Daydreaming about Jack Abbot

The rest of the ride to his apartment had been silent.

You were glad he hadn't forced the conversation; you needed time to process the day's events, most specifically, the part where he showed up in a cloud of dust and smoke and gunfire like a god damn biblical intervention. Nothing rational could have adequately prepared you to see him come to you like that amidst the chaos; there was nothing you could have done to preemptively raise the drawbridge to withstand the assault. He had caught you well vulnerable, without any more fight in you to protest him taking care of you like nothing had changed.

… Had it?

Changed?

You had done your best in these last months to stand on your own two feet for once in your life, going forward even when all you had wanted to do was to stop everything. You should have been to stand through this too, yet, you still let yourself be led by Jack back into a home that was no longer yours.

So why did it still feel like home?

Why did it felt even more like home than your own apartment?

Your mind felt like a quiet storm, shuffling and spinning conflicting feeling around while you were too tired to keep them in check, solidly tied down somewhere they wouldn't fly away.

And in the middle stood Jack.

On one hand, you hadn't forgotten all the things he'd said to drive you away. They still hurt, they hurt so fucking bad, but your soul conspired against your mind to win a fight that hadn't yet begun.

Jack was like a magnet carved specifically for you, drawing you in and not letting go. His touch was the only one your body responded to, the only one it recognized as the comfort you needed. He was a part of you, living and breathing in sync with you, leaving you incomplete when he was far away.

Just like you were a living part of him.

Walking with him into his apartment after all this time away felt strange. The familiarity crept in your blood and nested in your bone, gently chipping at the tension that had tightened your body for months without reprise. It was welcoming the safety of walls that had protected you for years from the outside world, that bore core memories in their foundation that simply couldn't be covered.

You found yourself overwhelmed, and before you could react, pressure boiled up to the surface, clouding your vision with tears you couldn't force back in. Your feet stopped moving in the middle of the kitchen as the first sob escaped you.

Before you could even cover your mouth in embarrassment, you were pulled in a tight embrace against Jack. His hand went to the back of your head as his hold tightened, and just like that, the floodgates opened. Full body sobs jolted your spine, but he only held you there, whispering in your ear to let it all out.

For some reason, it only made you cry harder.

And suddenly, you were thrown back 12 years back in time, standing at the exact same spot, purging out a different kind of grief as he held you with the same strong, steady arms. The juxtaposed pain was nearly took you out, unleashing every cry of agony you had repressed in between, after you decided you would never allow yourself to break down at all, ever again.

Until now.

Not that you had allowed this in the first place— you were not in control and you were despising it. The walls you had carefully built on quicksand gave in at the slightest tremor, an eventuality that had always been much more a matter of when rather than if.

“M' sorry” You mumbled through tear. “I don't know why—”

He shushed you, his left hand rubbing your back while his right kept your head against his shoulder.

“No, baby, don't be sorry” He mumbled back, his lips finding your temple. “You just went through hell. You were a fucking rock star in there, you're allowed to let it out”

Like your body knew no other imperative than his word, the tears picked up tenfold. You felt yourself melt into him as the fight left you entirely.

After you fell asleep in the rover, Jack had cleaned up the mess at the farm house with the police. He had seen with his own two eyes the infamous injured robber with a hole cut on the top right of his hoodie, and most specifically, the messy yet bomb proof stitching he could recognize out of a thousand. A stitching that bore your signature just as much as the one you wrote with a pen.

That couldn't have been anything but a bullet wound. A fucking bullet wound with no exit point. If you had stitched, it meant that the bullet was out, and if it was out, it meant that you had taken it out.

Without a surgeon, without a doctor. Only with a field dressing kit and your wits. And you kept him alive through all of that.

That feat on its own was fucking insane.

And if the hostages half coherent testimonies relayed to him were to be believed, you had also been the reason why the 18 people in there with you were still alive, too.

“I'm so proud of you” He sighed into your hair. “My brave girl”

You stayed there in his arms, almost limp as your crying finally quieted down. You felt him shift to his right foot and readjust a couple of time, and that's what finally snapped you out of your trance-like state like a shockwave up your spine. You slightly pulled away to take off your weight from him, suddenly hyper aware of his own discomfort.

“Your leg's killing you” You muttered as you looked down to his prostheses. “Where's your crutch? Go sit—”

He pulled you back against him, gently but firmly. “Don't care. I'll stand here as long as you need”

You frowned against his shoulder. “No, I can't, I'll- I'll go get your crutch, you need to sit—”

You felt him shake his head no against yours as he stubbornly held you tighter again. “I don’t want to” His voice then clouded, dropping lower. “I can't”

You closed your eyes as the small hitch in his voice registered. You felt him take a deep, shaky breath under your cheek while the rest of his body stood stiff.

“I fucked up” He finally admitted. “I fucked up bad, and I'm afraid that if I let go you'll be gone again”

Your breath caught in your throat at his raw honesty. You were at loss for words, not having the emotional capacity at the moment to process this in any other way than holding tighter too, hands bunching the back of his shirt.

Then he said your name, repeating it a few more time like a mantra. You shut your eyes even tighter.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry” The words kept tumbling out. “I was a fucking asshole. I hurt you. And I definitely don't deserve you now. But fuck I need you here with me”

Your head spun, dizzy with disbelief at his sincerity and unable to do anything but replay his words over and over again like a lost echo in the caves of you chest. He made his declaration with an astonishing lack of hesitation, leaving no hidden motivation, no space for second guessing, no alternative interpretation but the literal meaning of his words. It made your resolve crumble and fall like it had never been there at all.

You had tried to separate yourself from him, you really did. You had wanted to prove yourself you were strong.

You were not.

And you were okay with the thought, as much as you knew you shouldn't. You were tired of always being strong. And beside, the few moments you had spent with Jack after months of keeping yourself strictly away from him only cemented in your mind the idea that you would always be exactly where you belonged, as long as he stood by your side.

He gently cradled your face in his hands, tilting it up to look at him. Your entire body remained relaxed to it, its long integrated subconscious memory that his touch would never hurt.

“Please” His words were breathless as you locked gazes with him. The redness of his eyes made his hazel irises seem a gorgeous shade of green as he held back tears. “I'll beg you for the rest of my life if that's what it takes, but I can't lose you again. I can’t”

You closed your eyes again and let your forehead fall forward until it touched his. You could feel his thumbs rubbing absentminded circles on your jaw as his breath synced with yours, re-attuning yourselves to each other like you had been for so many years. Jack had made a home entirely too deep under your skin to rip it off, no matter how long you'd go without being near him. You could feel it now as the missing puzzle piece slid back into its rightful place, completing the picture.

No one else would do it for you.

Your hands left his back and gently rested at the base of his neck where your thumbs touched skin. You felt goosebumps erupt under the feather light presses of you fingers there.

“Then don't” You whispered so close to his lips that he could almost taste the words. “Don't lose me again”

You didn't dare open your eyes to watch his reaction, but you felt his piercing stare as your words hung heavily in the narrow space between the two of you. His touch shifted on your jaw, a silent encouragement to own up to your word. You refused to give in, terrified of what you'd see if you did; you couldn't handle another disappointment, not now.

You could feel the slight insistence in his touch.

“Look at me”

Your eyes opened of their own accord, immediately caught in the trap of his gaze.

All of Jack's walls had been torn down, ripped apart in a desperate attempt to let you in. It had been his mistake last time, to shut down, to lock you out in a stupid attempt to protect the both of you. He couldn't even recall from what.

Yet, here you were, letting him off the hook with a stern warning. Don't lose me again. He didn’t deserve that mercy from you, none of it. Yet, you still gave it to him, with no malice, no conditions, no hesitation. You gave him a second chance he thought he had blown long ago, and it made him want to do better, to do so much better so he could be someone worthy of your love.

Luckily for him, he was a very goal oriented man and all the motivation he needed was right in front of him.

“It's me and you now” He finally spoke in a whisper that seared his words into your bones. If felt definitive, steady, certain beyond the shadow of a doubt. “I love you. I want you. All of you. And I'm not letting you slip through my fingers ever again”

You could have sworn the world stopped turning as soon as he said those words. You had imagined a thousand different scenarios in which he'd have confessed his feelings— none of them featuring you bawling your eyes out after a hostage situation— but there you were. Jack Abbot, stripped bare of any pretense, blowing the door wide open into his mind and into what he wanted. The sight was as unsettling as it was breathtaking. It appealed to you in ways previously unknown to your being, knowing he meant it more than anything he’s ever said. And you believed him, God, you believed him.

“Me and you” You repeated, sealing the promise with invisible bounds. “Always”

He nodded once, then again, hand shifting on your face as her rubbed circles over your temples with his thumb. The relaxing motion combined with the crash of the emotions brought another wave of fatigue upon you, and your felt your limbs suddenly grow heavy in his hold.

Of course he noticed before you could even tell him.

Jack had grown just as attuned to your nonverbal as you were, more often than not anticipating your needs before you could voice them. He gifted you the privilege of being known and being seen in a world where you had to be the observant one anywhere outside the walls of your home.

“C'mon” He muttered, nodding towards the guest bathroom. “Let's get that blood off of you, then we can go to sleep, yeah?”

His hand found yours before he even stepped out of your space, intertwining your fingers together to keep at least one line of skin to skin contact. You followed him to the guest bathroom, the very one that you'd made yours, once. This time, it felt bare, untouched, like you had been the last person to step foot in it after you threw everything of yours there hazardously in a backpack with the rest of your stuff.

“Sit”

You glance to where he was pointing on the counter, then back to him to find him already expectant. You shook your head.

“Bathtub”

Your counter offer puzzled him for a moment, his eyes instinctively going to the shower bath in there.

“Your leg” You then added. “You need to sit”

The bath ledge was designed large enough for one to use it as a seat. It was clearly on purpose, with grippy material and a folding door instead of a rail. It was meant to be easier to use for Jack if the shower in his room with the chair was to be unusable for a period of time.

You held out your hand in support as he took a careful seat first, straddling the ledge of the tub with prosthetic leg on the outside. You followed him suit, sitting in from of him.

There was a moment of silence then as you just stared at each other. You knew what you logically should do next—and it's not like he had never seen you in a sports bra before. Still you hesitated, hand ghosting at the hem of your shirt. The action felt loaded now, it felt strangely intimate whereas before it was nothing but an operational necessity.

Jack's eyes went from your face, to your hand. Yet he said nothing of it, feeling for himself the shift. He waited for you, basking in the serenity of the moment. It was the dead of the night, everything was still. There was no rush, no expectation, only you.

He watched your movement with fascination as you finally peeled your shirt off, carefully pulling it over your head. The damp cotton, probably ruined by blood and sweat to ever wear it again, was stuck and dried already to your skin, leaving itchy spots behind.

Jack didn't follow the motion of your arm throwing the shirt on the floor. Instead, he mapped the streaks of dark red coating your skin, linking scars together like a constellation. He spotted the old faded ones from your youth, the ones you acquired from simply existing at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then the newer ones you gained from being the best version of yourself, one that stood solidly between danger and the innocent, one that made sure the cycle of violence did not get past you even if it meant absorbing the hit.

You had been shaped by violence, but you've never let yourself be defined by it. You had never raised a hand against a fly, even if some might have deserved push back. Despite your tough façade, you were kind to those who needed kindness, a calming presence to those who needed grounding, an honest voice through the noise.

Sometimes Jack wondered how you did it—how you managed to stay that strong all the time, always taking hits that you never returned.

You felt your muscles involuntarily contract and shiver under his gaze like his hands were already trailing over your skin. He was appraising you as if it was the first time he saw you—truly saw you—which, in a way, it was.

Wordlessly, he reached in the small shelf behind him, grabbing a washcloth, soaking it under warm water from the bath faucet.

He started with your face, gently wiping off the remnants of the blood he couldn't get with the antiseptic wipe back at the farm house. His free hand came to rest at the base of your skull, gently supporting your head against the soft pressure on your cheek. He took great care to clean the wound on the cheekbone, working around the blue-ish swelling as he watched your reaction for any flinching or wincing.

“How'd you get that one?” He muttered, rinsing the washcloth.

“Butt of a semi automatic” You replied under your breath. “Spoke out of turn”

A small, almost imperceptible smile grace his lips as his touch returned to your face. He only hummed, as if saying of course you did. He could be telling you to be careful, and to stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger, but that would make him an hypocrite, and beside, he'd be lying to himself to think this fearless side of you wasn't incredibly attractive to him. He could well imagine you in there, calm, collected and competent, seeing someone in need and not thinking twice before helping them.

“Well, it won't need stitches” He said as he moved your head slightly to the side. “Just a bit of care”

The movement you made was barely a nod as he moved the washcloth to your hairline. He could see the dried blood on the right side of your scalp, sticking to your hair, and while that would take a proper shower to get off, he'd a least be able to relieve the itching he just knew you'd been ignoring for far too long.

He watched you as your eyes flickered closed at the contact of the warm water on your scalp. Your shoulders finally starting to relax at the almost petting motion of the washcloth. He moved through your scalp, then behind your ears and down your neck.

Your eyes reopened as he reached your collarbone, the pattern of the washcloth becoming a bit less purposeful. You found him with a laser like focus on the gleaming of the droplets under the low lights, eyes suddenly much darker as he traced it down a pale streak of blood and sweat to the swell of your breast. The intensity of his gaze took you by surprise, sending a shiver up your spine and erupting your skin with goosebumps.

That made is eyes flicker back up to yours, not losing the heat on the way up.

You could feel your heartbeat quicken as you held the staring contest. His nonverbal was loud and clear as he fought with himself, trying so damn hard to remain proper. It was interesting, to say the least, to observe Jack Abbot be anything than fully dedicated to his task; to discover that some things, some really, really simple things could distract him and make his mind wander.

Still, like the good soldier he was, he recomposed himself, pretending he couldn't feel the heat of your skin through the washcloth. You recognized the renewed determination in his eyes, the same he had when patients were rolled his way in the ER.

Watching him like this was just as enticing as his touch on you.

Careful, efficient, controlled.

The contrast with the heated darkness in his eyes was an fascinating one. It woke up feelings within that had been dormant for years, quiet, laying in wait for someone to bring them forward.

“You found me”

You didn't know why you said it, but it came out on its own, deviating the course of your thoughts with a sharp left hand turn. All this overthinking about finding long lost feelings steered your mind to it, coming to the realization that Jack had found you awfully quick in that safe house. The robbers had been so certain they hadn't been followed, they had checked the radars multiple times to make sure no police were on their trail.

Yet, that SWAT team had appeared in front of you barely half an hour after you holed up in there.

Jack barely even faltered, only looking up at you as he wiped the last of the blood on your ribs. He threw the washcloth in the tub as his eyes crinkled, crow feet prominent under the soft light of the bathroom.

“I'll always find you”

There was something in his eyes then that made you tilt your head to the side. There was a part of you that was really flattered, that wanted to just melt into him.

There was another, however, that read the glint in his eyes, one you were most familiar with, and figured it out by yourself. The glint that pulled you into familiar territory, into this irresistible lure that enthralled you to reach forward for it at the cost of breaking the moment.

“It was the location thing, wasn't it?”

He couldn't help the smile and chuckle this time.

“I was trying to be sweet”

You felt yourself mimicking his expression, feeling the first genuine smile stretch your lips in months. Something new, lighter set in your heart at his teasing tone.

This was the Jack you knew.

“It was very poetic”

He rolled his eyes playfully as he began standing up, carefully avoiding to put weight on his prostheses. Without thinking much, you lifted your arm, offering it as a railing. His hand went to it automatically, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He muttered a quiet thanks as he regained his footing, then offered his hand to you. You followed him up and into the hallway, right past the guest room.

You had been in room only a couple of time while you had lived there. You had preferred to leave it as his space, his own little world to retreat too.

It felt like him.

Free of clutter, straight to the point, but still warm enough to feel safe.

“You can grab a t-shirt in the dresser” He said as he let go of your hand and sat on the side of the bed. “Underwear too. I promise they're clean”

You couldn't help but snort as your fingers drummed on the oak dresser.

“The two drawers on top”

He really did try not to look. He really did.

As soon as you began peeling off your bra, he occupied himself with taking off his leg, pointedly not looking in your direction to defend whatever modesty he could afford you—like he hadn't been staring at your chest like a teenage boy moments ago.

It was the sound of the drawer being pulled open that made him look, a natural, human reaction to noise.

It's not like he looked for long either. It was just a quick glance that he redirected to the floor as quickly as he could, but it had been long enough to see the architecture of your bare back muscles at work, flexing and pulling as you slipped his shirt—his shirt— over your shoulders. He could feel himself blushing like a schoolboy at the thought of watching you undress in his room tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after.

It felt strange.

It felt strange to want something he was allowed to have. It felt strange to be able to let go the guilt of wanting, after all these years denying himself. The road ahead was far from clear, he wasn't naive enough to think it would be rainbows and unicorns—not after everything, not after the specifically cruel way he almost fucked it up. But for the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to.

Something to hold on to.

“… want one?”

He blinked as your voice snapped him out of his head, his eyes finding you in the doorway. He pointedly kept his gaze on your face and not on your bare legs. “Huh?”

Your expression turned slightly amused as you watched him very clearly come back from a trip into his own mind.

“I said, I'm gonna grab a glass of water, want one?”

“I'm good” His voice came out hoarse. “Thanks”

You gave him a nod and retreated to the kitchen. He could hear you move around, opening and closing the cabinets and turning on the faucet as he massaged his leg. Then your footsteps returned, growing closer to the room. He glanced at his nightstand and frowned, then angled his body to face you.

“Hey, I forgot my—”

He was interrupted by you throwing him a small orange bottle, which he caught more by reflex than any conscious decision he made.

“Lyrica on the counter” You finished for him with a small smile as you made your way to the bed. “Right next to the fridge”

He just watched you, eyes wide.

You placed your glass on the nightstand and sat on the bed with him, letting out a drawn out yawn, and seemingly having not idea that Jack had blue screened.

He had a bad habit of leaving his medication in the kitchen, as it was easier to remember to take before leaving for work if it was there. That arrangement, however, meant that often than not, he had to drag himself back there in the evenings when he inevitably forgot to bring a pill with him to go to bed.

You had not only remembered where he always left his medication, but you had brought it to him without him asking you for it.

You noticed the lack of movement on his end as you pulled your legs under the covers. You blinked a couple of time, tilting your head to the side. “… Did I bring the wrong medicine?”

He let a few beats pass, his features morphing into a warmth resembling renewed amazement. He could see it now as clear as day, that something that had always been there but that he never let himself perceive. He felt both incredibly stupid for not welcoming this sooner, and incredibly lucky that he somehow wasn't too late to do so. There was absolutely no doubt now, he couldn't be anywhere but by your side.

He didn't want to be anywhere else ever again either.

“Nope” He finally breathed out, chest suddenly much lighter than it's been in months. “It's… exactly what I needed”

You gave him a small cryptic smile as you slid deeper under the covers, feeling your body melt of its own accord at the safety and comfort his space naturally wrapped you with. Heaviness quickly overcame you as your mind forced you to let go, finally freeing you from the survival mode you've been stuck in for months now. You felt him joining you shortly after, his arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his warm chest as if you had done it for years.

That's how right it felt.

You nestled yourself deeper into his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. “Thank you”

You felt his hum vibrate in his chest under your cheek. “For what?”

“Finding me” You mumbled back, feeling yourself finally drift off.

You didn't see his expression change, but if you had, it would have broken your heart. You had played it off lowkey earlier, but there was no filter holding you back now. You sounded small and vulnerable and fragile—something you'd never allow if you hadn't been on your last fumes—expressing gratitude for something he should have been doing long ago already. He held you a bit tighter as he chased the lump in his throat.

“I meant it, by the way” His words were breathless over your hair. “I'll always find you”

Your breathing changed then, slowing down to a soft rhythm.

Then he added, more so for himself than you now unconscious form.

“One way or another, I will. I promise”

•••••••••••••

When Jack heard the radio chatter on the police scanners halfway though his day off, he had almost laughed at what he heard.

Bank robbery.

Who even robbed banks in broad daylight anymore anyway?

Still, he had been at the hangar within 15 minutes to suit up and prepare the armored vehicle, then on his way with the squad within 20.

The afternoon sun was glaring down on the street that had already been cleared by the police. It was early spring, but the humidity was heavy and seeping through Jack's clothes. He could already feel the friction against his prosthetic leg, but his laser like focus on the situation made it easy to ignore.

He busied himself with helping his team to set up a proper barricade, hauling around sandbags and stretching out barbed wires around the street.

All that moving around was killing his leg. Still, he powered through, carrying his weight and then some more.

The bench in the back of the tactical rover was within sight and calling his name for a well deserved break when the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. He paused his steps, slowly scanning his environment. His instincts and subconscious were communicating with each other faster than he could follow, yet, he listened enough to understand they wanted to tell him something.

Nothing seemed really out of place, well, beside the military barricade around a bank in the middle of the afternoon. No bomb, no IED, no suspicious pile of rocks that shouldn't be standing, nothing that could blow up and injure one of his guys. He was starting to believe this feeling had been a fluke when he saw it.

He knew that color scheme all too well, mostly from it haunting his nightmares.

He froze in his track, eyes zeroing on the bullets ridden black and white motorcycle on the ground. The very same you had been religiously patching up for years every time it got a little scratch.

The same one you categorically refused to part with, despite his pleading you'd at least let him buy you a new, safer bike.

He had just known one day the sight of it would bear terrible news. He could feel his heartbeat in his eardrums, hoping to whatever higher power out there that he had been mistaken and it wasn't your bike. But the longer he looked, the more this foolish hope dissipated. He could see your handiwork even from where he was standing—no one else was so meticulous in refreshing a bike' paint job.

The only hope, or rather, denial he had left then was that you had been at the café on the corner of the street instead of at the bank when the bullet started to fly.

He should have known by now that he wouldn't be that lucky, because all of his forced positive thinking towards the situation got smashed in a thousand pieces when he heard your voice slice through the silence like a hot knife though his chest.

He spun around to see you there, hands in the air with blood running down your forearms. Years and years of being throw into countless insane emergencies allowed him to keep his composure on the outside, but all he wanted to do right now was to scream.

The last time he had even seen you for longer than a few fleeting seconds during patient exchange, he had made the worst fucking mistake of his life. He had been cruel to you in a way you didn't deserve and unknowingly, at the moment, driven away one of the only great thing he's had in a decade.

Your absence had been felt the moment you had shut that door.

The very energy that kept him moving forward for all that time had been sucked out of the room like a vacuum along with the very air he breathed. At first he was able to convince himself the pressure in his chest was just remorse for having been an absolute dick about it. He had still believed that he had been right, that both yours and his feelings conflated companionship and love and that putting a stop to it before it developed into something dangerous was the smartest course of action. He had also believed and that at any moment you'd come back to talk it out.

But then, you didn't.

You didn't call and didn't text.

And then a week later, he came back after his shift to see every single one of your belonging gone like you had never been there. More than 10 years erased, sanitized out of his apartment, making it go from a home to a merely a house.

Pride and stubbornness was what held him back from biting the bullet and texting first. Then, as time passed without any news of you, as he noticed you avoiding him like the plague, the unpleasantly disappointing feeling of being right truly settled.

You had most likely realized you were better off without him, realized that he made you so miserable that the very thought of returning to him was inconceivable. Even when both Robby and Dana decided to team up to inform him that you had been full on flirting with Santos as a last ditch effort to force him to do something about it, it had only served as another reason to stay out of your life.

So he let you go, even if it had destroyed him in the process.

Yet, standing here now, seeing you on the other end of multiple weapons—front, back, left and right—your life on the line, he regretted it all.

“—for fuck sake, Abbott!”

Captain Pymm snapped in his face, tearing him out of his head. He blinked a few times, shaking the ringing in his head.

“They want a medical kit”

Jack's eyes went from Pymm to you, observing how your safety glasses were on and your belt pouches were open. You had clearly been treating injuries in there, he could tell not only by the blood, but from the single focus in your eyes he knew from watching you work. If you were there requesting more supplies, it meant there was a shit show happening inside of those walls.

“License checks out, but…” Pymm said, crossing his arms against his chest. “Think it's a trap? That she's with them?”

“No” Jack answered immediately. “She's my…” He paused, realizing what his brain had decided to supply as the correct answer to Pymm's question. He cleared his throat before he could finish that thought. “If she's here now it means one or more person is injured and she needs to treat them”

“One of their own?”

Jack paused on this one. “Hard to say. Maybe. But on the off chance it’s for a hostage, I say we do it”

He had a feeling that you were the one who asked for the med kit, not the robbers. If there was one thing you couldn't stand, it was to not get involved when someone got hurt. It didn't matter of it was your best friend or your worst enemy, you were driven by your need to help people. You had once told him that your Do no harm pledge has been your most important moral imperative, which you kept proving time and time again. Always stepping in to take care of people, always trying to minimize injuries and casualties. It was truly one of the thing he admired the most about you.

Pymm frowned, knowing there was something major here he was missing there but he nodded nevertheless. He trusted Abbot on these matters as much as any of his men on the permanent squad, and if Abbot said to send a med kit, he would not start questioning his judgment now.

Jack went back to the rover and opened the armored box, making sure everything was fully restocked for whatever emergency you were dealing with in there, then strapped the thing to the robot and sent it past the safety perimeter. He watched it reach you, and his chest caved in once again as you disappeared out of his view.

Then, it was nearly an hour again until there was movement.

Pymm got on the radio as it screeched alive.

“They've got transport” The lookout said as clear as day even through the static. “Two cars, split ways. Got eyes on one of them, thermal cams are catching one person in. We're pursuit, but the other vehicle is gone. Over.”

“They got through the barricade?” Pymm's voice was like a leather whip in the air. “Someone fucking let them out?”

As soon as the words were out, all hell broke lose.

Pymm began barking orders on the radio, snipers began shooting out of Jack's view, then men on the ground reassembled into formation and headed for the entrance of the bank.

As they swarmed the main door, the next worse thing that happened, happened.

All hostages came out running like a stampede, disorganized and screaming. It suddenly became increasingly hard to keep an eye on the potential perpetrators as they all ran out in different directions.

Jack stepped up, staying behind the advancing SWAT team to catch and shepherd the hostages. Paramedics weren't far behind, and while his attention was mostly on his guys, he did count each head that came out running out.

18 you had said.

His count indeed came to 18 just as the last hostage walked by him. His eyes went to the empty street, finding no one else wandering around. Panic gripped his heart once again when he realized that all hostages had been out, but you were nowhere in sight.

He put a hand on the woman's shoulder, and she halted her steps.

“Is there anyone else inside?” He asked, trying to keep his voice under control. “Any other hostage?”

She shook her head, wiping her tears away with a black trail of mascara. “No, they left and we all got out”

“What about the medic?” He found himself asking. “There was an EMT in there—”

Recognition passed over her eyes. “Y-yeah they took her with them, they were about to kill us and she made sure we could get out and oh my god they were going to kill us—”

She was interrupted by a paramedic rounding up, noticing her distress and enveloping her in a shock blanket. Jack stared at her retreating form, his thoughts a million miles away as he tried to steady his mind. The world began spinning around way too quickly, so much that he almost lost his footing as he tried to return to his med rover.

His hand slapped on the carbon fiber of the vehicle as he mustered every ounce of self control to get himself together. He had survived active combat, bombs raining down on him and his team, countless medical chaos— he should be able to keep his composure. Yet, all of his thoughts felt like sand in his hands; impossible to grasp on and fast disappearing.

He tried to focus his mind on the next step, scouring his brain for a modicum of useful information that could help him and his team to track the second vehicle, but all he could think about was that last day with you.

How he had let you down.

How the last time he had heard your voice, it had been loaded with anger and betrayal.

How barely a few hours after he thought he had lost you to an active shooter, he went and finished the job himself like a fucking idiot.

It had been—

The racing of his mind came to an screeching halt as the picture of you in the hospital bed came increasingly clear, sharpening in his brain with vivid colours. Without further thinking, his hand went to his pocket, grabbing his phone.

Please, please, please, please, please.

He unlocked the phone and went to his emails, opening the thread under your name and praying for one single miracle today.

“Getaway vehicle 1 south bound on the highway” Pymm yelled as the team shoved themselves in the rovers. “Abbot, we gotta move, we need to find that second one—”

His head snapped up, eyes wild but strangely alive.

“We may not have to look very far” He replied, returning his gaze to the phone. His mind came together like a completed puzzle, focus shifting into gear like a dog locked onto a scent. “I think I might have a way to—”

Sweets, you beautiful genius.

It was like a seven ton weight lifted of his shoulder when his screen suddenly showed him your live location, racing down some back roads away from the city in the other direction than the dot they were already tracking. He had completely forgotten that you had ever shared your location with him, and by the looks of it, so did you.

It had been a long shot, but he knew you kept your phone on silent and do not disturb in the pocket on your left thigh; nobody, especially not yourself, would have taken it out of there.

“I’ve got their location” His words came out strong and authoritative. “Westbound on Baldwin road”

“How the hell?”

“The medic— They took her. She's in the other car. And her phone. In her side pocket” He answered as if it explained anything. He was already securing the backup medic kit to the rover before Pymm even caught up with his scattered logic. “I'm tracking it”

“Good enough for me” Pymm reached for his radio. “Attention first unit, we have a live location of the robbers. Team Alpha southbound, team Delta Westbound. Delta, keep it on the down low, shadow them, follow at a distance. Still one hostage in the vehicle. Over.”

In two minutes, the two rovers were barrelling down the streets, one with police escort and the other, completely alone, not to alarm the robbers and make them something irrational.

Like shooting you.

They drove for half an hour until your signal slowed down, turning into suburbs roads. Then, twenty minutes more until it fully halted.

A safe house, most likely.

They didn’t give the robbers the time to settle. They rushed down the long driveway and surrounded the house in minutes.

Jack watched as another shootout unfolded in front of his eyes. His blood pressure was near damn the full on heart attack threshold, both worrying about you and his friends on the squad.

He should have remained by the rovers and his med kit.

But he was never good at staying still.

Without a second thought, he ran in the townhouse, through the dust and bullets, looking for you.

He went by his initial assumption that the robbers had someone injured on their team, and that you wouldn't be far from that person. So he looked for flat surfaces with someone lying on it, first floor, somewhere easy to reach.

You hadn't been very hard to find with this hypothesis.

As expected, he found you curled up at the foot of a wall in the kitchen, your arms covering your head to avoid being caught in the crossfire. In an instant, he was crouching in front of you, grabbing your wrist and calling your name.

“Sweets, hey, c'mon, we gotta get out of here—”

He was taken aback by how you stared at him— eyes bloodshot, bags dragging down your face, absolutely drenched in blood, yet, annoyed as fuck.

You squinted your eyes. “Back again? I thought I told you to fuck off”

He blinked once, then twice. “What”

You curled further up on yourself. “I don't need another hallucination of you telling me what to do, Jack”

A frown of pure confusion pulled his features. For a moment, he had thought you were referring to the day he broke your heart. He was fully ready to face your ire, but he hadn't expected it to happen in an active shootout. Then, your addition to the conversation caught up with his brain and subsequently short circuited him.

“Another hal— Have you lost your mind?”

It slipped before he could rephrase.

Still, you scoffed. “What gives?”

He couldn't believe he was even having that conversation, but here he fucking was, trying to get you to do something that should be very, very simple. He had to take a few seconds he didn’t have to properly reboot.

“Sweets, I'm here, I'm real”

You eyed him up and down, slowly, like a woman truly in another world altogether. “Clearly not if you're wearing this uniform. That is…” You trailed off, nodding to yourself as your gaze took him in again. “… a hundred percent a product of my imagination”

He didn't know how to answer that. His mouth hung open for a second, until he shut it and swallowed hard. He could feel the back of his neck warm up as your words truly registered. He had begun picking up SWAT shift after you had left, of course you wouldn't have expected him there, let alone dressed like that.

And what was that about you hallucinating him telling you what to do?

“Sweets…” His voice cracked, flustered. He cleared his throat and intertwined his gloved hand in yours. “I'm gonna have to insist that I'm real, and that I need to get you out of there”

Your eyes left his face to glance at your joined hands. You gave it a little squeeze, and your entire expression shifted like clarity had been forcefully injected in your veins. “Oh shit you're actually here”

His eyebrows raised to the ceiling as he nodded.

When your eyes found his again, they were wild with recognition. “Holy fucking shit”

“Yeah” He replied, tugging on your hand. “We gotta go”

You pushed yourself on your knees and onto your feet, then helped Jack stand up too. Crouching like that must have hurt like hell with his prosthetic leg, if his groan standing up was anything to go by. Leaning on each other for support, you got out of the house until you reached safety behind the med vehicle.

As soon as he was certain you were out of danger, Jack left and Dr. Abbot stepped in. His hands went to your jaw, stabilizing your face as he assessed you for injuries. He began by pulling away your working glasses from your face and setting them aside, then began his thorough examination. You tried to wiggle out of his grip, but you had no more energy and he wasn't interested in letting go.

“Hold still” His tone left no space for negotiation, so you just gave in, relaxing in his hands. “Good girl”

You blamed your 23rd hour awake for how your knees buckled.

He reached behind you in the medical kit for some antiseptic wipes, tearing open the package and gently wiped the blood streaks from your face. He moved so reverently for what it could have been, brushing your skin like it was the fraying marble on a priceless sculpture. In any other situation, you'd have found it unnecessary and borderline insulting, but after a long day of everything going wrong, his touch was a lifeline that you desperately held on to.

There was so, so many things the two of you still had to set straight, but for now, the familiarity of his presence was all the comfort you needed.

You had missed it much, much more than you were willing to admit at the moment.

His hands moved from your face to your neck, then collarbone, feeling for any bump or painful spots. He was methodical, leaving no joint or vein unchecked as he hade his way down your chest and hips.

“I'm fine” You mumbled as his attention returned to your face.

His eyes found yours, and suddenly his finger appeared in your field of vision as he completely ignored your protest.

Right, left, up, down.

You followed the finger, and he seemed satisfied with what he saw

“See?”

He didn't look away from you. “You need to get checked again at the hospital, I'll order you a CT—”

“What I need is my bed” You cut him off. “I'll go to the hospital tomorrow. Now I just need to sleep”

He was about to protest.

“Please, Jack”

The way you looked at him almost undid him. You were visibly exhausted, crashing from the adrenaline and vulnerable after an extremely stressful situation. He nodded, his hand finding your again.

You didn't fight him on that either.

“Take a nap in the back of the rover” He muttered as he began hearing the police sirens finally catching up with the action. “I think we'll be here for a while. I'll wake you up before we leave”

As if on cue, you yawned. “Yeah. I think I earned that, didn't I?”

A small grin stretched on his lips. “There she is”

He helped you up in the vehicle and fetched you a scratchy blanket. It wasn't the most comfortable set up, but in your state, you'd have gladly taken anything horizontal, so you weren't much bothered.

It has taken you 27 seconds to fall asleep.

He counted.

He watched you for a few minutes, fond smile lighting up his features, before returning his attention to the team.

When you finally came back into the land of the living, it was already dark. You jolted up, restrained across your chest and definitely not where your last memory placed you.

“Easy, you’re fine”

And just like that, your mind and body relaxed before you could even register your environment. They had been much, much faster than your in recognizing his voice than your conscious self. Then, you took in the familiar truck, and the CD playing softly in the background.

Jack's voice, Jack's truck and Jack's favourite CD.

No doubt about where you were now.

“Whatapn”

He chuckled. “Woah, that's the sound of a good nap”

You looked out of the window to the right city lights and frowned. “Are we back in the city?”

Your words were still slurred, but understandable this time around.

He nodded. “I didn't wake you up when we left. I… wanted to let you sleep”

He wouldn't let you know anytime soon that he had spent the entire way back home in the back of an uncomfortable cop car with you, your head cradled in his chest as he smoothed the bumps of the road and kept you comfortable there because he didn’t want you to wake up alone with strangers, thinking he had ran away again.

You rubbed your eyes, nodding back. You took a glance at the passing signs, quickly situating yourself in the city and the direction you were going.

“Jack”

“Mh?”

“My apartment's not that way”

His eyes remained on the road, but his expression shifted into something bittersweet.

“I'm not taking you there” He took your hand across the console. “I don't want you alone right now. I'm taking you home”

•••••••••••••

“EVERYBODY DOWN! THIS IS A ROBBERY”

The first rule you learn in handling imminent threat situations is not to play the hero. You need to obey, placate and stay quiet to bring attention away from you. Your life and the one of everybody else in the mess very much depends on not causing a scene.

A rule which, entirely in line with how your day had been going so far, absolutely fucking nobody followed.

Your knees weren't even on the ground that the bank security—who were clearly not equipped or trained to handle a whole coordinated heist they had completely missed the signs of in the first place and for which their area of competency has been long surpassed—decided to save the day.

… Or at least try to.

You flinched and protected your head with your arms as they began shooting, quickly exchanging fire for a few seconds. The sound of the shootout mixed with the screams, until a boot kicked your feet, yelling at you to stand up.

In a blur, you were brought into the back of the bank, away from the bay windows of the main area. Only once you were all gathered in front of the giant vault did you look up, watching as one of the robbers was dragged in by two of his peers by the arms, bleeding profusely from his clavicle.

From your position on your knees with your hands behind your head, you could feel the familiar twitch of your fingers, the instinct that animates you every time things take a turn on a shift creeping up your spine. Your vision cleared and sharpened, and all the fatigue of your shift evacuated your muscles.

As you watched the robbers trying (and failing) to patch their bleeding friend up and getting increasingly agitated, waving their weapons around, you understood, much to your dismay, that your previous thoughts about idiots who wanted to play heroes very much included you.

Before you could even stop yourself from talking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth.

“I can help” That caught the attention of one of them, yellow hoodie covered in blood splatter, who rapidly strode towards you. “I'm an EM—”

You were interrupted by him swinging the butt of his weapon in your face, sending you flying forward. You caught yourself with your hands, trying to ignore the blooming pain in your cheek. Colours swirled behind your eyelids and you could feel the sting of broken skin where contact was made.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Hey, hey!” The ringleader suddenly appeared, shoving your assailant off. “What the fuck are you doing huh? Keep your fucking head on!”

“But she wouldn't—”

“Were you dropped on your head as a baby?” He scoffed. “KJ's dying and you beat up the only medical help, fucking brilliant, man” The sound that followed ressembled a hand hitting a clothed arm. “You, down there”

You slowly pushed off the ground and kept your hands where they could see them.

“You said you're an EMT?”

You nodded.

He stared intensely at you through his balaclava. “Can you keep him alive?”

You took off your eyes from him for a second to evaluate the situation. Poor son of a bitch was losing a decent amount of blood, but in your experience, the positioning of the wound had good chances of not being fatal.

“I've seen worse” You mumbled, returning your eyes to the leader. “I should be”

With a curt nod from him, you carefully stood up and made your way to the injured man. You looked around them, noticing no bandage or emergency material whatsoever. You still had your belt on with some supplies, but clearly not enough to make a difference here.

“I need a first aid kit” You spoke to no one in particular. “Should be one in the break room or manager's office”

No one moved. You scanned the room, eyeing each one of the armed robbers.

“Anyone!” The leader yelled. “Anyone fucking go!”

Yellow hoodie hurried our of the room.

“Alright” Your hands were still raised as you knelt towards the injured man. KJ. “I'll be reaching in my belt now. I have a roll of gauze and compresses to bandage the injury, and my work glasses. Nice and slow, okay?”

The two men around nodded, and you took out one by one the items you had listed. By the time you were done, yellow hoodie had delivered a basic first aid kit to you. You took it from him and set it beside you, opening it and sorting through the items.

You finally put on your glasses and sanitized your hands before getting to work. The two men let go and allowed you space, but one still remained close with his weapon in case you wanted to act out.

You then realized that this first aid kit had no latex gloves, something which, much to your dismay, was somehow just as bothersome to you than the weapons pointed at you.

Still, you meticulously cleaned the wound with the wipes in the kit, then busied yourself with setting a bandage that would hold.

“I can't stitch the wound as the bullet is still in there” You hummed as you wiped the blood from your hands. “Any attempt at taking it out now would make him bleed out. He'll need surgery for that. But he's stable for now”

The leader took a few deliberated steps toward you, stopping on front of KJ who danced in and out on consciousness. He stared at the wound, then at you and shook his head.

“Take it out here” He ordered, his voice levelled in a way that made you think he was definitely not as calm as he was trying to project. “We're not going to a hospital”

You froze, knowing that taking it out would most likely end up in a catastrophe, especially since you weren't a doctor. “I would recommend otherwise”

He didn't like that.

“Take. It. Out.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

Your thoughts were firing a hundred miles per hour as you tried to find a way out of this. You took your vow to do no harm seriously, maybe even too seriously since it was the reason you had even spoken up in the first place. Operating could do some serious damage, that was mostly guaranteed. Not operating remained the best course of option, but you were worried they'd take it out on everyone else, considering how jumpy they've been so far.

You exhaled slowly.

“… I must insist” You decided to stand your ground.

The smile he returned to you was visible through his balaclava. This reaction was definitely not a good sign.

“Get that bullet out, or I'm killing everyone in here one by one”

Ah shit.

You'd rather have your assessment be disproved, but unfortunately, you had been spot on. You had to change gears now, pivot, find another way out.

Assess, placate where you can.

“I…” You began as you tried to visualize just how you could even do it. Your hands were steady enough, but you'd run out of gauze and disinfectant halfway through. You had nothing but butterfly bandaids for the stitches either, which was not a great situation to end up in, for you and for him. “I'd need first to evaluate the— Wait hold on what are you doing—”

You watched as he walked to the nearest hostage, hoisting her up and resting the barrel of his handgun on her temple.

Your eyes widened. “Okay, fuck, I'll do it just leave her—”

He nodded, satisfied, before throwing the lady back down. “See, wasn't that hard”

“Shit” You muttered under your breath. “Okay, uh, find me a sturdy table. I’ll also need more medical supplies. He won't make it through with what I have”

The leader looked at you like you were stupid. “No problem, we'll just need to stop at the fucking pharmacy then!” He yelled, ignoring how every other hostage flinched. “Haven't you seen the fucking SWAT team outside shooting at us?”

You paused. “SWAT team?”

“Are you fucking deaf too?”

You knew any SWAT unit would have a much more complete medical aid kit than the one your had there. Pliers, gauze, thread. Everything to put the odds in your favour.

“I'd need their medical kit” You ignored his comment.

“How do you propose we get that?” Yellow hoodie jumped into the conversation. “By asking them nicely?”

You glanced at one, then the other.

“… Well”

This is how you ended up slowly walking across the main entrance, arms in the air and boots stepping over crushed glass, barrel of a semi automatic weapon nicely pressed in your spine with yellow hoodie hiding in the shadow of the human shield you provided.

You walked until you reached outside, where you were met with a full blockade across the street and two dozens weapons pointed at you. You stopped in the doorway, just enough to keep yellow hoodie protected.

“NOT ANOTHER STEP”

You didn't know where it came from, nor did you care to find out.

“Please don't shoot” You spoke loud and firmly despite having entirely too many weapons pointed at you. “I'm an Emergency Medical Technician. Name's Campbell, license number 7156 4529 1042” Your words were fast, yet steady. No hesitation. “I am requesting a full medical kit to treat injuries sustained during the shoot out”

Yellow Hoodie jolted you with an insistent press of the barrel of his rifle on your back, making you hiss.

“… If no emergency kit is provided,” You added, then sighed. “Every hostage will be killed”

There was movement behind the barricades. You could have been waiting no longer than a minute, but yellow hoodie became impatient, shifting nervously behind you.

You could hear the megaphone turn on.

“This is Captain Frederick Pymm of Pittsburgh's First Brigade. We will authorize a medical kit in exchange for the hostages”

“Fuck no!” Yellow hoodie screamed from behind you, giving one more rough shove in your back that made you tumble forward, almost exposing him. You were aware enough to know that you were in the crosshair of at least three snipers at the moment and that each of them would shoot the second they had an opening. Still, you kept your footing, knowing that if yellow hoodie got sniped, none of the hostages would see the daylight again. “Medical kit now, or I'll fucking shoot the bitch”

A few seconds more elapsed, then came the screeching megaphone again.

“How many hostages in?”

Yellow hoodie hesitated.

“Fuck what do I do” He mumbled, and you could hear the panic in his voice increasing. “What do I do?”

Didn't think that far ahead, did you?

“You either tell them or shoot me” You muttered back, not taking your eyes off the barricade. “If you walk away now, they'll think you're bluffing and they'll follow us right in”

Your immediate priority was to make sure the hostages were safe. You fully accepted the consequences of the choice you already made and have to keep making to achieve that.

“Okay, fuck” His voice was shaking now. “Fuck I can't remember—”

“18” You interrupted him. “18 hostages”

“Then fucking tell them!”

You cleared your throat.

“18 hostages” You repeated, this time loud enough for Captain Pymm to hear. “Including two kids”

More silence.

Then, movement on the other side of the barricade. A minute stretched before a small remote controlled robot broke through their side, carrying a white box with a red cross on it. It slowly crossed the street until it stopped at your feet.

“I'm gonna bend over now to retrieve the kit”

“Just get it!”

“I strongly suggest you follow my motion” You reply was dry and clipped. “Unless you want a bullet too”

He didn't make any further comment as he started to bend his knee with your own motion. You finally got the kit in your hands, standing back up full height with him.

“Ok let's go”

You began stepping back with him until you were well hidden from any fire. Only then did the gun drop from your spine.

You returned to the room in a hurried pace, taking notice that KJ's bandages were still holding and he was now placed on a table dragged in from somewhere else the bank. Then, you observed the room, trying to ignore everyone's frightened glance on you. You swallowed hard as your attention finally fell on the leader.

“I will once again disclaim that I am not a doctor and this is not a hospital” You spoke low, trying to make sure the hostages wouldn't hear. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

His face gave you nothing but dismissal. “Get on with it”

You glanced at KJ again. “At least let's do it elsewhere, so if things go wrong—”

“GET ON WITH IT”

You bit your tongue and brought the med kit to KJ, then began picking things in it that you'd need. It was indeed much more furbished than the one from the bank, tailored for field dressing and emergency procedures.

“Before I start” You said as you grabbed scissors and began cutting the fabric of the brown tainted red hoodie around the wound. “What's his blood type?”

“A negative” The leader replied instantly.

You sighed, looking around. “Any donor match in the room?”

“I am”

You raised an eyebrow, but didn't press. It was becoming clear that this might be a family affair gone wrong by how reactive they became about KJ's injuries. If you'd have to guess, you'd say him and the ringleader might very well be brothers.

“Sit here” You nodded at a chair that had been flipped on the side. “I'll need you close by with the right blood pressure if…”

You trailed off, knowing he'd finish that sentence for you in his head. For once, he obeyed without complaints and flipped the chair on its legs, sitting down on it.

You technically didn't have the proper credentials to order and perform a blood transfusion by yourself, something about missing a piece of paper certified you could, indeed, do it. But in practice, you had taken over freshly graduated paramedics finding themselves on the wrong end of their freeze reaction to absolute chaos enough times now that you could do it with your eyes closed.

Besides, it would be the least of your concern, since you definitely were not cleared for surgery either, but here you were.

You disinfected your hands and grabbed the black latex gloves from the top compartment, putting them on. You made sure all the tools were ready to grab and use, then pulled out the first bandage.

Here goes nothing.

The wound had been clean, one single entry point and no bullet shards, placing his survival chances quite high. You hated that you would be playing jenga with those chances, increasing the likelihood of total collapse with every maneuver.

As you grabbed the pliers, you couldn't help but think, what would Jack do?

Well, he'd probably be the one doing the removal and not you, for a starter.

You tried to chase the thoughts away at first, not needing anything distracting you from the task at hand. Yet, as you were beginning to play around in the flesh to find the bullet, you began finding comfort in your own hallucinations.

Steady hands, don't move around more than you have to in there, don't inflame the wound too much.

You blinked away sweat that was rolling in your eyes, flinching at the sting. Still, your hand stayed the course until you met solid. You knew you were in between bones, so you moved the pliers around to grab the bullet.

Good, now keep gauze near to wipe the blood as it comes out. Keep your line of sight on the wound clear.

You followed the instructions like he was actually there. Your free hand grabbed gauze and you soaked up the blood pooling in the wound. You carefully pulled on the bullet, millimeter by millimeter, alternating between pulling and wiping. Halfway there, your hand spasmed ever so slightly, and a jet of blood squirted all over your face and neck.

You had about two seconds before the floodgates opened and blood started pouring. All over him and you. Your eyes widened and your breathing accelerated, knowing you fucked up.

Easy, stay calm, keep your head cool. Focus on stopping the blood flow.

“I need hands to stop the bleeding”

In a flash, the leader stood up and grabbed a roll of gauze, standing beside you. He immediately began applying pressure around your pliers, making sure the blood kept being absorbed.

Get that bullet out now before he loses too much blood.

You took a deep breath and returned your attention to the wound, then kept pulling steadily until the bullet was out. You let it fall onto the floor and watched as the leader covered the entirety of the wound, putting down all of his weight on it.

You took half a second to breathe, then returned to the task ahead. You rummaged in the kit, your hand rapidly rolling the bottles around until it found Tranexamic acid. You quickly snatched it along with a syringe.

The leader eyed you suspiciously.

“What's that?”

You prepared the injection for 1 mg, eyes glued to that little line. “TXA to stop the bleeding. Can't do an IV with what I have, I need the tubes in case of blood transfusion”

You had administered it once yourself with an intramuscular injection after a bar stabbing that caught a major artery in the suburbs, and the people there, meaning well, had removed the glass from the wound before you got there. Giving TXA that way wasn’t really ideal in any case, but especially not that time, since the guy had a massive allergic reaction to it on the way back to the hospital. Unbeknownst to you at that moment, that decision had pulled you into a string of dumb lawsuits and into Robby's absolute fury for weeks—but you had seen it work to stop the bleeding and KJ was approximately the same size and build to match the dosage.

You aligned yourself with his other arm and went for the dive, pushing the needle in the muscle, then releasing the medication slowly.

Good job. Keep an eye on—

“On the BP, yeah. Don't have to remind me” You mumbled, not realizing you were essentially talking to yourself from anyone else's standpoint.

Smartass.

You rolled your eyes.

You put aside the needle, taking your place over the leader in applying pressure. One of your hands then found the inside of his wrist, applying two finger on the pulse. It was abysmal. Your hand moved to the crook of his elbow, and your evaluation came up the same.

“Bring the chair over” You didn't really care that you had upgraded to barking out orders to who was, for all intents and purposes, your captor in a hostage situation. “We're moving for a blood transfusion before the heart stops”

You found yourself surprised he agreed without fighting back. You whistled at yellow hoodie, nodding to the wound. He hesitated.

“Just fucking do it” The leader gritted, spurring him into action.

He let his firearm rest down by the shoulder strap and took over the pressure while you prepared the tubes. The steps were mechanical, innate, as if they were engraved in the very foundation of your being.

At this moment, it didn't really matter that you were essentially more than 20 hours into your shift. Each movement was precise, purposeful, and right. You were back in your element and it showed by the sudden confidence in your actions.

It took you less than 2 minutes to set, from the moment you announced it to the needle going in the vein.

You returned to KJ's side, fingers finding the vein again. Your watched his chest, the shallow raises of his ribcage worrying you. By no means did you expect him to take regular breaths, but the uneven, jagged movements up and down sent jolts of adrenaline through your spine. You returned to the medical kit, grabbing the oxygen mask with the balloon.

You know what's coming next.

“Shut up”

The heads of the two men snapped to you. Yellow hoodie was the one to say something. “What?”

Your eyes lifted up to him for a second as you placed the mask within reach. “Hm? Nothing”

Don't lose it now Sweets. The worst is yet to come.

You shut your eyes and groaned, bummed you couldn't just rub the shit out of them until you saw purple spirals with all of that blood covering your hands, and well, a dying man depending on those hands to keep him alive.

You checked the pulse again, noting it was not getting better. You could feel your back drenched in sweat, shirt sticking uncomfortably to your skin.

Told ya.

“And it just had to be you, didn’t it?” You hissed through gritted teeth as you moved slightly up to align with KJ's thorax. You climbed on the table next to him, finding the vein on his neck this time. You could feel his heartbeat fade under your touch until it gave up completely, so you got in position and began CPR, counting under your breath.

It took six rounds alternating with the oxygen to get the pulse back.

When you finally stepped off the table, it was like everybody exhaled in relief with you. You nodded at the leader, wiping your brow with your forearm that had the least blood covering your skin. You took a second to regain your breath, then circled the table to look at the wound.

With another nod at yellow hoodie, he stepped back, slowly releasing the pressure as you took over.

You carefully lifted the bandages on top, making sure you didn't disturb the potential crusts forming. Much to your relief, most of the heavy bleeding had stopped, leaving only a small trickle that hadn't made it though the top layer of the bandage.

It'll be ready for stitching now. Good job.

You released a breath through your teeth. “You can leave now, I know what to do”

C'mon now, you're the one who asked me here. Don't blame me.

“Not intentionally no. I'd have preferred summoning Robby”

Ha. No you wouldn't.

“Fuck off J—”

You paused your words when you felt yourself once again on the other end of a loaded semi automatic.

“Who are you talking to?” Yellow hoodie asked, his voice taking a dark edge. Your eyes slowly found him beside you. “Do you have an earpiece? Huh? Who the fuck are you talking to?”

Your heartbeat accelerated, knowing now that KJ was stable you were much, much more likely to be shot. Still, you kept your composure.

“It's been a long fucking day” You mumbled with a pinched chuckle. “Dumb coworkers who didn’t bother to do their job. Stuck up bureaucrats. Double shift, haven’t slept in months, and now this?” It all came out at the same time, leaving him completely dumbfounded and off footing. You exhaled through your nose. “You know what? Fuck it. I'll tell you. I'm talking to the doctor in my head that saved your friends life. He's kind of a dick but he got the job done didn't he?”

He jammed the barrel closer to your face when he regained his wits. You didn't flinch. You probably looked insane already, what was adding one more thing to what was wrong with you?

“Don't try to be smart with me”

You nodded, stretching a strained smile on your lips. “Your friend is stable but he's not out of the woods yet. Wanna shoot me? Do it. But it'll be the stupidest shit you've done today and God knows you've done a lot of that already”

He was about to escalate when the leader stepped in.

“Back off” He spoke, but yellow hoodie ignored him. “Hey, back the fuck off!”

That seemed to do the trick, making him step back and lower the weapon. You didn't let this wave of relief show on your face.

“… If that matter is settled,” You began, eyeing them both in turn. “I'll stitch up your friend now”

A tense silence set over the room as you dragged the medical kit closer. You cleaned around the wound with antiseptic and made sure you had a canvas as clear as you could get, then you changed your gloves, having to slip on a pair a bit too big for you this time. Then, you sanitized the stitching kit and returned to the wound.

Despite the fatigue weighting on your bones, you went through with the stitching, maybe not as neatly as the fancy doctors that always looked down on your handiwork when your critical patients finally found their ways to their table, but sturdy enough.

You cleaned the wound again once you were done, then put a fresh bandage on the wound. You stepped around once done, checking the pulse again.

“Getting better” You muttered, glancing up at the man still in the chair. “The transfusion is working”

“Good”

You kept eye contact with him, which seemed to surprise him for some reason. You must have been a sight for sore eyes, all bloody and sweaty and exhausted.

“Now that that's out of the way” You began, having absolutely no more energy to sound polite. “May I go check the hostages for injuries?”

He hesitated, then nodded once. You slipped off your gloves and threw them on the ground before returning to the medic kit. You filled up your belt again with gauze and antiseptic, then put a new pair of those too large gloves and began making the rounds.

Most of them were fine beside a few cuts and bruises, but you went to everyone regardless. You cleaned the small cuts on their hands and applied bandages to avoid infection between reassurances that everything would be alright.

The last hostages were a mother and her daughter, you'd guess no older than 12 and who seemed to be intently staring at the floor. Smart. You crouched in front of the pair, visually assessing them. Neither of them seemed to be bleeding.

“How are we doing here?” You asked, voice kept purposefully low and nonthreatening.

“We're fine…” The mother began, voice trembling. “But my daughter's ankle…”

You looked down instinctively, noticing the visible swell of the joint. You glanced back at them, lowering yourself to one knee.

You addressed the girl directly. “May I?”

She gave you a shy nod.

You carefully reached for her ankle, slow enough so she could see your every move and stop you if she changed her mind. She flinched a little when your hand cupped her ankle, bringing it up to rest on your thigh.

Not broken, otherwise that would have been an entirely different ordeal.

“Tell me if it hurts, alright?” You said as you took off her flip flop and set it aside, then began feeling around the swollen muscle.

She hissed here and there, but you weren't really concerned about the reaction.

“What's your name?”

“Sienna”

You stilled for a few seconds, long enough for her and her mother to share a quick look. You forced yourself to swallow the sudden dryness in your throat and kept your gently poking going.

“That's a lovely name” You muttered back, giving her a small smile. “How old are you?”

“11”

“I knew a Sienna, just about 11 years ago actually”

You noticed out of the corner of your eyes her nervousness lift for a second as it was replaced by curiosity.

“You did?”

“Yeah” Your smile turned fond as your thumb pressed on top of her foot. “She was strong and fearless, just like you”

She finally cracked a smile.

“Alright love, it's not broken” You said, still addressing her. “But it's a good sprain. I'd recommend wrapping it up to make the swelling go down, what'd you say?”

She looked at her mom for guidance, then back to you when she gave a single nod. “Okay”

You reached in your cargo for your wrap, pulling out a beige roll. “Alright, I'll need to hold your foot straight, so it might be uncomfortable for a moment”

She nodded, and you began bandaging. You hands were so used to the motion, it took approximately 43 seconds for the wrap to be rolled around the ankle and secured. You made sure pressure was uniform across the wrapping, then gently lowered her foot on the ground.

“There we go” You said, leaning back on your haunches. “You'll likely be checked again once you're out of here. Try and keep the weight off of it until then, but you will be able to walk or run on it if you must, okay?”

You saw in her expression that she caught your meaning. You nodded, as to confirm that she understood, and she nodded back.

“How do you stay so calm?”

Your attention snapped to her mother, whose eyes widened comically, as if she hadn't meant to speak out loud. You gave her a reassuring smile, hiding well the sorrow that statement alone hid.

“Somebody has to” You said as you shifted your weight, chasing the cramping that was already settling in. “And I'm able to. So I do”

She was about to say something when the rest of the crew, whom now that you thought about it, hadn't seen since the initial shoot out, gathered in the doorframe. You stood up on your feet, holding back the groan of pain.

“Money's loaded and transport's here” One of the announced. “We're ready to roll”

The leader nodded as he slowly stood up, taking care of not disturbing the needle in his arm. “Alright crew, let's go”

“What about the hostages?” Yellow hoodie asked.

“Shoot them”

“Hey wait” You angled yourself to be right in between the hostages and the robbers, suddenly panicked. “That wasn't the deal, you said no one would get hurt if I operated on your friend and he lived, which he did—”

The room grew silent again in shock at your outburst. You noticed for the first time the coldness in the blue of his eyes, accentuated by the black of his balaclava. His glare was chilling, yet, you didn't back down.

“And what do you think you could do if I decided to shoot them?”

“Arguably not a lot”

“So why are you talking?”

“For the same reason you're not shooting”

Time stood still in the room as everyone watching your stand off with the leader. They had already killed the security guards—you guessed they weren't looking forward adding more souls to their tallies. It was one hell of a gamble to take for you, but you did believe you were right.

“Fine” He finally conceded. “I'm feeling generous. Once we're in the transport, they'll be free to go”

You nodded, stepping back.

“Oh not you” He shook his head, a mean chuckle escaping his lips. “You're coming with us Doc”

•••••••••••••

Kandahar Province, Afghanistan.

2013

The chopper lifted an heavy veil of dust around Jack as it landed a few hundred feet away from him on the makeshift tarmac. As soon as the rotor slowed down enough not to drown the entire field with rocks, a figure in a tan uniform jumped off, classic aviators sunglasses sitting on his nose. Salt and pepper hair glinted in the harsh afternoon sun like a silver shield, and Jack Abbot couldn't help but grin at the theatrics of his old buddy.

“Easy there Top Gun” He called at the man over the quieting sound of the rotors. “Leave some for the rest of us”

The man kept a serious expression as he stopped in front of Jack, a good half foot taller and even broader shoulders. He was straight out of a recruitment poster, everything the army was aiming to be and project. A career officer through and through, a man that couldn’t have followed any other path in life. He was hard not to admire, not to want to follow in the depths of hell—Jack would know, he followed the man three tours, and probably one more if he hadn’t gotten his leg shred by that shrapnel IED triggered exiting that half standing farm in Jaldak.

“Is that how you greet your superior?”

They held eye contact

“Is that how you greet the guy who came out of retirement to save your ass?”

The question hung heavy in the air…

Until the man cracked and took Abbot in a crushing hug. Both men laughed as they reunited, exchanging half mumbles greetings. As they pulled back, Abbot lightly tapped the fresh new patch on his friend's shoulder.

“Oh, we both know you missed this” He joked.

“We'll see soon enough… Major Thompson eh?” He remarked, eyebrow raised in amusement. “Who hated you enough to get you that promotion?”

Vincent Thompson had been the only consistence in Jack's military career. He had joined the military a few years before Jack, overseeing his basic training as a Lieutenant, then the both of them had been deployed to Afghanistan right after Valentines Day 2003. And while Jack had been flown back home to undergo amputation surgery as a 2006 New Years present, Thompson had stayed in the cradle of gunpowder that had shaped him into sharp edges and and unforgiving endurance like he knew nothing else in life.

Which was most likely the truth.

“Couple of Generals wanted someone to throw under the bus for their failures, you know how it goes” His amused expression contrasted strangely with the explanation he gave, leaving space for unsaid tension along the chain of command. But Jack couldn’t even deny the very obvious fact that, at this point, if anyone was to be able to handle the current mess in Kandahar, it was Thompson.

Nothing could stump the man anymore—not mounting number of American soldiers having been sent back home in a coffin in the three last years, not the public local and international outrage at the lack of foreseen end to this military intervention, not the slowly dwindling lack of buyout by NATO allies and regional partners.

His steadiness and iron like focus was likely why he had ended up back here, in a staffing role to manage the fallout of the deadliest years since the beginning of Enduring Freedom… Or to take the fall for the whole thing if he couldn’t. Teams caught behind enemy lines, injured soldiers with no access to medication, troops holing so far away from any base that they couldn't expect to just walk until they found one — A right mess, one only a few people ever had a chance to win this bet.

It was also why Thompson decided to play outside of his box and called a favour to Abbot, regardless of how such a move would be perceived by the higher ups.

While it was evident Jack had long retired from combat and was barely part time working a teaching role with the Army, no one knew the region on the back of his hand like he did. Thompson swore he could navigate it with his eyes closed then and now still. And with the reduced numbers of recruit, let alone medics, Thompson needed all hands on deck. Sending a kid fresh off basic who had never seen a real limb explode before was a terrible idea—but with Abbot there, even from a distance, maybe they stood a chance. His steadiness had always been a trait Thompson admired, and knew was essential to keep in a team. Never had he seen a kid after him that had such a natural talent to stay calm and collected.

Leadership was extremely reluctant to agree to send a veteran and amputee back in the field. Most disagreed about the whole thing entirely. But even them had to face the fact that Abbot's expertise was one in a billion, and that they needed him.

“Talking of which—”

“Lieutenant Abbot, there's a—”

Both men turned around at the interruption, watching as the kid having just walked in the conversation took in the uniform in front of him. Before either men could react, his whole body straightened into a salute.

“Major”

“At ease soldier” Thompson immediately let him go, watching as his hand lowered, the the spine remained straight.

Abbot nodded. “Go ahead”

The kid looked between the two, then faced Abbot.

“The emergency packs have been cleared and loaded in the tactical rovers” He spoke quick, yet clear words. “The crew is refuelling, we are in schedule to depart on time”

“Good stuff” Jack nodded. “Get some rest. Road's gonna be hard”

“Sir yes sir” Taking his dismissal, the young man retreated in the main tent as the two friends watched him go.

“Got yourself a duckling, Abbot?”

Jack's eyes slowly went to Thompson, who was still staring at the flaps where the kid disappeared moments ago. Jack glared at him with no real heat behind it.

“Damian Campbell” Jack answered, carefully watching his friend's reaction. “Good kid. Strong nerves. Steady hands. Still green, but he learns fast. He'll make a good medic”

“Any family home?”

The words came out slow, measured, calm. Too calm.

Jack suddenly didn't like where this was going. At all.

He eyed his friend suspiciously. “A wife”

Thompson hummed, tilting his head to the side. A beat or two passed between them until he shook his head. At that moment, no words were needed to understand what he wanted to say.

After so many years in the service, especially for people who often were deployed, you learned to recognize those who'd make it through and those who wouldn't. It was a grim feeling to see young recruits pour in and knowing in your bones whether or not they'd go home in one piece—something deeply haunting that you couldn't even begin to explain to someone who never saw.

And well, Thompson had always been more attuned to it than others, even before he got all of those fancy medals on his chest.

Abbot shook his head, opting for denial. “You've been wrong before. Been wrong about me too”

They were barely into their first deployment when Thompson told Jack he would spend his life as a soldier, to the last breath, until death did him apart. Jack had staunchly believed it to be true, that his place was right in the middle of the storm and the chaos, that he was destined for combat medicine, right until the quick second he felt the scrap metal cutting his flesh to his bone before his body cut off the searing pain entirely for his survival.

Thompson levelled him with a stare entirely too honest for his comfort, giving him a shoulder pat that felt too loaded.

“Was I?”

•••••••••••••

The road to the camp was just as bumpy and dusty as it had been in 2003, and Jack’s nerves were somehow just as ablaze as they had been when he was riding in the back of the rovers with his fresh faced unit that hadn’t been aware yet of what they were in for. Even in the front seat, knowing this time around he wouldn’t get past those tents into active combat’s zones, he couldn’t shake that doom feeling weighting heavily on his shoulders.

Such were the blessings bestowed by the harsh winds of Kandahar’s arid steppe.

The perimeter of the camp coming into view of the convoy gave no reassurance of safety. Instead, the barbed wires and armed sentinels at the gate recited a story of a very specific type misery he knew all too well. Jack shifted in his seat, his safety glasses sliding down his nose from the sweat. He pushed them back unceremoniously as the rovers slowed down enough to let the soldiers at the gate see the faces of the driver as they rolled through the camp.

The air outside was no better than inside the rovers.

The heavy heat was instantly suffocating, yet, there was a familiarity to it Jack knew to appreciate. After he lost his leg, he never thought he’d see again the theatre of his dreams and nightmares alike. Flashes of his unit running around playing soccer in the twilight as the blasting sun of the day distributed its reprieve upon them—his eyes trailing over where they used to set the makeshift goalposts with extra sand bags. His med tent in which he spent most of his day when he wasn’t sent in the meat grinder, and the poor excuse of a canteen right beside that was convenient when the temperature inched dangerously upwards of 130°. The same med tent in which his brothers bled and died, in which a reaper always lurked in the shadows, ready to scavenge the souls he couldn’t save.

It felt right, it felt wrong. He was so out of place after all this time and all he’s been through, yet belonging like nowhere else on this planet. Jack didn’t know how to approach the thoughts mad racing through his mind.

How could hell feel just like home?

“Lieutenant Abbot”

He blinked out of his daydream, turning his whole body around. Damian Campbell was staring at him expectantly, half excited, half nervous, and half something else that stood outside those bounds—painting a picture that seemed, the longer he looked, a little bit too close to a mirror.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll show you to the med tent”

Damian nodded, following him as he dragged along his oversized med kit.

“So, first combat mission” Jack hummed. “How’re you feeling?”

Despite having been in Afghanistan for nearly 8 months, the new batch of privates had not been sent on combat mission yet. This marked their baptism by fire, the first time they’d hear the shots close enough to guess the type of gun that fired them and sleep with their issued weapons and helmets within arms reach. By sunrise tomorrow, they’d leave the sanctuary of the camp again to, hopefully, work well enough with the British and the Danish to disrupt the local Al-Qaeda cell’s activities in the region.

“Hm” The sound Damian made was far from confident, but to his credit, he really did try to project bravery. “As excited to get shot at as one can be, I suppose”

Jack smiled. “Keeping it realistic. That’s wise.”

“If I was wise, I wouldn’t be here, now, would I” He mused, almost to himself.

Jack shook his head, not even faltering in his steps as he led the kid deeper in the camp until they reached the white tent with the big red cross plastered at the entrance and on the top panels. “Touché”

As soon as they came in, the smell of antiseptic hit Jack’s senses, permeating every square of the den. This would be the cleanest place in the camp by a considerable margin, the only place they bothered to equip with a semblance of a floor above the heavy duty rubber mats.

“Alright. This is where you’ll spend most of your time” He said as he faced Damian. “Make yourself at home, set your kit however you’d like. In here during combat missions, you’re the highest ranking member of this unit. What you say goes. No matter what. I’d say be careful with this power, but…” He let a small grin break through his tough facade as he leaned toward him conspiratorially. “I know I cursed one or two captains in here once or twice”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Can they take it out on you when you’re out?”

Jack barked a laugh. “Yeah, they can and they will, if you do it to the wrong guy” He finished with a scoff, remembering vividly the 200 pushups that his Captain made him do under the scorching afternoon sun for being a bit too mouthy about wound care.

Calling him a fucking idiot for pulling out himself the nail he drove though his own hand before even making it to the med tent had been worth it for about 15 minutes.

Lesson learned.

Damian made a face halfway between amusement and a flinch, nodding slowly. “Good to know” He said, then shrugged. “I’ll be on my best behavior then”

A humorous scoff made his shoulders shake. “Talk to me after a couple of week and we’ll see how that goes”

“Can’t wait”

Jack gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Take 10 to breathe and get your bearings. Briefing’s at 1500 in the big tent in the middle, you can’t miss it. And drink water, okay? It’s fucking hot out here, I bet a kid or two will faint ‘til then” He took a step back, then smirked. If the new guys thought they got accustomed to the heat back at the base, they were in for a rough ride. These tents didn’t have fancy AC or convenient shade. “Don’t be one of ‘em, because you’ll be the one having to pick ‘em up”

Damian face dropped. “You don’t mean literally”

“Oh yeah I do” His eyebrows raised in amusement as he backed up towards the exit. “Welcome to the Army, kid”

“Oh come on!”

Jack let out a small triumphant laugh as he walked right out of the tent, leaving his protégé to set his own med bay. Knowing Damian, just like himself, he’d meticulously place the cots and cupboards so that everything would be in his sight no matter where he stood, and everything would be within reach when he’d perform emergency procedures. He mentored him close enough back home, and during the few months they spend at the international base further away from the combat zones to know he was well capable of handling himself.

He navigated the layout of the camp like it was a second nature to him. No matter where it was set, the tents were always placed the same, making it easier to navigate by instinct in case of emergency or poor visibility.

His feet found the big tent easily.

He didn’t linger under the sun outside and went right in, seeking the shade and the only tent benefiting from an industrial grade fan for air circulation. He wiped the sweat from his brow and unclasped his helmet, then unbuckled his bulletproof vest, letting it hang on his shoulders loosely.

“Fuck me, that heat”

“C’mon Abbot, it ain’t that bad” Thompson chuckled from the end of the briefing table, eyes glued to his PC screen. That brick had been around for decades, yet, it remained the most reliable electronic in the whole country. “You’re just getting old”

Jack scoffed, walking towards him. “And you’re not?”

He tsked. “Only gettin’ younger”

He rolled his eyes as he took a seat beside Thompson. “What are we looking at?”

Thompson took a deep breath, then flipped the screen to Jack. Satellite imagery showed grainy but somewhat unmistakable foxholes at the foot of the mountains. He swallowed dryness in his mouth.

“Sending the kids to the mountains” He tried to sound lighter than he felt, and failed miserably. Noticing the grim expression set on Thompson’s face, he knew his old friend shared the sentiment. “Nice to know nothing changed”

Thompson hummed. “You’d think they’d learn their lessons” He mumbled, flipping back the screen to face him as he cleared his throat. “The Brits and the Danish are seasoned. They’ll be fine”

“Trying to convince me or you?”

Thompson didn’t grace him with any final word on the matter.

So Jack changed the subject.

“I assume they’ll want me out of here and back at the base in a couple of days at most” He said as he leaned back.

“Mh mh”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound too sad to see me go”

He met his eyes with an unimpressed stare. “Don’t act like you won’t stay here past their deadline, until they drag you by the neck and threaten the both of us with dishonorable discharge to make you leave”

Jack smirked.

“So no” He returned to his PC. “I’m not sad to see you go, because you’ll be here for a while”

He clicked his tongue, not dropping the amused expression. He was about to say something clever right back at him when they were interrupted by yelling outside. Both men looked at each other momentarily before springing on their feet.

They had barely made it a few steps out of the tent that they were sent on their backs from the shockwave.

The unmistakable heat of as explosion registered before the noise, or the picture even did.

Jack shielded his eyes and protected his head as debris flew everywhere. In the fraction of second between the time his eyes adjusted to the brightness and the explosion, he saw the cargo truck driving full speed towards the gate, not stopping by the order of the sentinels. Rigged with explosives, a suicide drive. As the picture cleared and the ringing in his ears subsided, he took in the scene unfolding in front of him.

Half a dozen of bodies sprawled on the ground, never to stand up again. Bleeding soldiers covered in black ashes limping away, and just as many trying to help them away from the fires. Thomson had been fasted back on his feet, already helping him up. The older man had blood running down his ears, probably from not being fast enough to open his mouth to let the pressure out. Jack had been rung like a bell and his back hurt from meeting the ground that fast, but he couldn’t feel anything wrong with him beyond that.

So he moved before his brain even fully came back online.

He reached the epicentre at the same time Damian did, working seamlessly with the other like they had done it all of their lives. The kid didn’t need guidance; he navigated the chaos like he was born for this very moment. He visually sorted the injured, not even paying attention to the dead just yet and focusing on those he could save and naturally gravitating towards those who needed care the most urgently.

Passing alongside him as the last of the injured got directed to the med tent, Jack pat him on the back. “Doing great kid, keep it up”

Damian acknowledged the words with a nod, and they split again, returning to the explosion site to check on those who hadn’t moved yet.

Jack approached the gate, where the explosion had made the most damage, and surely, where some bodies might not be found in one piece. He kept his steps careful, his eyes scanning each and every inch of ground before advancing. He paused, mindlessly clipping back his bulletproof vest as a familiar feeling of caution spread over him.

He didn’t even take two more steps that his eyes caught it.

He felt his entire body freeze as he was overcome with the shadow of something dark and oppressing, something that he thought only lived in a part of his mind that existed in another world, another realm, another life. His muscles locked tight and his mind packed up and left him on his own, alone to bask into the unwanted memories it forgot behind. He was forced to greet an old friend turned tormentor he hadn’t really spoken face to face with since 2006.

Fear.

There was nothing he could do, nothing his body allowed him to do, but stare at the unexploded cluster bomb a few feet in front of him. He was violently thrown back into the person he had been ten years ago hearing the missiles rain over him and his unit, overcome with the same kind of primal terror of someone who’s never been to war getting pushed on the front lines for the first time. No amount of experience and mental toughness could override this state of mind he’d been plunged in.

The chaos faded into a muffled white noise around him, letting him hear his heartbeat in his eardrums. Everything around that small, yet mighty cluster munition faded—the people, the bodies.

The fire.

He didn’t hear either the frantic calls of him name, not registered the abrupt quiet blanketing over the camp as it suddenly stood still, as if suspended in time.

The rest happened in a few seconds at most.

The fire reached the unexploded munition.

The noise picked back up in a roar.

A body collided violently with his.

The bomb went off.

He didn’t feel the shrapnel, nor the shockwave.

He was alive, unscathed.

His place had been traded on Death’s list.

The deal was made, sealed against his will, final, irreversible.

He was alive…

Damian Campbell was not.

•••••••••••••

“Alright Ms. Greenberg, all patched up”

The elderly woman gave you a grateful, albeit slightly absentmindedly smile. You received the call fifteen minutes ago, when the older lady dialed 911 after cutting herself on an envelope opener. Your partner for the day had nothing but stomped out the house when he took in the “emergency”, leaving you to carefully clean and bandage the wound suffered on the junction of the thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, thank you dear” She replied, eyes going down on her injury. “I'm not as agile as I once were. I'm sorry you had to come all the way here”

You gave her a gentle shoulder pat. “Never apologize for asking for help, Ms. Greenberg,” You reassured her. “I'd rather you call to make sure than not, okay?”

Her smile became shaky as she gave you a nod.

You looked around the sparsely furnished house before standing back up on your feet. Ms. Greenberg was well known by the emergency services, and most people drew short straw to avoid answering the call, knowing it would always be something minor instead of an actual emergency.

You, however, didn't moan and groan at the idea even when you were slammed with calls. She was a fragile old woman who lived alone in her house, and to be honest, you worried about her. You had growing suspicions you were dealing with a case of elderly abandonment, along with most likely some cognitive impairment.

“How are you doing Ms. Greenberg?” You asked as you pulled yourself on your feet, ignoring your screaming knee from the few minutes you spent tending to her wound.

She though for a second. “Yes, I'm doing fine”

You looked around the room again until your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the table. Even from where you were standing, the angry red LAST NOTICE stamp on the envelope told you everything you needed to know about the content of the letters.

Feeling her eyes on you, you forced your gaze to move on, sliding to the left onto a fancy dishes abandoned on the counter, long forgotten. You pulled a strained smile for her sake.

“I see you've pulled out the fine China” You began, eyeing her reaction. “Any… distinguished visitors?”

A welfare check disguised as small talk. You had become good at that.

“Just… The mailman… I think” He frowned. “He always stops to talk”

Her expression began to empty again.

“The mailman huh?” You pushed, giving her a conspiring grin. “Any hot date I should be aware of?”

“Oh!” She finally laughed, eyes brightening like the first sun ray of the day. “Oh you!”

You held up your hands in surrender. “Hey now, a beautiful young woman such as yourself is bound to attract a nice gentleman”

She kept laughing. “You're buttering me now”

“Only stating the truth Ms. Greenberg”

“Thank you dear” She said. “It's always good to see you here”

“My absolute pleasure” You gave her a genuine smile. “Keep an eye on that wound for me alright? If it doesn't get better by the end of the weekend, call us again. We'll come back to check”

“O-okay”

You winked at her, turning around to walk out. Halfway to her door, you spun around and walked backward. “Oh and keep me updated about that date yeah?”

She laughed again as you winked and exited the house.

Your joyful expression fell once the door closed behind you, sighing. Ms. Greenberg was entirely too sweet to be left alone with no one visiting or to be forced out of her home this way. It was unfair and cruel, and while you were not supposed to get attached, you had become genuinely angry on her behalf.

Still, you'd never been as thankful as now for the friendship this mailman provided.

“You don't have to chat with her every time, you know?”

Your shift partner was leaning on the ambulance, smoking a cigarette when you shoved your bag in the vehicle and took off your latex gloves.

“You don't have to keep that stick shoved so far up your ass either, but here we are”

You were upset, maybe too much. But his comment flare up your already raging irritation.

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Jesus Christ, alright, keep playing with paper cuts when people are dying”

You rounded up the passenger seat as he got into the driver.

“Not all people who desperately need help is actively dying Ethan” You sighed again as he turned on the engine and began driving off. “You should know that by now”

He rolled his eyes. “I don't need you to lecture me on my job”

You gave him a tight smile. “Apparently you do”

Oh he did not like that.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw muscle popping out for a second. “I'm the paramedic. You're the EMT. Stay in your lane”

Your head slowly pivoted to face him, but he kept his eyes fixated on the road ahead of him. You watched as he swallowed hard, the rest of his body locked in place with something akin to fear.

You could almost hear his heartbeat pounding in his ribcage.

It was well known you hadn't gone through the typical road of starting as an EMT to graduate to Paramedic, opting to stick to the range of treatment EMTs provided despite being long past the usual timeline for career progression. You collected ad hoc certifications here and there, but for the most part, you hadn’t been interested in a promotion.

Yet, with your 15 years on the job, having seen everything and anything possible, you had carved your place high enough on the respect hierarchy that people usually didn't dare pull ranks, especially not someone much younger than you.

Usually.

You kept staring him down until you felt any more would result in a driving accident, then returned your gaze to the road ahead. “Next time, if you're gonna storm out on a patient like a kid throwing a tantrum, at the very least try not to let it show until you're actually out of the house”

“If you're gonna be a bitch—”

It was like it slipped out of his mouth subconsciously, considering the way he caught himself and shut up faster than lightning. You raised an eyebrow, side eying him.

“What was that?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing”

“Hm” You nodded, knowing you were doing it on purpose at this point but enjoying using him as an outlet way too much. “Right”

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and released, muttering a whatever under his breath. The silent drive back to PTMC took no more than twenty minutes, but visibly, Ethan could not wait to be away from you. He all but jumped out of the vehicle the second he pulled the key out.

You took your time, recomposing yourself before facing the outside world again. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. Stretching your lips into a forced smile until it wasn't so strained, crushing down the sadness in your eyes. It was becoming harder and harder to make the people around you believe you weren’t running on the ghost of fumes, but you couldn’t offload this on the few friends you had more than you already had — they had enough to deal with on their own to pick up your pieces.

You rolled your shoulders and your neck, stretching the delicate muscles there. You then grabbed the small takeout container wrapped in a bag in the glove compartment and exited the ambulance, heading for the bay doors.

The ER was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon, supported by the various doctors charting instead of running around like a circus show.

Santos pays attention to you first, spotting the container in your hands as hope filled her features.

Well, that's a sight to to cheer you up now. Nobody had been this happy to see you in ages.

“Sandwich?”

Before you could even answer, Dana scoffed, not even looking away from her computer. “You'd have seen Robby somewhere around if that was the case”

True to her word, the Chief Attending was nowhere to be seen.

“Okay?” Santos looked between you and Dana. “What's it got to do with sandwiches?”

You laughed and shook your head. “We have this ongoing theory that Robby senses when there are sandwiches incoming. Don't worry about it”

“Never been proved wrong so far” Dana called as she pressed enter, then left to do whatever she needed at the moment.

You handed the container to Santos and nodded at it. “No sandwiches today, but this should hit the spot”

She didn't hesitate to accept the offering, unwrapping the box to find two beautifully decorated cupcakes, one in baby blue and the other in light pink.

“Yeah they're gender reveal novelties, but whoever ordered them didn't show up to— oh and it's already going in okay”

She barely listened to your words or laughter as she shoved one in her mouth, biting half of it and making a sound you were pretty sure would not be appropriate for the workplace.

“How come do you always come back here with food?” She said as her mouth was still stuffed with vanilla cake.

You leaned forward like it was the best kept secret in the universe. “People end up liking you enough to give you free stuff when you keep saving their lives”

She sighed, content. “Yeah you're saving my ass right now and I think I'm in love with you”

You grinned and leaned back, grabbing a incident report form from where you knew they where hiding behind the nurse desk. You watched as her own words registered and colour slowly but surely saturated her skin.

She scrambled for her words. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that—”

“Beach or historical site?”

Caught like a deer in the headlights.

You doubled down when she obviously didn't know what to answer now.

“For the wedding”

She began stuttering, mouth slightly opened until Robby swooped by. To make it better or worse was still up to higher powers.

“You don't have to answer that Santos” He called as he flew by you, but not before giving your forearm a warning poke that you swatted away like a fly bite, gasping in faux offense. “You. Stop flirting with my doctors”

You swore your intention was not to put her in an uncomfortable position, but you'd lie if you said you didn't enjoy at least just a little seeing her flustered like that.

Your self esteem was dragging in the abyss and you were desperate to know if you still had it.

Still, you were about to heed Robby's order and back off when Santos swallowed slowly, somehow not breaking eye contact.

“Historical site”

Your eyebrows raised, impressed, at her shaky, yet certain enough answer to your question.

“Too much sand otherwise”

You grinned and took a respectful step back. “You're cute”

Her expression morphed into a mix of slight offense and preen at your words, halfway between embarrassment and triumph.

You winked and leaned down on the counter, almost parallel with the surface to be close to the form as your reading glasses were probably somewhere in your bag back in the ambulance. You grabbed a pen from your cargos’ pocket and began to fill the form. “Have you seen Dr. McKay anywhere?”

It took a moment for her to answer, so much that you paused your writing and looked up to the still flustered resident.

“Huh?”

You suppressed a smile. “McKay. You know where she is?”

She cleared her throat and shuffled on her feet. “Um, no, why?”

You pointed at the form. “I need to flag potential cognitive decline for a senior living alone and isolated on the verge of getting evicted. She still works with the street team?”

She nodded. “Yep. But I haven't seen her anywhere— Hey, Huckleberry!”

You watched as another kid popped out of seemingly nowhere like he had been summoned. You returned to your form.

“You're still on the street team?”

“Yeah” He replied, his gaze flickering between you, Santos and the baby blue cupcake with Boy? written in fancy script on a piece of chocolate in Santos’ hand. “Why?”

“She needs to report something” Santos waved off. “Can you take the report?”

“Dr. McKay should be more aware of what to do…” He trailed off, his eyes once again stopping on the cupcake. “Where'd you get that?”

“Bakery on main” You interjected, eyes still on the form. “Had extras”

He frowned as he looked between the two of you, then back at the cupcake. He opened his mouth to say something, but Santos beat him to it.

“Gotta save her life to get the goods” She smirked.

You couldn't help but chuckle. Fast learner that one.

He gave her an incredulous look. “You did not save her life”

You hummed, checking patient state boxes on the form. “She kinda did. Close enough for me anyway”

She gave him a triumphant smirk.

You signed the sheet at the bottom and stood straight again, looking between the two of them. “Still no sign of Dr. McKay?”

They both shook their heads.

“She's with a patient in North 3” Robby said as he walked back around, just as fast as he came. “You're welcome to sit here until she returns. As for the both of you, if you have time to stand here you have time to check on your patients”

In an instant, they both took off like birds, briskly walking away huddled together.

•••••••••••••

“What are you doing?”

Santos looked from her charting and Whitaker slid beside her. He was shifting on his feet, looking around and whispering conspicuously.

Santos looked around for the source of whatever possessed him, then returned her gaze on him.

“… Charting?”

“No—” He began, then sighed. “I heard you earlier. With that paramedic”

“EMT”

He frowned. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “She's an EMT”

His mouth opened, then closed again. “Doesn't matter!” His voice slightly rose, bringing a passing nurse's attention. He apologized with a half smile and a wave, before seriousness returned to his feature. “You were flirting with her”

She scoffed, lightly amused. “She was flirting with me first”

“This isn’t funny”

“It kinda is” She said, barely looking at him as she kept typing. “What, you jealous?”

“No!” He whisper screamed. “I just don't think you should get… involved with her”

Santos paused her typing, slowly turning her head towards him. She'd never have missed the chance to tease him to hell and back about it, but even to her, he seemed a little too agitated to her liking.

“What do you know that I don't?”

He took a long breath out, shoulders deflating as he tried to figure out a way to say this without sounding like the worst gossip monger in the world.

“You know that nurses talk right?” He began. “Well, so do the paramedics”

She raised an eyebrow. “o-kay?”

Whitaker took one step closer and lowered his voice even more. “She and Dr. Abbot? Deeply involved with each other. I'm talking living together for a decade type of thing”

Santos' jaw dropped for a moment, not having expected that. She didn’t think she’s even seen them in the same room since she started at PMTC. “They're together?”

He shook his head. “Nope, not together. This is where details get hazy, but from what I've heard, it's messy”

She fully turned to face him. “Well come on, spill!” She looked over her shoulder. “Ideally before Robby comes around again”

His gaze swept around the ER too once before he launched into the rumours. “Accounts differ, but I've heard she was married years ago. Her husband joined the military and ended up getting blown up by some explosive in the Middle East to save Dr. Abbot, and she was best friend with his wife during that time. After they both died, she and Abbot moved in together. But get that, they weren't together, or not publicly anyway which is worse— but they've recently split up for a reason nobody knows. They have been pointedly going around each other when they were always chatting when she dropped patients before. And…” He looked around, scanning the room to make sure the coast was clear. “No one has any idea what's happening and no one in the know will say, and Robby gets legit pissed when the nurses bring it up”

Bu the time he was done, Santos' eyes had grown like saucers. “What. The fuck”

“Yeah” He nodded. “I don't think it's a good idea to get in the middle of that”

“That's… Ugh” She whispered, a look of abject horror on her face. Was there anyone not overly complicated in this god damn joint? “I have so many more questions now. Do you think it’s a secret affair type of mess?”

He shrugged, offering no rebuttal.

“Just my fucking luck” Santos finally sighed as her shoulders sagged. “A hot woman outside of any HR violation finally flirts with me, but oh wait, she's a walking minefield”

He winced.

Realizing her poor choice of words, she closed her eyes and let her head drop. Maybe not the best thing to say if your husband had indeed been blow up on the field.

“Fuck me”

Whitaker patted her on the back and returned to his patients with nothing but a sympathetic smile, missing entirely the one party listening to their conversation from afar.

Robby hadn't meant to snoop.

Not this time anyway.

He knew he should have put a swift end to that gossip session as soon as he caught his name in a conversation he had definitely no business listening to—and that his residents had no business having either from what he quickly pieced together with the next few sentences they spoke after—but his curiosity got the best of him.

Talk about professionalism.

Any other day, he'd have delivered a stern warning about gossip in the workplace and forgot about it, but blame it on the slow day, instead, he found himself gravitating towards the locker room. Opening his locker, he grabbed his cellphone and opened the last conversation thread and typing the words without thinking, like he was compelled.

Santos made a move. Get ahead of it while you still can.

No fucking Grey's Anatomy on my watch.

He didn't wait for a reply before throwing his phone back in and locking the door afterwards like nothing happened.

•••••••••••••

“So there's nothing you can do?”

McKay sighed and shook her head. She also knew Ms. Greenberg well, and while she would have loved to be able to intervene, it was out of her reach.

“Sorry Sweets” She said as reluctantly as she felt. “She's still technically living in a home. I cannot use the street team to shortcut her. I would if I could”

You leaned back on the empty medical bed in the unused room she had brought you to to speak in private about the incident report.

“I'm worried about her” You said as you dragged your hand down your face. “She's got no one visiting anymore. Only the mailman is kind enough to stop and chat. And I know the paramedics are already tired of her, I'm afraid that if she calls on a day I'm not there or already dealing with something else, she might get overlooked. They'll rush her and she'll keep quiet any other issues that might be grounds for concern”

She squeezed your shoulder in support as she leaned beside you. “I know that you know you can't think like that babe” She began, tone all too understanding. “That's how you get burned out”

You sighed, rolling your head back slowly and feeling the small cracks of your neck. “I know”

You did know, but for some reasons, Ms. Greenberg really stuck out to you. You had no idea why, out of the thousand of people you had assisted, she was the one to haunt you, but she did, and it was like your entire sanity depended on her getting the care that she deserved.

“Tell you what” She began, giving you a smile that was meant to be encouraging. “It's quiet today. Why don't I go upstairs with you to declare the welfare check and hopefully trigger the state taking charge of Ms. Greenberg?”

You paused the movement of your head and raised your eyebrows at her. The ED staff hated dealing with the suits from the eight floor and their judgemental sneers just as much as you did. They saw the world in figures and numbers and quotas instead of in actual impact on human lives and dignity, and you avoided them as much as you could.

“I can't—”

“Not up for debate” Her lip curved a little higher at the annoyed stare you gave her. “I'm not letting you go to war alone”

“You're lucky I just finished an 18 hours” You grumbled as her expression turned triumphant. “I'm not in the mood to argue”

She bumped her shoulder into yours. “Not argumentative? That would be a first. Mark the day!”

You rolled your eyes, but your amusement was clear.

“C'mon” She pushed back on her feet, and after a few seconds staring her down, you did the same. “To the suits we go”

You followed her to the elevators. “Five words horror story”

The sound that came out of her as she called the lift was half a scoff and half a snort. It took a few seconds before the doors opened and you stepped in, quiet music filling the background.

She sighed. “Don't worry Sweets”

You eyed her from where you were standing on her side. “Hm?”

“We'll make sure Ms. Greenberg is taken care of. I promise”

You nodded as the elevator doors opened on Dante's eight circle of hell. With a synchronized deep breath, you dived right in.

•••••••••••••

You were already pissed off as it was, and the long line at the bank certainly didn't help to ease your mood. The rational part of you supplied all the usual arguments, that these people had as much right as any other to take their time and ask question and solve their own issues.

But the sleep deprived, irritated version of you, the one that had been inflated by spending nearly an hour arguing with a delicately perfumed bureaucrat in his AC controlled room about a elderly woman's right to medical supervision was whispering in your ear that none of these assholes had any business standing in line ahead of you.

Still, you bit the inside of your cheek and fidgeted with your helmet, shifting from sore foot to sore foot and cursing the latest Phenix pay system crash that forced the city to deliver your paycheck through an actual, physical check that had to be deposited at the bank.

You had tried on your phone, but of course there had been in internal error that made it impossible for you to access mobile deposit at that time.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, the out, the repeated a couple of times, trying to ease the tension across whole body. You shook your free hand, then switched your helmet to the other and did the same. Slowly, you reopened your eyes.

The blur took a few seconds to clear, revealing the scene unfolding in front of you. You tilted your head as you noticed strange, hurried movement that part of your brain had already understood but not communicated to your conscious just yet.

Any other day, you'd have caught the clues. The nervous figures by the door, the twitching man in the line, the people consistently scanning the room.

Your eyes widened as it finally registered, a fraction of a second before it actually happened.

From the hurriedly slipped on balaclavas to the raised semi automatic weapons and the bags.

You've got to be fucking kidding.

“EVERYBODY DOWN! THIS IS A ROBBERY”

•••••••••••••

Daylight had begun breaking through Pittsburgh's skyline when Robby found Jack on the rooftop, hands in his pockets and deep in thoughts.

“You're here early”

Robby chuckled humorlessly as he leaned his forearms on the railing, dropping his head down between his shoulders.

“Something I had to check on before I clocked in”

Jack didn't move, but his shoulders did tense ever so slightly, enough for Robby to notice. “Something, or someone?”

He sighed, wordlessly confirming Jack's veiled accusation.

“You've been finding yourself here an awful lot since…” He pointed out, finally looking up to watch the sunrise too. “Just makin’ sure”

Jack's expression turned bitter. “She asked you to?”

Robby scoffed. “F'course not. She specifically told me not to”

“And here you are”

“And here I am”

Jack finally turned to glance at his best friend, who met his eyes when he felt his stare on him. He straightened up, slapping the railing once.

“Would you just fucking call her?”

His jaw locked at Robby's crude audacity, grinding his teeth in sudden annoyance. “No”

“No?” Robby's eyebrows shot up to the sky. “You're both visibly miserable without each other and you're making everybody else miserable with you. Get your shit together”

His glaring did nothing to intimidate Robby, so he glared back at the sunset instead. “She's better off without me—”

“Oh fuck off” He brushed off. “She's not and you know it”

His face changed then, twisting into a pained grimace. He tried to keep his tough face up, but he deflated at how easy it had been for Robby to get under his skin. The bastard had, purposefully and in full knowledge of cause, hit the only chord of doubt in his mind he'd be dancing around for months. It was such an obvious one too, anyone could have hit it, but nobody had dared being a direct asshole with him yet.

Until now anyway.

Because, did he know it? That you weren't better off without him?

You were still young, younger than him. You still had good years, and he believed you shouldn't be spending them with an old sad fuck like him. You should be out there, making memories and catching up on experiences you missed while you grieved. He knew he wouldn't be able to give that to you, to follow you crazy places—he'd only slow you down.

He finally shook his head. “I'm not good for her”

“You decided that all by yourself?”

He looked at Robby, annoyed that he kept playing the oblivious fool. Surely, he couldn’t be that blind to all of the obstacles between him and his happy ending, and not enough of an idiot to think Jack would be good for you.

He tightened his jaw, shaking his head. “In case you hadn't noticed, I have issues. Lots of them”

“So does she, and I've never heard you complaining about it”

The warning edge his glance suddenly took was hard to miss, but Robby didn't exactly care to be intimidated by it.

“I'm nearly 50, and missing a leg”

“Never heard her complaining about it”

“I'm—” He paused, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I'd just waste her time”

“If that was true, you've wasted 10 years already, so what's 10, 20 more?” Robby joked, then backed off when it obviously didn't land. “Alright, fine, let's hear it. Why'd you think that?”

“For one, I don’t want kids. She does. She had this whole plan with Damian” He spoke, his voice far away. “He kept talking about it. All. The. Time.” He emphasized each word with an frustrated admiration. “About his picket fence and 2.5 kids and two dogs. I can't give that to her”

Robby observed him for a moment, slowly beginning to understand what this was truly about. Despite his best efforts to hide it behind every excuse under the sun, Jack felt guilty. Guilty that he took something away from you by being the one who came back from that deployment. Guilty that he is all there’s left of your husband, that his ghost would forever cling to him. And all of that combined with his frankly oversized saviour complex, Jack wouldn’t put you through that kind of pain willingly, even if all of those beliefs lingering in his mind were terribly misplaced.

“Did you talk to her about it?”

Jack's silence spoke volumes. Robby sighed.

“Listen,” He began, violently osciliating between uselessly trying to beat into him that it wasn’t his fault and something more productive. In a flash of wisdom, he decided on the latter. “She had a plan to have kids with Damian” He ennunciated slowly, pointedly like he was trying to make Jack see this point by himself. “Are you Damian?”

“Don't do this”

“Just sayin’” He muttered, holding his hands up in surrender. “That was the plan when she was 20. It's been 15 years and the man in the plan's long gone. You think she still want the same things now, after everything?”

Jack remained stubbornly silent again, refusing to even entertain the idea that Robby had a point.

“Wanna know what I think?”

Jack's face turned into a displeased frown. “Don't ask if you're gonna do it anyway”

“I think you are trying to find issues that do not exists to justify the fact that you were righteous to drive her away”

He scoffed. “Didn't know you were my therapist now”

Robby faced him, fully faced him now. “Jack, you've got someone who knows you, the good, the bad and the ugly and loves you through it all. You've got someone who knows what it's like to lose a spouse, and beyond that, that will always respect Sienna and the love you had for her, because she loved her too” He dragged a hand over his face. “You understand that nobody gets to be that lucky once, let alone twice, don’t you?”

Robby watched Jack's sharp intake of breath, clearly trying to keep all of that overthinking under wraps. Unfortunately, he knew his best friend a bit too much for the diversion to work.

Jack didn't exactly know when he began having feelings for you, but he had come to the terrifying conclusion he was in deep about a year before you confessed. It hadn't been a cinematographic affair, no big dramatic movie-like scene or slow motion replays of a heroic feature. No, it had been much dumber than that.

It had been him watching you run across the ED mid shift, stealing his keys from his locker to, what he'd figure out later, hurriedly roll up the windows of his truck as the thunderstorm of the year began pouring nails out of forecast clear skies. You had come back soaked to the bone to return the keys before running back to another call, remaining nothing but a mystery blur to the Nightcrawlers for the few hours remaining of their shift. Jack had only understood your quick in an out when he painfully limped back to his truck at the end of his shift and everything hit him at once—the memory of leaving his windows wide open, the contradictory sight of them now well shut, and the image of you sprinting across his ER.

You had remembered the damn windows, and used what could have been your only break of the day to roll them up for him.

That had scared him more than any bomb siren every had. It had been so sudden, so warm, so encompassing that it had left him off balance. He hadn't thought he'd ever feel so deeply ever again that it had scared him to the core. Yet, he had pushed it all back, banished the thought to the confines of his mind, thinking it would go away if he pretended his feelings hadn't changed.

Of course, he couldn't run forever.

You had caught up to him sooner than later.

You had breathed life into everything he though he had buried, giving them names and purposes. You had read them all right, of course, because you could read him like a children's book without even trying. Yet, all he had been able to do at that moment you took the step forward was to deny everything.

Ripping your heart out in the process.

“I know you two belong together” Robby spoke again, dragging him out of his own mind. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Hell, half of the damn hospital think you’re married already, and nobody knowing otherwise cares to correct them. That should tell you something”

Jack flinched ever so slightly, his fingers subconsciously reaching for his wedding band he was still wearing. The picture was clear on how this idea spread in the first place, both you and him holding onto those emergency room safe silicone bands from a life long gone. He’d be lying to himself if he said it hadn’t felt so natural, even to him, to assume they were matching.

Or to make believe for a second they actually were.

“Even if…” He paused, then shook his head and cleared his throat. “This ship has sailed. It's too late”

“No such thing as too late”

“This time there is”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “… Do I even want to know?”

It took Jack several minute to think about it. He didn't particularly want Robby to know just how much he fucked up, he barely even wanted to face it himself. Still, Robby was patient, directing his attention to the rising sun while his best friend sorted out his own mind.

Finally, Jack directed his gaze down. “Told her there had been nothing between us”

Robby chuckled, brushing off Jack’s dramatics entirely. “Yeah, isn’t that the classic lie. We’ve all said it, all heard it. It's not great but I know she'll forgive you if you try hard enough to apologize”

When Jack didn't react, he glanced to him, his light humor suddenly vanishing. He took a deep breath, knowing it wasn't the end of it.

“… What else?”

Jack swallowed hard. When he spoke this time, it was said barely under his breath, yet he felt like he had screamed it to echo in Pittsburgh's morning quiet.

“I used the family name thing”

Robby stilled, feeling discomfort ripple through his spine. “Well, shit”

Robby wasn't meant to ever know, that much he was aware of. It was something you kept tightly under wraps, buried under dry humor and a stern, intimidating presence that didn't invite personal conversations. He wouldn't even have asked if he hadn't absolutely had to—when you ended up as the patient after being stabbed on a call about a drunken fight.

He still remembers the way the student doctor examining you up had discreetly pulled him aside to report glaring signs of domestic abuse.

He had taken lead over the case then, not thinking twice about how he certainly didn't have the time that day to handle the paperwork. He made sure it was only you and him in the room as he performed a new examination, not commenting on the fact that you had remained uncharacteristically shut down the entire time he took in the various faded scars all over your body.

It had been both a relief and a knife in the heart to come to the conclusion that none of these scars had been dealt to you by anyone still in your life. On one hand, he didn't have to worry about Jack, or even Damian being responsible for it. On the other, however, the sadness that took him over at the thought of you having been abused to the point of physical violence when you were just a kid was nearly unbearable.

He had seen others like you, you were hardly an exception, much to his dismay, but it was always hard to learn that about a loved one.

You had told him then about your family, and how they weren't great people. About how Damian, even gone, was the family you chose, and how you'd never go back to that cursed family name you were born with even if it meant dragging the memory of someone no longer alive.

He sighed. “That's definitely not good—”

“I'm aware”

“—but not impossible to overcome” He finished, sending a pointed look to Jack. “If you just put on your big boy pants and talked to her”

Jack didn't answer that.

So Robby pressed, as he did.

“If only to make things clear on where you stand now”

Still nothing.

“You know, so this ED doesn't turn into Grey's Anatomy. Love triangles and all”

That was enough to make Jack snap his head towards Robby. Gotcha. He hid his self satisfied smirk at succeeding to provoke a reaction, knowing that if he couldn't get through Jack with common sense, he'd have to use dirty warfare to shake things up.

And well, Robby was so not above being a petty bitch.

He leaned forward on the railing, acting like he wasn't going to drop what could very well be the metaphorical equivalent of a megaton hydrogen bomb in Jack's laps.

“I think Santos's into her”

Jack tensed up like he just got tased in the back, expression turning pinched and vexed. To his credit, he really did try not to let it show, but he failed miserably.

“Okay”

Robby hid the smug little smile that he was just dying to let out.

“Every time Sweets walks through the bay doors, it's like Santos magically appears by her side. It's adorable, really” He noted, keeping his tone innocent even if he knew he was wielding his words like a sword through jungle vines. “I don't think Sweets noticed the intent yet, but she's not pushing her away either”

Jack just grumbled under his breath, holding back any reaction he had absolutely no right to let out. Still, his mind drifted to you, as it usually did, thinking about how you hated when people hovered. Interns. Bosses. Coworkers. Strangers. If you let Santos into your space, let alone multiple times… He preferred not to think of the implications .

“Good for them”

It came out strangled and insincere.

“Really?”

“Really”

They met eyes then, Jack daring Robby to call him on his bullshit.

Which he did, approximately 15 seconds later.

“Bullshit”

Should have expected it.

“She doesn't want me to call her, and that's the proof”

“You trying to convince me or you?”

Jack shook his head and returned to the safe side of the railing, signaling the end of the conversation.

“My shift's over” He said as he limped past Robby. “Good luck with the patient in North 12, by the way. Don't let him get into aliens talk”

•••••••••••••

It was like he had a sixth sense, feeling when you were approaching with food, because never once did he not happen to walk past the Ambulance bay doors when you walked in with something for him.

Not once.

“Robby, catch!”

As if it was an innate instinct, Robby's arm shot up to catch the sandwich flying his way as he briskly moved around his ER, turning around and walking backward once the package was securely in his hands.

He pointed at you, the pesto turkey sandwich firmly in his grasp. “I love you Sweets”

You grinned as you watched him disappear towards his new emergency. “Waterfront or Garden for the wedding?"

He gave you a face like you've asked him the dumbest, most obvious question in the entire world. “Waterfront!” He shouted back before he went out of view.

You chuckled and shook your head as Dana came to stand before you, eyes drawn towards where Robby disappeared.

“Honey, if you keep suggesting marriage, one day the fool's gonna take you up on it”

You laughed. “Eh, wouldn't be so bad now would it?”

She raised an eyebrow.

You made an excited face as you crossed your arms against your chest. “I could be his trophy wife”

Now that elicited a proper reaction from her as she scoffed a laugh. “No you couldn't”

You gasped. “What? You don't think I could make a good Mrs. Dr. Robby?”

“Aside from the fact that you two'd drive each other to clinical insanity,” She gave you a pointed stare, then grinned. “You still need two things to be a trophy wife— sitting still and being pretty. Now, you’re pretty enough sweetheart, but it's the sitting still part I'm not convinced about”

“Ugh, you're right” You sighed dramatically, letting your hands drop to your side. “Besides, if I became a miserable trophy wife, who'd get you sandwiches huh?”

Her eyes lit up in realization as you passed the second sandwich you had acquired today to her. A Caprese on rosemary focaccia from one of her favourite shops. The advantage of being a long practising EMT in the city was that the people you helped often treated you well in return, offering you all kinds of compensation for your troubles. It happened that half an hour ago, you were given a bunch of sandwiches after helping the owner after he fainted due to having not eaten a damn thing that day yet.

You had taken a habit to smuggle some of your loot back to PTMC to feed your two favourite people whenever you could.

“Kid, you're godsend” She sighed as she unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Judging by her facial expression, it hit the spot.

“Did I hear something about Dr. Robby getting married?”

You turned around in surprise as a new voice entered the conversation.

“No, he's not” Dana replied for you, mouthful of sandwich.

“Not yet” You corrected with a smirk, and she slapped your shoulder. It didn't help the young woman's confusion. “I'm just joking. No wedding. Just a dumb bit to make Dana's life harder”

She nodded slowly, not convinced, as Dana glared daggers at you.

“Sweets, you've met Dr. Santos right?”

Your eyes went to Dana as she changed the subject with a clipped tone. They then widened and returned to the young woman as you snapped your fingers. “Santos! I know that name. Nice to meet you when I'm not bleeding out”

“Likewise” She extended her hand, which you shook. “Paramedic?”

“EMT”

“Nice” She nodded. “Hey, how do I get one of those?”

Your eyes followed hers to Dana's sandwich, which she protectively pulled back closer. Your gaze returned to Santos again, extremely serious.

“You gotta save my life to get sandwich privileges”

Without even missing a beat, she replied, “I kinda already did”

You paused.

“Kid's got a point” Dana glanced at you, amused.

“Fair enough” You conceded. “Well now that's awkward. I'm all out of sandwiches. Talk about talking big and not delivering, am I right?”

Dana laughed as she shook her head.

“Dr. Santos!”

She looked up at being called from the other side of the ER, then quickly excused herself and jogged toward whatever required her attention. You watched her run across the room as you crossed your arms against your chest, then turned back to Dana, who already was staring through you.

“How are you doing kid?”

The mask slipped at the question just long enough for her to notice.

“And don't bullshit me. You look exhausted”

You nodded. “Yeah, I've been picking up longer shifts, doing a lot of 18 hours lately”

She sighed disapprovingly.

“It's been tough” You confided. You didn't need to mention what you were referring to, she already knew about the catastrophic way your… partnership with Jack ended a few months ago. Still, you carefully pivoted the conversation to avoid delving too much into emotional vulnerability stuff. “I need to save money to buy an actual bed and those things are crazy expensive. I hadn't slept consistently on a pull out couch since I was 24, my back is destroyed”

Most of your nights since those days had been spend in Jack's second bedroom on an actual bed. The return to springs and metal pipes digging in your back had been particularly difficult and your sleep quality had taken a major hit.

“And groceries, fuck me those are expensive” You added.

“You're not running on ramen and frozen pizza are ya?” She frowned.

You paused. “Noooo” You trailed off, unconvincingly. You weren't, per se—not in the way she imagined it. “There's canned beans in the mix. For fiber n' stuff”

That seemed to appease her for now. “You better not be wheeled in here for colon cancer, you hear me?” She ordered. “And your shift is over. Go back home and sleep”

You gave her a two fingers salute as you began backing away. “Yes ma'am”

She shook her head she she watched you go, knowing you'd find your way in her ER sooner than later anyway.

•••••••••••••

8 pm at Marty's?

You stared at your phone with wide eyes, not having expected Robby to text you out of the blue for a meetup half an hour later. Despite having known each other for more than a decade, only on a very few rare instances did you have one on one hangouts that hadn't started as a group thing that slowly thinned out, and even less initiated by him without any prior indicator of his intention to do so.

You had an idea of why, however.

You sighed, then texted back.

Sure

meet you there

You changed from your house clothes and slipped on black jeans and the first clean shirt you could find—fuck, you were so behind on your laundry. Quick fix of your hair so it didn't reflect as much how messy your life was, then grabbed your leather jacket, your helmet and your keys.

You found in the parking garage your sport bike, an old thing your husband had bought you with his first army paycheck. Each year that passed brought more tear and wear on the thing, but you couldn't find it in you get rid of it. Instead, you kept repatching it and pretending it was fine.

The was an irony in there you willingly ignored.

You clipped your helmet on and climbed on, then turned on the engine and left. Marty's was on the other side of the city—much closer to PTMC than your place was—but you didn't mind, the drive there wasn't too bad outside of rush hours. You took your time, taking the scenic road and enjoying the sunset, knowing Robby's 8 pm were really at least 8:30.

You were proven correct when Robby appeared around the corner as you finished paying the street parking on the machine at 8:35.

“Sorry for being late” He said in lieu of a greeting. “Something I had to fix before clocking out”

You smiled sympathetically. “All good Robby. Just came in myself”

You shared a quick hug and walked in the almost deserted bar. You supposed Tuesday nights weren't exactly a popular time to be hanging out in a semi respectable dive bar.

“I've got it” Robby stopped you from going to order, which made you raise an eyebrow. You two weren't the type to just buy the other a drink outside of special occasions. “Still drinking your usual?”

You nodded slowly, suspiciously. He played innocent, smiling at you and making a beeline for the bar. You grumbled under your breath and grabbed a booth out of the way, setting your helmet and jacket on the bench beside you. A few minutes later, he rejoined you at the table with two glasses, one which he pushed to you.

“Thanks”

“My pleasure” He nodded like any of this was normal, then took a sip. “Yeah sorry for the delay, just a bit of a mess with the computers that made the handoff hell”

You chuckled, relaxing a bit in your seat and finally bringing your drink to your lips. “I swear you can never catch a break”

He scoffed. “Just another Tuesday in the Pitt”

You took another sip in sync with him. “How's your fresh batch of residents? Still full of life and hope?”

You had heard of their first shift on the job—hell, you had been yourself part of the teaching experience as practice dummy without even knowing it. You had been quite impressed with their composure when you had learned it was their first day on the job.

His eyebrows raised as he stared into nothing, then he nodded slowly. “They're doing better that I would have expected. They're tough”

“I've only met Santos, I like her” You said. “She's got spirit”

A small smile stretched on his lips. “She reminds me of you”

You gave him an exaggerated wince. “For her sake I hope she doesn't turn out like me”

His stare alone called out your bullshit. “Like someone strong and competent who saves lives?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the glazing. “You know what I mean”

Of course he knew what you meant, because he was the exact same. Burying himself into his work until he dropped, so that his mind was either too preoccupied or too exhausted to face the fact that everything else around him was unraveling fast. Projecting to the world the illusion that you had it together, when in fact, you were scrambling for the pieces of yourself scattered on the floor.

He shook his head, looking at the wall then back down to the table. He took a long, long sip of his drink then sighed.

“You doing okay?”

There it is.

You tensed up again, squinting your eyes. “Robby”

“Just answer the question Sweets”

“Oh okay” You nodded. “Yeah, this is an intervention, alright”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Don't be difficult. I'm concerned”

“Dana told you, didn't she?”

“Don't blame her” He warned.

Fucking Dana.

“I'm fine” You brushed off.

He laughed at the ridiculousness of your statement, it sounded strained. “Isn't that the biggest fucking lie in the world” He shook his head, going for another sip. “Spare me the pretending. None of us are fine, you and I the least”

You gripped your glass tighter, the let go and deflated in the booth. You dragged a hand over your face, and suddenly looked much more tired than a few seconds ago. That was Robby's tough love, his own weird way to try and help. He'd never be the therapist friend, holding your hand and nodding sympathetically to everything you let out. No, that wasn't his way. He called you out over and over again until he cracked the mask, purification in fire. And hell, if he wasn't the one person who could understand it all.

It was like antiseptic on an open wound, painful but ultimately necessary.

As if sensing you wordlessly conceding grounds, he met you halfway.

“Dana mentioned money was tight” He held out the first branch. “Are you able to make ends meet? If not, I can help—”

You sighed and shook your head. “I'm f—” You paused at his deadpan stare and reconsidered your choice of words. “I'll make it work, I need to make it work by myself” You took a deep breath, then added in a whisper as you avoided his eyes. “I hadn't realized how dependent I had become on… him”

His gaze softened a bit.

“And not just financially” You kept rambling. Thankfully, Robby had become an expert in listening, truly listening. “I… fuck—”

You hesitated, knowing the next words would be hard to breathe life into. Hard to make real. But the realization that keeping it in any longer would drive you insane hit you like a freight train.

Breathe in, breathe out.

“That day…” You didn't need to mention which day you were talking about. “I lost my entire support system in what, 15 minutes? It was gone, just like that. It felt like falling from the sky without a parachute. And it was fucking scary, Robby. It still is. I'm terrified”

The feeling hit home in him too. He knew all too well the freefall, the terror it elicited.

“I'm sorry” He finally spoke. “If I hadn't told you to go for it…” He swallowed hard.

You shook your head. “Not your fault. No” You denied. “The bubble would have burst one day or another”

Only a few weeks after the shock passed did you realized you had been on a collision course bound for the wall. Whatever you had with Jack might very well have been quietly toxic, gone unnoticed in blissful domesticity that hadn't been disturbed since Sienna died.

All of the grief of the last 12 years that you had pushed back had been covered neatly by an Abbot shaped blanket, left to fester and spread with you willfully ignoring it. It was easy to pretend you were fine when Jack also did it, when he provided comfort in the idea you weren't running away from your feelings alone. Alas, it was neither healthy, nor sustainable.

It didn't mean you weren't hating every second of it though. He had hurt you, and maybe you weren't ready just yet to forgive him for it. But damn, you missed the comfort of him, but you also missed the friend, the human connection that came with him.

“Still” He mumbled, swirling the liquid in his glass around. “It doesn't hurt any less”

“Feels like a hot iron in my throat every day” You mumbled, shooting back the rest of your drink.

“Amen to that” He mimicked you. “Another?”

You groaned and shuffled to reach for your wallet. “I got it”

He stood up before you could split in your of your back pocket. “Nope”

“Sit your ass down” You warned. “It's my turn to buy”

“Can't make me” He ignored your last statement, already halfway to the bar.

You welcomed his smug face back with an unimpressed, annoyed one. With an innocent smile that was really anything but, he slowly, deliberately pushed the drink in your direction. You eyed it down, then raised an eyebrow at him.

He kept his annoying little smile as he drank from his own.

“Do you think I don't see what you're doing, Robinavitch?”

“I don't know?” He feigned confusion. “What am I doing?”

“I can pay for my own drinks”

“Never said you couldn't”

“You are impossible”

“Eh” He shrugged, unbothered by the revelation. “Not the worst thing I've been called today”

You finally cracked, letting out a small laugh of disbelief. If you had been looking at him, you'd have caught the flash of relief passing through his eyes as he confirmed that you'd be okay, eventually.

It was tearing him apart that you, someone he had grown incredibly protective of over the years of you bringing him banged up but alive patients through the bay doors, had such a devastating fallout with Jack, whom he considered his brother, his best friend—titles he did not give out lightly.

He knew Jack loved you, was in love with you, otherwise he'd never have suggested you confess your feelings to him. The two of you made sense; you had shared experiences, shared grief, and a reverent respect for the ones you lost along the way. Stars rarely aligned like that, and he couldn't bear to watch it all reach stalemate.

If Robby was too damaged to have his happy ending, he'd make damn sure Jack and you at least had a shot at it.

“Has he… contacted you since that day?”

You remained silent for a moment, then shook your head. Jack hadn’t texted or called, and you had gone out of your way to avoid PTMC during the night shift or its adjacent hours Jack may be lurking around.

He swallowed, knowing his next suggestion would be threading in meddling territory. “Want me to talk to him?”

“Fuck no” Your reply came instantly, and he raised his hands in surrender.

“I'm just sayin', I could knock some sense into him—”

“Robby” You wanted to mean it as a warning, but it came much whinier than you had intended.

“—I'm sure he'd listen—”

“Robby, I said no” You repeated, firm this time. It was enough to stop his talking. “Jack made it abundantly clear he does not want me, so please let's leave it at that. I'm not gonna lose my dignity along with everything else”

Something sad overtook his features, and you did not like it one bit. He looked at you like you were a wounded puppy, overflowing with pity and heartbreak.

“Sweets” He sighed, passing a hand down his face. “You know that's not true”

You looked down at your drink, fidgeting with your fingers around the glass. A heavy melancholy loomed in your soul, like he reopened a wound that had just started to heal.

“Yeah well, you weren't there that day” You mumbled, shaking your head. “He didn't say those words to you”

He just kept his eyes on you and you couldn't stand it. You furiously rubbed at your eyes to make sure no tears would come, then shook your head again

“We need to talk about something else” You spoke before he could pursue this further. “Anything. Work, not work, your sad dating life—”

He scoffed in offense, immediately reading the room and moving on like he had already forgotten the previous conversation.

“—literally anything else”

“Well I'll have you know,” He began, exaggerating his words in a pointed way that told you he was laying it thick on purpose. He spoke slow, leaving you enough time to recompose yourself. You wouldn't mention this kindness again, and neither would he. “I had a date last week”

You raised an eyebrow as your mind latched on this new topic. “Oh?”

“Lovely woman” He nodded. “Smart, beautiful, easygoing. We had a lot of fun”

You hummed, poorly hiding the semblance of a grin. “I didn't know you knew how to have fun. But hey good for you for learning new stuff at your age”

He gave you a playful eye roll. “Ha ha, you're hilarious. But you should keep in mind you'll get there sooner than later Sweets” Then, his eyes found yours with an insistent, challenging stare as he pointed at your head. “Yeah that's right, I've seen those gray hairs come out— And you already can't keep up with the kid's lingo anymore. You're practically one of us already”

You couldn't help but bark a laugh loud enough to echo around the bar. You covered your mouth, reducing the noise to a giggle or two. The sudden image of you and Robby in a grumpy old people's club was somehow the funniest thing you've imagined all week.

What a nightmare you two would be in a retirement home.

“Do I get exclusive club membership discounts?” You finally asked, then took a sip.

“Two for one on coffins and they give you the shovel to dig your grave with”

You choked on your drink. He only raised his drink in a toast and finished it, entirely too smug about his joke.

“Well—” You coughed, then cleared your throat as you tried to stifle your laughter. “That took a dark turn”

He looked like the was holding back from doubling down with, if you had to guess, a comment about it not being as dark as the inside of one of those coffins. And by the mischievous glint suddenly lightning up his eyes, he must have known you had finished the punchline by yourself anyway.

To be fair, you were almost tempted to speak it out loud before he could. Dark humour was often an outlet that both you and him used entirely too leisurely, and that one's comedic timing was impeccable as it could get. Yet, there was something about it now that made you pause.

“Hey Robby” You began, frowning. “How are you doing?”

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights at your curve ball for a whole second before he switched to the defensive, pointing an accusing finger to you.

“Oh hell no. Don't you dare turn the tables on me”

You leaned in to hiss, “Oh not so fun when it's you in the spotlight right?”

“Shut up Sweets”

You softened your features a bit too quickly. “Don't be difficult, I'm concerned”

He made a displeased face. “That's low”

“That's never stopped me before”

He held the staring match for a moment, refusing to let you win. It had been your check-in hangout, he hadn't come prepare to open up. How he let you have the upper hand so easily, without even noticing it was beyond him.

He let out a long, tired breath, dropping his gaze down to his his empty drink. It was like he had a whole conversation going on in his head that he was badly losing. He didn't think he was even ready to understand what was even going on with him.

He was just not ready.

And then, he spoke in a very timid, vulnerable even, voice that was extremely uncharacteristic of him.

“Raincheck?”

Even you knew not to push your luck.

You reached out to his folded hand in front of him and gave them a little squeeze. “Alright. But I'm here for you ok? I want to be there for you, whatever's going on”

A small smile that didn't reach his eyes grew on his mouth. “I know Sweets”

“I might let you off the hook now,” You began, staring him down. “But only if you promise me you'll reach out if you hit a critical point. Ideally even before”

You could see the argument forming on his tongue before he even worded it. I'm the one who needs to look out for you, I don't need you to be concerned for me, I don't want to unload my burdens on you- you have enough— You could hear it all already. Yet, you didn't back down.

“You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

You gave him a blinding yet slightly threatening smile. “Learned from the best”

He groaned. “Fine, fine. I promise. God damn, woman”

You could be gloating about this, winning one on Dr. Robby was not an easy feat. But you decided not to, considering him just considering it enough to make that promise was enough relief to let it go.

(Whether or not he'd actually follow up on it remained to be seen, but it was a good start).

Like he was desperately looking for an escape, his eyes suddenly scanned around the empty bar, and stopped on the dusty pool tables in the back. “Hey, wanna play pool?”

You blinked a couple of time. “Neither of us know how to properly play”

You recalled last time you were around a pool table, you had been paired with him to play against a couple of his then residents, who had baited the group with betting tables and rankings.

To say you had been obliterated was an understatement, as clearly both you and him had learned a very different set of rules, apparently, neither of which was the actual right way to play. You had spent your game arguing both among yourselves and with people around the table and getting on everyone's nerves in an impressively concerted way for how disorganized you actually were, until you unavoidably lost the match and retreated to a table far away to grumble about it.

He would never admit it, but seeing his name at the very bottom of the ranking that was left pinned up in the break room for weeks after drove him completely mad. Neither of you had failed either to remind the other of this defeat the whole time.

You believed this was when the crew decided to never, ever pair you up again for any group activity.

He was already standing up, then finished his drink. “C'mon, it'll be fun”

“Famous last words” You rolled your eyes, but your amusement was still obvious.

You finished your drink too, then followed him to the old table.

“Alright Robinavitch, game on”

•••••••••••••