fangirl.com

You should have known that the moment your mother brought home Titus Danforth that your life would never be the same. 

Like most mid-life crises (even if she was only 35), you thought she would have bought a super car or left you behind to go galivanting in Europe on a cruise. Somehow, that would have been easier than having to wait months after the wedding to find out that she had died suddenly. Because then you would have been able to look her in the eyes and damn her for everything she had done. 

Really, she had never been a good mother. 

Between getting pregnant with you at 20-years-old and cheating on your father before you’d been born, your life hadn’t been the easiest. It seemed like every day she found a new way to blame you for her misfortune. No matter what you did to placate her mood swings and horrible habits, you were always on the receiving end of her wrath. You’d learned at a young age to not be seen or heard especially when she had her always revolving company come by the house. 

It really wasn’t until Titus came over more than twice when you realized that your mother had farther intentions. 

Not even three months later, the two were engaged with the wedding planned in a one-month advance. 

During that time, Titus tried; he really did. He knew he’d never actually be a father to you, that was for certain. But while your mother was busy believing she was wringing his bank accounts dry, he was making sure you had someone pick you up from school, helping you with your business homework, and asking Ursula if she’d be willing to help him make sure that you’d be taken care of when he inevitably sacrificed your mother. 

He'd washed his hands of you. 

You’d be fine without him is what he told himself. 

But when he dug deeper into your family tree, a weird wash of emotion filled his chest at the empty blanks. If he didn’t stay in your life, you’d have no one. No father, no grandparents, no weird aunt and uncle who would be willing to take you in for a couple of years before you legally could be on your own. 

Titus knew what not having a mother could do to one’s psyche. Obviously, it had happened to him, and he was well aware enough to know that he wasn’t normal even without the whole devil worship and blood sacrifices. 

So, when he showed up out of the blue almost three months after he scrubbed your mother’s blood out of his finger nails, you didn’t know whether to feel relief or anger.

You settled on somewhere in the middle of bitter teenage angst and wife whose husband came back from war. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you bit, eyes blazing as you looked at Titus. “If my mother ended up running out on you and you want revenge, you’ll have to get in line.” 

Titus couldn’t help but chuckle at your spitfire. “The opposite really. I’m here to take you home.” 

Your brows pinched. “Home?” 

“Yeah, kid. Home.” 

Because apparently in that large, centuries-old book the short man had read to you after you arrived at the biggest building—is this even a house you had asked on arrival—there were no rules or hidden clauses about adopting a child after the marriage had already gone through. And in one palm slash and your name written in your own blood, you’d become a Danforth heir. 

However, that didn’t mean Titus was going to send you right into their ways. Ursula also agreed with him, even after a few arguments. If you were going to be their ward, they didn’t want to scare you off which might end in your untimely demise as well. 

They started slowly. 

You began with riding lessons, history lectures, and a few hours each day practicing fencing. Each skill they put you in, you somehow exceeded more than they thought you would. In just a few months, you were following Titus into business meetings and accompanying your aunt across the globe to deal with their assets.

Your first kill came about half a year into living with your stepfather. The game had been simple enough: a small round of tag. 

Titus was nervous when you picked up the Chinese Hook Sword with gleaming eyes. However, all jitters fled his body after you swung the weapon and effectively “tagged” the victim, the deep hook sinking into his shoulder. He almost couldn’t believe you had done so well, and pride bloomed deep in his stomach. 

And as you smiled at him, blood dripping from your coat sleeves, Titus couldn’t help but think that, yes, you were his kid. 

y/n.danforth has posted

liked by grace.jessup, tom_vance, trishA, and 3,029 others

y/n.danforth cannot wait for the weekend 🫩

view more comments

trinity.caido girl fencing almost ended me 💔

y/n.danforth tell me about it 😪 it will be too soon the next time I hear piste

trinity.caido preach preach preach

tom_vance cannot believe I got beat by a child

y/n.danforth should I send you a picture of the trophy again so you can believe it?

tom_vance you're such a brat

y/n.danforth I get it from my dad 😛

charliewilkinson please tell me you'll be at the compound for lunch tomorrow? I don't think I'll survive another meal without you

y/n.danforth Charlie I wish but my auntie and dad are taking me to Greece for the weekend

charliewilkinson boooooo bring me with you

y/n.danforth I would in a heartbeat

grace.jessup is that a new iPad......

y/n.danforth maybe 🫣

grace.jessup this is the fourth one this month

y/n.danforth you should see how many my dad goes through in a week

y/n.danforth has posted

liked by trinity.caido, charliewilkinson, wan.jin, and 2,348 others

y/n.danforth a smile would be nice 🙃

view more comments

grace.jessup girl I'm sorry to say but your dad is HAWT

y/n.danforth EW NO?

grace.jessup relax he's not even on instagram

y/n.danforth he finds out sooner or later.....

charliewilkinson can't believe you'd choose a cat over me 💔

y/n.danforth the cat is better company I'm afraid

charliewilkinson right to the heart man

trinity.caido how'd the "conference" go

y/n.danforth it went super well! dad said you could join next time too. he knows how much we enjoy going after those representatives

trinity.caido oh sick

tom_vance is your aunt single?

y/n.danforth I'm going to pray you delete this soon

Robby hadn’t meant to be away from his phone for very long, but between the chaos of July 4th and the preeminent doubts of if he’d actually be coming back after three months, the device had been farthest from his mind and even farther from his pocket. 

Even now as he towered over the bassinet, the only thing on Robby’s mind was how innocent the small creature was compared to the tons-heavy load he carried in his soul, and how both of them, two sides of the scale, had been left to face the world alone. His chest ached more than it ever did; each breath desperately pushing against his ribs like they were trying to break free. Each small sound the baby made had Robby freezing, waiting for her to cry out like she had earlier. But each time, she ended up contently sighing before stilling, wide eyes looking up at him and his sorrow ladened face. 

He couldn’t help but reach out, desperate for one more small grasp of her entire, tiny hand around the width of his finger. A small chuckle bubbled from his chest when she was quick to do what he was wishing for. 

“You have a good grip,” he muttered with a small smile. “That’s good; means you’re already so nice and strong.” His smile slowly dropped. “You’re going to be just fine.” He paused before adding, “That’s more than I can say about myself.” 

All day, he withered away under the sad stares of his colleagues. Dana had briefly mentioned that she was nervous for him, Jack tried to get him to understand that, if he gave life a chance, everything could be better, and hell, even Whitaker tried to laugh about his offering of his house—not home, because it was too sterile to be called that—if he actually never returned. But when he saw the hopelessness in Baran’s eyes after he chastised her and threatened her job, or when he saw the burning resentment build in Samira’s after he degraded her for something so normal as a panic attack, or when he saw humiliation in Frank’s after he’d pretend not to care about his once protégé who was able to get his act together far better than he would ever, Robby couldn’t help but think that, yes, they were all going to be so much better without him. 

Robby couldn’t survive without the Pitt, but the Pitt could thrive without Robby. 

Without even realizing, tears started dripping down his cheeks again. 

He tried to wipe them away with his unoccupied hand, but the streams kept coming and coming, years of stunted and repressed emotions finally coming out in waves against the sand of his skin. 

How pathetic he thought himself to be. You have friends, a job, a house, and you’re crying while this baby has no one, and she’s perfectly content to hold onto your touch-starved finger. 

It couldn’t have been a few more mere minutes of enjoying the small bit of company before the door burst open, Robby’s shoulders hunching and body tensing instinctively. But his finger stayed still in the baby girl’s finger, every ounce of his body not wanting to be the cause of more cries from her little lungs. 

His neck turned stiffly, allowing his eyes to meet Dana’s gray hues. He looked back down quickly almost to hide the state of his obvious tear-stained face. 

“Yeah, Dana?” he asked gruffly. 

If she was about to lay it on him again, then he might have to leave the room and get headed on the road before anyone could stop him from leaving. That’s where he was supposed to be. He should have left the moment his shift was over with his bike between his legs, engine rumbling as he sped down the interstate, letting his hair freely catch the wind. He shouldn’t still be in the room, letting this abandoned baby hold onto him like a lifeline, allowing her to touch his tainted hands. 

“Phone’s been ringing off the hook, Cap,” she stated, holding the device up in one hand. “Ya currently have ten missed calls and a handful of messages.” 

Robby’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know who would be calling him that much when everyone who seemed to care about him was currently within the Pitt’s walls. 

“Is there a caller ID?” he asked, spine straightening while his finger stayed still. 

“Just a number,” she responded before walking the device over to him. 

Once it was in Robby’s hand, the device fell silent under his gaze. He thumbed through the messages without unlocking the phone, but as he strolled, the generic Please call me and Please answer it’s an emergency did nothing to help his utter confusion. For a moment, he wondered if someone had the wrong number until the first message at the very bottom read Michael, please pick up.

He had barely been able to type a few words into the message bar—one handed mind you—when the phone buzzed again, the same number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate to swipe across for the call to go through. 

“This is Michael Robinavitch,” he said into the speaker. 

“Michael?” the shaky voice answered, and a small thank God followed in a whisper. 

Robby should have recognized the number, but the sound of your voice solidified his realization. However, his short-lived confusion quickly turned into deepened concern when your sob echoed in his ear and was trailed by a series of unintelligible words filled with harsh breathing and a few muffled whimpers. 

“Hey, hey,” he said. “Sweetheart, I need you to breathe.” 

Dana, who wasn’t privy to what you were saying, or at least trying to say, widened her eyes at the casual pet name that Robby said without much thought, almost like it was familiar between his teeth and tongue. 

Robby paid no mind to the charge nurse, suddenly more concerned with figuring out what the hell was going on. He couldn’t help but wince at the shuddering inhale and exhale that you took at his authority. 

“Okay, okay,” he said after a few more quiet moments. “What’s going on?” 

You whimpered again in response. “M-my ex w-was supp-supposed to—oh, fuck—” 

It hurt him to hear you so close to hyperventilating while he could only listen. “Hey,” he said a bit harder, trying to get you out of a panic. “You need to breathe before I can even try to help you with what’s going on, okay?” 

Dana got his attention with a wave of her hand. Robby looked up in time to see her mouth Do I need to call 911? to which he shook his head and mouthed back Not yet. 

When your breathing slowed a bit, you tried again. “He was supposed to be taker our—my baby to an app-appoint-appointment and now—” Another failed attempt at keeping another whimper in. “Now he doesn’t ha-have her and w-won’t tell me where sh-she is.” 

Robby’s grip on his phone tightened to the point of his knuckles going white, his eyes briefly falling to the baby who currently had fallen asleep holding onto him. 

“I-I know sometimes people take them to f-fire stations, but I called each one in the area, a-and they all said that no one’s dropped any b-babies off. Then I tried hospitals, and r-remembered you worked at one, and I just—” You inhale sounded watery this time. “Just hoped that you might h-have heard something,” you squeaked out the last bit, already biting back another sob. “I’m so-sorry for calling, but—” 

“How old is your baby, sweetheart?” he asked calmly. 

“Five weeks,” you sniveled out. “She’s five weeks today. And—oh gosh—how could this happen?” 

He could almost imagine you gripping your hair and tugging tightly at the roots as you spoke, something he knew you’d do under duress. He’d seen it happen too many times to count throughout college and well into adulthood.

“Do you know the last time he had her?” 

“He picked her up t-this morning. I’m so fucking stupid,” you hissed, voice sounding the steadiest since the call went through. “I had work, and my mom couldn’t take her so-so I thought—I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Robby leaned over the bassinet again, eyes quickly scanning the sleeping baby, finger released form her grip in order to pull her small onesie down just enough to see her shoulder. “Does she have any identifying marks?” 

The line went silent for a split second. “She has a small birthmark on her shoulder. I swear it looks like messed up puzzle piece.” 

A rush of air filled Robby’s lungs to the point he felt dizzy. Staring up at him was the exact, described mark on Baby Jane’s shoulder. The baby that he’d been spilling his woes to was your baby, belonging to the girl who’d truly had his heart for years. 

“Sweetheart—” he began before you interrupted him. 

“I’m so sorry for calling so much, but I thought that if anyone knew anything, it’d be you.” 

Robby held the phone silently to his ear. You could have called anyone: the police, the main line, other hospitals where they might not have taken you seriously. Instead, after calling the firehouses with the drop boxes, you called him.

“Earlier today,” he started, his voice now on the edge of also being shaky, “one of my nurses found a baby in the waiting room.” 

Robby kept the part about where exactly in the waiting room she was found in to himself. He closed his eyes at your sudden, hopeful gasp. 

“A heathy, happy, and unharmed baby we estimated to be around six weeks.” He paused. “She has the mark, sweetheart. I think we have your baby here.” 

_______________________

You knew you probably looked like an escaped insane asylum patient. 

Wide eyes, trembling hands, hair messed up from pulling on it one too many times: all the wonkiness of your appearance was just a physical manifestation of hours upon hours of stress beyond measure. You tried to reign it in, but ever since Robby confirmed that your spiteful ex, in attempts to push you over the edge, had abandoned your baby all while you were working, your emotions were close to bursting out of skin. 

Somehow though, you managed to wade through the crowd waiting to be seen and get to the plexiglass shielded clerk desk without startling anyone. The kind woman behind the shield smiled up at you. 

“What brings you in, honey?” 

Your fingers twirled the ring around your pointer. “I’m here to see Michael Robinavitch?” 

Robby hadn’t told you where to come in, and even if he had, your head spun so fast that most of the words he said after I think we have your baby here was everything but audible past the roar of blood in your ears. You’d jumped into your car and drove straight here. And even if he had reassured that your baby was unharmed, you couldn’t be convinced until she was back in your arms. 

The woman had barely opened her mouth to answer before the door to your right clicked opened with Robby’s hand splayed widely against the metal and his body standing in the space between the waiting room and the ER. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You wanna come with me?” he asked, eyes filled with a soft kindness that had your tummy flipping.

You could barely contain the bob of your head as you walked over. Without even thinking much, you took a handful of Robby’s green pull over. Robby either didn’t care or didn’t notice since he said nothing while he took deliberate steps toward the room that had been housing the baby since there hadn’t been any room in the pediatric ward. 

He held the door open, and you quickly slipped past him, stopping just a few feet inside when you noticed the room wasn’t completely empty. A blond woman was currently hovering over the medical bassinet, however, she looked up at the sound of the door opening, her mouth stretching into a small smile. 

Robby let the door shut behind him, placing his hand on the small of your back before introducing you to the woman. “Dana’s our dayshift charge nurse. She made sure that if your baby needed anything, she’d get it.” 

You nodded mutely, slightly taken back by how sure Robby said your baby like something inside him subconsciously knew that she belonged to you and you alone. 

“You have a fine baby here,” Dana said, voice twanged with an accent. “Spent all day being loved on by our staff and taking naps between.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, not taking your eyes off the squirming baby. “Can I?” 

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Robby murmured with a soft push. 

Your steps were ginger and quiet as you walked closer. The moment your eyes traced her familiar features, a quiet sob bubbled through your lips. At the sound, your baby turned her head, small eyes tracking your face, even if you knew all she could probably see was a large blob. It wasn’t long until your hands were gently sliding under her neck and bottom and lifting her close to your face. You couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief as you nuzzled into her soft cheek. 

Apparently, the feeling was familiar enough that it made the baby smile slightly. She grunted and cooed against you as your hold readjusted her onto your chest. Her small hands immediately clenched fistfuls of your shirt while her head stayed pressed to your front. 

Robby and Dana couldn’t help but smile when you began to sway and gently press kisses onto her small head. 

“Hi, Shelly,” you muttered, nose taking in so much of her baby scent. “My sweet baby.” Your eyes watered to the point even a few blinks didn’t clear up your eyesight. You kept her close as you spun to face the other two occupants of the room. “Thank you both so, so much.” 

Dana smiled warmly. “We’re just glad she has a home.” Her grey eyes subtly glanced at Robby. “Now, I’m going to find our social worker, and get you some paperwork before you can take your little one home.” 

Your grip tightened ever so slightly. “Social worker?” 

Robby was quick to answer. “Just part of the process of getting her home. How bout I stay with you while Dana here gets all that in order.” 

With another nod of your head, the blond slipped out the door, leaving you and Robby alone with your baby, whose eyes were currently looking right over in his direction, something you didn’t miss at all. 

“She’s looking at you,” you softly said, eyes downcast at the top of her head. “Must mean she likes you.” You looked up at him. “Michael, I just can’t begin to thank you—” 

You stopped when he held up a hand. 

“No need,” he interrupted. “It’s all part of my job, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, well, you stayed on the phone with me and talked me out of a panic. I count that as something.” 

Robby took a step closer, his right shoulder leaning a bit on your left as he looked down at her. “You made a very cute baby. Can’t believe how much time has passed since . . .” 

You glanced up over your shoulder and into his brown, sad eyes. “It has; hasn’t it? What are you up to? Other than running an emergency department, I mean. You used to talk about doing so all the time, but you must have a hobby or something.” 

He hesitated because, really, other than the ER he had nothing, meanwhile it seemed like you had done everything that he wanted: have a partner, get married, build a family. With a shake of his head, he rid himself of those thoughts. His hand rose and scratched at the back of his neck, blunt nails digging into his skin. 

“Other than my upcoming sabbatical, I don’t have very much going on,” he replied, voice tired and worn beyond anything you’d ever heard. 

“Oh.” You finally turned around fully, Shelly now the only thing between the two of you. “Well then, I must insist you come over for dinner. I know it’s late and that you have plans, Micheal, but please.” With all of Shelly’s weight in one arm, you gently rested your other hand on his bicep. “For us?” 

Now, truly, there was a lot that could make Micheal Robinavitch say no. Plans made between residents for drinks after shift were always politely declined, women who got the hots for the doctor title were horribly left on read after the second date, and urges to go to therapy by his closest friend were quickly shoved into his back pocket. 

However, one of the few things that could actually break his will power was the soft look you were giving him right now. The one that made it seem like the large gap of years hadn’t passed at all. The one he always thought was full of love before the two of you found different paths to take. 

He found himself agreeing before his brain even caught up. “Dinner sounds great.” 

And if he could keep that shining smile on your face for a bit longer, Robby decided that he’d stay for as long as possible just to see you look up at him like that.  

_______________________

Dinner, in his opinion, was the best meal he’d eaten in a long while. Between the sabbatical countdown and endless shifts that only gave him a few minutes to shove a bite of protein bar between his teeth, Robby was never one to make dinner or meal prep once he went back to his house. The walls were there only to shield him from the outside as he slept fitfully. 

But here in your home—home not house, because obviously you made the building into something warm—he found himself wishing he could stay forever. You had even let him hold onto Shelly while you cooked, letting your baby sleep against his heart like she’d known his feeling for ages. His big hands almost engulfed her entire, tiny body, and he caught you looking his way several more times than he thought necessary. 

Robby hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time you put Shelly down to sleep, he was sunken into your couch with his glass from dinner, and you were tucked into the opposite corner. The sky outside held no indication that the sun was still visible, and he knew that his time with you was slowly winding down. 

“I should probably head out,” he mentioned with a sigh, like saying that was physically hurting him. 

He tried to ignore the small frown that tugged on your mouth. 

“But it’s so dark out already,” you replied. 

“Fine by me. There’ll probably be fewer cars out there on the road if I leave soon instead of waiting for the morning.” 

“Oh.” 

Robby hated the way that sounded in your mouth. You quickly looked around your house almost as if you were trying to find something that’d make him stay. For that, he made no action to actually move from his spot on in the cushions. 

You finally gave up and looked down into your glass. “You know, it’s okay to ask.” 

He knew what you meant. Throughout the night, he tried his best to not to bring up the man that all but threw your baby away while she had a perfectly good home waiting for her. The social worker had made sure to tell him that there were definitely no signs of abuse or neglect on your side, and a flood of relief and a knowing understanding had bloomed beneath his ribs. He knew you’d never put that baby girl in danger from the way you were so heartbroken about not knowing where she had been for the entire day. But a thorn of concern had buried itself into his side. 

“I didn’t want to overstep,” he replied after a moment of quiet. “But . . .” he trailed, giving you the space to fill in. 

“Me and Brandon met soon after we parted ways. Thought that he was the one for me; you knew I’ve always wanted a family.” Your arms wrapped around your middle. “We got married, had a nice few years without kids before we even began to start trying.”

In a split second, all Robby wanted to do was scoop you up into his arms 

Your pointer finger picked at your thumb. “We had some complications, had a few miscarriages, and I completely gave up.” 

This time, Robby did unfold his arms and gesture for you to scooch closer. You quickly pushed yourself out of the dip and into his chest, sighing softly when you rested against him. 

“I thought that I’d never get to be a mother until last year. I guessed that the pregnancy wouldn’t last and then the next thing I know she’s in my arms.” 

He felt the way you tensed before relaxing. “We finally had her.” You paused before adding. “And then I found out that he’d been cheating on me for months. I should’ve seen the signs when he missed pretty much all of my appointments.” 

You looked up at Robby, and he was already looking down at you as well. 

“You didn’t deserve any of that, sweetheart,” he muttered, chest rumbling in loathe and a dash of jealousy. “He’s a fucking son of a bitch for that.” 

If you were his, he would have been there for you at every moment, every scan, every fucking second by your side, his hand in yours. 

You hummed in agreement. “I’m just glad I didn’t pick the name he wanted.” 

Robby cocked his head, a smirk lacing his mouth. “Oh yeah? Was it going to be something stupid like Brandon Junior?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you giggled. “He wanted Brenda. There was no way he was going to win though; she’s my baby.” 

“Well, I think you picked the sweetest name. Shelly suits her.” 

You bit down on your lip, not knowing if you should say the next thing on your mind. But having Robby be your personal back rest, you couldn’t keep it in anymore. 

“Shelly’s just her nickname. Her full name is Michelle.” You looked up at Robby expectantly, but he just kept looking at you with that soft expression. You smiled at him, hand raising to gentle rest against his beard.  “Michael, her name’s Michelle.” 

It was almost as if all air was sucked out of his body. 

“Michelle?” he croaked. “Why-why?” 

“Because maybe I wanted to keep a piece of you, the man who believed in me and listened to all my dreams, even if I can’t have you.” 

Robby blinked slowly, lips loose from his drink. “You can have me.” 

“You’re about to go on your trip, Michael. I’m not going to keep you here, somewhere you don’t want to stay, just because I finally found you again.” You tore your eyes away from his. “I can’t be that selfish. Even I can see how much you’re hurting.”

You expected him to push you off. You expected him to slam out the door. You expected him to drive off and never turn back. 

What you didn’t expect him to do was take your hands in his and hold them and keep you against him. 

“I’ll come back,” he whispered into the small space between you two. “I’ll come back to you.” 

Your head shook. “I can’t ask that of you. I can’t—” The sentence died between your lips and Robby’s finger gently pressing against your mouth. 

“Listen to me, sweetheart. For years, I’ve been looking for a reason to stay, to live. I’ve tried to find that reason, and I had pretty much given up on finding something like that.” His eyes glossed over in blink. “But the moment you walked through the doors, the moment you held your baby, the moment you invited me to dinner, and the moment you let me hold you, I finally found my reason.” 

Words escaped your mind at his confession, and the only next logical thing to do was sit and mull over his words. However, when dealing with Robby, all logic flew out the window just as you pressed your lips against his in a desperate motion.

Robby was quick to reciprocate, his hands cradling your cheeks just as he’d cradled your daughter, who you chose to share his namesake in your darkest moments. His thumb brushed away the slight wetness growing under your lashes. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt and held strongly, and your torso twisted to press your front against his. 

You pulled back slightly, face staying within Robby’s hands. “Stay,” you breathed. “Stay.”

His nose brushed against yours as he nodded. “I’ll stay.” 

When Jack’s phone rang two hours before your shift was supposed to be over, he thought the worst. 

Robby wasn’t one to call him in asking for a favor of an extra shift, always strict with keeping the day shift and night shift separated for the benefit of everyone’s sleep schedule. In all his years in working at the Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center, Jack had only been called in on his day off fewer times than he had fingers. If a mass casualty—like Pittfest—happened, he probably would have already known about it through the small police scanner he kept on his kitchen counter. 

So the fact that no blaring alarm had gone through and his phone was ringing, there were really two worst case scenarios he could think of: something had happened to Robby, or something had happened to you. 

You, his daughter, and Robby, his best (and probably only) friend, were the only two people Jack knew of who had him down as their emergency contact. 

The number flashing across his screen wasn’t one he recognized, the sight adding to the tumultuous worry that was currently racing through his chest. He barely reached the device before it went straight to voicemail and brought it up to his ear. 

“Abbot speaking,” he spoke into the phone, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Dr. Abbot? This is Trinity Santos,” the feminine voice responded. 

Jack’s shoulders hunched a bit as he turned to lean his back against the marble of his kitchen counter. Even through the layer of his shirt, panicked goosebumps littered his skin from the intrusion of the chill. 

“H-Hey, Santos,” he stuttered, mentally cursing himself. “Sorry, I didn’t have your number saved.”

The apology was weak, and really, he should have been asking what was wrong instead of making small talk with a resident he barely knew outside of handoffs and the couple times you brought her over for a movie night where he chose to retreat back to his room instead of joining on the couch. 

“I didn’t expect you to.” 

Jack closed his eyes, and his body braced for impact. “What’s up?” 

Was that the best he could do? “What’s up” when there might be an emergency involving the two people that kept him tied to the earth instead of joining his wife in the sky? 

For a moment, it was only Trinity’s breathing that crackled through his phone, almost like she was also preparing for something unseen. 

“It’s Y/n,” she finally said. 

Medically speaking, hearts only ever stop when a person is having a heart attack. And when that happens, medical intervention is needed to get it pumping again before that person dies. But where Jack was standing, arm bent enough for him to grasp onto the counter with white knuckles, he swore his heart stopped completely before resuming beneath his sternum. 

“Is she—” He couldn’t even say the words. “Is she okay?” 

“If I said she was okay, I’d probably be lying,” Trinity confessed. “But today has just been really . . . bad.” 

A flood of relief slightly overwhelmed the panic enough for Jack to take a full breath. Trinity wasn’t talking like you were dead; that had to count for something.

“Did something happen?” he pressed while abandoning his post by the counter in favor of heading towards his bedroom. 

“Her chronic-illness patient died this morning.” 

Jack paused, the sight of the small girl you’d been trying to help, the one who’d been to the Pitt off and on for months, flashing across his eyes. This time, his heart didn’t stop, but it did clench painfully at the thought of you going through that so early this morning. 

“And she’s had to change her scrubs twice. You know the set she’d been excited about for months?” 

He hummed; he knew what set she was talking about. You’d been so excited to the point you had talked his ears off for days before you finally were able to buy the limited color when it released on whatever website offered the items. 

“She was helping a domestic violence case, blood got all over it. Police had to take both the top and pants for evidence.” 

“What happened to her back up pair?” 

“One of the med students bumped into her when she was holding her coffee. The cup splashed all over her.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Trinity clicked her tongue. 

“Anything else?” 

She paused. “Park yelled at her.” 

Jack’s hand tightened around the phone. “For what?” 

“Paramedics hadn’t packed a guy’s foot correctly on the way over; so, she tried to reset it correctly, but—” 

“He thought she did it.” 

“Dr. Abbot, I’ve never seen her cry during a shift before today. And it’s not like Park’s never an asshole, but he didn’t have basically rip her a new one in front of everyone when it wasn’t even her fault in the first place.” 

Jack was already reaching for a sweatshirt from his closet, stuffing it down into his bag with one hand while the other remained holding his phone to his ear. His prosthesis had already been put on as a just in case incident, and Jack was thanking whoever was listening for that gut feeling. Limbering back into the kitchen, he grabbed the keys to his truck from the bowl on the edge of the counter, something you’d wanted to get after seeing one of those TikTok videos about a purse bowl—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. 

“Where is she now?” Jack questioned after getting the call connected to the Bluetooth. 

“That’s what I was calling you about,” Trinity muttered. “We can’t find her. Dr. Robby checked all the rooms; Dana’s been trying to call her cell. I thought maybe she’d be in one of the supply closets or in the bathrooms, but . . .” 

His heart clenched again. 

He knew you. Whenever you’d hurt, whenever you’d cry, whenever you’d need to just get away from the world, Jack knew you’d find a place away from prying eyes, a small coping mechanism you’d picked up on whenever he himself would flee the room the moment his eyes stung. Abbots weren’t known to publicly show emotions, especially after the loss of his wife and your mother. It was always I’m fine and I’m not crying and Could you excuse me for just a moment.

Trinity—he could tell—was close to panicking by the way her breathing changed, and the way her next few sentences came out shaky. 

“I’m worried. I’ve seen her with bad days before, but today’s been different. It’s like she’s close to giving up.” 

Jack’s foot pressed the gas a bit more, engine straining and pushing the truck to move the tiniest bit faster, like getting to the Pitt could at least ease the tightness he had in his chest. As the city passed by in waves of blurred lights and buildings, a moment of clarity washed over Jack thought he couldn’t tell if it was closer to relief or dread. 

“The roof. Have you checked the roof?” 

_______________________

You hadn’t meant to stand there for so long, but every time you thought about going back down, going back to that trapped feeling, you’d stayed, feet glued to the concrete and eyes unwavering from the building tops. 

Being on the roof felt the most freeing you’d felt since walking through the doors to begin your shift almost twelve hours ago. 

You’d thought today would have been a good day. Dad had made breakfast before you left, your playlist shuffle on the way over felt perfectly curated, and the first few hours of patients walking out the doors with gratefulness dripping from their lips convinced you that nothing could go wrong. 

That had been your first mistake, because in emergency medicine, good days never went by without a little grief—or in your case, a lot of it. 

Kassy, the 9-year-old who’d seen more hospital than her own bedroom, had been brought in during the third hour of your shift and wasn’t even able to leave the building. You could still feel her failing chest and cracked sternum under your hands if you thought about it for more than a second. Her parents had been understanding; you’d been devastated, believing you could have done more. 

But duty called, and you knew you had to leave every ounce of regret at the threshold of the door to her room. Easier said than done, because the next case, a younger woman, who came in with a stab wound, panicked so much about the anger of her partner that she rolled off the gurney, right into your arms, her blood instantly soaking through your scrub top and pants. 

The stain should have been manageable, a little cold water and vinegar always seemed to do the trick, if it weren’t for the officers following and asking for the contaminated matching set as pieces of evidence against her attacker. You watched in a disappointed fog as they stuffed your clothes into a plastic bag that you probably would never get back. 

A coffee, you had settled your mind on, was always a good choice to make your day a smidge better. Nothing sounded as good as the warm liquid mixed in with enough cream and sugar to be cavity inducing. You’d made the concoction after changing into your spare set of scrubs, albeit they weren’t the ones you’d wanted to wear, but they would work just fine. 

Well, that was until a meandering med student walked right into you, their eyes more focused on the tablet in hand than where they were walking. 

Scrub change number two came soon after, but unlike your personal scrubs, the hospital provided ones always sad wrong. They were itchy, tight around your neck, arms, and thighs but way too loose in the torso and waistline. 

Now, you weren’t superstitious, so granted, you thought the worst of the day had passed. The morning could be filled with sorrows, but you still had the afternoon to make up for it. 

An incoming leg trauma straight from a construction site was just the push of adrenaline you needed. The paramedics had rolled him right through, Robby had grabbed you to assist, and the two of you (plus the nurses) were well on your way to get this guy approved for an orthopedics consult before surgery. You held onto those hopes until halfway through the observation when you noticed his foot was tilting a few degrees too far inward. Mentally cursing whoever set the foot wrong, you had gingerly reached out for the foot to set it correctly, however, the moment your hands were on the appendage, Park decided that was the moment to walk through the door. 

His eyes narrowed, mouth already opening and throwing insults your way when all you wanted to do was help. 

Normally, you would have pushed back, would have stood your ground and defended yourself. But already drowning in the emotional weight of the day, you stood there, eyes cast downward as he went on and on about how you should have known better, should have done better. 

Pretty much the entire floor was witness to the public execution and the tears that ran down your cheeks. 

When he finished, you had simply nodded, promised to do better the next time, and silently slipped through the doors. 

Trinity had caught you by the arm, and her eyes widened at the red of your own that just wouldn’t stop welling up no matter how hard you were trying to keep them dry. Softly, she had asked if you were okay, like any normal concerned friend would ask. 

You wondered, while standing on the roof, body shivering at the chill wing, if that had been your breaking point, because you hadn’t been truly okay in years.

Would someone who was okay throw their life into emergency medicine? 

Would someone who was okay deal with their grief in a mature and emotional way and not run from the dark feelings each time they grew too painful to deal with?

Would someone who was okay be standing at the edge of a roof after a seemingly impossible shift? 

Answering any of those questions would decide if you were okay, and you ran instead facing the feelings that had been churning since you walked through the Pitt’s doors. 

“You’re in my spot.” 

You’d know that voice anywhere, but instead of answering, you uselessly wiped a hand under your eyes. Nothing in that moment seemed more humiliating than letting your dad see you cry after a hard shift. 

Jack stayed still a couple feet away. He had been assuming that he’d find you on the other side of the railing like he had with Robby a few months ago, ready to take one too many steps forward, stethoscope hanging like an unwritten goodbye letter. But when he quietly opened the door, he breathed a bit easier when he noticed that you’d chosen to stay behind the metal. 

“Heard you had a pretty bad shift, kid. Wanna talk about it?” he asked, taking another step closer. He pursed his lips when you failed to answer again. “Santos called me. Said she was worried for you.” 

“She shouldn’t have,” you finally muttered, passing another unsuccessful wipe across your face. “I’m fine.” 

“You know, you keep using fine, but I don’t think it means what you think it means,” he replied. 

A ghost of a smile tugged on your lips at his attempt to quote from Princess Bride, a movie he had actually stayed for and enjoyed more than he would ever realize. 

“It’s okay to not be fine, kid. You know that,” he said, voice a little louder in your ears now that he was standing beside you. 

You didn’t flinch when his arm draped across your shoulders, muscles tensing as he drew you into his side. The smell of his cologne, all warm and comforting in the way only your dad could make you feel, brought more tears to your eyes. However, this time, you let them fall freely. Jack couldn’t help the coo that pushed through his lips when you tried harder to tuck yourself into his chest. 

“I know today was hard,” he whispered into your hair. “And I’m so sorry. Hell, I had half a mind to rip Park a new one on my way up.” 

“I would have paid money to see that,” you said. “I think anyone would to see him get knocked down a few pegs.” 

“I bet they would.” 

You stayed quiet for a few moments after, letting your body soak in the peace and calm that Jack always seemed to carry extra of. Nothing would ever be better than a hug from your dad, the one big constant in your life that you could always count on. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand rested against the back of your head. 

“I need to get back down and get my patients discharged,” you said, breaking the silence of the roof once more. 

Jack let you slowly back away, but he still kept you within reach. “Next time you have a shift from hell, please let someone know where you’re going before you sneak off. Santos nearly gave me a heart attack when she said Robby and Dana also didn’t know where you’d gone.” He pushed a stray hair away from your face. “I can’t lose you too, kid.” 

You nodded, understanding the heaviness of his words. “I will. Promise.” 

“Good.” He held eye contact and gestured with his head back toward the door. “Let’s go finish discharge so we can get out of here.”

Your eyes widened. “Don’t you have work in like—what—a hour?” 

He shook his head. “I called off. Can’t have my girl feeling down when I can do something about it.” 

For the first time that day, hope rushed through your body, and you found yourself bringing him back into an unexpected hug. However, Jack was quick to squeeze you against his front again. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice watery. 

Jack rested his cheek against the top of your head. “Any time, kid. Any time.”   

Brett Richards

Jack Abbot

Grant Reilly

Andrew "Pope" Cody

Titus Danforth

Charlie Reid

Terry McCandless

Sammy Bryant

The end of your shift couldn’t come soon enough. 

In the span of twelve hours, you’d been doused in bodily fluids twice, hit on by a creepy old drunk who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, passively dismissed by Robby after he deemed you “too slow” for a trauma (when in reality, the med student next to you was the one who wouldn’t hand you the damn tube), and had your lunch stolen when it clearly had your name written on it—four times might you add. 

To top the whole very bad day off, your husband hadn’t responded to the messages you had sent hours ago asking if he’d be back in time to pick you up because the forecast called for rain, and like all bad days had gone, your car basically gave up the ghost the moment you parked it in the employee lot. 

So, you were almost scrub-less, uncomfortable, embarrassed, and so starving you almost thought about paying an insane price for a small Uber-ed meal before you also realized that the app hadn’t saved your information and your card was currently sitting on the kitchen counter. 

Just what you needed. 

The groan, along with the rumbles of your stomach, caused many heads to turn. 

“Is there a stampede in here? Or is your stomach in the process of eating itself,” Dana asked, though her eyes didn’t leave the nurses’ board. 

Your head landed next to the keyboard with a loud thunk. “I think my stomach tried to eat itself a couple of hours ago before realizing that it was completely empty.”

“I saw you brought lunch. Where’d that go?” 

If glares could put someone six feet under, the one you were giving your computer should have imploded it. “Currently being digested in the stomach of a med student.” 

“Good Lord. You poor thing.” 

“Tell me about it. I’d been dreaming of those leftovers since last night!” 

Dana gave you a knowing look. “Did your husband cook it?” 

“Yep.” Your chair squeaked as you leaned back. “And I didn’t even get to enjoy it for the second time. He’s going to be pissed.” 

“Who’s going to be pissed?” Trinity asked, already leaning on the counter like getting closer to you would make the gossip flow over. “Cause if you’re talking about Dr. Robby, that ship sailed around 2:30.” 

You closed your eyes and ran a hand down your face. “Trust me; I already know he’s pissed off at the world. I’ve been on the receiving end of that way too much today.” 

She gave you a sympathetic wince. “I heard about that.” 

“Who hasn’t,” you muttered with a harsh snort. 

That was the other thing that had added to your humiliation. Robby hadn’t just quietly dismissed you or corrected you after the trauma, no, he rather loudly decided to spew his personal thoughts about your work ethic in front of not just your coworkers but also the patient’s family who were there for moral support. Blatant strangers had a front seat to watch your attending rip into you all while it hadn’t even been your fault. 

Just thinking about it brought another heated flush up your neck. 

“To answer your question, her husband’s the one who’s going to be pissed,” Dana filled her in while rewriting a name. “He’s very particular about who gets to eat his food.” 

Another groan rumbled your chest. “Med student didn’t even return the Tupperware. Now he’s going to be extra pissed at that.” 

For a small second, Trinity looked almost nervous. “Will you be okay?” 

Her concern made a small feeling of comfort and pride bloom in your chest. If there was one person you could count on other than your family and Dana, it was Trinity, never hesitating to step in if she even thought someone didn’t feel safe. You shot her a grateful smile. 

“Oh, I’ll be perfectly fine. He’ll be mad sure, but not at me. We’ll just pray that he won’t spot the student that did it.” 

“Amen to that,” Dana muttered. “He’s like your personal guard dog.” 

“Are we going to add that guy who tried to touch your ass earlier?” Trinity teased, and your eyes widened. 

“Definitely.” You nodded along. “Might as well add Robby to it too. My husband isn’t that fond of him already. I just wish he’d respond to my messages.” 

Dana gave you a knowing look. “He at work today?” 

“Yeah. There was a problem with one of the houses a few hours out, and he left before I was even out of bed. Said there was a contract breach, kissed me good morning, and drove off.” 

“That’s oddly sweet,” Trinity added. 

You couldn’t help the fond smile that grew on your face. “Even made my coffee for me. I found it with one of those little post-it notes stuck to it.” 

“Didn’t know he was into doing stuff like that,” Dana said with a small laugh. 

“You know how he is,” you replied. “The man’s love language is acts of service.” 

Trinity smiled. “What does he do for work?” 

Your fingers found the keyboard again while you answered. “He’s a relator and contractor. Usually, he works from home, but like today, he sometimes has to go out and inspect the houses or make sure the paperwork is in order.” 

“Sounds like you got yourself a stay-at-home husband.” 

You couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah. He actually really likes to do the house work. Plus, when I’m home, all I’m doing is sleeping.” Your eyes caught your wedding band. “He’s really good to me. Plus, he’s Jack’s—” 

“Ladies, if we have time to chat, we have time to work,” Robby’s voice interrupted the conversation, loud and on the very edge of condescending. “Especially you, Dr. Cody. Let’s focus on getting patients in and out instead of sitting around, yes?” 

You swallowed down an annoyed sigh, instead choosing to stand up without a word. Hating the way you felt under Robby’s glare almost made you want to put in a two-week notice and move departments. However, emergency medicine was your life; it was the sole reason you met the people who quickly became your family, the reason you met your husband. Your fingers quickly found your wedding band, specially made of the number of diamonds that symbolized how long you and your husband had been dating before he proposed. 

Grabbing another tablet quickly, you forced yourself to hold your head up high as you passed him. Robby wasn’t worth your fear or submission. Plus, it wasn’t like he never talked around; you’d caught him and the hospital’s case manager making small talk way too many times to count. The man was a hypocrite that couldn’t see past his own faults and projected them onto his employees.   

By the time you rounded the corner, and Robby had vacated the station, Trinity leaned in toward Dana a bit more. 

“Is there any way to contact her husband? She mentioned her car died, and it’s raining.” Trinity looked in the direction you had disappeared down. “If I were married and my boss talked to me like that, I’d want my partner to know.”  

Dana had already picked up her personal cell after Trinity’s first question. “Oh, I’ll make sure he knows.” 

_______________________

When you exited the patient’s room, you paused a few feet into the hallway, rubbed your eyes, and continued to stare at the nurses’ station. 

Dana being there with Trintiy and Dennis was nothing out of the ordinary. However, the added presence of Jack Abbot and your husband was. You hastily crossed the gap between you and the station, concern etching itself in your eyebrows and lips. 

“Andrew?” you called out. “What are you doing here?” 

At the sound of your voice, Andrew Cody turned his head so rapidly that it added another wave of worry that he might have pulled something. He stayed still, even when you stopped in front of him, as your hands gently ran up his arms and stopped at his face all while the small group watched on with small smiles (from Jack and Dana) and genuine curiosity (from Dennis and Trinity). 

“You’re supposed to be in Altoona right now. Did you get hurt?” you questioned when your eyes couldn’t find any visible injuries. 

He stayed silent while his hands quietly found yours, fingers threading between the gaps and holding you steady. 

“I’m fine,” he finally said, hazel eyes boring into yours. “Just missed you.” 

A relieved exhale escaped from your lips. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second.”  

His crooked teeth poked through a smile. “I could tell.” 

You softly pushed him before taking his hands again. “Shut up. You went hours without responding and just show up at the end of my shift. God forbid I’m concerned for my husband.” 

“See, man, I told you she’d do this,” Jack grumbled, patting Andrew slightly on the shoulder. 

“Um, not to interrupt, but did Dr. Cody marry someone who looks exactly like Dr. Abbot?” Dennis squeaked out a question, obviously trying not to step over a boundary. 

But like a sister, Trinity nudged him harshly with her elbow. “Use your brain, Huckleberry. It’s obvious they’re related somehow.” 

The two continued looking between the Pitt’s night shift attending and your husband who looked like Jack if he were ten years younger. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you early, Trinity,” you said. “My husband is Jack’s cousin on their moms's side. Andrew, this is Dennis and Trinity.” 

Andrew didn’t reach out to give them a handshake, but the appreciated nod he gave them was somehow enough. “She talks about you two a lot.” 

Trinity looked smug by the news. “All good things I hope.” 

“Definitely,” he answered. “I can tell she likes working with you two.” 

“Which is more than he can say about Robby,” Dana muttered. 

The change in Andrew, just by mentioning Robby, was so visceral that Trinity and Dennis were both shocked. 

In the few moments, the two could see how soft this hunking-fridge-of-a-man was for you. They saw it in the way he was quick to hunch over slightly when you looked him over with worry. They noticed it in the way he held onto you when he reassured you that he was only there for her and not because he had gotten hurt. They noted the way his soft smile was only for you and not even for when his cousin jested with him. 

Dana’s words from earlier rang in Trinity’s mind as she watched Andrew’s muscles tense beneath his polo. 

He’s like your personal guard dog.

Andrew shifted his weight, shoulders now seemingly broader than they had been. “Did something happen today?” 

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “It was nothing. He’s just being Robby.” 

Surprisingly, Andrew’s eyes flitted over to Trinity like he knew she’d tell him exactly what he wanted to know. “What’d he do?” 

Trinity looked at you once, and when you looked toward the floor, she answered. “He blamed her for a med student’s slow pace. Practically yelled at and belittled her in front of the other doctors in the trauma room and the patient’s family.” 

Even Jack couldn’t hold back the wince splashing across his face at the news, mind already knowing that in five seconds, his cousin might be on a war path for his friend. However, all Andrew seemed to do was take in a deep breath and hold onto your hands like a tether. 

“All right,” he finally said, body still tense. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”

“Someone took her lunch,” Dana added, drawing your eyes from the floor to her, hues flooding with betrayal. 

Et tu, brute? 

“Dana,” you hissed. 

Andrew’s grip on your hands tightened. 

In an almost attempt to throw more gas onto an already raging fire, Trinity ended with, “And she had a patient try to grope her earlier this morning.” 

Andrew’s eyes closed slowly like he was bracing for a fit of rage to overtake his senses, his mind already racing with the fact that you probably hadn’t eaten, because when he stopped by the house to change, he saw your forgotten card. Add in you almost getting assaulted, and he was one wrongly pulled Jenga block from collapsing. 

You closed your eyes and braced for impact, already feeling the brunt of the day push down on you. They only fluttered open when Andrew didn’t move, his chest the only thing heaving in an out and in motion. Somehow, that didn’t ease the queasy feeling bubbling beneath your skin. And at that moment, Robby decided to round the corner. Like most men, you guessed that he hadn’t picked up on the tension cloud that was currently circling around the station and—more importantly—Andrew’s head. 

When Robby walked into his field of view, you swear you saw the lovely hazel of his eyes darken. It should have scared you how quickly Andrew could go from your sweet and doting husband to a very possessive animal, but instead, the change had you relaxing and relieved. If there was someone you could count on for anything no matter what, that person would always be Andrew. 

And maybe (finally) Robby sensed enough tension, because his body went stiff after he looked up from the tablet in his hands and met Andrew’s eyes. 

Trinity and Dennis really thought that your husband was going to stalk over there, throw a punch, menacingly bark curse words and insults at Robby (a man who had a few good inches to tower over Andrew), and walk back over like nothing happened. But when he stayed put, only giving a beady stare that never wavered, they realized that he didn’t even have to talk to Robby or punch him for his words to get across. 

They knew that Andrew was making Robby uncomfortable by the way Robby shifted, the way he broke eye contact first, and the way he left the station looking like a dog with a tail between its legs.  

Jack let out a low whistle. “Damn, that never gets old.” 

Dana smirked. “He ever use that on you?” 

“All the fucking time.” Jack scoffed. “Do you know how many family gatherings I spent trying to get away from those eyes.” 

“We have the same eyes, asshole,” Andrew grumbled. 

“But yours are scary as hell,” Jack shot back. “Might be a good time to say that my night shift needs another resident.” 

“Fuck no,” Trinity instantly said. “You can’t have her, or we’d be left with him.” 

Dennis nodded. “I’m in full agreement.” 

Jack looked over at you expectantly but visibly deflated at the apologetic look you were giving him. 

“Sorry, Jack, but I enjoy getting to spend my evenings at home.” You paused and smirked. “I know Samira’s been looking for a change of scenery if you want to ask her.” 

The small crowd couldn’t help but smile or chuckle at the now vivid flush across Jack’s face as he tried to sputter out an answer. 

“All right, get out of here kids before it looks like you’re staging a mutiny,” Dana said with a wave of her hands. 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Trinity responded with a salute of her own. 

Andrew grinned widely, finally showing the smile around more people than just you. “If we’re turning into pirates, Jack already has the missing-leg thing down.” 

“Hey!” 

You giggled loudly while Andrew wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you into his side. Your hand gently rested against his chest as you hugged him back. He felt your body melt into his after he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. 

“Ready to go home?” he quietly muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “Dana already gave me your bag.” 

“Yeah,” you breathily sighed. “Let’s go before a trauma comes in, and I’m stuck in here until I wither away. 

Andrew hummed. “We can’t have that now, can we?” 

“Absolutely not. I still want to have leftovers at least one more time before I’m buried. And this time, I’m putting a padlock on the container.” 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

The community outreach event had seemed harmless enough when the day started. SWAT volunteered at them a few times a year, and while Jack would never admit it out loud, he usually enjoyed them. It was difficult to have a terrible day when half the crowd consisted of elementary school kids who thought every volunteer spent their workday hanging off helicopters and kicking down doors like they’d seen in cartoon movies. Crowds seemed to swarm the park despite the heat with tents stretching across the grass to make it easier to find shade. Multiple organizations from both Pittsburgh and visiting cities stationed next to their tents that lined the walking paths. 

Families drifted from booth to booth carrying melting snow cones and bags stuff with pamphlets and stress balls printed with specialized branding they would probably throw away before they got home. Somewhere behind him, a group of children were taking turns climbing through an armored vehicle while another one of his SWAT buddies attempted—and failed—to maintain order. 

Jack was halfway through answering a little boy’s very serious question about whether he’d ever fixed up a ninja when movement across the path caught it attention. 

Truly, it wasn’t even your face that got him first; it was your posture. 

He’d seen you enough to recognize the specific way you stood with your weight shifted slightly onto one leg while reading something. Your hair was pulled back like you always had it, and from a distance, framed by the movement, he was sure that you were 100 percent standing across from him. 

His first thought was confusion, because you were supposed to be working. He knew you had a shift scheduled until seven, and while he knew that was subject to change all the time, you usually let him know when they did. 

Jack frowned and glanced at his watch. 

Maybe you’d gotten off early, maybe you’d decided to surprise him (at the wrong booth he thought), or maybe you’d gone and volunteered for . . . the Chicago Fire Station tent? Each guess seemed more ridiculous than the first. 

If this had happened six months ago, he would have let you at it. However, ever since he kissed you in that parking lot after spouting nonsense about seeing his double about five times before you finally figured out he was the real Jack, he’s been pretty protective of you. He was your boyfriend for crying out loud. Seeing you over there at a random booth when you were supposed to be at work made something curl inside his chest. 

He liked the idea that you might have let him known you got off early, he believed in himself to show that you shouldn’t be worried he’d be mad if you chose to spend your time somewhere else, but a simple call or text wouldn’t have hurt. 

So, through his confusion, Jack did the only thing he knew how do to: talk it out like a grown ass man and not get angry or possessive. 

“Hey, sweetheart!” he called out, already walking over to the booth with his limping gate. “Did you get off early or something?” 

The sound of his voice had you looking up at him, and he willed himself to not get lost in your eyes. 

“Can’t believe Robby let you have the afternoon. Did he hit his head or something? Don’t think I’ve ever seen him give a resident the day off, especially during a weekend,” he muttered the last bit to himself. 

Now, see, since Jack was so close to being distraught about you not texting him, he failed to noticed the very confused look on your face while he talked at you. 

He stopped when he was finally over at the booth and about a foot away from where you were standing. “Did I make you mad or something, sweetheart? If you wanted to spend your day off by yourself, I wouldn’t have cared. Just thought you might have wanted to let me know.” 

His first warning should have been your lack of response after the first term of endearment that seemed to always make you swoon when he used it. 

But again, his brain was befuddled with ideas of him making you so upset you’d rather stand over at the firefighter tent than over with him just across the path. 

At this point, Jack was rambling. “I get it, our relationship hasn’t been going on for that long, and before that you had men kissing the ground where you walked, but I’d really like this to work, I want us to work. And if that means you’re volunteering as a firefighter on the weekends, I’ll take it. But you couldn’t have picked up . . . I don’t know . . . a safer hobby? You’re usually not the one with destructive tendencies—” 

“I’m really sorry to say this, sir, but I have no clue who you are,” you interrupted. 

Against all odds, Jack’s never quiet brain ceased all functioning. Because when you stopped him from talking, he finally looked at you, like, really looked at you, and it clicked that the woman across standing right in front of him wasn’t actually you. 

She had your eyes, your nose, and your mouth, and for one completely ridiculous moment, Jack wondered if he’d somehow developed a concussion without noticing before profession instinct won out over common sense. 

“Oh,” he breathed, a heated flush climbing his neck at a rapid pace. “Oh, no.” 

Seeing his absolute embarrassment, the not-you giggled softly. “While I’m partially endeared, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” 

Jack ran a hand down his face. “I see the appeal of getting run over by oncoming traffic now.” He huffed. “I sincerely apologize for the last three minutes; you quite literally have my girlfriend’s face.” 

“Well, I can assure you that I am most definitely not your girlfriend.” 

Jack’s eyes quickly caught on the very sparkly ring on her finger that he certainly did not put there. The sight rewired his brain. For the next small moment, Jack contemplated drowning himself in the watercooler nearby until the not-you reached out her hand. 

“Richards.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Abbot. Jack Abbot.” 

She smiled warmly at him. “So, Jack Abbot, does SWAT include you mistaking women for your partner or is that just a you-thing?” 

Oh, she had your jokes. 

“Would it help to say that she went a few weeks going around finding men that looked like me?” he mentioned sheepishly. 

“A bit.” She paused before continuing. “Really, I should have stopped you the first time you called me sweetheart, but seeing you grovel was really nice.” 

“I don’t think I’d count that as nice. Maybe highly embarrassing and dignity-disgracing.” 

“You sound like my husband.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“I haven’t decided yet. But all things considering, I think there’s a possibility that it is a very good thing.” 

Jack continued to eye her carefully, part of his brain still unconvinced that this wasn’t you pulling a prank on him. In the small moment, he quickly noted all the visible differences: her hair was greying at the edges, her neck held a small burn pattern, and, most importantly, her eyes didn’t hold the softness yours did when you looked up at him. 

“I’m still having a hard time wrapping my mind around this.” 

She cocked her head. “Well, what does your-me do?” 

A fondness melted across Jack’s face as he thought of you. “She’s a senior resident at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. She’s actually there right now, which is why I was so confused to see you standing here.” 

“Ah, the root of the groveling then.” 

“Could we maybe move past that? I do have a reputation to uphold.” 

“It was actually quite funny.” 

“I’m still considering jumping into traffic. Seems much less humiliating than this.” 

“Well, if there’s a time to do it, now might be a good time since this is the largest group of first responders I’ve ever seen. Might even send my husband to drive his firetruck to get on sight first.” 

Husband?

“Where I am driving to, baby?” a new voice sounded, causing Jack to tear his eyes away from not-you’s face. 

And somehow, in that moment, finding your doppelganger was not the most interesting part of Jack’s day. That was now taken by looking his right in the same-hued eyes. The man across from him was quite literally a spitting image: same salt-and-peppered curls, same nose, and same stature. However, the man across from him most definitely had both feet and was donning a heavy bright yellow coat. 

The man—probably not-you’s husband—also looked at him with a weird type of awe you’d only get if you somehow found one of your seven look-a-likes, which he had. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man muttered. “Your doctor wasn’t lying.” 

Jack sputtered. “My doctor?” 

He nodded. “Yep. Came up to me yelling because she thought you went through another mid-life crisis. But at least now I get to tell you that I am most definitely the hotter firefighter version of you.” 

Not-you punched his shoulder. “Brett,” she hissed. “Don’t be mean.” 

“He can take it,” Brett shot back. “If he’s my double, he can surely take it.” 

Jack stared between the couple before saying, “Well, now that the universe hasn’t entirely imploded on itself, I should probably head back to my tent before my brain actually takes on any more damage than it already has.” 

He had just started to turn slowly, wanting to get back to the SWAT tent asap, when not-you’s voice called out easily. “Take care, Abbot! Hopefully the other me won’t be too surprised to hear about this.” 

“She’ll be utterly delighted,” he called back, shaking his head with a wide smile plastered on his face. 

_______________________

By the time Jack had gotten to the hostage situation, it had already been dragged out to the point he knew it would consume the rest of his afternoon in a way it always seemed to. One minute he was finishing paperwork, and the next he was standing behind a patrol vehicle and waiting for the green light to head in. This particular situation was apparently lengthy because the man in question had fled from out of state. Jack wasn’t too sure which one, but mentions of the west coast had him questioning how dangerous the man inside the building was if he’d fled halfway across the nation. 

The entire scene buzzed with controlled tension. Patrol officers maintained the perimeter while detectives moved in and out of the command post. Ambulances waited several blocks way in anticipation of the worst-case scenario: a mass killing. Nearby, Jack’s eyes caught the flashes of cameras as reporters hovered at the edges of police tape like vultures circling a dying animal, hoping someone would accidentally tell them something useful. 

Jack hated hostage situations simply because they were slow. Hours just ticked by while they waited around for somebody else to make a mistake. It was hard for him to stay still, a big reason why his career choice after the army had been an attending position in an emergency department; there was hardly ever time for boredom. Which is why when he let his attention drift toward the command post after standing still for less than a second, he spotted your familiar figure near one of the folding tables. 

Every coherent thought he’d ever had left his brain. 

He harshly blinked once like the action would rid his sight of the hallucination. But when he opened them back up, you were still there, standing inside the command center, wearing a vest that clearly had Detective written across the front. 

You were standing with one hand resting against your hip while studying something spread across the table. Your hair was pulled back, a radio hung from your shoulder, and a badge sat clipped to the waistline of your pants. 

Jack stared long enough for his assistant medic to notice. 

“Abbot? Are you okay?”

“No,” he managed to get out. 

“Oh.” 

“My girlfriend is apparently a detective.” 

The medic looked at him, then over to the command post, then back at him. “Isn’t your girlfriend a doctor?” 

“That’s what I thought until approximately two seconds ago.” 

Jack continued to stare. There had to be a perfectly normal and reasonable explanation for why you were working during an active hostage situation. Maybe the Pitt had sent you over to help identify a victim, maybe someone inside was related to a patient, or maybe Robby had finally snapped and decided trauma medicine wasn’t stressful enough for you. 

Jack’s stomach dropped when you looked up, because the big problem here was that you absolutely should not have been standing in the middle of an active police station and not that your features didn’t quite match the ones in his memories.

But before common sense could stop him, Jack started walking. One of the negotiators called out after him but was ignored. He was about halfway over to you when you narrowed your eyes at his approaching figure. 

The expression should have warned him, but all it did was convince him that you’d been hiding a double life because you gave him that exact look every time he tracked mud into your apartment no matter how many times you reminded him to take his shoes off. 

“Sweetheart,” he called. “What are you doing?”  

You continued to stare, and Jack just kept going. 

“Actually, before you answer that, why are you dressed like a detective?” 

Silence followed. 

“Did someone recruit you?” 

He watched you slowly lower the file you were holding; again, Jack pressed onward because apparently humiliation was included in his list of recreational hobbies just under getting shot at. 

“You know what?” he asked, eyebrows all furrowed. “Never mind. I don’t even want to know. Every time I think I’ve figured you out, you do something that completely rewrites my understanding of reality.” 

Your eyebrows climbed high than he’d ever seen, but even that wasn’t enough to get him to stop talking. 

“Sir—” 

“Because, honestly? I was prepared for a lot of things when we started dating. Long shifts? Fine. You move into trauma surgery and leave me downstairs? Fine. The occasional thirty-six-hour workday where you survive entirely on caffeine and spite? Fine.” 

Several detectives had stopped what they were doing; Jack failed to notice. 

“What I wasn’t prepared for was finding out that you’ve secretly joined the police department in your spare time.” 

“Sir—” 

“And if that’s what happened, I have just a few questions. Most of them are about paperwork—” 

“Do you smell burnt toast?” you suddenly asked, halting the next words out of Jack’s mouth that suddenly tugged into a frown. 

“What?” 

“Any numbness in your left arm?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Blurred vision? Because right now, you’re either having medical emergency, or you’ve mistaken me for somebody else.” 

Jack stopped talking, which was a miracle in itself, and it gave him a small moment to actually look at you without the lens of confusion or concern. In one blink, he instantly wanted the earth to swallow him whole. 

“Oh.” 

You—or suddenly and visibly not you—tilted her head. “Yeah.” 

“It’s happening again.” 

“What’s happening again?” 

Jack dragged both hands down his face, and for several seconds, he wondered how long fleeing the country would take. Unfortunately, that would mean never seeing the real you ever again, so he had to face this version of you like a man. 

“I am so sorry.” 

A very apologetic man. 

The woman laughed, and to his absolute horror, it sounded enough like your laugh that Jack’s head started spinning. 

“It’s fine,” she stated after her laughter slowed. “I’ve had worse introductions.” 

He peered at her. “Somehow I don’t believe you.” A sigh flooded his lips. “You have my girlfriend’s face, but she is definitely not a detective.” 

“Understandable. Home for me is a long way from here, guessing she lives in the area.” 

Jack nodded. “Works here too as a doctor. Which, speaking of, I’m Jack Abbot, volunteer SWAT medic.” 

She shook his head. “Detective Bryant. LAPD.”

Detective. Of course this version of you had a job that matched the hardened look on your face. While his version of you still held a small bit of softness around your cheeks, this woman looked like she’d seen brutal death after brutal death. He felt his heart clench. Pittsburgh was kind to you in a way Los Angeles was mean to her. 

His hazel eyes went wide. “Shit, that’s how far the suspects from? Long way for everyone.” 

Her hands gripped at her vest, knuckles going white. “Yep. We’ve been tracking him and his gang since last month. His group sadly killed my husband’s partner before he fled.” 

So the second not-you also had a husband . . . 

“Oh,” Jack breathed. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Thank you,” she responded, peering up at him. “He was a good guy, that’s why we’re all hoping this goes smoothly.” 

Jack glanced over his shoulder. “You and me both. I’d rather not have to wheel one of them out of here on a gurney again.” 

“Again?” Her eyes (that looked exactly like yours) widened. “I hope then my husband’s squad gets through just fine then.” 

“Aw, hell,” a deeper voice grumbled over your look-a-like’s shoulder. “This day just got a whole lot stranger.” 

“Speaking of my husband,” she muttered before glancing toward the new comer. “Sammy, this is—” 

“Jack Abbot as I live and breathe,” Sammy drawled out, hand already reaching out. 

Another part of Jack’s brain stilled, because where Brett Richards could have been in twin, this man looked like a twenty-year-younger Jack. He barely remembers himself at that age, but the similarities were uncanny. This . . . Sammy was the Jack that was in his wedding picture, standing next to his first wife, that you insisted he kept on the mantle of his house. 

Jack was quick to grasp his hand tightly. “Guessing you remember from . . .” he trailed, letting the man who looked very much like him fill in the gaps. 

“Yeah, I remember. Kinda hard not to when a woman starts talking to you like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. But now that I’m looking at you, it all kinda makes sense.” 

“At least it is for one of us. I think my head’s still spinning,” he tried to joke. “At least nothing’s exploded.” 

“Yet,” not-you teased. “At least not yet.” 

Sammy smiled brightly. “We’re hoping nothing blows up. That would make all of our jobs a lot harder.” 

“And would add more paperwork,” Jack added. “I should get back to the squad just in case someone decides to be a hero.” 

Sammy nodded. “As long as it’s not you or me. We both have someone to get back home to.” He wrapped an arm around not-you’s shoulders. “Don’t think your doctor would like it very much if she had to patch you up.” 

Jack chuckled in response. “Absolutely not. She’d probably give me a worse wound if I showed up injured.” 

“I don’t know her, but damn right she would,” Sammy’s version of you agreed. “It was, uh, nice meeting you, Jack. Hope you don’t run into another me again.” 

“Knowing how the universe works, I’m sure there’s a few more coming.” Jack took a step before pausing to look back at the couple. “By the way, this was somehow much better than meeting the firefighter.” 

Sammy frowned. “You met him too?” 

“Let’s just say his ego was big enough to feed a small army.” 

“Firefighters,” Sammy mumbled. “It’s always the firefighters.” 

“Amen, brother.” 

Jack kept his hands in his pockets as he walked back over to his SWAT group, ready for this day to be over and with a silent prayer that he wouldn’t run into any more versions of you in the days to come. 

Oh, how wrong his prayers were, because the universe did as it pleased.  

_______________________

By the time Jack made it to the grocery store after a grueling twelve-hour shift, life seemed to be working against him. 

His prosthesis was hurting more than normal, his back ached, and on top of it all, the weekend he was planning to spend with you had to be rescheduled because, of course, the day shift was short this weekend, so Robby had to ask you to come in. So, Jack was there, at the grocery, debating whether generic noodles would finally be the thing that ended his relationship. 

It wasn’t as serious as he was making it, but you had once claimed that you could taste the difference between seven brands of spaghetti. While Jack remained convinced you were lying, he was also fairly certain that no one on earth possessed that level of culinary sophistication. You were a trauma resident who recently joined a surgery fellowship. Half your meals came from vending machines, cafeteria food, and whatever happened to be left in the physician’s lounge whenever you finally remembered that eating was actually really important to the human body. And the fact that you somehow had strong opinions about pasta seemed suspicious.

Still, he’d learned very early on in your relationship that questioning those opinions usually resulted in lengthy lectures. 

So, he stood in front of a wall of nearly identical boxes with his shopping basket hanging from one hand and his phone in the other, squinting at the list you’d sent him three hours ago when you should have been asleep before your shift. 

The list itself looked normal. 

Milk, eggs, bread, coffee pods, pasta*.

What made it significantly less helpful were the additional notes you’d attached. 

*not pasta; the good pasta. 

Whatever the hell “the good pasta” meant. He rubbed a tired hand over his face, letting it rest against his chin, fingers scratching at the few days’ worth of stubble that you complained about before he left for his shift. 

“You are a menace,” he muttered to himself, making the elderly woman beside him look deeply concerned, to which he pretended he hadn’t spoken at all. 

His attention dropped back to his phone as he reread the text conversation for what was probably the fifth time. 

What makes pasta good? 

That means the good one, Jack. 

I’m sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not an answer. 

You’ll know it when you see it! 

I probably won’t. 

I believe in you! <3 

He smiled as he scrolled through the messages, but that meant he wasn’t paying attention when he rounded the corner into the aisle. However, just as he happened to glance up to see where he was going, he spotted you at the end. 

Immediately, every other thought vanished. 

His eyes trailed from your face and down toward your shopping cart, or at least, what he assumed was your shopping cart. The thing was loaded with groceries that were definitely not on the list: fresh vegetables, fruit, actual ingredients, enough food to sustain a small village. He frowned deeply at the sight. 

It wasn’t like you hated grocery shopping; between your added hours with the surgery fellowship, you simply never had the time. Most weeks, Jack barely convinced you to buy enough food to just survive. And the sight of you voluntarily pushing a cart filled with produce was concerning enough that he started walking over before he could think too hard about it. 

“You know,” he called out, “I think this is the most vegetables I’ve ever seen you buy at one time.” 

At the sound of his voice, you looked up, and Jack smiled. 

“You finally decide to start listening to me?” 

You stayed quiet. 

“I’m serious. Last week I found three energy drinks and a packet of crackers in your apartment, and you claimed that was enough to last you the weekend.” He stopped beside your cart and pointed. “Actually, no. Hold on; are those Brussels sprouts?” 

Your eyes widened as you followed his finger down to the green vegetables. 

“Sweetheart,” he pouted. “If Santos is forcing you to buy those, you can tell me. I’ll tell her to lay off.” 

When you only blinked slowly, Jack missed the warning sign completely. 

“But come on, you spent three days arguing with me about vegetables,” he continued. “Three. Entire. Days. And now you’re buying enough produce to open a farmer’s market.” 

Silence stretched between you and him until you said, “I’m sorry.” 

Jack nodded. “You should be.” 

“No. I mean I’m sorry, but I have absolutely no idea who you are.” 

The words hit him like a freight train, and for a second, he simply stared until he felt his soul leave his body. 

Universe three; Jack Abbot zero. 

In this moment, he would’ve preferred if the earth opened up and swallowed him whole. Of course his luck wouldn’t have let him just continue on with his life after finding your double twice. He wondered if he were becoming you: a doppelganger magnet, or if he were just lucky—unlucky in his opinion—to make the same mistake three times in a row. 

However, seeing another version of you meant that at least she chose another version of him. He at least let himself look closely at this one. Under the grocery store lights, her skin held a tan that he’d barely seen around the bi-polar weathered Pittsburgh. He wondered if she was from somewhere sunny. But unlike the firefighter’s wife or the detective, her eyes held a brightness that rivaled his version of you’s eyes. Jack had to guess that she might be pared with a smiley version of himself. 

And if this interaction went anything like the others, he’d meet him soon enough. 

Jack must have been staring for a while, because in the next moment, she snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Do you have a problem, sir?” 

He shook his head instantly. “Sorry, this is just . . .” he trailed. “This is the third time this has happened?” 

Third-you looked utterly confused. “What’s the third time?” 

“The third time I’ve mistaken a stranger for my girlfriend.” 

That seemed to stun her. “The third time?” 

“Shockingly, yes.” 

Her head tilted. “That’s either incredibly romantic or deeply concerning, if you ask me.” 

“I’m leaning more toward mentally unstable,” he joked, thankfully making her let out a soft giggle. 

The sound had comfort blooming in his chest. If there was one thing that stayed the same, it was your laugh. 

“You probably have the correct answer,” she agreed. 

A soft inhale whistled through his nose as he offered out his hand. “Jack Abbot.” 

She hummed when she shook his, letting the hum of the overhead light fill the silence between them. The entire time, he felt her eyes on him, almost looking like she was trying to look into his soul and find the darkness in it. That was another difference that he noticed between you and her. 

You always seemed to treat people with an undying kindness, never once looking for the bad in them. Your personality is exactly what made you an amazing doctor in Jack’s eyes. Where he was all judging and sullen and closed in, you were warm and bright and open to whoever walked through the door of the Pitt. 

This version of you was more like Jack than he’d like to admit, even if she exuded a warmness in her eyes. She seemed trusting enough, but he could tell it was only reserved for the people closest to her. 

He shifted his weight, the pain of his prosthesis surging through his spine. “Sorry again that I thought you were my vegetable-hating girlfriend.” 

“It’s fine,” she stated. “I’m glad to know that your version of me is being taken care of.” 

Jack looked around. “Now, it probably won’t happen, but right about now, the version of me somehow pops up as well.” He glanced back at the woman in front of him. “Do you happen to have one?” 

At the mention of his double’s possibility, this version of you’s face softened. “Yeah. My fiancé I’m guessing.” 

He watched her twiddle with the ring on her finger, and for the first time since meeting the first one of your doubles, Jack’s chest twisted with an aching want. Before he could ask another question, a voice sounded from the other end of the aisle. 

“Babe?” 

Jack followed the sound of the voice and froze, while not-you looked over her shoulder and waved. 

“Over here!’ 

And like clockwork, another version of him was walking towards him. This one, like Sammy, was younger with auburn curls Jack hadn’t seen in almost a decade yet also didn’t carry the easiness that the officer had. This version of Jack reminded him of the time right after he lost his wife: all hard around the edges and looking like life had chewed him up, spat him out, and danced on his corpse. He also donned the same tired expression that suggested that life also routinely tested his patience. 

Even worse, he looked just as startled. For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, but this time, Jack wasn’t going to be the first to say anything. 

Finally, the man spoke. “Did she ever find better coffee?” 

Jack, against every screaming muscle, lifted the backet. “She’s started making it at home.” 

He nodded once. “Good.” 

This version of his’s you looked up with wide eyes. “Andrew?” 

The now-named Andrew looked down and completely softened. “Remember that doctor I told you about? The one that sat with me when Craig got hurt?” 

A realization flashed across her face. “Oh.” She glanced back at Jack. “That actually makes a lot of sense now.” 

Jack continued to stare just like Andrew was staring back at him, almost calculating like he could see Jack’s next move. But apparently, Jack new how to surprise both of them. 

“Now that introductions are over, do either of you know what good pasta looks like?” 

Andrew blinked once before reaching for a box overhead, and Jack couldn’t help but notice the scars and split knuckles on the man’s hands when he took the box from him. 

“You sure?” he asked with a smile. 

He got another nod. 

“The box just looks right.” 

And when Jack was leaving the store, Andrew-Cody-and-almost-Mrs.-Cody-approved pasta in bag, he couldn’t help but notice that yes, the box did look correctly like the good pasta. And for once, Jack thanked the universe. 

_______________________

Jack’s champagne had gone lukewarm around the time the fifth filthy-rich billionaire talked to him like he wasn’t a doctor himself. 

Now, he wasn’t above a little ass kissing to bring in large donations; the Pitt, like any hospital, ran much smoother when a large donation came in every so often. But while this older man talked and talked about the importance of strong-head doctors, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander. This year, the banquet location had been done up to the nines, and Jack wondered who had much the big donation to make sure this looked like a presidential ball rather than a bi-monthly gala that he’d been to way too many times to keep track of them all. 

The large open space was filled to the brim, and Jack knew it was probably in violation of a few OSHA codes, but that wasn’t his department of health and safety. So, he just let this close-to-dying man continue on with his speech as a favor to Robby, who had somehow mastered the ability to make Jack’s attendance request sound more like an obligation. 

If anything, Jack would’ve rather happily spend his evening literally anywhere else, preferably next to you. And a quick glance down at his watch told him that the evening was far from over. He fought to swallow down a groan, until he spotted you across the way, taking small sips from your own glass. 

He let his eyes roam the dark dress that hugged your body and the way your hair was pinned back from your face. The outfit was very far from your regular scrubs, but honestly, Jack would still look at you the same even if you were wearing a potato sack. 

For a moment, a wave of gratitude washed over him, because obviously, Robby must’ve invited you too. Jack should have expected it. His friend had spent months insisting that Jack needed to participate more in events that didn’t involve gunfire. You being here must have been some type of Pavlovian incentive. 

The realization that you were there improved his mood so dramatically that he immediately abandoned the conversation he had been trapped in and started making his way across the banquet hall. 

“Sweetheart,” he said as he approached. “I know you’d probably be back home, but man am I glad Robby invited you too.” 

You looked over at him with a smirk. “I was wondering when you’d come over.”

At this moment, Jack should have taken a second to pause, to remember the past three times that this had happened. Because, really, he should have noticed that the woman standing in front of him, although looking a lot like you with similar eyes and facial structure, looked exactly like she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth while her hands suggested she knew her way around beating someone to death. But alas, Jack Abbot’s greatest strength and failure at the same time was loving his woman to the point that, once he saw her face, he couldn’t shut up. 

His brows pinched. “You’ve been here this entire time? I’m sorry, sweetheart, I would have tried to find you earlier when I got here.” He looked around as he spoke. “Robby didn’t even tell me you were coming, that little fucker.” A sigh heaved from his chest. “I hope you’ve had a better night than standing and listening to rich bitches act like they normally do.” 

You, for some odd reason, looked downright pleased at his distraught, taking a sip from your glass with a sly smile. “Hmmm, tell me sir, what exactly do rich bitches do?” 

Again, the answer should have set him off, but the few glasses of champagne plus the pregame drink he had beforehand really diluted his inhibition. 

“Wave their money around like they own the world,” he muttered. 

“I mean, some of us do.” 

Some . . . of . . . us . . . do . . . 

It was almost as if a giant lightbulb went off behind Jack’s eyes. “Oh fuck.” 

And suddenly, the features that had seemed just like yours melted away. However, where Mrs. Richards had been nice, and Detective Bryant had been just, and future-Mrs.-Cody had been warm, this version of you looked downright evil with her stilettoes that looked like they could kill a man with a single stomp. An idea like that finally had Jack pausing, another lightbulb going off. 

“Please tell me that you don’t sacrifice people to Satan too, because if so, I will need to admit myself into a psychiatric hold.” 

She took another sip from her glass. “And what if I do? Seems like you already know me.”

“You somehow look a lot like my girlfriend, but last I checked, she saves lives, not sacrifices them.” 

She laughed, but this time, it did not sound like yours. Each time her laugh came out, it sounded like a million dollars were spent each time. “Doctor, do you spend all your charity galas trying to find women who look like your girlfriend?” 

“I spend my charity galas trying to find a way to leave.” 

“You don’t enjoy them?” 

“I don’t enjoy listening to . . .” he paused, brain scrambling for another word. 

“Rich bitches?” the woman provided. “Go ahead; I don’t mind.” 

Jack winced. “Billionaires who hold money over our heads.” 

Her eyes glanced around the room before stopping on the man Jack had just been talking to. “You think anyone would miss him if he disappeared.” 

He followed her gaze. “You know that entire sentence just solidified the idea that you do actually sacrifice people.” 

“You didn’t answer my question, doctor.” 

“I’m beginning to think you’re toying with me.” 

A fire lit behind her expression. “You’re catching on. I do enjoy playing with my food, you’re right.” 

“Now I really want to find a way out. Maybe the fire escape and jumping off the roof might be my best bet,” Jack said in hopes to get the conversation away from ritualistic human sacrifice. 

“Good. I’d get my body easier by the end of the night.” 

A literal chill ran up his spine while this version of you stood like what she’d just said was meaningless conversation. While Jack might have been a bit unsettled by the other ones, he had never been as nervous as he was right now. When he failed to say anything else, the woman waved a hand around her face. 

“Relax, doctor. I’m mostly joking.” 

Still, that did nothing to ease the feeling building inside his chest. 

“Mostly is still in that sentence,” he muttered, hand reaching to pick up another flute. “I’m not sure that did much to make me relax.” 

“We are strangers after all.” She turned to face him completely but did not hold out a hand when she introduced herself. 

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “Like . . . those Danforths?”

Her grin widened. “Again, you sound like you already know me.” 

“It’s hard to not when you look like someone I love but have the last name of the richest family in the world. This is definitely right out of a fanfiction or something.” 

“Or something. You still have yet to hand over your name, doctor,” she teased, but it landed weirdly in Jack’s chest. 

“Promise to not use it in your next ritual?” 

“On Satan’s head.” 

“Darling, are you scaring the poor doctors again?” someone said behind Jack, thankfully ending that conversation. 

For a moment, Jack let himself relax, finally out of the claws of the woman’s manicured hand. However, when the person rounded Jack to stick himself to the woman’s side, he blanched, because yet again, the man across from him looked like a version of himself. Well, a version of Jack who apparently wasn’t a doctor, sneezed into million-dollar tissues, and hunted people down as a hobby instead of volunteering for SWAT. 

The man’s eyes (the same hue as Jack’s) lit with glee. “So, the little dove really wasn’t lying when she said we shared a face.” 

His nickname for you burned a jealously Jack didn’t know he had, and now this couple was looking at him like a piece of meat to prey upon. Not knowing what else to do, Jack set down the now-empty flute on the bar. Danforth-you looked up at—yes, you had a very large ring on—her husband with fluttering eyes. 

“I wasn’t scaring him,” she whined. “Just making sure that we picked a good one. The last one wasn’t fun at all.” 

Again, that sounded way too sacrificial for Jack to relax or feel comfortable in the couple’s presense. 

“Brother, there you are!” Robby shouted like divine intervention. Hands landed down on his shoulders with a squeeze. “Gloria’s going to have my head if we’re not in the conference room for the next showing.” 

Jack tried (and failed) to give the Danforths a smile. “It was . . . lovely speaking to you two, but duty calls, right?” 

Before he could turn to leave, not-you reached into her clutch and pulled out a piece of paper. “For your hospital, doctor. Some of us rich bitches actually do care about your cause.” 

Jack was hesitant to take it but eventually did. His eyes widened like a cartoon when he saw the number of zeros. “I think this is a mistake?” 

“I don’t make mistakes, Dr. Abbot” she replied, closing up her clutch. “Titus, darling, I think we’re also needed somewhere else.” 

“Ah, yes, it is that time, isn’t it.” He smirked over at Jack. “Nice meeting this version of me. Say hello to your dove for me.” 

Words escaped Jack as the pair turned and left, leaving just him and Robby, who looked close to fainting, alone at the bar. 

“That’s it. No more galas for both of you,” Robby announced while steering Jack into the direction of the conference room. “Even if we get millions for the hospital, I am not losing you both to your Satan-worshipping twins.” 

Jack let out a large sigh. “Sounds like a good plan, brother.” 

_______________________

Jack was done. 

D-O-N-E; done. 

After the last version of you had been one look away from draining his blood dry while he lied across a black table, he believed that everything was out to get him. The first version of you had been okay; she was nice. The second crept into unsettling territory, but by the third and fourth, Jack was tired of second guessing himself every time he saw your eyes looking back at him. 

However, that didn’t mean he entirely walked right past the restaurant when he noticed you sitting by yourself at a table in the middle. No, he outright paused by the large window, chest curling at the thought of you eating alone. He glanced up at the restaurant’s sign, and a small glimmer of recognition bloomed. 

North & Vine had made quite the stir a few months ago when news articles poured in with reports that the beloved restaurant might lose its Michelin star. But since then, Jack was pleased to see that it had been able to keep the one and also win another. 

The area about North & Vine was beautiful at the edge of downtown, tucked between two older brick buildings and lit with the kind of warm amber lighting that convinced people they could afford appetizers even if they couldn’t. Getting a reservation was also unheard of if you hadn’t placed your name on the list by almost three months in advance. 

Which, that was another reason as to why Jack was so confused when he stood there watching you. To his knowledge, you’d never spoken about wanting to go. If you had, Jack would have made it possible. But there you were, sitting alone, looking contempt as hell with a plain glass of water in front of you. 

The other reason was because you had just texted him a few hours earlier with a selfie in front of the nurses’ station with the words: currently fighting for my life. 

It was beyond him how you’d apparently gone from that to peacefully waiting for a dinner. And apparently that mean that the situation alone deserved an investigation. So naturally, Jack walked inside and was immediately hit with the best smelling food he’d ever smelled before. 

But he wasn’t there to stop and smell the mashed potatoes; he was a man on a mission. He walked up to the hostess podium with a smile and pointed toward your table. 

“I know here.” 

The hostess smiled and moved to let him pass. 

Now, after four other encounters, Jack should have known better that the “you” sitting at the table probably wasn’t really you. But he didn’t. No lessons had been enough to stick in his head, because if there was one thing Jack Abbot learned about loving you, it was that he’d recognize you anywhere. 

Unfortunately, the universe kept proving that statement technically incorrectly every time. 

As he approached the table, nothing felt off at all. At least the other times, the other versions of you had looked different. The firefighter volunteer shirt, the detective vest, the beach-going outfit, the dress that looked like it costed more than his life was worth: they all were things Jack knew you wouldn’t wear. 

So seeing you in comfortable clothing, any of his regular alarm bells had gone silent. Because of this, he had no issues sliding into the empty seat across from you with a confused smile. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he asked. 

You looked up at him, almost taken back by his presence. “Not that I know of?” 

His eye brows pinched. “You texted me a few hours ago that you were fighting for your life at work.” 

“I don’t think so,” you replied, pulling out your phone from the small purse by your side. Your lip twisted before you looked back up at him. “And really, I couldn’t because I don’t have your number and—” 

“You don’t have my number?” Jack pushed out. “How is that possible—” 

“And really, it’s because I don’t know who you are.” 

Jack froze in his spot across from the now fifth version of you. Under the warm glow, it was downright uncanny how she looked exactly like you. If Brett was his spitting image, this woman was yours. Everything down to your phone color was the same. However, now that he was taking the time to look, once again, he found a nice-looking ring on her left finger. His face dropped in humiliation. 

“I am so sorry,” he muttered, hands coming up to cover his face. 

He missed the way she softly smiled at him. “It’s okay, really. You seemed innocent enough.” 

“I’m five seconds away from going back to the kitchen to drown myself in mop water.” 

She giggled. “I’m sure that this interaction isn’t bad enough to warrant that reaction.” 

“If you only knew how many times I’ve mistaken a stranger for my girlfriend then you’d understand that, yes, I’m having a believable reaction.”  Jack dropped his hands back down to the table and leaned back in the chair. “Jack Abbot, and now I’m seeing that you are not my girlfriend.” 

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” she stated, resting her chin against her hand. “Have you tried getting a bit more sleep?” 

He sighed. “My job sadly doesn’t allow for extra nap times, I’m afraid.”

That seemed to pique her interest. “Oh? What do you do?” 

“I’m the night shift attending at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.”

“That makes sense,” she said before picking up her water for a sip. “You look like the type to have that kind of job.” 

Jack pursed his lips. “Should I be offended by that?” 

“Not at all.” She paused. “I just mean that you look like the type of man to care for others more than you care for yourself. It’s admirable.” 

Her words hit him right in the gut, because you had said something similar to that during his and yours first argument after a SWAT raid had gone wrong, leaving him with a little more than a graze that time. His saliva suddenly felt thicker in his mouth as he swallowed it down. He guessed that this you was more similar to his you than he first thought. 

“That’s . . .” he trailed, not knowing if he wanted to say what he was thinking. “You sound just like her.” 

“Smart woman.” 

She was also right with that as well. 

For the first time since meeting your parallels, Jack felt comfortable enough to enjoy just sitting there to the point he wanted to see if there were any more similarities between the two of you. However, he was stopped short when a waitress stopped right at the table. 

“Mrs. Reilly? Chef wanted to talk to you.” 

“Thank you for letting me know,” she responded, already collecting her things before smiling back down at Jack. “Have a lovely evening. And if you ever want to bring your version of me here, I’ll make sure you get a table.” 

“Thank you,” Jack managed to spit out right as she turned to walk toward the back kitchen door. 

He had half a mind to leave, but he felt glued to his seat when the door swung open, revealing yet another mirror image of himself. He watched as the Mrs.-Reilly version looked at the man with love in her eyes while she spoke to him with a smile. The two glanced his way, his counterpart’s eyebrows also rising as he lifted a hand in a weird and awkward way. 

Jack smirked and waved back, rising to his feet to leave. He could have stayed, but seeing the two together just showed him how much he actually missed you. And if the universe decided to be kind to him, he hoped that he’d never have to miss you again if the ring in a shoebox back at his place had anything to say about it. 

_______________________

The universe, apparently, had decided it wasn’t quite finished tormenting him. 

By this point, he’d stopped trying to understand its ways. Five women with identical faces to yours should have been enough ground for him to quit life and move to New Zealand under a different name and become a sheep farmer. He didn’t know how much more humiliation his body could handle. At least now he though he knew what to look for: eyes that didn’t hold a special warmth for him, smiles that didn’t quite tilt correctly, faces that weren’t structure enough to form the face that belonged to the woman he loved. 

Every single encounter had taught him that much. Which was why he barely looked up when he entered the Pitt’s lobby and spotted you standing near the elevators. Finally, he had learned all the rules; he wasn’t going to say anything to you, humiliation be damned. 

Jack Abbot was going to win this war. 

The lobby bustled around him with usual chaos; he had nearly tripped over a patient in the hall and almost ran into Perlah as she crossed the floor to Trauma Room one. Somewhere, he heard pager buzz, and the ambulance light made him wince. 

Really, Jack wasn’t even supposed to be there, but you had just happened to leave your lunch in his truck . . . again. You could have gone without it, but apparently it consisted of an approximately fourteen-dollar takeout meal that you’d been excited about all morning. The number of times he’d rescued your forgotten meals was beginning to feel less like a favor for his girlfriend and more like a second job (that he really didn’t mind doing). 

When he stopped by the elevators, you finally glanced up. From the corner of his eye, Jack took in the similarities: your hair color, shoe brand, and surprisingly, a hospital ID. This one was close—very close. But not quite enough for him to say something. The others had ruined him. A few weeks ago, Jack would’ve walked right over. Now? Now he barely gave this sixth version of you a second glance. 

“Nope,” he muttered. “Not falling for it this time.” 

His voice had been just loud enough that your ears picked up on it. You turned and looked at him with a pinched face and deep frown. 

“Jack, what are you talking about?” 

“Nothing.” He pressed the elevator button, willing the machine to open quickly. “Absolutely nothing.” 

“Jack,” you stated, so very confused as to why he was acting like this.

He ignored you. This was exactly how the nonsense started. Familiar face, familiar voice, and the next moment he was somehow discussing ritual sacrifice with a stranger. But not today; today, he was smarter; today, he was prepared. 

“Nice try, but I’ve learned my lesson,” he said, eyes still glued to the elevator doors in front of him. “You look close enough that last week this might have worked.” 

You stared at him. “Are you having a stroke?” 

“See?” He finally pointed over at you. “That’s exactly the kind of thing she’d say.” 

If he took a moment to look over, he’d see the horrified look on your face. 

He sighed loudly. “Look. I’ve done this enough to know better—hey!”

You had grabbed his wrist and yanked him along. “Come here.” 

Jack stumbled forward. “What—” 

The direction you were pulling him was right into an open room. He didn’t even have a moment to react before you pushed him down right onto the bed. Your fingers held his face, and he winced when your pen light flashed in his eyes. 

“When was the last time you slept?” you questioned. “You’re not having a stroke because your face is perfectly fine. Is this dehydration? Concussion? Did you hit your head?” 

All while you were spitting out question after question, Jack stared ahead at you to the point that he finally guessed the universe was on his side, because after five different versions of you, this had to be his.

Mrs. Richards looked nice. 

Mrs. Bryant looked confused. 

Soon-to-be Mrs. Cody looked guarded. 

Mrs. Danforth looked bloodthirsty. 

Mrs. Reilly look endeared. 

But you? 

You looked at him with such concern that he could practically feel your love from him spilling out from your body. Suddenly, the ring in his pocket felt very heavy. 

“Sweetheart—” 

You ignored him. “Maybe this is a rare case of amnesia. Jack, what’s my name—” 

He grabbed your hands and held them. “Sweetheart, I’m fine. Actually, right now, I’m better than fine, unless you’re about to tell me that you don’t know who I am before another one of my doppelgangers reveals himself as either your husband or fiancé.” He faux shivered. “I cannot do that again.” 

You blinked slowly. “You met them?” 

“Sadly.” 

“You interacted with them.” 

“Extra sadly.” 

“How is the universe still standing?” 

He chuckled loudly. “Maybe because every version of me has a special version of you. We keep the world balanced, sweetheart.” 

An oomph left his chest when you all but threw yourself into his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you against him. A helpless laugh escaped from your throat at the idea of Jack running into different versions of you. 

“Were you contemplating running into traffic after each one?” you asked. 

“Every single fucking time,” he replied with a groan. “Any small body of water also looked enticing for a drowning.” 

“I know right.” You finally pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “But at least you’re still here.” 

Jack closed his eyes when your hands rested against his cheeks. One of his hands rose and rested on top of yours. Even through all the drama, through all the embarrassment, he still had you, the one who truly cared for him through everything, even if you thought he was having a stroke. His other hand reached down for his pocket. 

“This wasn’t how I wanted to do this,” he said softly, “but after running into versions of you that weren’t mind, I realized that I’ve waited too long to do this.” 

He heard you softly gasp when he raised the ring. 

“I know six months isn’t that long, but damn it, sweetheart, I don’t know if I can wait any longer. You are the best thing that’s happened to me in forever. I really didn’t know if  I’d been capable of loving someone like I love you after losing my wife. But seeing that you still belonged to someone that looked like me in every version of you’s life, I wanted to have that, to have you.” 

Tears started falling down your cheeks as he spoke, hazel eyes never wavering from yours. 

“Will you please do me the honor of being my wife. Not a firefighter’s, not a cop’s, not a man who looks like he holds the baggage of the world’s, not a Satan-worshipping billionaire’s, and definitely not a chef’s wife, but the wife of a grumpy, old night shift attending who likes to get shot at on the weekends.”  

You were silent, but your head was nodding. 

Finally, your voice rang out with “Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times, yes.”

With shaking hands, Jack slipped the ring onto your finger before bringing you in for a kiss. He shivered at the feeling of the metal heating up against this skin, and his finger played with the diamond as his lips moved against yours. He wasn’t kissing you like he had six months ago, but it still held the same warmth and steadiness that his kissed always had. 

Jack pulled back after a while and rested his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you’re actually you.” 

You smiled and giggled. “And I’m glad you’re actually you, too.” 

His nose brushed yours before he pulled you into another kiss. 

Take that universe. 

🏷️ permanent tags: @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nofinnn2 @books-thingys-andstuff @nyxmoretti @glitterquadricorn @itzpixiebabe @xoxoloverb @macbaetwo @cerberus101 @thorfemmes @goddess-of-spring @staygoldsquatchling02 @obi-wansgirl @phantom-101 @fly-me-away @xblackcatx @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aoi-warrior @keepingitundercover @sofianotvergara @shawnhatosysrightbicep @straykids1011 @vicky066 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @sepidehmoafiglazer @multiversalfandomwriter222 @bellamys-girl1 @violet1661 @damoclesdarling @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @fancyvoidtragedy