Mongoose Magazine

“Hmmmmmmmmmm….” Shen toyed with the paper straw with his tongue, the ER was absolutely dead, usually was around the 4am to 6am stretch at the end of the shift. Usually just coping through a flood of residual patients that came in from a rough night partying. “Never eat pizza again….orrrr all of your sodas are always room temp…”

“Never eat pizza! Are you kidding!?” Mateo erupted as if you’d asked him to choose between his wife and child. “I guess I'd never eat pizza but thats fucked up man-” mateo pointed a finger into Shen’s arm. 

“I would die without a cold diet coke after a shift…” Lena leaned back in her swivel chair with a sigh. 

Shen’s elbow pushed into your arm as you watched the conversation “oh me?” your finger pointed into your own chest, “Don’t like Pizza,” your lips pressed together awkwardly. “Tomatoes make my stomach sick…” A slight down play to the reality of your allergy.

It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is to admit to someone that you have potentially life threatening allergies. But it had a striking emotional resemblance to having to order off the kids menu in a fancy restaurant in front of all of your friends. 

“You’re kidding- that must fucking suck.” Ellis joined the group on your free side. “No lasagne, spaghetti bolognese- fuck no bloody marys!” your stomach rumbled at the thought, even if you couldn’t eat it, the mental image of delicious hot italian food taunted you. 

“You get used to it…” your chin rested on the counter over your hands which were folded over each other. “The only annoying thing is that stupid restaurants never put it on the menu in meals, so it's like a mystery until it’s sat in front of me.”

“Damn.” Shen’s brows raised as the conversation spotlight landed on you, and well, you most definitely had stage fright.

“Sorry- I made it awkward- my bad-” you stumbled over your words.

“No it’s better that we know-” Ellis bumped her hip against yours, “otherwise we would invite you to an Italian themed bar tomorrow night…” her voice lilted upwards slightly as you rolled your eyes. 3 months in the ER had cushioned you in, still you were yet to meet them on one of their monthly nights out. Bars just weren't really your scene, cross contamination was a constant worry even in high end restaurants. It didn’t help having the most obscure list of allergies that ranged from peanuts to a specific kind of chemical in most makeup. 

“I don’t know” your shoulders curled in on themselves “I don’t do great in busy places in public-”

“All of us will be there and make sure you’re okay?” Shen leaned in “pleaaseeeeeeee” your palm went over his face with a groan. 

“Fineeee” you whined looking back up at the patient board, “I should check on North 5-” you turned to make your way towards the bay only to knock into a solid wall of flesh. The smell of leather and pinewood filled your nostrils as he recalibrated his center of gravity, hands steadying you by gripping onto either forearm. 

“Careful there…” Jack abbots devilishly attractive smirk seared into your retina’s, the angle, the way the fluorescent light caught on the grey stubble which was growing in, picking out the small evidence of his auburn hair now that he had gone almost fully grey. His hands could wrap around your arms with a seductive ease, sending a dizzying flood of blood up to your cheeks. “I can’t believe my ears… are we finally finishing up Wisp’s nightcrawler initiation?” he smirked, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in under his arm without thinking about it.

You’d kept it down to the single allergy letting “I- Yeah-” your heart thumped heavy in your chest. Either Jack knew you had an absolutely humiliatingly huge crush on him and this was some kind of humiliation ritual or he was completely oblivious which was equally as bad because everyone in the ER knew. Either way, without his consent, you’d decided that there was no possible way that a universe could exist where you and Jack Abbot would be a plausible coupling.

“Well then we better make it a big one!” he clapped his hands together with a wolfish grin, your shoulder aching where his arm had been, clearly missing its company. “Now- get back to work-” his hand patted down on your back and you were all sent off your separate ways.

The end of the shift came and weariness settled deep within your bones, hands cracked raw from the ER’s soap which you’d been forced to use for the last 12 hours, one which you were most definitely not tolerant of. 

The awkward outfit selection didn’t do anything to relax you, the little worms in your brain reminding you that anything you wore was going to be witnessed by your literal boss. And unhelpfully your crush. 

A low cut top- hell no imagine dropping your purse, leaning over to get it and giving the whole emergency department nightshift staff a whole show. Instead reaching for the turtleneck sleeveless shirt which was just the perfect shade of brown for your skin. 

That cute skirt that you kinda stole from your college roommate? Can’t it very much give away your past desire to pick up any old random by basically mooning them. But the summer heat was too much so you instead settled for a pair of decent yet sexy shorts. A brown belt to match your shirt hooked around your waist. The added pro was easy access in case you needed to use the epipen tonight. 

You shoved the thought down in the exact name you shoved the two epipens into the outfits matching purse, tugging on a pair of sneakers and grabbing your keys before heading straight out the door. 

Was walking to the bar at all responsible? No. But it was only two blocks from your apartment, a trek you’d pulled more times than you could count with your roommates after a couple too many cocktails. 

“Theres Wisp!” Jack cheered as you walked into the bar being met by the claps and smiles of the nightcrawlers, his arm landed where it often did, slung around your shoulders patting your arm before pulling away. Wisp was a nickname created by several iterations. In the first two weeks, of you working in the ED everyone swore that they hadn’t heard you say a word outside of treatment. Then when you did speak it was mostly a polite shy whisper. Then “Whisper” was affectionately shortened to “Wisp” which barely fit anymore as they had successfully pulled you far enough out of your shell to handle a large bout of small talk. 

“Hi guys” you shyly raised a hand before taking your place in the booth, swiftly followed by Jack sliding into place beside you. He may be oblivious to the cheeky looks of the crew but you were unfortunately anything but. Settling into the conversation was easier than you had believed it would be but eventually Jack's elbow nudged into yours. 

“Wanna grab a drink?” Jack’s breath fanned over your ear, trying to cut through the chaos of the conversation which surrounded you. You forced out a nod before making your way over to the bar, Jack parting the crowd like the red sea to give you a clear path through the chaos. 

You pulled yourself up onto the bar stool as jack stood by your side, waiting for the bartender to walk over, your knees pressed to the warmth of his tree trunk thigh. “Whats your drink of choice?” you smiled over at him, desperately trying to grip onto sanity at the touch.

“Usually a whiskey neat…” he exhaled his hands going into his pockets, he leaned in to make sure his voice reached you, crowding over you slightly. “But when I’m out with these guys I usually try to stay sober…” 

“Are they really in that much trouble?” you chuckled, staring into his hazel eyes as the bar buzzed around you. Jack shook his head with a small laugh. 

“The stories you have yet to hear,” he smirked, as the bartender approached the sticky part of the bar you’d sat by. “I’ll have a Miller zero and a…” his hand gestured towards you. “Sorry-” he moved over to the table for a few seconds to listen to some random bullshit debate she and Ellis were having.

“C- can I have a Moscow mule? But uh- leave out the lime please i’m allergic-” you offered a polite smile, turning back to Jack, who’d retaken his spot by your side, before you could realise that the bartender sarcastically rolled his eyes. The conversation flowed easily as you waited on the drinks, Jack buffering anyone from moving into your space. 

The drinks were placed in front of you, Jack insisting it be added to his bill. “Sorry- i’m-” your hand went to his bicep holding him in place, “look I know this is forward and probably completely inappropriate given the fact that you’re my fucking boss- but i’m really having fun talking to you one on one and I kinda wanna keep that going?” you physically braced for the injection as Jack stood with his eyes wide staring at you. His head shook lightly before he leaned his body down on the counter with a sly smile. His crows' feet curled deliciously. The LED bar lights perfectly highlighted the pronounced biceps attached to the carved chest which was conveniently on full display because of his tight black shirt.

His eyebrows stayed raised as blood rushed up to his cheeks, his dogtags bounced against his chest as he moved onto the stool next to you, tilting his head over at you. “Uh- ditto…” 

You barked out a laugh “Smooth.” 

“Sorry- i’m just kinda rusty?”

“What do you mean rusty?”

He raised the bottle of faux beer to his lips, taking a gulp as if it could give him a placebo liquid courage. “Well I don’t get to talk to women as perfect as you on the regular.” 

You damn near choked on the mix of gingerbeer and vodka as you sipped it, whole body tingling at his comment. The words stalling in your throat as you glanced over at him. “Wow.”

“Was that good?” his brows furrowed as he held in a chuckle, his hand pulling over his face. 

“Amazing-” your voice croaked as your hand tentatively moved up to your neck, palpating lightly. 

“Are you okay?” Jack leaned in closer to you, his hand moving to your drink, immediately inspecting the bottom of the glass for any residue. 

“Yeah-” your tongue began to swell as you pushed him away gently “bathroom-” you clutched your purse to your chest before making a break for the toilet. Jack stood at the bar his head hung slightly, assuming he had somehow managed to insult you or read your intentions completely incorrectly, despite the fact you had just told him you enjoyed speaking with him.

You stumbled past a couple of lesbians making out on the sink, giving them a polite nod as you shuffled into the stall and pulled out the epipen. 

“Fuck fuck fuck-” the bartender rushed over to the bar just as jack was about to leave, grasping your cup and realising what he’d done. “Uh- that chick you were with- did she drink this?”

“Yeah…” Jack turned slowly, his gut dropping. 

You fumbled with the cap feeling your lungs burn and scratch for air, sweat collecting on your brow as your tongue tingled. “Fuck-” the needle stung as you pushed down against your thigh.

“Fuck- you might um-” the bartender ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders tensed up as he smelled the drink. “You need to go check on her- I mixed up her order- that girl over there just complained her mule had no lime- so i must have- mixed them up-”

“Thats…not a huge deal-”

“She said she’s allergic to lime-” Jack moved as quickly as he could, the door clattering against the adjacent wall, pausing only slightly to see the girls separate and rush out to find somewhere more private. “Ladies-” he gulped, ducking his head and pounding on each bathroom door to find you, yelling your name. 

You unlocked the door, wheezing giving away your presence. You put your palm out with two pens in hand, Jack's heart dropping. “It’s okay- you used it- okay-” he inspected the pen seeing the 3 year old expiry date. “Do- do you feel better?” 

You nodded “only a little- the first one didn- didnt work and- the second one- helped-”

“We’re gonna go to the ED come on-” he pulled you off the toilet, holding your bag and parting your way outside of the bar. “We’re taking my truck come on-” he basically dragged you out of the bar and lifted you into his car as time passed. He figured the bar covering the bill was the least they could do. 

“It’s getting better-”

“You know reactions can come back it’s always better to go to the hospital- especially when epipens past 2 years expiry are only- 80% effective-”

“Do you always rattle off medical shit when you’re stressed-” Jack’s head snapped over to you for a few seconds, worry baked into his perfect brow furrow. He stumbled over his words as he put the car into gear.

“Yeah- yeah I do-” he sighed before taking off, driving as responsibly as possible towards the hospital. He couldn't help but stare over every few seconds to check in on your condition “how’s your throat-?”

“Never had complaints-” your hand shot over your mouth as Jack let out an unintelligible sound of pure surprise. “Sorry i think the adrenaline makes me lose my filter-”

“Uh- I-” Jack shook his head, flustered beyond belief.

“I don’t know why i said that- i’m not like-” 

‘Stop- don’t say anything else- I think you’ll kill me if another word leaves that mouth of yours-"Jack pulled into the parking lot, stepping out into the night and just taking a moment to regain his sanity. You stepped out, making your way down to the ER with him. 

You laid in the hospital bed, just needing to be monitored for a few hours as jack stayed posted up by your side. “You know you should tell me all your allergies just in case…” Jack held your chart on his lap.

“I’m not allergic to any medication thankfully- don’t respond well to morphine but otherwise not relevant-”

“No I mean…” Jack rested his hands on the handles of your bed leaning in over you slightly. “I should know, for when I take you out to breakfast.”

Jack sits in the quiet room, staring at the body on the bed. He is now well aware that he's about to go insane.

Robby has been no help or support because every few minutes he starts to cry, needing to leave the room. So all Jack can do is hold your hand, reminding you how much he loves you.

All he can hear is the ringing noise in his ear from the monitor flatlining.

The sound of your monitor, flatlining.

24 hours earlier

The breeze coming from the window was much needed after a long night of blistering heat and sweat. That didn't stop Jack from clinging to you like you were about to run away. In an attempt to push him off, he only clung tighter. "Abbotttt get off me" you mumble half-sleepily, "it's hot."

"You're hot," he mumbles back. "Take off your clothes then."

"I'm practically wearing nothing."

"You're wearing one layer and underwear. That's enough." He lets go og you, sitting up in bed, stretching off and yawning loudly before taking off his own T-shirt and tossing it to the floor.

That got your attention. You flick the sheets off you, stretching too then sitting back on your legs, "morning handsome"

"You look incredible."

"You say this every morning. My hair is stuck to my scalp because of how much I've sweated. I have crust in my eyes and my breath smells like a dead raccoon."

Instead of replying, he stares at you with a hungry look in his eyes; he bites down on his lip as his hands reach over to yours, pulling you onto him, and sitting you in his lap.

"Smooth." you deadpan, lowering yourself onto him.

His hands trace up your legs, then to your thighs, eventually reaching over your waist. "So smooth."

You giggle teasingly, stopping his hands from taking off your t-shirt.

"Whoa, what a way to reject me.." his tone is playful, teasing - your favourite.

"Breakfast first.." you coo softly. "It's 6 am and I'm hungry."

"Me too, but apparently I'm not allowed my morning snack." He scoffs playfully.

"I have a better idea." He grabs his phone and readers from the nightstand, clicking open the delivery app. "How about we order breakfast, and while we wait.."

"You can have your snack!" You clap your hands excitedly.

"Exactly." He winks playfully.

You take the phone from him and purposefully take your sweet time scrolling through the limited options they had on there. He stares at you the entire time, with an impatient look on his face. "Hunny?"

"Yes, Jack?" you murmur.

"Why are you taking your time?" he lowers the phone to look at you.

You push it back up, "Because I don't know what I want."

He grumbles and snatches the phone from your hand. "I'm getting one of everything. I'm getting impatient."

"I can feel your impatience between my legs."

"Exactly." He grumbles, "There. Done. One of everything."

To tease him even more, you attempt to shift off of him but he immediately tosses the phone to the side, getting hold of your hands and puling you back onto him. "Where do you think you're going, Robinavitch?"

"Brush my teeth...wash my face..."

He saw low and slow, "what am I meant to do with all this teasing?"

You shrug, "anything you want."

"Anything?" his hand come up to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, "you sure?"

You nib on his bottom lip, "anything."

He takes off his readers, but you grip his hands, “readers stay on.” You tell him.

After multiple rounds of Jack getting his morning snack as he likes to call it, the door bell rings.

"Food!" you yell excitedly.

"I'm offended." He kisses your neck slowly, "that was a much more excited tone than when I fucked you, sweetheart."

"Jack the delivery driver is waitinggg" you mewl at his touch, toes curling at the way he sucked hard enough on your neck, but not hard enough to leave a mark.

"Fine, wait here." he orders, shifting off the bed. The door bell rings again and he yells, "coming!" He throws on a pair of shorts, clipping the prosthetic on and heading to the door. Without looking, he opens the door with a big, excited smile. "What the-"

"Abbot?" Robby scoffs, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Shit."

"Are you- oh god you are?" He storms past Jack, yelling your name at the top of his lungs. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together — Abbot is sleeping with his sister.

You run out of the bedroom in a panic, wearing nothing except Jack's t-shirt. "Shit."

"What the hell is going on!" He yells again, pointing at the two of you, "someone say something this fucking seco-"

"I love her" Jack cuts in, "We've been together for some time now."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he tilts his head at you, "please tell me you're joking?'

"No.. I love him too.."

"And no one thought to mention this!"

"I'm just gonna-" Jack gestures to the bedroom, miming putting on a T-shirt.

"Well you're not gonna find one because she's wearing it!" Robby snaps. "I need to know everything!"

"We just told you..." you say softly, "we're together what else is there to know.."

"I thought that was a fucking joke!" Robby chuckles bitterly, "my best friend is literally sleeping with my little sister! oh God i can't believe i said this out loud!"

"Robby..." You take a step toward him but he puts his hand out, gesturing for you to stop. "Please don't be mad."

"Don't- don't be mad??" a frustrated groan comes out of him, "how can I not be mad!"

Jack walks over to you, and you hide behind him, "What are you doing here at this hour..."

"I came here to ask you if you'd come to work with us today. We're short-staffed, and I need help. Please."

"I can do it." Jack offers.

"You're not a fucking nurse, Abbot - you wouldn't know how to take blood for goodness sake. Do you even know how to start an IV? Clean a wound? Dress one?"

That silences him.

"Actually.. I'm good. We don't need help. I'd rather not think of you two, at work today." He shakes his head and walks toward the door, opening it abruptly just as the delivery driver was about to knock. "Ah! Breakfast in bed for the happy couple. I'll take it. Thank you very much." He snatches the bag out of the guy's hand, grabbing a sandwich out of it before shoving the bag in Jack's chest and walking out. "He said he's gonna tip you $20!" he yells from down the corridor.

"I'm going!" you argue back at Jack who insisted you shouldn't go to work today. "It's the least I can do to make amends.."

"I don't like you working when i'm not there.. And it's the day shift staff!"

"So?"

"So.. they're different. they're... weird."

"They're not weird. You're just allergic to the sunshine and anyone who doesn't like the darkeness."

"Hun please don't go in..." it was tempting, joining him back in bed.

"Too late, i'm dressed."

"You look so hot right now." he pulls you closer toward him, hands cupping your bum cheeks, "so fucking hot."

"Jaaack, I'm gonna be late."

"Doesn't matter." he he sits on the bed, pulling you closer to him, lifting your scrub top to kiss your belly. "I love your skin... your smell.."

"Jack" you moan softly at the way he sucks slowly on your skin, "just-please-"

"Please what?" he looks up at you.

"I can be late by 10 minutes."

"That's my girl." he grins before pulling your scrub pants back down.

"Ah little Robinavitch! The favourite family member returns." Dana chuckles as she sees you approach the hub.

"Morning sunshine."

"Morning sweetheart. How are you?"

"I'm good, sorry i'm late. Last minute phone call from Robby and.. all that." you mumble quickly, "where is he?"

"Room five. He's in a bad mood, God knows why."

"Great."

"Already yelled at Langdon at rounds"

You know of one reason why he's in a bad mood. "Best avoid him then. Anything I need to know?"

"Triage, treat and discharge."

"That's the aim!" you give her a thumbs up before turning on your heels and rushing off in the distance.

Robby's attitude toward you was far too obvious, and everyone had now noticed that something was going on between you two. He'd purposely pick on you during the shift, giving you shit cases or barking unnecessary orders that he could do himself. You kept up with it, took it all one hit at a time, because eventually it'd all come out of his system.

Right?

Wrong.

It turns out he's a lot more hurt about hiding your relationship status from him. And an apology cup of coffee would not fix it. "Seriously?" You watch him pour the coffee down the sink. "I could have drunk that."

"I can't believe you'd hide something like that from me!"

"I'm not a child, Robby. Stop treating me like one."

"Stop acting like one then!" he yells back.

"Me?" you scoff, "i'm not the one who's yelling in the middle of the break room, because his sister is having consensual sex with a man she loves!"

"Oh for fuck's sake, don't put the idea in my head!" he shouts at you, "why didn't you just tell me the truth!"

The door swings wide open and one angry Dana walks in, "Hey, you two! Calm the hell down - everyone can hear you yelling!"

"Sorry." you apologise quickly but Robby doesn't.

"We're not done yet." he says firmly.

"Go to hell, Michael!" you yell at him.

"I'll see you there!" he yells back but Dana steps between the two of you, clapping her hands angrily. "Central eleven is waiting for an ECG. Off you go." She gestures toward the door, and you quickly hurry out. You text Jack on the way to the room, telling him that you want nothing to do with Robby anymore and that he's been an asshole and you want to go home. The day shift being short-staffed is no longer your problem. It is your brother's.

Jack texts back immediately telling you he's on his way to pick you up.

You: I love you. Can't wait to see you Jack: I love you more, sweet girl. I'll be there shortly. You: Can we go out for a late lunch somewhere? Forget this day ever happened? Jack: anything for my girl. You: love you baby

You slip your phone into your pocket, flick through Central Eleven's chart before heading into the room. You introduce yourself to the patient, explaining what an ECG is, how long it would take and ask him a couple of more questions about how he's feeling. He seems normal enough, and it was all going smoothly until he started asking you bizarre questions. He mumbles something about aliens taking all his money, then asks you if you have any. You apologise politely and carry on with applying the leads onto his skin. He asks if you knew of any aliens. You explain that you do not. At this point, you suspect that either this patient is experiencing delirium or psychosis, which means he may not have the mental capacity to consent to the ECG. "I'm going to leave the room for a minute, but i'll be back." You say softly.

"Why?" he asks.

"The doctor forgot to sign something." you gesture at the achine casually, "i'll be right back."

"No, you won't," he says firmly, in a terrifying tone that sends an ugly shiver down your spine, "you're staying here with me."

You take a step away from the bed, walking backwards toward the door, wanting to yell for help but also you're not in any immediate danger.

"You're going to get the aliens, aren't you?" He shifts off the bed quickly, "you're going to take my money!"

You shake your head quickly, "no I promise you I won't." You glance over your shoulder and you're almost at the door. "I'm just gonna-"

But before you could run out of the door, he gets ahold of you by the neck dragging you back in, "HULA HOOP!" you yell loudly, "HULA HOOOP! HULA HOOO-"

Excruciating, stabbing, pain shoots up from your back toward your chest. "Hula hoo-"

Another excruciating wave of pain that feels like you're being stabbed.

But it is an actual stab. Not a sensation or a feeling. Blood is now pouring out of your back and waist, and just as you see him plunge the knife into your abdomen and pull it out, you charge toward the door, using that last bit of energy you have left in you. The ground seemed to have shifted from underneath you, your vision had gone blurry, and the pain is now agonising. And the last thing you remember is what looked like Robby's figure running toward you just as you collapsed outside the room.

"KNIFEEE!!" McKay yells, pointing at the man walking out of the room with a bloody knife in his hand. Everyone's now yelling and screaming in terror, people scattering into rooms. Robby grabs your body, dragging it the opposite direction away from the man, leaving a long, dark trail of blood on the floor. "I need a trauma room! And someone to arrest the guy!"

"On it!" Ahmed yells, with security guards running behind him as they charge toward the man.

"Hey, hey sis look at me, stay awake, stay with me." Panic takes over him, and without thinking, he presses his fingers over the deep wound that sat in your abdomen.

"Robby trauma one is ready!" Langdon calls out of the room.

He picks you up and runs over to the room, blood trickling down his scrubs and the floor. A horror scene starts to unfold incredibly quickly, in front of everyone in the pitt.

A mass of bodies run into the room. Everyone outside the room can hear everyone yelling at each other in panic inside Trauma One, mainly Robby's cries and sobs.

A nurse runs out of the room, and runs back in with two bags of blood.

"We need more!!" Someone yells.

Someone else is now running out to grab another two bags of blood.

"Page surgery!" Another person shouts.

"Robby I can't stop the bleed!" Langdon yells back. "Deep laceration to the kidney!"

"Don't lose that pulse no matter what!" Robby yells back.

"Robby, we're onto the third bag of blood. She's bleeding quicker than what we're giving her"

Outside the room, Princess pulls up your records, typing in your next of kin number. It wasn't Robby's; she had already checked that. They are legally obliged to inform the next of kin of what had happened.

"Hello?" A man answers.

"Hi my name is Princess, and I am calling from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. I am calling because I have-"

"Princess?"

"Yes that's my name. I am calling-"

"It's Jack."

"Hi Jack, I am a nurse here and I'm calling because your relative has been brought in."

"It's Jack Abbot." he says, "why are you calling me?"

"Dr Abbot?" She looks at Dana with a horrified look on her face, pointing at the screen quickly, "you're the next of kin for-"

He says your name. "What the hell is happening Princess?"

"Dr Abbot you might want to come in..."

"I'm already here." He says, standing by the ambulance doors, eyes following the trail of blood from Central eleven to trauma one. "Princess?"

His eyes met hers as she stood by the hub, and she hangs up the phone. She points at trauma one.

"No" He whispers to himself. Only one person has ever put him down as his emergency contact. You. "No" he repeats to himself as he walks straight over the blood and pushes the doors open.

"No, no" he shakes his head, "no this is a nightmare."

Walsh, Garcia, Langdon, Santos, Robby, Jesse, Mateo and so many more people are all working on the person he loves the most in this whole world. You.

They are all standing in the pool of blood that's pouring out of the only person he ever cared about. You.

They all look at him for a brief second then back on the body on the bed. The same body that all of a sudden flatlines.

"Robby!" Jack yells in horror, legs refusing to move any closer to the bed, "Robby what the fuck!"

"Starting compressions," Langdon shouts, pushing bodies out of the way before pressing two hands onto your chest.

Jack had the frown of disbelief on his face. You texted him not even twenty minutes ago, telling him you love him. It's not you on the bed; he refuses to believe it.

"Robby?" This time Jack isn't yelling; he's crying. "Someone talk to me"

"Jack" Dana now has entered the room, putting one hand on his shoulder, "why don't we step outside for a minute."

He watches as they shock the body, limbs seizing for a brief moment. This is hell and he's living in it. He wonders what he has done to deserve it. He brushes Dana off, pushing past the sea of bodies over to you. Your face is pale and cold; your lips have now gone white.

"I'm here" he whispers over your lips as he kisses them softly, "baby i'm here."

Someone tries to pull him back but he pushes them off, clinging back onto your face. The only part of you that was not covered in blood. "Come on sweetheart you can wake up for me."

"Dr Abbot you need to move!"

"Make me!" he yells.

"Jack we need to shock!" Robby pushes him off, and Jack looks at Robby's hands that are covered in blood. The blood trails to his forearm. He wonders if he tried to save you, defend you, or what did he actually do?

He hears the monitor shock, once again your body seizing. "Don't stop compressions or shocking." He says quietly, tone flat, emotionless, sad and broken. "Don't you dare stop"

"Wasn't planning onto!" Langdon snaps back.

He hovers over your face again, whispering things against your lips. He tells you how much he loves you. He compares his love to big and endless things. Like how many stars there are in the universe. He tells you what he has planned for you to do the rest of the day. He promises you never to delay breakfast ever again. He chuckles to himself when he tells you a funny memory.

And he does all of that between compressions and shocks.

He finally begs you to stay with him. But it was too late for that, because your heart had already stopped beating.

24 hours after

“Jack?” Robby whispers, too scared to speak out loud, not entirely certain what he’s scared of.

“What?” Jack snaps. “What the fuck do you need now?”

“I’m sorry, brother”

“She-“ he chokes, “I told her not to go in. I told her to stay at home with me. But instead she insisted she’d do in and help. One day Robby-“ the words catch in his throat, “the one day I’m not with her and I have to watch the love of my life die right in front of my eyes?”

Robby doesn’t respond because there’s nothing to say back to that. His heart is just as broken as Jack’s.

As he worked on your lifeless body, all he could think of is you running around the garden with him when you were kids. Playing in the pool hours on end, making him laugh and giggle at dinners until you are told off. He remembered that one time you tickled him so hard, he ended up vomiting on the floor.

He leaves the room once more, finding a corner where no one can see him, so he can sob his heart out.

Jack on the other hand never leaves your side. He doesn’t let anyone come in and see you, either. No one protected you, so they don’t deserve you.

Jack’s biggest regret is letting you leave that morning.

24 hours earlier

“Shock again.” Robby demands, “we’re not stopping.”

“It’s been-“

“Shock again!!” He tells, voice harsh but breaking.

“Please-“ Jack cries out, holding onto your face, trailing small kisses all over it, “please come back to me. I promise I’ll never leave your side ever again.”

He’s pulled away from the body once more, watching the nurse press the defibrillator button. He says a quick prayer — Jack never prays. But for you he’d do anything.

He still has so many things he wants to experience with you, so many places he wants to take you to. He even wants to propose to you — but you kept putting off telling Robby about the relationship.

He prays because you’re the reason for his survival. The reason why he gets out of bed everyday to come to work. Your smile, your giggles, the amazing food you make him — he loves everything about you.

So as he stands in the pool of your blood, the smell of iron filling the room, he begs the universe to give him one more chance. Life has not been kind to Jack, and he’d fought so hard to see the bright side of things, to believe that things do indeed get better. So the least it can do is bring you back to him.

But as he hears the flatline again, he’s reminded once more that things may never get better. He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at anyone, including the cold and pale body, preparing himself to say goodbye. He wouldn't know what to say.

Someone whispers, “look”

One heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The rhythmic beats fill the room that has now gone quiet. Everyone’s too scared to make a move, say something or even look anywhere else except the screen. They all watch the waves go up and down. Consistent, quick and beating with a purpose.

“Let’s get her up to surgery now!” Walsh yells quickly, “Cowboys, follow us”

24 hours later

The only way Jack would forget about the sound of the machine flatlining is to watch your chest rise and fall on the bed, with two fingers pushing down on your wrist pulse point. He counts, over and over again, until he starts to feel sleepy and nodding off, he stands up just so he doesn’t go to sleep.

He doesn’t want to sleep until you’re awake, safe, with him.

Robby steps back into the room, pulling a chair on the other side of the bed, holding onto the other hand.

“She’s gonna be okay.” Jack forces the words out, although he doesn’t believe them himself.

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Well, you have to.” He replies sternly, “we have no other option but to believe that, Robby.”

“I can’t believe the last thing i did was yell at her..” voice low, slow, like he is admitting to a crime he committed. He’s in disbelief that his little sister had died on his watch, brought back, and now surviving because of all the machines hooked up to her. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself. I said ugly things.”

“She’ll wake up and tell you that. She’s kind, never holds a grudge.”

“That she is.” Robby murmurs.

Jack holds your cold hand close to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to it repeatedly. He needs you to wake up, back with him. Because the last 24 hours have been from hell, and Jack had been to hell and back, but since meeting you, he hadn’t been even close to being in hell.

Being with you was Jack’s heaven on earth everyday.

"I ate her sandwich," Robby cries out.

“What?”

“I ate her sandwich and she could have died! She - she died on my watch!"

Jack lets out a wet laugh through his own tears, and Robby joins in on the laughter. Two broken men cry laughing while living their worst nightmare.

“I’m not even angry she’s with you, man” Robby says quietly, “I’m just angry you hid it.”

“I hid it because she asked me to. No one knows.”

“Now everyone does…”

Jack nods. “She’d hate that everyone now knows.”

“Is she happy?”

He remembers the morning with you, 24 hours ago, just before Robby came over. He remembers how much you giggled when he kissed your stomach. How you let out a relaxing sound the moment you ate the food he had ordered for you. How cuddly you were despite how hot and sticky you told him you felt. “Yeah, she’s very happy.”

“I’m sorry i reacted that way brother.”

“Sorry we hid it.”

“How did you two fall in love anyway?”

Jack smiles at the memory, “that was the best night of my life.”

“I’d like to hear about it.”

4 months earlier

Jack walks into the hot and stuffy bar, wondering why the hell his date would choose a place like this. He had messaged her, asking if she was running on time, but he never got a reply. He assumed she was busy.

She never shows up.

He decides to sit at the bar and order a drink. A girl steps on the small stage, wearing a denim dress and cowboy boots. Her friend joins the stage too.

“Hi everyone!” You say loudly into the microphone and a sharp, piercing noise comes echoes from the speakers. “Sorryyyy”

“We’re gonna sing a song for you all!!!” The other girl yells and everyone cheers.

“The song we chose is by you look like you love me by Ella Langley and Riley Green."

A guy whistles and you blow him a kiss in response. Jack grins at the confidence and beauty in front of him.

You’re the first one to sing — Jack doesn’t recognise the lyrics, and had never heard the song, but he’s already in love. God dammit he wants to be a cowboy so bad, and is in dire need of a cowboy hat.

Once your eyes lock in on his, Jack doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

“Excuse me… you look like you love me…” you sing, whilst pointing at Jack. “You look like you want me to want you to come on home…”

Jack chuckles.

“Oh baby I don’t blame youuuu.” You step off the stage and slowly make your way through the crowd.

“I’m drunk, and I’m ready to leave..” you sing, then your friend starts the next part.

But you’re not listening to her, instead you’re focusing on the man in front of you. Salt and pepper curls, wrinkles around his beautiful green eyes, and the way he’s biting down on his lip sends a heat down your belly.

“I’m ready to leave too.” Jack answers.

“It’s the song, silly” you giggle as you step forward in front of him, nudging his thighs open so you can stand between them.

The bar’s clapping to the music, your friend gesturing for everyone to stand up on tables or chairs, everyone’s singing along.

Then it was your turn to sing.

Jack takes your cowboy hat off, putting it on him.

“So if you ever see a man, in a cowboy hat, and you think to yourself, I could use some of that..”

You lean in.

“Don’t waste your time.. just give him here this line..”

Everyone erupts into cheer, yelling and singing along with your friend, “excuse me, you look like you love me….”

Jack nods quickly. Jack is in love. With a stranger girl in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat.

Jack doesn’t want anyone else in this life except this girl and her boots.

He grips on your waist, pulling you closer to him, “I think I do.”

“I think I do too” you giggle resting your forehead on yours, “so, shall we get out of here?”

“Not yet, I think it’s only fair I sing a song with you.”

“So what song do you wanna sing?”

“Only you, by Yazoo”

24 hours after the incident

“So hang on, you didn’t know she was my sister?”

“I didn’t recognise her, no.” Jack chuckles, “I haven’t seen her in years and she looks different on the pictures.”

“Ah man what a great story.” Robby smiles looking at you, “she’s lucky to have you Jack.”

“I’m the lucky one brother.”

“So how did you find out that she’s my sister?”

“Oh..” Jack says quietly, “maybe let’s not-“

“No, I’d like to know. C’mon you can tell me anything.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

4 months earlier

Jack didn’t ask for your name, because he didn’t care what the name was. All he cared about was never letting you go. He thought that love at first sight was a made-up thing that people often said. He didn’t believe it until he had you in his lap, straddling him in the back of his car, hot, sweaty and in love.

He was gripping your thighs tightly as you rode his erection in a rhythmic, purposeful motion. Your lips sealed on his, cowboy hat nowhere to be seen.

“The first time I’m fucking you is not in the back of my car, love” Jack rasps out breathlessly, “I’d like it to be somewhere you can… be vocal.”

“Oh yeah?” You giggle at his confidence, “cocky.”

“It’s worth it.”

“So mine or yours then?”

“Mine.” Jack whispers. You’re mine. He promises himself.

Back at the apartment, clothes start to come off gradually between kisses, except the cowboy boots. “They stay on.” Jack insisted.

He still hasn’t asked for your name, and you haven’t either. It was only until he had you pressed underneath him in bed, two fingers slipping into your soaked folds, you asked for his name.

Jack chuckles, “it’s Jack. Jack Abbot.”

“What?” You grip his wrist, pulling his two fingers out. “What did you say?”

“Its Jack-“

“Fuck”

“What?” He moves away from you almost immediately, with a shocked look on his face, matching your expression. “What did I do? Did I hurt you? Did I-“

“I’m Robby’s sister.”

“Robinavitch? My best friend Michael Robinavitch?” He chokes out, says your name quietly.

You nod in embarrassment.

"How- fuck- shit! You're different! You've changed!"

You nod again, “It gets worse.”

“Tell me…”

“You’re also my new boss.”

Jack chuckles, thinking you were joking.

“I’m serious Jack. I start work next week — meet your new night shift nurse.” You gesture at your naked body.

“Oh shit.”

“Yep” you nod, “Sorry I didn’t know.”

Jack moves over to your side, “it doesn’t change anything for me.”

“It doesn’t?”

“It’s even better now. It means I get you at work and also at home.”

“You move quickly in your relationships” you tease him.

“Only when I’m madly in love.” He gestures for you to lift your legs up so he can take the boots off.

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Jack?”

“Now I do” he murmurs, shifting next to you, his fingers brushing your cheeks slowly, “this is the best night of my life.”

You shift over, closing the distance between the two of you, pressing your naked body against his. Your hand finds his, moving it back to where it was. A silent permission that you want this just as much as he does.

He didn’t stop making love to you that night, or any other night.

24 hours after the incident

Jack left out a lot of detail from that night. He definitely did not share the full story. Robby chuckles at the story Jack told him. “You two are so disgustingly in love.”

“I can’t imagine life without her. I would have married her a week after meeting her but.. we agreed not to tell you.” Jack says quietly, reality sinking once again that you’re here, unwell, in dire need of a miracle.

“That’s not how the story goes….” A weak, low voice says, “you missed out some bits.”

The two men look at each other then back at you.

Jack pushes off his chair, immediately leaning over you, “You’re awake! Hi sweetheart, you’re awake.”

“Hi baby” you manage to move your head to face his, “what happened?”

“It’s a long story, I can tell you later but you’re awake that’s all that matters.” He murmurs against your lips, feeling his tears drop onto your cheeks, “I was so scared.”

“I feel like I’ve been stabbed.” You groan in pain, mouth dry, back aches and everything in you hurts.

“Hey sis.” Robby clears his throat, “I’m here too.”

“You’re not gonna yell, are you?” You turn to face him, and reach out for his hand. He doesn’t hesitate to link his fingers through yours.

He shakes his head, wiping his tears with the other hand. “Never. I’m sorry I did that.”

“We’re sorry we lied.” Jack adds.

“I’m not” you say slowly and both men chuckle. “You ate my sandwich.”

“You heard that?” Jack asks.

“I heard everything.” You gesture for him to come closer to you, “and I would have married you a week after meeting you too, Jack.”

The ER wallflower. The nickname that was chosen for you and one that summed you perfectly. Since starting at PTMC, which was almost a year ago, you kept to yourself because you were socially anxious. Conversations played on your mind, and sometimes humour affected you in ways you didn't understand. So it was best to stay quiet. You came to work on time, got the job done, and simply went home to your lonely apartment.

Life was simple, and had been this way for a long time. Nothing ever exciting happened. Until one day you met the wrong person and ended up getting pregnant. There wasn't much regret, despite it happening with the wrong person, because you might have finally found your purpose in this life. Being someone's mom. The excitement didn't last long, because shortly after the first trimester, complications presented and you were told not to hold onto any hope.

But you did. A tiny bit of hope was all you wanted in this life. So you held onto it, and prayed that every day your baby would pull through.

You did well hiding the pregnancy at PTMC. No one noticed, so you simply did not share it. People congratulating you was a huge no - the last thing you wanted was being the centre of attention. Then, they'd be asking about the dad. 'Oh, he ran the opposite way' is what you would say. Again, you didn't blame him. After all, you preferred to be alone.

So your day consisted of appointments to check on baby, and with each appointment, it was more bad news or no news. You'd then go to work, act like everything was fine, and go home and pray for your baby.

That tiny bit of hope sat in your heart, helping it beat.

"Does our wallflower seem different to you?" Lena asks Jack one evening.

"Don't think we should be calling her that.. It's mean." Jack says softly, watching you in the distance. He has spoken to you countless times, but only ever about work. He had asked about your day, what you get up to.. why you don't go out with anyone. But with each question, he noticed how fidgety you got and how nerves overtook you. But the heart doesn't decide who to fall in love with, and Jack couldn't stop his heart from doing anything.

He enjoyed your company and your calming presence. He loved how soft-spoken you were and how gentle you were with patients. He found it incredibly adorable when a patient cracked a joke, and you waited for someone else to laugh before you did. Like you were waiting for permission to do so. He loved how you checked in on him more than anyone, reminding him to take a break, or pointing at the cup of coffee he put down somewhere and forgot about. He loved how you asked him if his leg was hurting and to sit down. You didn't stop being a nurse, to patients or colleagues. But if only he knew a tiny bit more about you.

"But different how?" Jack asked.

"She's too quiet."

"She's always been quiet."

"Not with you, she hasn't." Everyone had noticed how you came out of your shell just a tiny bit around Jack. They assumed it was a crush, but it was more complicated than that.

See, a wallflower, or a socially anxious person in general, will find their one safe person to be around. Someone who would match their energy; someone who would not push for them to be more than what they are. And someone who simply is... kind. Someone like Jack.

"Maybe she's got home trouble..." Jack added. The thought worried him; that you could possibly be going through something horrible, and you had no one to turn to.

Little did Jack know, that you were indeed, going through something utterly devestating.

Losing your baby.

The day your leave ended after you lost your baby, you wrote your resignation letter, explaining your reasoning behind your departure and headed over to HR. "Effective immediately?" The woman asks.

"Yes, please."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Do you have anyone at home to support you through this?"

"Yes, of course." A big, huge, terrible lie. You had no one to turn to. The tiny hope you held on to? It was gone. Dead. In a tiny little coffin.

"Take care of yourself, will you?"

"Sure."

Little did she know that you had now decided that life is not worth living. The day you gave birth to a beautiful sleeping baby was the day you decided that you didn't want to live any longer without him.

A decision that was not made quickly, nor irrationally. You were simply too deep into a big black hole, and no one was coming to rescue you. The isolation you engulfed yourself in wouldn't even allow anyone to come in and rescue you.

You headed back downstairs to PTMC and braced yourself to have one very difficult discussion with Lena, that tonight would be your last night. It was much easier this way, because it saves anyone from buying you a leaving present. You didn't expect anyone to of course, but maybe Jack would have bought something? It's not like you could take it to the afterlife anyway. Plus, leaving this suddenly meant the attention would be on you for an hour or two, then you could go back to your miserable and lonely life.

You put your bag in your locker, along with a small pump that the nurse gave you. That was another brutal thing you had to go through. No one talks about life after giving birth, without a baby. A decision was made by you to pump and donate your milk to the NICU upstairs. You told them that day you gave birth to run their checks and finalise any paperwork that required you to be a donor. You could at least save a few babies' lives, even if you didn't want to save your own life.

Everyone is around the hub, gathered for their catch-up before the night shift starts. You said a quick hello, eyes meeting Jack's, who immediately smiles at you.

"Hey Lena, can I have a quick word?" You ask softly, still feeling Jack's eyes on you from a distance.

"Sure sweet, what's wrong?"

Jack's heart sinks as he hears you say the words, 'I'm leaving.' You don't give an explanation, despite Lena's questions, but instead he hears you apologise over and over again for leaving. You said it with so much guilt, almost like you were leaving somewhere you can't come back from. She asks if you have another job lined up, saying she's willing to write a letter of recommendation. But you tell her that you're taking a break.

Taking a break?

Jack doesn't focus on what Shen or anyone else is saying until Parker nudges him to pay attention. He excuses himself and walks straight over to Lena just as you walk away. "She's leaving? What the hell?"

"She's worrying me..."

"You and me both. Do you know anything about her?"

"Nope." Lena states, "Been this quiet since she started. But she looks sad — like she's grieving."

Before Jack could say anything, Mateo comes running into the ER through the ambulance doors with a baby wrapped up in his hands. "Guess what I found."

"The hell?" Jack frowns. "Did you bring it with you from home?"

"Found 'em outside. No note, nothing. Just them in a baby car seat."

"Let's go to peds. Lena, let's keep a lookout for a parent that's.. hysterically crying somewhere. In triage or outside."

"Will do."

The two men rush over to peds, with the baby calmly nestled in Mateo's arms.

"Suits you." Jack jokes.

"No offence Dr Abbot but I haven't held something this small... ever. Please take it away."

"Let's find out more about... it."

Mateo carefully puts the baby in the cot; Jack is already gloved up and unwrapping the baby blanket. "Shit."

"Literally."

The smell of poo fills up the room and the two men gag immediately.

"Damn kid." Mateo says, reaching for a face mask and handing Jack one too. The baby's clothes come off, except the dirty nappy and they carry out their checks.

"Good airway, perfect circulation.." Jack murmurs. "Heart rate is fine, oxygen is too."

"I'll draw some bloods."

"Let's uh... do something about the shit first?" Jack gestures at the mess.

"Not it!" Mateo yells and the baby immediately starts fussing. "Oh shit."

"No swearing in front of babies!" Jack hisses, "It's your fault it's crying."

"Fine i'll change the nappy. Then take bloods when it's not covered in literal shit."

"And I'll start on the full physical exam." Jack smiles at the baby who's now holding onto his finger and not letting go. "How old do you think it is?"

"It is a she..." Mateo states, "and she must be, what four weeks old?"

"Hi baby girl." Jack coos, "Did Mateo scare you? yeah?"

"Wanna hold her?" Mateo teases.

"Hell no, she's so small." Jack scoffs, "i'm worried i'll hurt her... But I know just the person that could help us."

"Hey sweet?" Lena finds you in one of the rooms just as you're finishing up. "You busy?"

"Uh no, all yours. Anything you need."

"Abbot needs you in peds."

Oh the world is cruel, you think to yourself. You don’t know if you’re ready to deal with a baby anytime soon.

"Why?"

"Baby Jane Doe."

"Another one?"

The world is definitely very, very cruel. Your already broken heart has a new crack now, one you’re convinced might fully break it.

"Yep. Younger this time too. Do you think you can give him a hand?"

You want to say no. You want to yell and scream no, no, no, but instead you force a small smile: "Sure. No problem."

There were eleven more hours to go on your shift. Eleven hours until you say goodbye to this place and its people, for one final time. You open the door slowly and peek your head in. "Did you need me?"

Jack nods for you to come in, both hands occupied with one crying and fussy baby, "Meet our newest's patient. Someone left her behind."

"Are you sure they're not coming back?"

"It's been almost an hour..." Jack clicks his teeth, "don't think they're coming back anytime soon."

"Vitals okay?"

"Yeah, just waiting on pathology."

"Okay, so what... am I needed for?"

You want to get out of this room. You are convinced this is hell, and you are currently in it. Having a baby, right in front of you, this beautiful and small, when yours didn't even make it to this size... was simply devastating. And more importantly, a baby that has been willingly abandoned.

"Can you try and.. help with the crying?"

"I'm no expert... Maybe she's hungry?"

"We're waiting for some baby milk from the NICU."

Probably your breast milk. Another cruel joke from the universe.

"Nappy?"

"Already changed."

"Uh... skin to skin?"

"Does that usually work?"

"I dunno... maybe she needs some human touch. Some… love"

The baby cries so much that her screech pierces everyone's ears, including everyone outside. Jack walks around the room, gently rocking her, but nothing seems to calm her down.

At first you felt helpless. You don’t want to hold her, or be anywhere near here. But your body was pulling you toward her — almost like she needs you just as much as you need her.

"Let me try" you eventually give in, and gesture for him to give you the baby.

He freezes for a moment, eyes looking at your chest. You follow his gaze and see two dark and wet patches sitting at the front of your scrubs. Horrified doesn't even describe how you felt, and you quickly turn your back to him, scrambling for anything to say, but you can't come up with anything quick enough to say.

"Sweetheart are you-"

"No, Jack, I'm not." You are not pregnant, nor do you have a child anymore. "It's complicated."

"Okay, it's okay. Go pump if you need to."

Jack can hear your broken sniffles, regret immediately filling him about dragging you into this mess. Only one person would ever cry like this over a baby and breast milk. A person who wants to hold their baby, but can't.

"Sweetheart, you can leave the room if you want to."

You choke out, "I can't"

"Why not?"

You turn to face him, and your top is now soaked through. You move your hands in an attempt to cover it, but it was too late because the patches were far too obvious, and there is now milk soaking through your clothes.

"I'll put her on the bed, and I'll go grab you a new top and your pump. Yeah? Sound okay?" Jack says sincerely.

"I'll take her it's okay."

"Are you sure?"

You nod and reach over for her.

The racing thoughts in your mind that you've had the past few months, and the anxiety in your chest, the broken heart that kept beating despite everything... all seemed to go quiet the moment you held her.

At first you didn’t understand why you don’t feel as broken holding her. Why aren’t you crying? Why do you feel okay?

You don’t want to feel okay. You were used to feeling broken and sad, and don’t want to feel anything else.

But your body knows what it’s missing.

You ignored whatever flutter you felt in your chest once her little hand rested on your chest.

"Do you have a pump on you?" Jack asks softly.

"In my locker, yeah."

"I'll go get it, and i'll check the milk from NICU too."

"Jack?" you hate yourself for what you're about to say, but you trust him with your secret and don't know why.

"Yeah?"

"The breast milk from the NICU is most likely mine," you mutter. "I donated a fresh batch this morning... and no, my baby is not in the NICU, before you ask."

"I'm truly and terribly sorry for dragging you into this. I promise I didn't know."

A knock on the door interrupts both of you, and the neonatologist walks in, whom you have met with before. Your baby never made it to the NICU, but you were introduced in case there were any signs of life when he was born.

"Hi Dr Williams." You give her a small smile. "Meet our Baby Jane Doe. And this is Dr Abbot."

"Nice to meet you both. So what have we got?"

"She won't stop crying”

"That's a good sign. Means she knows what she needs." She takes the baby from you, sets her on the bed, and notices your obvious wet patches. "You good?"

"Yeah sorry, all the crying… got it all going."

"Have you pumped yet?"

"No I was... going to."'

"You're a certified donor so you can also breastfeed. If you want to."

"I didn't think... it would be allowed."

"The milk I brought down is yours anyway."

"I wouldn't know how to..."

"You don't have to, but just as a suggestion. I'm sorry about what happened.”

"It's okay, thank you."

"If this is too difficult, we can take over until social services gets here in the morning."

"No, i'm good" you nod quickly. "Really, I'm okay. If you want me to feed her, I can do it."

"Sweetheart, you don't have to..." Jack cuts in. This horrible mess he brought you into... he's never going to forgive himself.

"I'm doing it for her, no one else. As long as I'm not getting in trouble for it."

"You won't. You're helping her more than anything. I can help you." Dr Williams says.

"And I'll leave you two to it." Jack says, but Dr Williams cuts in, "Can you get us some water, please? A big bottle if possible. And some snacks for her."

Once he leaves the room, Dr Williams gestures for you to sit on the chair. You take your top off and she hands you the baby.

"Again, if you wanna back out, you can do." She says gently, "I know this is hard."

"It's okay. I promise i'm fine. I'm only doing it for her." You're doing it for her so she can feel loved and be reminded that she's not alone in this world. You’re doing if because you’re selfless and you’d want someone to do the same for your baby, if he survived in a world in which you didn't. “It's only for a few hours, right?"

"Has the doctor prescribed you the pills to stop the breast milk?"

"Not yet.. I uh.. wanted to keep donating as much as I can."

"You're too kind." She puts one gentle arm on your back, and this is the most human contact you've had in a long time, except when someone hugged you right after giving birth.

She tells you what to do and how to hold her.

The moment she latches on is the moment you feel peace. A bizarre feeling, actually, how your mind goes completely still. You felt content, like you are exactly where you're supposed to be. Like your body needed this more than anything else in the world.

"Does it feel weird?" She asks you.

"No, it feels.."

"Whole?" She smiles.

"Exactly." You chuckle nervously.

"You're doing great, and she seems like one happy bunny."

Jack knocks on the door first before walking in, and Dr Williams looks at you first before she invites him in.

"I'm not bothered." You say, looking down at the baby, "It's natural, so... if anyone has an issue with it then.. that’s on them."

"Atta girl." She pats your back and walks over to the door to let him in. "She's sleeping so... behave."

"Always" Jack smiles softly.

You weren't too sure what to expect when Jack walked in. With someone as reserved as you are, being here with one sleepy baby in your arms, and your attending standing right in front of you with one boob out... You thought it'd be intense, or weird. But actually, it wasn't awkward at all.

"How are we doing?" He asks you casually.

"Sleepy" you smile at him, "and that's both of us."

"That's normal," Dr Williams says, "keep drinking this water, and eat as much as you can. I'll come back in about an hour or so."

"When... do I know when to stop?"

"When she's had enough, she’ll pull away. Call me on my cell if you need anything." She tells you. "And do you know how to burp her?"

"Yeah... I've attended classes." You say quietly, the words heavy on your tongue.

"Stay with her, Dr Abbot. You're on diaper duty. I'll be back."

Once she leaves the room, Jack pulls a chair beside you and opens up a chocolate bar. "Hungry?"

"Mhm.” You murmur, not looking directly at him.

He brings the chocolate bar to your mouth and you take a bite. "Thank you."

"It's you we need to thank. I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I didn't know-"

"Jack, no one knew. It's okay." You trace one finger over the baby's soft head, and you get a sleepy smile back in response.

"Oh my God that's adorable" Jack chuckles, "did you see that!"

"I got a smile." You whisper to yourself.

"She likes you already."

"Yeah… well." You lean back in the seat, not taking your eyes from her for one moment.

You never thought anybody would like you, so your anxious mind reminds you that the smile was not intended for you. And that you’re not deserving of love.

What you didn't know is that the world might have been cruel for dragging you into this, but it was also trying to give you as sign that things do get better. And that life is worth living.

It was a shame you wouldn't want to listen to it, even if you knew it's plan.

Jack now knows that you don’t want to live.

The signs were never there, or maybe he missed them. But as he sits next to you on the chair, watching you keep one tiny baby alive, it became pretty obvious how broken you are.

It doesn’t take a genius to gather what had happened. He noticed the way your voice subtly shook as you sang to her, how your hands trembled when you brushed her soft head with your finger, and the fresh scars that covered your inner upper arm.

You’re leaving effective immediately, with no job to go to next.

You are leaving without return.

Call it selfish, or unethical, but what Jack does next, he does it for you and for him. Because he can’t watch you, or anyone else, give up on life this easily. Not when there’s so much more beauty to see, and more love to experience.

And if Jack fought this hard to stay here, then so will you.

So Jack said goodbye to you that morning when your shift ended. He hugged you tightly in the middle of peds, not letting go until you pulled away. “I’m going to miss you” he said.

“Thanks, Jack. I’m gonna miss you too.”

“Will you keep in touch?”

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you, for taking care of her. I’ll send you pictures of her.”

“Sure, yeah. No worries.”

He watched you say goodbye to the tiny baby, but there were very subtle, hesitant footsteps as you walked away from her. You didn’t take your eyes off her until you were out of the room.

And with that, Jack hoped that him and baby will get to see you again.

He stayed in peds with her for a while, holding her close on his chest, Jack repeating the lullaby that you sang to her. She made him feel complete, like he now knows what his purpose is in life. A feeling he did not expect, but held onto close to his heart.

This feeling gave him a new meaning to life. To be here. j

He picked up the baby and walked outside with her so she could meet the day shift staff.

“Oh not another one!” Dana rolls her eyes, dropping her bag to the floor.

“Baby Jane Doe 2.0” Jack shows her off to everyone.

“Seriously? What’s up with people throwing away perfectly good babies??” Dana scoffs, “anyone wants a baby?”

Everyone scurries away from her. “C’mon now! It’s a good baby! Somebody take her!” She points at the baby that’s perfectly nestled in Jack’s arms.

“I’ll take her.” Jack murmurs, looking down at her.

“The hell you’re not” She chuckles, “hey somebody take this baby before Abbot does!”

“I’m serious”

“No you’re not sweet. You can’t take care of a baby!”

“Yes I can.” Jack argues, “feed, sleep, change nappy. Right?”

“A bit more than that.”

“Yeah but well…”

Dana takes a minute, looking at Jack who’s got the baby wrapped up in his arms, cooing to her. She shakes her head in disappointment at what she’s about to say, “Get out of my face before I change my mind.”

Looks like Jack Abbot is taking a baby home. And his plan? So far working perfectly.

Jack Abbot was going to guilt-trip you into helping him with this baby, showing you just how beautiful life can be, until you change your mind about staying here.

Hopefully with him.

Step 1 - Attachment and detachment

Growing up, you were a happy child. Loud, energetic and someone who giggled at everything. But then one day your dad told you to stop being loud, and everyone laughed. Another time, your cousin pushed you into a pile of dirt and told you it was payback for laughing too loudly.

But the bullying didn’t stop there.

It continued throughout your life, from anyone and everyone you met. You were the friend who exclaimed too loudly, or the one who jumped up in happiness when something exciting happened. You were the friend with the brilliant sense of humour. But all it took was for a comment or two about you being too happy or too loud until too many comments sucked the last drop of energy out of you.

So you became quiet, a wallflower in fact. Detached yourself from everything and anyone, not participating in conversations, avoiding social interactions, and finding peace in how simple your life became. You didn’t know that this 'peace' is called depression. Because depression presents itself in various ways, and you had no one to help you differentiate between the two. So when you met your baby boy then lost him, your depression changed from this so called peace and quiet, into anger and rage. At the world. At the unfairness of it all. But who are you actually fighting with? Or for?

It’s been just over a day since your final shift at PTMC, and you spent the whole day finalising affairs. One thing about deciding to leave this earth is making sure no one will be left to sort out your mess after you leave. It’s not fair what you’re about to do, but life was not fair to you.

You ticked off a couple of more things on your final plan and went off to bed. Your stomach growled in protest, but you couldn’t be bothered to eat. You also decided to keep donating milk for a few more days, until everything is ticked off your plan except the final step.

Sleep came rather quickly, like it always did, and you hoped that tonight you’d dream of your baby boy. You first heard crying, lots of it. A baby was crying, screeching in fact, like it was distressed. You turned over in bed, pulling a pillow over either side of your head, but that didn’t muffle it. Where was it coming from? And why did it sound like it was coming from your apartment? You then heard the knocking. The baby was outside your door, crying. And knocking?

You run to the door and open it frantically, and there stood one Jack Abbot with a baby in his arms.

“I’m sorry” he says, “I’m sorry it’s late I know but she won’t stop crying-“

“Jack, why… do you have the baby?”

“Can I come in?”

“Do I have a choice?” You don’t want him or this baby anywhere near you. Not because you hated them, because loneliness is much easier when you’re planning a departure. Having people that care about you and care for you… complicates things.

“Please?”

You open the door fully and let him in, helping him with the nappy bag and the pram. You never thought you’d see the Jack Abbot, in your apartment, holding a baby in his arms, looking more stressed than when dealing with a GSW. “Did you.. steal the baby?”

“No, I’m fostering her.”

Oh. Bold choice, you thought to yourself. “And you’re finding it okay?”

“Does it look like I’m doing well?” Jack chuckles.

You gesture for him to pass her to you, “when did she last eat?”

“Like two hours ago.”

“Did she eat enough?”

“Nope vomited it all on me.”

You giggle at Jack's disgusted tone as you look down at the baby. “Have you given her a name?”

“I have a few options… I was thinking hope.”

“No...How about Annie?”

“Nope.. Marie? Or we can keep calling her baby Jane doe.”

“She needs a name Jack… how about Lily?”

“Lily Abbot.” He whispers, but you hear it over the crying. You can’t help but admit that it certainly does sound amazing, but don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that you like it.

“Let’s try and have some food yeah?” You walk back the bedroom and Jack follows but you gesture for him to stop.

“Don’t you need a hand?”

“With what Abbot?” You tease, “what are you gonna squeeze my breast or something?”

“Uh what-no! No I uh”

“It’s a joke” You laugh at him, and Jack realised he had never heard you laugh like this. He loved it.

“Sorry just not.. used to uh”

“Me talking? Or joking?”

“Yeah… you’re just usually quiet.”

“You’ve not left me with any options Jack. You’re here so.. I have to talk.”

“Sorry again, I had no one else.”

“What were you thinking? Fostering a baby?”

“I have my reasons.”

You hum in response, wanting to know more about those reasons. But not now, because what’s the point in knowing more?

“Im gonna feed her, and you, mister, are going to order us some food. Because it’s 4am and you’ve interrupted my sleep. So you’re gonna get a bit of everything, preferably sushi because that’s expensive and well, you can afford it. Right?”

“Right.”

“Good. And don’t tell me the restaurants aren’t open. Find one that’s open.”

“Will do.” Jack smirks.

“Wipe that smile off your face. Once I’m done feeding you’re going back to your apartment. Got it?”

“Sure. A bit of everything then I’m getting kicked out. Sounds like a plan.” He smiles again.

Jack's baby step plan is the following:

First, it was hanging around you for too long until you got attached to him and the baby. Then, it was giving you a sense of how important you are to him and Lily and how much you brighten up their day. The step after is to show you just how truly beautiful life can be. And the final step? Hopefully, to never leave your side and keep showing you that life indeed is worth living.

It looks like his first step might be working, because he saw the corner of your mouth gently tug into a smile before you frowned again and slammed the door shut in his face.

“Your dad had a stupid, but smirk.” You say to Lily quietly, “but I’ll never tell him that..”

A little while later, you hear a gentle tap on the door and you answer for him to come in.

“Foods here.”

“That was quick”

“I paid for express delivery.”

“Did my hunger scare you?”

“A bit.”

“Good.” You don’t smile at him, but you continue to pretend that you’re indeed not happy about this. The last thing you wanted for someone as kind as Jack, and a beautiful baby like Lily, to interrupt your life and your plan, more importantly. “You’re on diaper duty; I’ll be in the living room eating my sushi.”

You shift off the bed and hand him the baby, watching for Jack’s reaction as it changes off from a happy smile to an immediate gag.

“It’s been brewing for a while so I saved it for you!” You yell as you leave the bedroom.

As promised, he indeed had ordered a bit of everything and the spread didn’t disappoint. It was certainly worth waking up at 4am for this. You turn the tv, grab a bit of everything and stretch your legs out on the sofa as you eat.

You don’t hear them come back, but you feel tiny little feet on the top of your head. Looking up, you see one happy baby and one happy Jack. “Why is she naked?”

“I forgot to pack an outfit.”

“You forgot-“ you begin to yell but then calm yourself down. “You… forgot… to pack an outfit?”

“We left in a rush!”

“Jesus Jack! Who the hell signed off on the paperwork to let you have a baby!”

“Is the food good?” He says casually once he’s on the couch next to you.

“Give me the baby.” You trade your plate with the baby and put her on your chest, throwing a blanket over the two of you. “Not even 24 hours with your dad and he’s falling apart.” You murmur to her.

“Do you.. have any clothes?”

“How small do you think I am, Abbot?” Jack doesn’t laugh instead he stays still. “It’s another joke you can laugh. Yes I do have some baby clothes.”

“I’m not used to this sense of humour.”

“Well.. dont get too attached.. You’re leaving back to your apartment aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah we are.” He takes a bite of the plate you handed him over, but he feels your eyes on him like a hawk, with a mouthful he mumbles, “what?”

“I have your baby on my chest and you’re eating my food? Are you kidding me!”

“Sorry” he mumbles again, “it’s been a long night”

“You think??”

He chuckles and leans over with some food, “open wide.”

The two of you stay there for a little while longer, with one sleepy baby on your chest and one incredibly happy Jack next to you who wouldn't stop feeding you despite your protests.

Once baby was asleep again, you shift off the sofa slowly, leaving a heavily asleep Jack on the sofa and head to the bedroom. You had bought some clothes for your baby boy, knowing full well he most likely would never wear them. But you could only hope at the time, right?

“Which outfit do you want to wear?” You whisper to Lily who’s wide awake and watching you. “I don’t have anything pink, but that doesn’t matter.. it’s a marketing technique really to get everything suuuper expensive. It’s called the pink tax. Anyway, I have something with giraffe on it. Sound good?”

She coos in response and you giggle.

You set her on the bed, laying the outfit next to her, “Dad’s gonna take you home in a minute. So don’t miss me too much…but I’ll see you again maybe one day.”

She holds onto your finger as you try and change her, not letting go. “You can’t take my finger with you. But dad’s got nice fingers so you can hold onto them.”

“Dad’s got ugly fingers what are you even saying!” Jack’s voice makes you both flinch and she immediately starts crying.

“Are you kidding me man!” You abandon the outfit to the side and pick her up. “Morning”

“Morning sunshine” he smiles and walks over to the two of you while you try and stop her from crying.

“We were having a great time until your gravely voice interrupted us.”

“Sorry.” Jack was not sorry in the slightest. Because he heard what you’d said to Lily, and how happy you sounded. Maybe the plan is indeed working.

“Yeah you keep saying that.” You pace around the bedroom, trying to get her to calm down. The more she cries, the more you want to cry.

“Take off your top” you say to Jack, “now”

“noww?”

“Abbot were trying skin to skin so please, just strip down.”

He doesn’t move at first, letting out a sound that mimicked defleating a balloon. Then he turns around, clears his throat, and takes his top off.

“Bed” you say to him and he does as you say. “Ready? Catch!” Jack flinches but you laugh in response, “Jesus Jack lighten up she’s not a basketball. Here,” you lower her down onto his chest, Jack wraps his arm around her and you put a blanket over the two of them.

“I’m a miracle worker” you chuckle once she stops crying. “Right well you’re good in here, right?”

“Where...are you going?”

“To eat my food!”

The door shuts gently behind you, leaving Abbot and the baby he should have never been responsible for in your opinion, in your bed.

Step 2 - The important

Your to-do list is almost done, just a couple of more credit card balances to settle, one final rent bill to be paid off and finalising what you'd want the state to do with the minimal things that you owned. You don't want anyone in your family, or a relative, to end up having to deal with anything important after the mess you're leaving them with.

You've heard from Jack too many times, after not asking about them once. Many selfies were sent, mostly of Lily but also some of Jack. So you eventually caved in for the occasional video call before bed, or a morning phone call at a ridiculous hour because you couldn't sleep and Lily wouldn't allow Jack to.

You don't know why you started bothering to check in on them too, willingly asking for photos, because you tried to detach yourself from the two of them as much as possible. That happiness you felt while holding Lily in your arms? You don't want to feel that again, anytime soon. You don't want to be reminded of what good is out there in the world, because it's too damn late for you to experience it.

Nothing was important to you anymore, so what was the point?

But your heart kept wishing for more of her, and, surprisingly, more of his company. You hoped for a phone call from him, asking you for help. Because helping him made you feel like you had a purpose in this life. And maybe, before leaving this earth, you could help just a tiny bit more.

Instead of waiting for the phone call, you picked up the phone to check in on them. Jack immediately invited you out for a coffee, and you eagerly accept.

You never thought that you'd see Jack Abbot standing with a baby strapped to his chest, but here you were, feeling yourself flush at the sight in front of you. He has always been undeniably handsome, but this? Wearing a white T-shirt, denim jeans and a tiny baby strapped to his chest?

Of course, you don't give him the satisfaction of knowing how happy you are at seeing the two of them. Your plan was to detach yourself from the unimportant, remember?

"Hi baby I've missed you." You coo at her in the baby carrier.

"Me too." Jack jokes and you giggle in response. "How are you? you okay?"

"I'm okay. Taking it a day by day."

"Wanna talk about it?" Jack asks.

"No it's okay. I don't like talking about...things."

"Shall we get a coffee and go for a walk?"

"Sure, I have nothing important to do so..."

"Me neither." A big, big lie. Jack has just ticked off step 2, because you asked if you could hold Lily on your chest on your walk.

You didn't put her down for the rest of the day. You indeed felt like you had a tiny purpose in this life, like you were someone important. And when the day almost ended, you offered for Jack to come back to your apartment for a while so he can catch up on rest while you watch Lily. He doesn't protest it of course, picks up plenty of snacks for the two of you on the drive over, and you don't protest it when they both spend the night over.

Step 3 - The beauty of everything

Your phone pings; a text message has come through.

Jack: Me and Lily are having a movie night, wanna come over? You: She can barely open her eyes, Jack. Jack: Okay I lied it’s just me watching a movie. You: I’m busy Jack: With what? You: It’s rude to snoop. Jack: Sorry.

Few minutes go by, thinking Jack had given up on his invite. But another message comes through.

Jack: I can order us sushi again? You: I don’t fancy sushi. Jack: What do you fancy instead? You: Maybe pizza. Jack: How about we get both? You: Let me think about it.

Your plan was now delayed by a few more weeks, thanks to Jack and his constant phone calls and texts. You were truly tempted to call Dana yourself and tell her that someone else needs to step in and take over. Lily had a green poo? Jack texted to let you know. She had the whole bottle? He sent a photo of the empty bottle. Asked you if she should have another one. Lily wouldn’t stop crying? Jack texted you to ask what he should do or if you could go over. You’ve stayed over countless times now, crashing on the sofa next to Jack after yet another exhausting day of changing nappies and feeding.

This plan of yours? Was going to shit. The feeling of being unworthy had slowly started to disappear, and it terrified you. Because if you do not feel unworthy, then what will you feel instead?

You agree to go over to Jack's apartment and when you get there, it looks spotless and tidy, Lily is fast asleep in her cot, and Jack had set up the dining table with a hot dinner laid out.

"I thought this was a casual dinner?"

"It is?"

"Why do you have a movie screen set up?"

"Because it's movie night?"

"Jack, that's a cinema screen. It's taken over your entire apartment. I can practically see inside the guy's mouth on the screen."

"Its cozy!" He protests.

"It's...yeah okay. It looks nice."

A smile tugs on his lips, and you can't help but smile too. You hate to admit that he had set up the apartment to look incredibly cosy, comfortable and welcoming. You eat dinner with zero interruptions from Lily, and again, you hate to admit how much fun you've been having with him.

Later that evening, as you're curled up on the sofa, watching a movie on a ridiculously big screen, Jack brings Lily over to you after she starts fussing. "She has a new outfit on."

"Hi baby!" You excitedly open up your arms for her.

"I'll make a bottle."

"No" you murmur, "I want to feed her."

He sits on the couch next to you, "do you like her outfit?"

You adjust her on your lap, straighten her little top down, and read out: "I found my forever home."

Your heart immediately sinks, and you swallow what feels like a ball of glass. It hurts you more than you ever thought, that she is not going to be in your life any longer. It scares you that your reason for your survival up until this point, this tiny baby and her annoying dad, won't be your reason anymore. You manage a nod, pulling her closer to your chest, taking her scent in and her warmth.

"Sweetheart?" he says softly, putting one hand on your shoulder. "You okay there?"

"Mhm"

"C'mere" his arms wraps around your shoulder, pulling you both against his chest, "It's me, I'm adopting Lily."

"Seriously?" you look up at him with a worried look in your eyes, like he is about to tell you he is joking.

Jack nods eagerly. "I've always wanted a child, and I kept thinking the time isn't right. But there's no time like the present. And... she makes me happy. I look forward to her giggles, and smiles, and even the explosive poos, to be honest. And I don't want her to be with anyone else. She makes me want to live."

Jack's plan was to foster Lily for a short period of time and make you fall in love with life again. But along the way, he found himself incredibly happy to have a purpose again. And his purpose was being a dad to a beautiful little baby girl. "I didn't think I could love something so tiny, so much. But here we are."

You pull her closer to you, giggling softly at the excitement of being able to see more of Lily. And of Jack. Your mind also had forgotten about your plan, or the inability to see a future.

"I always knew you'd be a girl dad."

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"So you don't think I'm making a mistake?"

"No! You look happy. There's a sparkle in your eye... it's beautiful."

"I am.. happy." He wishes that could be too. "I am happy to be here. With Lily. And you."

"Oh don't get too used to me..."

"But I already did. We love having you around."

You look up at him, head resting on his chest, "well you do always buy me food. Sushi in fact... not many guys would do that."

"Not many guys are me." Jack murmurs.

"That I agree with." Your lips tug into a soft smile; one of Jack's hands brushes through your hair softly. "Time for a feed then it's bedtime for all of us I guess."

"You're staying over?"

"I think Lily wants me to."

Jack chuckles, "She told me that too."

The relationship with Jack seemed to flow easily, like you two were meant to be in this dynamic. Him raising Lily, and you are there for her. As you sit on the couch feeding her, Jack hands you water and snacks, like he always does, and kisses the top of your head incredibly casually before heading to the guest bedroom to make your bed.

He hears you talk to her. You tell her how much you miss your baby. You tell her how much you wish things were different and how beautiful life can be. He tries his best not to cry when you start singing her a lullaby whilst crying. Jack doesn't want you to leave him, Lily or this earth, because not only he think everyone deserves their happy endings, but because Jack had loved you for a long time, with no intention of ever interfering with your life or plans. Not until he knew what you were actually intending to do.

His only intention is to really show you how beautiful everything can be, so you can stay with him.

Step 4 - Stay with me

"I need help" You can hear Lily crying in the background once you answer Jack's calls.

"With... what?"

"It's a shitty situation."

"Literally?"

"Covered in it."

You ask again. "Literally?"

"Please can you just-"

You grumble in response but agree to go over and help, and luckily for him, you weren't too far away. The door was already open when you approached his apartment, and you smelt the poo first before you saw it.

"Wow"

"Yep" Jack's holding Lily in his arms, who's screaming on the top of her lungs, covered in literal shit.

"Ran out of nappies?" you deadpan, and Jack doesn't find the humour in it.

"She shat in her cot, so I picked her up to change her and she shat on me. There's poo everywhere. The bed, sofa, cot and even the car seat. So i'm just.. carrying her"

"Hire a cleaner." Unfortunately for him, today you are in a bad mood. You have now finalised everything on your to-do list, except the final step. A small part of you sees a small insight into the future, but the much bigger part misses your baby boy. And you don't think you have the energy to fight your sad emotions.

"Funny." he deadpans back.

"So where am I needed?" you ask casually, ignoring the cries and walk over to his kitchen to drop off the groceries.

"Can you hold her? While I clean myself up and then clear somewhere I can put her down?"

You sigh in disappointment. Can he seriously not deal with shit?

“Let’s get you bathed baby, yeah?” You take her from him and head to his bathroom, leaving him to clean up the mess from a baby he chose to adopt.

But little to your knowledge was that Jack’s plan is working to perfection.

His pretended incompetence was purposeful and calculated, all so he could give you more time to change your mind. So he can make you fall in love again with life. He would wish you’d fall in love with him, but that was too much wishful thinking and even Jack knew it.

He heard you run her bath, how much you talked to Lily, and how you sang to her. He heard little screeches of happiness and your giggles in response. He never thought something good would come out of literal shit, but here you were.

“How are we doing in here?” He approaches Lily, who’s now fighting sleep in her warm bath, sitting on the top counter of his bathroom. “Are we sleepy?”

“She’s bathed and poo free. Unlike you.” You murmur and glance at Jack in the reflection of the mirror who’s watching you with a soft smile on his face.

“I’m gonna shower and freshen up, then you can leave if you want to?”

“Your dad’s kicking me out Lily, how rude.”

“No it’s just- oh it’s another joke.”

“Yes, it’s another one, Jack.” A familiar twist in your chest appears, something that often happened when you expected a snarky response back. But it doesn’t come.

“I like your jokes… I wish I heard them more often.”

“Yeah well…don’t get too attached.” You reply casually as you wash the last bit of soap of Lily.

“Are you still planning to go somewhere?”

“Something like that yeah..”

“Can we keep in touch?” He hands you a towel.

“That...” might be impossible unless you’re a psychic medium, “I’ll try.”

He doesn’t let go of the towel; instead, he grips it tighter, pulling you slightly toward him. His jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare. His plan? Is going to shit. Because you’re still planning on leaving.

The bathroom door clicks shut, leaving Jack inside. His mind's searching for another backup plan, one that needs to be implemented as soon as possible.

She’s fast asleep in your arms a few minutes later, so you quickly change her into something comfy and lower her into her cot. A loud crash from the bathroom interrupts your lullaby, followed by a lot of swearing coming from Jack.

“Jack?” You’re knocking on the door frantically until he responds with a quiet 'yeah'. “Can I come in?”

“Might wanna do it with your eyes closed.” He jokes but you’re well aware his tone is more hurt than teasing.

As you hesitantly walk in, you find him on the floor, leaning against the wall. Blood is gushing out of his forehead heavily, and he's in no state to stop his own bood, “shit, shit!”

He mumbles, “it’s not that bad.”

“Where’s your med kit!"

“In the car…”

“First aid box?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Are you kidding me!” You lower yourself next to him, grabbing a towel and pressing it against his forehead. He winces in pain, but it’s not the time to be gentle because his laceration is clearly deep. He sees you dial 911, mumbles something about not calling them but you of course, ignore him.

“Yeah, he’s conscious.” You explain, “bleeding’s not under control.”

“No I can’t take him to hospital myself.”

“Because he’s an amputee below the knee and I can’t carry him. I also have my baby-“ the words leave your lips far too quickly for your brain to register “- a baby is here that I can’t leave.”

Jack sees the moment your reaction changes into grief. The way your eyes meet his first for a brief second, then as you look away they become glossy. He reaches for your hand that’s pressing on his forehead, resting it on top of yours.

You hang up the phone, then turn your face toward him. “They might be a while. You need to stay awake.”

“Trying”

With your other hand, you start to support his sleepy head. “Otherwise I’ll get Lily to shit on your face.”

Jack chuckles, “do you think you can grab me something to wear? Don’t really fancy the paramedics seeing.. all of me.”

“Why, are you shy?” You tease him.

He shrugs, “Something like that.”

“Are you blushing right now!” You giggle and that was one of Jack’s favourite things about you. The way you’d giggle nervously like you’re about to get told off. It's genuine, soft, but contagious.

"Well... yeah!"

It was the first time you'd really seen through Jack. And not because he was naked, but because he was vulnerable, and he had never been this vulnerable before. You couldn't look away from his eyes as you sat on your knees, too close to him. Your thumb brushed gently against his jaw as you supported his head, and his hand moved over yours and joined it.

"Sweetheart?" Jack whispers.

It takes you a second to register that he's calling your name, "uh sorry yeah?"

"My clothes?"

"Shit! Sorry. I uh-" Jack chuckles to himself at how flustered you looked as you got off the floor and went off running.

A minute later you’re back with a change of clothes, carefully helping him into them, ignoring one: how incredibly muscly his body is, two: just how good-looking he is and three: the obvious *it's big*.

The paramedics arrived what felt like hours later, and of course, they knew who Jack was. You left them to get Lily changed to go to the hospital, and as you returned to the bathroom, Lily in your arms, Jack was stitching himself, with the paramedics next to him on the floor, one of them holding a mirror, and the other passing him supplies.

"Are you kidding me, Jack?"

"Dr Abbot, I didn't know you were married?" The paramedic, Bosco, checks you out. "Congratulations on the baby!"

"Oh no we're not-"

Jack murmurs casually, "I think we're almost done here, boys. Just leave us some supplies if you will?"

"You're seriously not going to hospital?"

"No..." he closes the last bit of cut carefully, the paramedic handing him a bandage. "There. Done."

"You're an idiot!" Your loud cry makes Lily cry too, and you storm back into the bedroom, shutting the door loud enough for all three men to hear.

"Your dad is so, so stupid." Her cries make you start to cry, and with every loud screech you sob harder, "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm really, really sorry."

Jack walks into the bedroom with guilt all over his face. "I'm sorry...." he says gently, "I-"

"Don't want to hear it." You're more upset that you care about him, more than you should. Because a few months ago, you cared about no one except your baby boy. Now you're in his bedroom, crying over his injury, scared for him, while holding his baby. You hadn't realised just how scary it was to see him injured. You played off casually, expecting him to get actual proper medical care. Except he's neglecting himself, and expecting you to stay here to help him.

He sits on the edge of the bed, setting the crutches to the side, gesturing for you to pass her over. But instead, you sit next to him, still holding onto her, still crying.

He shifts against the headboard. "let's have a lie down." Both of his hands come up slowly, guiding you backwards until you're lying against his chest, Lily still nestled in your arms, crying her lungs out.

Jack watches as you struggle to lift your top up for a feed, so he comes over your shoulder and holds it up for you. "I'm sorry." He murmurs against your ear, "for being stupid."

"Yeah- that was- stupid." You hiccup between tears, "That was so stupid not getting checked out- ugh why is she not latching!"

"Just giver her a sec"

"I hate that I'm yelling! I hate that I'm upsetting her!"

"Shhh, it's ok" Jack hums softly, his fingers gently trailing up and down your arm, "give her a second... there she goes."

The crying stops and turns into little blabbering noises. Jack feels you as you finally relax in his arms. "You're doing well."

"I don't want to be doing well, Jack. She's not mine to be doing anything."

"I'm sorry I keep dragging you into this." He's not sorry in the slightest.

"Why do you keep dragging me into this? Can't anyone else help?"

"I like you." Jack says softly, "I like your company. Lily loves you."

"Lily loves my boobs, that's all she knows." You like him too, and you are too scared to admit. That plan of yours? The one that's almost done? You don't want to go anywhere near it.

"Ehh.. well.. I can't comment" Jack chuckles, and you do too. "Do you want to spend the night with us?"

"You've given me no other option, remember?"

"Again, sorry about that." Jack's fall was not part of his plan, but the universe worked in his favour this time. And Jack didn’t mind a scar if it meant keeping you with him.

"How's the head?"

"Sore."

"I have no sympathy," you deadpan, and Jack laughs out loud, Lily flinching in response. "Shush, Jack."

He whispers, "Sorry."

You nestle yourself against him, taking in all his warmth, his chest rising gently, rocking you both gently.

"So are you gonna stay?" Jack asks softly. The meaning of his question is a lot deeper than the words. You don't reply; instead, you shift your head slightly, looking up at him.

"Please stay." His hand rests on your jaw, tilting it up toward him slightly. "With Lily and me."

"Why do you care so much?" you whisper at him.

"The heart doesn't choose who to love." he whispers back against your lips, "it simply just does."

His lips touch yours, kissing them softly and slowly. Your mind doesn't understand how you ended up in this situation, in Jack's bed, feeding his baby just after losing yours. Your body, however, seems to know what it needs; it needed Lily, your mind needs this little family, and your heart needs Jack.

"Yeah.. I might stay here for a little bit longer."

Jack thanks whatever lucky star had been shining over the three of you, and he pulls you closer to him.

The universe works in mysterious ways, beyond one's understanding or imagination.

The call comes while Mel is asleep beside you.

Your phone vibrates across the nightstand at 4:17 in the morning. The sound is small, almost polite, but it pulls you awake with your heart already racing. Calls at that hour belong to hospitals, wrong numbers, and sentences people spend the rest of their lives wishing they hadn’t heard.

Mel makes a sleepy sound when you reach across her. Her hand lands on your hip before she’s fully conscious, an instinctive attempt to keep some part of you close.

You answer without checking the number.

The person on the other end says your name. Then they tell you that your father died suddenly during the night.

Your father is dead.

You sit upright so quickly that the blanket falls to your waist.

Mel wakes at once. “What happened?”

“Yes,” you say into the phone. Your mouth is dry. “I understand.”

You don’t understand.

When the call ends, you keep the phone against your ear. The room remains completely ordinary. Mel’s book is open facedown beside the lamp. One of her socks is caught in the blankets near your knee. A glass of water waits on the nightstand with a circle of condensation beneath it.

Your father can’t be dead in a room this ordinary.

“Who was it?” Mel asks.

You lower the phone. “My dad died.”

Mel inhales sharply. Her hands lift toward you and stop in the space between your bodies.

“Do you want me to hold you?” she asks. Her voice is soft but precise. “I can hold you, sit beside you without touching, or get up and start making calls. You don’t have to decide anything else yet.”

You stare at her hands.

“Hold me.”

Mel moves immediately. She wraps both arms around you and draws you into her chest, one palm spreading between your shoulder blades. Her body is warm from sleep. Her heartbeat is steady beneath your cheek.

You wait for grief to arrive.

Nothing happens.

No tears come. You don’t shake or scream. Your mind circles the same impossible sentence while Mel holds you tightly enough to give your body edges.

“I need to call him,” you whisper.

Mel’s fingers pause in your hair. “Okay.”

You pull away and tap your father’s name before she can say anything else. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

His voicemail answers in the familiar, mildly irritated tone he always used when technology required him to perform on command.

You hang up.

“See?” you say. Your breath leaves in a strange laugh. “His phone works.”

“It does,” she says.

You call again.

Mel stays beside you through every ring.

By sunrise, the kitchen table is covered in paper.

“Your aunt said she’ll meet us there,” Mel says. She sits across from you with her laptop open. “I called the Pitt. Robby took me off the schedule for the next three days, and Dana said to tell you she’s sorry.”

You look up. “You can’t miss three days.”

“I can.”

“You just changed rotations.”

“I know.” Mel closes the laptop carefully. “I’m still not going to work.”

“I don’t need you to stay home.”

She studies you, her fingers rubbing the edge of one thumbnail. “Do you want me to go?”

The question makes your chest tighten.

“No.”

“Then I’m staying.”

You push the nearest envelope away. “I don’t know why everyone is acting like this is happening now. He was fine yesterday.”

“You talked to him yesterday?” she asks instead.

“Two days ago.” You rub your forehead. “He wanted to know whether we were coming for dinner next month. I told him I’d check your schedule.”

The unfinished plan rises between you. Dinner next month. A date no one will cancel because it can no longer exist.

You stand abruptly. “I need to pack.”

Mel rises too, then remains near the table rather than following. “Would a list help, or would a list make you angry?”

The specificity nearly breaks through your numbness.

“A list,” you say.

She turns over one of the envelopes and writes in neat, compact lines: clothes, medications, toiletries, charger, funeral clothes, something comfortable, your father’s spare house key.

Her pen stops at the last item.

“Do you know where the key is?”

“In the blue bowl by the door.”

You both look toward it.

The key has been there for years, used for holiday visits and emergencies that always ended with your father alive. It shines beneath the entryway light.

You sit down again because your legs have stopped feeling dependable.

Mel leaves the list on the table and kneels beside your chair. She doesn’t touch you until you open your hand.

Then she places her palm against yours.

The first days pass through rooms you’ll later struggle to remember.

Mel stays close without attaching herself to you.

She learns when to place a hand at the base of your spine and when to stand several feet away. She keeps water within reach. She repeats information when someone asks you a question you’ve already answered and waits for your nod before answering on your behalf.

At the funeral home, a staff member slides a folder across the desk and asks you to choose among options you didn’t know existed.

Your vision fixes on the printed headings.

“I can’t,” you say.

The staff member begins explaining again, slower this time.

Mel leans toward you. “Do you want me to narrow the choices, or do you want ten minutes alone?”

“Narrow them.”

She asks the staff member three direct questions, removes the options that don’t fit what your father wanted, and turns the remaining pages toward you. Her finger rests beside each line without selecting it.

“These two match what you told me,” she says. “You still choose.”

You choose because she makes the decision small enough to hold.

Afterward, in the parking lot, you stand beside the car and stare at the gray sky.

“I just planned my father’s funeral,” you say.

Mel’s hand tightens around the folder. “Yes.”

“Why am I not crying?”

She places the folder on the hood of the car. “Your nervous system is doing what it can. There isn’t a correct amount of crying.”

“Everyone keeps watching me.”

“People get uncomfortable when grief doesn’t look the way they expect.” Mel steps in front of you, blocking the view of two relatives near the entrance. “You don’t have to perform it for them.”

You look at her. Mel’s own parents have been gone for years. You know the facts, some stories, and the dates she grows quieter around. You know she took on responsibilities for Becca while she was still trying to become an adult herself. You have never asked her to turn those losses into instructions for surviving yours.

“Did you cry right away?” you ask.

Mel’s gaze drops to a crack in the pavement. “Not with my dad. With my mom, I started before anyone finished telling me.” She presses her lips together. “It was different each time.”

“Which one was worse?”

She looks up. There is no offense in her expression, only sorrow. “I don’t know how to rank them.”

Shame warms your face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for asking.” Mel reaches for your hand. “But grief isn’t a measurement. Yours doesn’t have to resemble mine to be real.”

You let her link your fingers.

The tears still don’t come.

Mel drives you back to your father’s house in silence.

At the funeral, you cry because someone says the word was.

Your father was generous. Your father was stubborn. Your father was proud of you.

Each past-tense sentence removes him again.

The first sob folds you forward in your chair. Mel reacts before anyone else. She moves close enough that your shoulder fits beneath her chin and wraps an arm firmly around your ribs. Her other hand closes over yours in your lap.

You cry through the next story and the one after that. You cry until your face aches and your breath keeps catching halfway into your lungs.

“Slow it down with me,” Mel whispers. She presses your joined hands against her sternum so you can feel the rhythm of her breathing. “Not because you have to stop. I just want you to get air.”

You copy her inhale badly. She doesn’t praise you or count. She keeps breathing where you can feel it until your body remembers how.

After the service, people surround you with condolences and offers that have no shape.

Call if you need anything.

Let us know how we can help.

He is in a better place.

Mel intercepts the last one before it reaches you a second time. She steps between you and a distant family friend with an apologetic smile that isn’t quite an apology.

“They need some air,” she says.

She guides you outside, where cold wind hits the wet tracks on your face.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Mel rubs both hands along your upper arms. “Do you want to leave?”

“I should stay.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I want to go home,” you say.

Mel takes your coat from the rack.

No one is allowed to make you stay.

The numbness ends nine days after the funeral.

It ends over a coffee mug.

When she comes home, she finds you standing in the kitchen with your father’s old mug in both hands. You brought it back from his house because he used it every morning. The chipped lettering across the front advertises a hardware store that closed years ago.

“Hi,” Mel says carefully. She sets her bag near the door. “How was today?”

“Fine.”

Her attention moves to the mug. “Did you eat?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“There’s soup in the refrigerator. I can heat it up, or I can make toast if the texture is too much.” She crosses to the counter and reaches for the mug. “Let me wash that first.”

You pull it away so sharply that coffee splashes across your wrist.

“Don’t touch it.”

Mel stops. “Okay.”

“You can’t just come in and move things.”

“I wasn’t going to move it. I thought you wanted it washed.”

“I didn’t ask you to wash it.” Your voice rises with every word. “I didn’t ask for soup. I didn’t ask you to monitor whether I ate. I’m not one of your patients.”

Mel goes very still.

“I know that,” she says.

“Do you? Because you keep giving me choices like I can’t make a decision without you reducing it to two options.”

The cruelty of the sentence is visible as soon as it lands. Mel’s face closes, not dramatically, but with a small withdrawal around her eyes.

She picks up her bag again.

“You can be angry,” she says. Her fingers tighten around the strap. “You can tell me that I’m helping in the wrong way. You can’t make my care for you into something shameful because you need somewhere to put the anger.”

You stare at her.

“I’m going to shower,” she continues. Her voice shakes despite its evenness. “I won’t touch the mug. When I’m done, you can tell me whether you want company.”

She walks away before you can answer.

The bedroom door closes gently. That gentleness feels worse than a slam.

You set the mug on the counter. Your father drank from it on the last morning you visited him. He complained that you used too much coffee and not enough water. You told him his coffee tasted like burnt dirt.

The memory is so ordinary that anger tears through you.

You shove the mug into the sink.

It strikes the metal basin with a hard crack.

The handle breaks cleanly away.

For one stunned second, you stare at the two pieces.

Then grief arrives as rage.

You scream into both hands. The sound rips your throat raw. You are angry at the mug, at the funeral, at every person who still has a father they can call. You are angry at Mel for understanding. You are angrier that she understands because the world took both of her parents and still expected her to keep moving.

Mel appears in the doorway with her scrub top half removed and a T-shirt underneath. She takes in the broken ceramic and your shaking body.

“Are you hurt?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“Can I come closer?”

Another sob breaks through the rage. “I broke it.”

“I see that.”

“It was his.”

Mel crosses the kitchen only after you nod. She checks your hands for cuts, turning them carefully beneath the light. When she finds none, she lowers both of you to the floor.

You fold against her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For the mug or for what you said?”

“Both.”

Mel’s hand moves slowly over your back. “I accept the apology for what you said. I’m not the person who decides whether you’re forgiven for the mug.”

You make a wet, startled sound that becomes half a laugh.

“That was a terrible joke,” you say.

“It wasn’t entirely a joke.” She rests her cheek against your hair. “You loved him. The mug mattered. Breaking it doesn’t change either fact.”

You grip the hem of her T-shirt. “Were you angry?”

“After my parents died?”

You nod.

Mel looks toward the broken handle beside the sink. “I was furious at people in grocery stores. They were buying cereal while my life was ruined. I hated forms that asked for an emergency contact. I hated friends who complained about their parents.” Her fingers flex against your spine. “Sometimes I was angry at my parents for leaving, even though they didn’t choose to.”

You close your eyes.

“Did it stop?”

“It changed.” Mel presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s the most honest answer I have.”

Three weeks later, your father leaves you a voicemail.

It isn’t new. Your phone has preserved it beneath dozens of newer messages, dated two months before his death. You find it while searching for an address.

His name appears on the screen. The small triangle waits beneath it.

You don’t press play.

Mel finds you sitting on the bedroom floor with your back against the dresser. She has learned not to ask what is wrong as if grief is a fresh event every time it surfaces. She lowers herself beside you and waits.

You turn the screen toward her.

“I missed his last call,” you say.

Mel looks at the date. “This voicemail is from two months ago.”

“He called the week before he died too. I was busy, so I texted him. What if he wanted to tell me something?”

“Did he leave a message then?”

“No.”

“Did he usually leave messages?”

“Sometimes.” You pull your knees closer. “I should’ve called back.”

Mel twists one of her rings around her finger. “Do you want a logical answer or do you want me to listen?”

“Both.”

“The logical answer is that you couldn’t know how much time you had. You responded in the way you normally responded on a busy day. One missed call doesn’t define your relationship.” She tilts her head toward you. “The listening answer is that I know logic probably won’t make the guilt stop.”

Your thumb hovers over the old voicemail. “If I had called him more, maybe I wouldn’t feel like this.”

“You would feel different details.”

“What does that mean?”

Mel draws one knee up, mirroring you. “After my dad died, I thought about every conversation I ended first. After my mom died, I thought about every time I got impatient when she needed help. My brain kept building a version where I did everything perfectly and then believed perfect behavior would have made losing them less painful.”

“Did it help?”

“No.” A sad smile moves across her face. “It made me feel busy. Bargaining is busy. It gives you equations to solve when the real problem has no solution.”

You rest your head against the dresser. “That sounds like something from a grief pamphlet.”

“I hate grief pamphlets.”

“You brought three home.”

“Dana gave them to me, and refusing felt rude.” Mel reaches over and turns your phone facedown on the carpet. “They always put the stages in a line. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. That makes them look like steps.”

“They aren’t?”

“Not for me.” Her shoulder touches yours. “They were rooms. I kept walking into the same ones through different doors.”

You let the image settle.

“What if I never listen to the voicemail?”

“Then you don’t.”

“What if I delete it by accident?”

“We can back it up when you’re ready.”

“What if hearing him makes everything worse?”

Mel turns her palm upward between you. “Then I’ll be here when it gets worse.”

You place your hand in hers.

You don’t play the message that night.

For the first time, leaving it unheard feels like a choice instead of a failure.

People stop checking in before you stop needing them to.

The messages thin. Food no longer appears at the door. Conversations begin with ordinary questions, and people look startled when your honest answer includes your father.

Six weeks after the funeral, you wake beneath a heaviness that feels physical.

Mel has already left for the Pitt. A note waits beside the bed in her uneven handwriting.

Water is on the nightstand. Food is in the fridge. Shower is optional. Text me one word so I know you saw this. Any word counts.

You read it three times.

You don’t text.

The day passes without becoming distinct. You move from the bed to the couch and sit beneath the blanket without turning on the television. Your father’s voicemail remains unplayed. The broken mug, repaired with a thin line of visible adhesive, sits on a high shelf where Mel placed it after asking permission.

At noon, she sends a picture of a badly shaped cookie from the staff room.

At two, she writes: No explanation needed. Please send a punctuation mark.

At four, your phone rings.

She comes home shortly after seven. You hear her key in the door, the quick drop of her bag, and her shoes crossing the floor.

Mel kneels in front of the couch. She doesn’t hide her fear.

“I need to ask you something directly,” she says. Her hands remain on her own thighs. “Are you thinking about hurting yourself or not wanting to be alive?”

“No.” The answer costs effort, but it’s true. “I don’t want to die.”

Her shoulders lower slightly.

“I just don’t want to do this.” You stare at the blanket. “I don’t want to wake up and remember again. I don’t want every day to be the first day he’s still dead.”

Mel sits on the floor. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“Have you had water?”

You shake your head.

She reaches toward the glass on the coffee table, then stops. “Can I hand it to you?”

The memory of the mug flashes between you. Mel hasn’t forgotten your accusation. She has adjusted without making you beg forgiveness again.

“Yes.”

She gives you the glass. You drink two swallows and return it.

“I think we need more help,” Mel says. Her thumb rubs rapidly across her fingertips, a sign that she’s choosing every word carefully. “Not because you’re grieving incorrectly. Because you’re carrying something very heavy, and I’m one person who sometimes works fifteen-hour shifts.”

“You think I’m too much.”

“No.” Her answer is immediate. “I think this is too much for two people to hold without support.”

You turn your face away.

Mel stays on the floor. “I found three grief therapists who take your insurance. I haven’t contacted them. I won’t contact them unless you ask.”

“I don’t want to tell a stranger about him.”

“Okay.”

“You’re supposed to convince me.”

“I gave you the information. You said no.” She folds her hands together. “I can ask again another day, but I won’t trap you into agreeing because I’m scared.”

“Ask tomorrow,” you whisper.

Mel nods. “I can do that.”

“Will you sit up here?”

She climbs onto the couch. You turn into her before she has settled, pressing your face against her neck. Mel wraps the blanket around both of you and holds you with one hand cupping the back of your head.

“You smell like the hospital,” you mumble.

“I can shower.”

Your fingers close around her shirt. “Not yet.”

“Okay.” She rests her lips against your hair. “Not yet.”

The next afternoon, you let her place the list of therapists on the table.

Two days later, you make one call.

Therapy doesn’t make grief orderly.

Mel listens when you want to describe the anger at home.

She also tells you when she doesn’t have the capacity to listen well.

“I want to hear this,” she says one night after a difficult shift. She stands in the kitchen, pressing both palms against the counter. “My brain is still in three trauma rooms. Can I shower, eat, and come back in twenty minutes?”

The request stings before it makes sense.

“You won’t forget?”

Mel crosses the room and touches her forehead to yours. “I put a timer on my phone.”

Twenty minutes later, she returns with damp hair, two bowls of cereal, and her attention fully yours.

You learn that support can include a boundary without becoming abandonment.

Mel learns that not every silence means you want space. Sometimes you need her to ask twice. Sometimes you need pressure, her full weight along your side beneath the blankets. Sometimes you need her in the same room doing something unrelated while you miss your father privately.

You build a language for it.

“Near or far?” she asks.

“Near, no talking.”

Or, “Do you want comfort, solutions, or witness?”

“Witness.”

She sits beside you while you sort through photographs. She doesn’t tell you which ones to keep. When you laugh at a picture of your father wearing a terrible holiday sweater, guilt follows so quickly that the photograph shakes in your hand.

“I shouldn’t be laughing.”

Mel looks from the picture to your face. “Why?”

“Because he’s dead.”

“He was funny before he died.”

“Not on purpose.”

“That is often the funniest category.”

Your second laugh turns into tears. Mel takes the stack before it slips from your lap, places it safely on the table, and gathers you against her.

Joy and grief move through the same opening.

This time, you let both come.

On your father’s birthday, nearly five months after his death, you wake before dawn.

Mel is already awake. She lies on her side facing you, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.

“How long have you been watching me?” you ask.

“Not long.” Her eyes move over your face. “I didn’t know what today would feel like.”

“Neither did I.”

“I want to go to his house,” you say.

Mel nods. “Okay.”

“I want to finish the kitchen.”

You have delayed that room for months. His spices remain arranged beside the stove. A grocery list is still held to the refrigerator with a magnet you made in elementary school.

“Do you want me to come?”

“Yes.” You reach for her hand beneath the blanket. “But I need to choose what happens to things.”

“I’ll only touch what you hand me.”

At the house, afternoon sunlight reveals dust on the counters.

You stand in the doorway until Mel’s shoulder presses lightly against yours.

“Near,” you say.

“No talking?”

“Talking is okay.”

You begin with the spices. Most are expired. Your father kept three containers of cinnamon and no salt because he repeatedly forgot what he had.

Mel reads each date aloud only when you ask. She holds open the trash bag and lets you decide.

At the back of a drawer, you find his handwritten recipe for pancakes. The measurements are inconsistent, the instructions incomplete, and one corner is stained with batter.

“He made these every birthday,” you say.

Mel leans close without taking the card. “For you or for himself?”

“For everyone. He thought pancakes counted as a universal celebration.”

“He was correct.”

You trace the faded ink. “We should make them.”

The first batch burns because you misread the heat setting while telling Mel about the year your father tried to flip a pancake onto your plate, only to have it land on the floor.

The second batch is raw in the center.

Mel cuts into one and studies it with professional concern. “This would be an embarrassing reason to visit my workplace.”

“You’re the doctor. Fix it.”

“My recommendation is more cooking.”

The third batch comes out uneven but edible. You sit together at your father’s kitchen table with two plates between you.

Before taking a bite, you place one small pancake on an empty plate at the head of the table.

Mel looks at it and then at you.

“Too strange?” you ask.

“No.” She adjusts the plate so it sits square with the table’s edge. “It looks right.”

You eat in the quiet house.

Halfway through breakfast, you begin crying. The tears fall without panic, slipping down your face while you chew and breathe.

Mel reaches across the table, palm upward.

You take her hand.

“I miss him,” you say.

“I know.”

She doesn’t say he would want you to be happy. She doesn’t tell you the pain will fade or that he’s still with you. Mel has never filled uncertainty with promises she can’t verify.

She rubs her thumb across your knuckles and lets missing him be enough.

After breakfast, you pack the recipe card, the magnet, and his favorite wooden spoon into the box you’re taking home. You donate most of the dishes. You keep the scratched frying pan even though Mel points out that the coating is damaged and unsafe.

“We won’t cook with it,” you say.

“Then its danger becomes decorative.”

“Exactly.”

Mel labels the box KITCHEN: KEEP in thick black marker.

When you close the front door that evening, you don’t feel finished. Acceptance doesn’t arrive as peace. It feels more like knowing the door will stay closed and turning the key anyway.

You cry in the car.

Mel holds your hand across the center console until you’re ready to leave.

That night, you finally play the voicemail.

You sit in bed with Mel beside you. The repaired mug rests on the nightstand, its broken handle joined by a pale seam.

“Are you sure?” Mel asks.

“No.” You unlock the phone. “Stay anyway.”

She settles against the headboard and opens her arms. You sit between her legs with your back against her chest. One of her hands covers yours around the phone. The other rests over your heart.

You press play.

Your father’s voice fills the bedroom.

He’s calling about nothing important. He wants to know whether you remember the name of a restaurant you visited together. He complains briefly about the weather, tells you there’s no hurry, and says he’ll talk to you later.

The message ends.

You stare at the silent screen.

“That’s it,” you whisper.

Mel’s chin rests on your shoulder. “That’s it.”

“I thought there would be something I missed.”

“There was.”

You turn your head slightly.

She touches the phone with one finger. “His voice. A normal day. Him expecting there would be another conversation.”

Your face crumples.

“I didn’t call him back,” you cry.

“I know.”

“I loved him.”

“I know that too.”

You turn within her arms until you can press your face into her neck. Mel rocks you in a slow rhythm, her cheek resting against the top of your head.

When the crying eases, you remain tangled together.

“Does it always come back?” you ask.

Mel is quiet for a long time.

“Yes,” she says finally. “But you won’t always meet it as the same person.”

You think about the first call, the funeral folder, the broken mug, the couch, and the pancakes cooling on an extra plate. You think about every room Mel described and every door that led you back into one.

“What stage is this?”

Her breath warms your hair. “I don’t know.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“Not that kind.” Mel kisses your forehead. “And I think the stages are mostly useful for explaining why people can feel five impossible things before lunch.”

You let out a tired laugh.

Mel reaches past you and sets the phone safely on the nightstand. “What do you need now?”

The question no longer sounds like a menu offered because she thinks you can’t decide. It sounds like respect. It sounds like love that has learned your grief without claiming ownership of it.

“Pressure,” you say. “And sleep, if it comes.”

Mel turns off the lamp. She curls around you beneath the blankets, one arm firm across your waist and her knees fitted behind yours.

The darkness doesn’t feel empty.

Your father is still dead. You still miss him. Tomorrow may hold anger, numbness, laughter, or another round of bargaining with a past that can’t change.

Mel can’t carry you through grief as if it’s a hallway with an exit. She can’t make the rooms disappear.

What she can do is enter them when you ask.

She can sit beside you without rearranging the furniture. She can help you find water, words, a therapist, or silence. She can tell you when your pain has struck her and still open her arms after you apologize. She can remember that holding you and healing you aren’t the same task.

You place your hand over hers in the dark.

Mel’s hand tightens beneath yours, a quiet reminder that staying isn’t passive. It’s something she chooses with you, again and again, every day that follows.

She can’t promise easy days, only that you won’t meet them alone.

“Mel?”

“I’m here.” Her answer comes without hesitation.

Your throat tightens, but the feeling isn’t only pain.

“I know,” you whisper.

For tonight, knowing is enough.

“I need a cardio consult for my patient in north 4,” Santos rested her elbows on the nurses station desk, multiple of the nurses perking up like drug dogs at the mere mention of anyone from cardiology coming down to help out. 

“Please please please let me call up-” Princess lit up like a christmas tree, hand itching to reach for the phone to call up to cardio. 

“Why is everyone all worked up over a consult?” Trinity looked around in confusion, the 7 hours into the shift beginning to clearly show both inside and out. 

“Because the lovebug might come down!!” Princess was basically vibrating with excitement “and we’re in the window for my pot in the betting poollllll!” she sang picking up the phone to call up to the cardio wing. 

“Okay, multiple comments, queries and concerns” Trin held up a finger “number one: who the hell is “lovebug”, number two: why do we care about them coming down here? And three…why is there a betting pool I'm not in?”

Perlah smiled as she leaned her elbow against the station “lovebug is our nickname for a very sweet cardiology senior resident who just so happens to have the most adorable crush on one frank langdon. Who is in fact completely oblivious to the fact she is head over heels for him…” the group stared over at Frank as he moved from case to case, Trinity rolling her eyes at the situation. 

“Still missing number 3, as if I care…” Trin stared up at the ceiling becoming overly aware of just how much she cared about the ER social politics.

“We have a pool going on where, when and whether they finally get together…” Princess skipped up to where Trinity was at the counter “she’s on her way!!!” 

A few minutes later there was almost a physical shift in the ER when the doors to the hallway pushed open, a huge grin on your lips, a little heart embroidered on your custom scrubs and a tablet pulled tight to your chest with a smile.

“You must be Dr Santos- i’m a fellowship student im doing a fellowship in cardiovascular diseases- im so happy to meet you-” you put a hand out which she immediately took, leading you over towards the case. It was humiliating, the way your heart flipped and fluttered when your eyes snagged on the perfectly messy hair of Frank Langdon, it felt like being thrown back into high school, seeing your hallway crush between classes. 

“He’s a douche…” Santos mumbled, however not quiet enough to evade your eager ears. 

“Really?” your head tilted like a confused puppy. 

“Before he went to rehab- on my first day he totally tore me a new one…” Santos explained before quickly moving to describe the case. You processed the details of the case but your mind wired at the new information about the man you’d had a crush on for around 2 whole years, since you walked through the doors of PTMC.

Your eyes moved over the small child, taking in the blue of his lips, “has he been feeding well?” you turned to mom pulling on some blue latex gloves and sitting by the bedside.

“No he’s been refusing anything I give him….” the mom replied, her teeth pulling on a hangnail at her thumb. 

“Alright…have you checked him for rashes?”

“Yeah thats why- i came in originally he had a weird rash on his chest…” you grabbed a small pen light.

“I’m gonna check your eyes okay buddy?” his skin was hot to the touch as you soothed the 2-year-old to the best of your ability. They were completely bloodshot but there was no discharge, your hands then moved to his neck, feeling around for swelling to find a very swollen lymph node. “Let me check in your mouth okay?” you ushered over trinity as you shone the penlight down his throat. 

“See this is what I call strawberry tongue…his lips are also quite cracked and… you tilted the light “erythema... think i know whats going on…” you rolled the chair back, stripping off the gloves. “I think Benny is suffering from Kawasaki disease…It causes inflammation of the medium-sized blood vessels, particularly the coronary arteries.” you delicately explained to the mother. 

“Oh my god-” the mothers head went into her hands as tears streamed down her face.

“We need to start treatment as soon as possible so I am going to prescribe him…” you moved over to the computer to scan your badge, eyes drifting into the bullpen to see Frank staring into the room, your heart skipping a beat. “...a high dose infusion of intravenous hemoglobin with aspirin to try and bring down that inflammation…and I want him moved up the stairs as soon as possible-” you told trin.

You carefully moved over to the distraught mom “you did the right thing bringing him here as quickly as you did” your arm went around her softly holding her as she curled into your touch. “I’m gonna get him moved to a pediatric cardiology room as quickly as possible so he can get some more rest…but you are doing amazing mom…” she nodded as you pulled a tissue from your pocket, clean of course, so she could wipe away the tears. You carefully parted from the woman and took your leave with trinity on your tail. 

“That was awesome…” she grinned ear to ear as you leaned up against the nurses station. 

“All in a day's work…” you let out a long sigh, looking around the ER for no reason in particular. 

“He’s in a trauma call, lovebug…” Dana scoffed, her glasses low on her nosebridge as she put in the request for a bed up in peds. You couldn't hide the way you deflated as your pager went off. 

“I didn’t even get to talk to him…” you grumped, taking off out the doors of the ER department much to the amusement of the nurses scattered about. 

“Where’d she go-” Frank stumbled out of the trauma call, his eyes seeking you out in the ER. 

“She diagnosed my mystery illness in like 4 minutes flat…got dragged back up to cardio before we could even talk about it…” Trin half smirked as she sat down to chart the discovery and diagnosis in the poor kids file. “Kawasaki disease.”

“Dammnit…” Frank huffed, stood with blood on his scrubs in the middle of the ER. “shit i wanted to talk to her…” he moped off to grab a new pair of scrubs. You reentered the ER to pass off some paperwork to Trin, surveilling the area yet the ER ken was absolutely nowhere to be seen. 

“Here trin- some stuff for the mom and some general info over long term impacts but- i would probably wait a bit to give them over to her…” you sighed just as your pager buzzed again. “I’m gonna crush this thing with my bare fucking hands one of these days.” You sprinted back to the elevators, disappearing JUST as Frank re-entered the ED. 

“Oh my god…” Trin snorted out a laugh. 

“What?” Frank stared around as the nurses all laughed into their hands, spinning around as if he was in a nightmare where he’d shown up to school naked. 

“The two of you orbit each other…” Whittaker explained patting Frank on the back. 

“I missed her again?” he sighed, his hands slapping down against his thighs with a grump, letting out an exasperated puff of air. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask her out…” Dana turned her chair to chase Frank as he ran his hands down his face. 

“I’ve barely spoken to her, that would be weird- just too cold to ask somebody out on a date? No- no I'm good.”

“Never take ER ken for a loverboy…” Princess pitched in as she walked past the conversation. 

“Loverboy and Lovebug…it's got a ring to it…” Trin whispered to Dennis who snorted into his hand, Frank's head snapping over only for the farmboy to try to brush it off as a cough, Trin's palm slapping over her mouth to hold in her “cackles” (as Dennis would call them). 

…..

The thought of what trinity told you hadn’t left your head, it was always strange when someone tells you something that would have otherwise been completely out of your understanding of their character. Frank had a problem with bezos, you and the entire emergency department knew that, but to scream at an intern?

The X-rays began to burn your retinas, it was 4 hours past the supposed end of your 24 hour on call. Even if the heart pulled you in the most out of any part of medicine it was days like this when being a cardiologist seemed utterly impossible. On top of that your usual reason to smile on your way down the ER was nullpoint since you’d transitioned into the nightshift once more. 

You had to drag yourself down to the ED for a consult, eyes drifting around the ED absentmindedly until Lena flagged you down. “ER ken left this for you….” she quirked a brow, suddenly the sleep deprived reflexes weren't a problem as you gripped onto it tight. 

You unfurled the letter seeing the only slight sprawly handwriting of someone who was obviously quite nervous the entire time they were writing. 

Hi, I’m Frank one of the ED residents but- we’ve worked together once or twice hopefully you’d remember me 

You left quite the impression

I was wondering if you’d go out with me?

Yes ? No ?

(circle your answer.)

~Loverboy

You bit down on your lip, feeling that fuzzy feeling in your stomach before scrawling out a maybe.

You flipped the paper over grabbing a pen and quickly writing.

Dear loverboy. 

Unfortunately it's going to be harder than that…I hear you’re quite the polarising figure.

I wanna know more about you to know you aren’t wasting my time ER Ken.

~ Lovebug

You handed it to Lena rushing to the consult before finally charting and freeing yourself from the ER. It felt utterly ridiculous. In an age of texting and snapchat you were still passing notes with your crush in your 20s. The only downside of this schoolgirl method was that in this context it took multiple days to get a response, just waiting until your paths would cross again and you’d land yourself in the ER.

Many people informed you of you and Frank's habit of always missing each other. For a time the superstitious inkling in you told you it was a sign. If you weren’t able to find each other in daily life, how would you be able to sync yourselves up in every other way? 

It was slightly embarrassing, the way you rushed into the ER first thing to pick up another note left behind by ER ken, you’d been switched onto the nightshift or his offdays, an inconvenience you could easily blame on the slightly obviously sexist cardio attending who you’d been mercy to. Although he was the reason you were ever down in the ER in the first place.

Hey lovebug,

I think I can get used to using that nickname. Your heart thumped deviously in your chest. 

I did some stupid shit in active addiction, I promise I'm not like that anymore. Santos was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but what I did wasn’t right. I’m not going to pretend it was. At least he can hold himself accountable.

I tweaked my back moving my parents into their new house a few years back. But that's not how I want you to know me.

What do you want to know?

~ ER Ken

Abbot leaned over your shoulder with a smile “that kid is smitten.”

“Hey-” you slapped his arm playfully clutching the letter to your chest. Grabbing a pen and leaning up against the bay. 

Dear Loverboy,

That's good to know, I wanna know anything and everything about you. I’m scared I have this image of you in my head, that I've romanticized you. I’m still surprised you wrote me in the first place. 

I’ve watched a lot of romcoms, and probably too many medical dramas. 

I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be the protagonist. 

I don’t want this dream to end.

I’m scared that when you really see me, you won’t like what you find.

~ Lovebug

You sighed shakily, shoving it back into its assigned spot in the station before scampering off to your floor, catching barely a glimpse of that familiar black perfect hair as you passed. 

“This is getting ridiculous…” Whittaker scoffed at Frank as he wrote out yet another letter. “We’re not in Victorian times, you can ask for her number.”

Trinity perked up as she sensed an in for a joke “If we’re not in the past why do you still look like a sickly victorian child huckleberry-”

“Yes i know whatever-”

“You just don’t understand romance, whittaker…” Princess sighed, leaned up against the station trying to peek at the letter- he ripped it away, not giving her a chance to steal away your vulnerability which you’d instilled in him with trust. “It's something out of a romcom…” She hummed dreamily.

“She loves those…” Frank spoke under his breath, the letter tight in his palm. “She…she loves romcoms…” a lightbulb switched on in his brain. 

….

You were basically sprinting into the ER as soon as your shift began, there was a weird unspoken thing between you and Frank, that you didn’t go out of your way to seek each other out. The letters became a reason to smile when you rushed into a job that stripped you raw. It had been going on for weeks.

it was weeks of:

I saw you on the way in, I love how you did your hair ~ Loverboy

I heard you reset a guys spine in the ER...is it wrong that was hot to me? ~lovebug

I'm scared to talk to you in person, i don't know if words or incoherent sounds will come out ~lovebug

I'm sure i'll love whatever sounds come out of your mouth....that sounded dirty I swear i'm a gentlemen most of the time ~ Loverboy

There was a new and deeper kind of intimacy that lingered in words, a deep affection which was often morphed and lost in issues of tone and connotation. Not to say that someone particularly brilliant needed to be the holder of that pen, words are just words, there is no lie in that statement. But rather the purity of the intention behind them gave them strength and gave them real and sincere meaning. 

You felt that in the way Frank wrote, while he wasn't the most exceptionally articulate, had the purist of intention. So when you rushed into the ER a month into the endeavour your heart dropped as you saw your special writing spot empty. 

“Was he sick?” the query shot out of your mouth like a bullet of self defense, arms wrapped around you like a shield. 

“No sweetheart you should go up to your floor…its hell down here-” Lena was rushing around, your stomach twisted like a wet rag, your body protesting as you moved towards your floor.

The shift had destroyed Frank, an aching in his back sending violent shocks through his legs, the nerve in his leg charging like an angry ocean. It wasn't until he slipped his hand into his pocket to grab his keys that he felt the lined paper against his fingertips. “Shit-” he ignored the pulsing agony as he swung his legs out of the car, rushing back into the hospital, bolting towards the cardio floor.

His hand rested against the wall trying to settle himself with a huff as his eyes drifted over the apartment. A thump hits his back, forcing a loud growth out of his lips, sending him stumbling toward. He felt the warmths of hands on his biceps, settling him back against the wall. 

He heard a small sniffle, opening his blue eyes that had been clenched shut with pain and looking down. Your eyes were puffy, sleeves pulled around your palms, telling him you’d been using them to wide away weepy eyes, your hair fell fucking perfectly everything was fucking perfect. An angel had fallen from heaven and landed on him, he inhaled sharply, unsure if it was caused by pain or shock. 

“You didn’t leave a letter…” you whispered.

He simply offered out his two fingers, the paper clenched between them. “My back was killing me- I'd written it, I just forgot to leave it…” Frank’s hands hovered over you, not sure if he was allowed to touch the artwork, imagining sirens blaring around him if he had the gall. 

“You should lay down…” you muttered, unfolding the card and seeing his familiar and now comforting scripture. 

Hey lovebug,

People have told me we orbit each other. In the beginning I took it as an insult, that there was a cosmic distance between us forcing us apart. 

Over the last month you gave me something to look forward to, despite the tension and unpredictability of the ER.

And while I promised myself I would never become an addict again, I guess I failed. 

I’m addicted to your affection. And it drives me crazy. 

You make me want to be a better man.

So I'm just a boy. Writing to a girl. Asking her to give him a shot.

(I think you know me well enough by now)

~ your loverboy.

Your hands shook as your eyes rose to meet his, a small smile dawning your face with a rapid nod. “C’mere…” he pulled you into his chest. “I’m never gonna let you down again…” he spoke against your temple. 

“How is this happening?” you smiled shakily, unable to discern whether or not this was your reality, was the man you've had a crush on for a humiliatingly long period of time holding you in his arms. Had you fallen in a pool of your own tears on the way to cardio and this was all some sort of complex hallucination as your mind tried to protect you in your final moments. 

“I don’t know…” Frank laughed, forgetting the ache. “I’m just happy it is.”