eyes shift to the floor. a warm sensation trickles along your inner thigh. the panic in your eyes makes everybody follow your look to the floor. there’s already a small puddle forming next to your foot.

“fuck,” you let out a breath, before another wave of dull pain ripples through your insides.

“get me a gurney!” jack commands in a loud, serious voice. then he’s right beside you, arm behind your back, supporting you.

“call someone from ob,” robby follows jack’s command and when a nurse wheels in a gurney, they both want to help you up.

“wait, ughh…” you want to speak but the pain comes back suddenly, a little sharper than before. “something’s wrong.”

“what is it, baby? are the contractions too strong?” jack asks in a lower voice, still laced with worry though. robby and dana are standing close as well, kind of shielding you from the prying eyes of the other er staff.

“no, there’s something wrong… down there,” you say in an equally low voice, not really understanding what’s going on. you just know that this is too soon from your water to break and there definitely shouldn’t be anything touching your inner thigh.

“help her up. will you let me take a look baby?” jack beckons to robby and just now you allow them to hoist you up on the gurney, slowly lying back as dana props the gurney up a bit so you’re not completely flat on your back. you nod, anxiously bending your legs at knees and you’re thankful the new nurse, emma, is right there with a blanket, throwing it over you to keep you at least some privacy. the whole er is about to witness jack checking your lady parts so the blanket isn’t much of a consolation, but you just want everything to be fine with you and the baby.

they push you out of the way, next to one of the wall and with robby and dana still shielding you from everyone, jack lifts the blanket to look what’s going on.

“baby, i have to touch you, okay?” you hear his soft voice and you just hum, clutching your belly that’s still stiff with a dull ache. you know this might be because of your water breaking and your uterus contracting to account for the sudden loss of volume inside.

you feel jack’s touch on your thigh first and then inside you. it’s not uncomfortable at first, just a bit of pressure, but then it intensifies and you shoot up, almost sitting, while jack’s other hand holds onto your knee, to stop you from moving too much.

“jack, fuck. tell me what’s going on,” you gasp and when he looks up, but doesn’t remove his fingers, you know something is definitely wrong.

“call ob. tell them we have an emergency. now,” he says with low, serious voice, not letting worry and anxiety take over him. dana’s already got the number dialed up and is talking to a nurse or midwife, you guess. 

“jack, you’re scaring me,” your lips quiver and a tears start pooling at your eyes.

“baby, i’m so sorry, i know this is uncomfortable, but…” he looks between you and his colleagues. 

“but what jack?” you urge him, voice raised a little and one of the tears escapes your eyes, streaming down your cheeks. 

“what you felt was the umbilical cord. when your water broke it must’ve prolapsed. i’m pushing against the baby’s head now, and i’m so sorry, but i have to do it so the cord’s not compressed and the baby can still get oxygen.”

“what?” your head falls back on the gurney. you’ve only ever heard of the cord prolapse in med school, never experiencing it in the er. thankfully, though. it was one of the most serious conditions in obstetrics and your head was spinning, thinking about what was going to happen to you and the baby.

“where’s the fucking ob doctor?” robby asks dana, unintentionally raising his voice at her.

as if on cue, the elevator doors open with a ding and you see a pool of people dressed in purple scrubs surround the gurney you’re on.

“hi, i’m the ob attending,” an older doctor you might recognise introduces herself to you, but you cannot bring yourself to anything else, than a nod.

“are you sure it’s prolapsed?” she asks jack, lifting the blanket as well, looking at the situation down there.

“yes, my hand is on the baby’s head, pushing. the cord’s still pulsing.”

“okay, we should move her to the or before the situation changes.”

“wait! an or?” you ask, anxiety building up even more.

“i’m sorry, doctor. the baby needs to come out right now, or you’ll both be at risk of serious complications.”

“but it’s too soon,” you sob. but it seems like no one hears you. jack is getting up on the gurney, still applying pressure and the ob people are hurriedly pushing you towards the elevator.

“don’t worry, we have the neonatologist waiting in the or. they’ll take perfect care of your baby. it’s soon, but not too soon they cannot manage,” the ob attending reassures you once in the elevator.

it all happens so quickly, you’re wheeled into the or, undressed, draped with jack still standing beside the or table. they have to put drapes over him too, because he’s not sterile but he is the essential element to keeping your baby alive. it feels like hours, but it’s probably minutes and seconds. the anesthesiologist explains that you cannot wait for epidural to work and he’s gonna have to put you under with general anesthesia. you give consent, tears still streaming down your face. the only comfort is jack’s other hand still on your knee, thumb gently caressing it.

while you wait for the doctors to scrub in, he shuffles under the drapes. 

“baby, i’m here. i will be here the whole time, make sure the baby’s okay. and i’ll be there when you wake up, our perfect baby in my arms.”

“jack i’m afraid,” you sob, rubbing your eyes with an arm that isn’t just being poked with an iv.

“i know, but we can do it. you can do it, you’re so strong, so brave.”

“if somethings happens…” your voice breaks.

“i know, baby. they’re gonna do everything they can. and i’ll make double sure of it, i mean, i have a finger on our baby’s head already,” jack tries cracking a joke that in any other situation would make you snicker, but it lays flat.

you try thinking of a reply, but the anesthesiologist tells you it’s time. they put a mask over your face and you drowse off before you can count to ten.

jack’s heart is thumping out of his chest. he didn’t want you to worry anymore with his own anxiety, but he was dying on the inside. when he took a peak after your water broke, his brain short circuited for a second, before clicking into emergency medicine doctor mode. it was way too soon for any of you to be in this or, but he tried calming himself with the fact that doctors were nowadays saving newborns even smaller than yours. only thing that kept him from collapsing on the or floor from stress, was the pressure of the baby’s head on his finger and the gentle pumping of the cord. he was going to do anything possible, to make sure the baby was getting enough oxygen.

after the anesthesiologist put you under, it took only a few seconds for the obstetric surgery team to enter the or, and another few minutes for them to reach your uterus from the incision.

“okay dr. abbot, we’re getting the baby now,” the ob attending said and he could quite literally feel the head lifting from his fingers, soon followed by the cord itself.

everything after that happened way too quickly for him to keep up from under the drapes. he didn’t hear any crying, but also no scrambling around as if there was an emergency, so that was probably a good thing?

he thought he was gonna suffocate, drapes all over him creating a warm, humid environment. but thankfully, shortly after the baby was out, a runner nurse came to his rescue, getting him out in a way everything stayed sterile and once he was thoroughly cleaned, she took him to the window from which he could watch the neonatology team work.

he couldn’t see much, basically only the staffs’ backs. he caught a glimpse of the nurse turning up the oxygen and jack tried hard not to lose it. sure, the baby was premature, but he hoped they took their first breath on their own, and just needed a little help to keep up with the new world outside the warmth and comfort of your body.

one of the neonatology nurses saw him leaning into the window and walked out, grabbing his arm, basically dragging him inside.

“doc, this is the father,” she announced when her and jack pushed into the small space. there wasn’t that much space for that many people, but the neonatologist didn’t seem to mind that much.

“perfect,” was what he said in remark to the nurse’s announcement. “congratulations! do you want to see your daughter? she needed a little help breathing and we’ll do more tests upstairs, but you can accompany her everywhere.”

“daughter?” jack’s voice cracked. he basically stopped listening to anything the doctor said after he told jack that he had a baby girl.

“yes. come here and hold her hand while we finish,” the neonatologist said and everyone promptly got out of jack’s way to let him move closer to the exam table. the eating was up to what felt like 50 degrees celsius and the flowing oxygen was silently hissing.

your daughter was perfect. she was squirming under the sharp lights, eyes closed shut and face in a grimace. and, god, she was the smallest thing jack ever saw. he lifted an arm and slowly extended a finger, touching the dark red skin of her palm. instinctively she curled her fingers around jack’s bigger one, and as if she knew that she was holding onto her father, calmed down a little.

everything came down on jack and he couldn’t fight the tears that escaped his eyes. he was so used to keeping up a decorum around the er, but he couldn’t hold onto it now. the emotions crumbled down on him and he had to rub his eyes with his free hand. peripherally, he saw the nurses give him a smile as he dried the tears off with the back of his hand.

“the nurse is gonna swaddle her up and we’ll have an incubator brought down from the department, but you can still hold her and come with us upstairs,” the doctor informed and jack nodded.

“do you have a name for her?” one of the nurses asked and jack shook his head.

“that’s fine, take your time. we can add it in at any point,” she gave a reassuring smile, her hand making contact with jack’s shoulder. he juts mumbled a silent ‘thanks’.

upstairs is quiet. it’s such a strange contrast to what’s jack used to. he’s opted to wait outside the nicu bubble, where the doctors and nurses are sorting your daughter out, making some other test and getting her all nice and warm and comfortable in the incubator. she still had a trouble breathing, so they had to administer some surfactant into her lungs and hook her up on oxygen, but other than that she’s been a fighter.

some moments after, they tell him he can go and see her again, touch her even, if he uses the antiseptic and watches the temperature in the incubator so the baby’s not too cold. he thanks the whole team again and steps into the dim lighted room. there’s one other incubator a special cover over it. the quiet is interrupted only by the turned down beeping of the machines. jack disinfects his hands, waits for them to dry out properly and then opens the small window on the side of the incubator and as gently as he can, touches the skin of the baby’s arm again. she’s sleeping, or resting, peacefully and jack tries his best to not disturb her.

soft knocks make jack turn his head around. robby is standing in the door and waves a hand.

“can i come in?”

jack nods and smiles, still touching the baby’s delicate skin.

“who do we have here?” robby asks, inspecting the chart as the doctor he is. “mhm, x abbot. didn’t peg you for the modern names type of parents.”

jack doesn’t really listen, still completely mesmerised by the little bundle of joy.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” he turns his head when he realizes robby’s teasing him.

“jack, there’s a baby in the room,” robby acts shocked at his friend’s choice of words. jack just rolls his eyes and takes the chart from his hands.

“oh right. we didn’t choose a name yet. there wasn’t really much time to decide, you see, as she decided to come somewhat early.”

“i mean, michaela is a nice name.”

“if you want to help, you could at least try and be useful,” jack scoffs and robby laughs.

“what names did you have in mind?”

“none really. but we discussed some unisex, to make it easier since we held off knowing the gender."

“what’s the other kid name?” robby waltzes over to the second incubator, taking a peak at the chart. jack just rolls his eyes again.

“we’re not stealing some other baby’s name.”

“good choice. terrance wouldn’t be the greatest choice. but hey, if a kid can be named monday, why not girl terrance.”

jack lets out a laugh.

“i’ve been thinking… spencer is nice, no?”

robby shrugs. “i guess. wasn’t that one dude from ortho called spencer?”

“you have a special talent in ruining everything nice for me,” jack deadpans.

“what’d your woman say?”

“i think she would love spencer. apart from that ortho guy, it’s also her favourite criminal mind character.”

they inform jack that you’re out of surgery and waking up soon after robby leaves him again. he’s sad he cannot take the baby with him so you can meet the perfection the two of you created, but the neonatologist said that maybe tomorrow he could and it would probably benefit the baby too, being with her mother.

robby, as the good friend and uncle he is, agreed to pick up dennis from daycare and babysit until jack could return home and take care of him.

he’s sitting at your bedside, waiting for you to wake up from your slumber. the nurse claimed you were already up, but he knew how anesthesia and strong pain meds worked. you underwent major surgery, he would sit by your bed for a whole night, if that’s how long it took.

but the universe and your liver that detoxed the anesthesia from your body were merciful to his old bones and it didn’t take long for you to stir and start opening your eyes.

“jack?” your voice cracked and he rubbed the knuckles on your hand with his thumb.

“i’m here,” he said as reassuringly as he could, without letting his own voice crack.

“baby?” you asked, eyes half closed still.

“she’s perfect,” he breathed out and had to fight tears again. happiness spread throughout his body, warming him from the inside. you were okay, your daughter was okay, dennis was cared for and he could focus on you. everything was alright.

“she?” the corner of your lips moved upwards and you smiled drowsily. you were still drifting in and out of sleep.

“yes. and when you wake up i’ll take you to her, promise,” he slowly raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing the knuckles. you smiled, properly now and nodded with your eyes closed, falling asleep again.

he sat by your bedside the whole night. texting robby occasionally, about dennis and refusing the postpartum nurse when she offered to bring him a more comfortable chair. the one where the new mothers breastfed. he refused again and again, until she grew tired of offering and let him sit in the plastic chair. he hel your hand the whole night, watching your chest rise and fall with every breath. and in the morning, he felt every damn muscle in his body. but it was all worth it, because when you woke up, the anesthesia wore off.

you demanded you needed to see your baby straight away. the doctors and nurses weren’t too happy with that, but after an intensive few minutes of persuasion, with their help, a wheelchair and a bunch of pain meds in your blood stream, jack was pushing you towards the neonatology department.

more staff was walking around the rooms and nurse’s station in the morning, but the nicu part was still as quiet as jack remembered it from yesterday. lights were still dimmed and the only sound was still made by the monitors and oxygen tubing.

he pushed the wheelchair to the incubator with your baby daughter and lifted the cover so you could see her. the doctor told him during the night, the one time he went away from you to check on the baby, that they tried taking her off oxygen and she was breathing like a champ, on her own.

you gasped when you saw her. she was so small. you kind of expected that, but seeing it with your own two eyes, was completely different. the diaper looked way too big, though you knew they made even smaller sizes for even smaller babies.

jack offered you a bottle of antiseptic and once you both disinfected your hands, he opened the small windows and you touched your daughter for the first time.

“let me introduce you to spencer abbot,” jack whispered near your ear, as both of you gently caressed your daughter’s skin.

“spencer?” you looked up, meeting his gaze. wide smile was plastered across his face.

“you wanted something universal.”

“i thought you hated spencer. dennis could’ve been spencer,” you couldn’t help but tease him a little, but your own lips were tugging with a smile.

“dennis is a much better dennis than spencer, no?”