#daughter!reader

The kiss started out sweet, innocent. You and Mack, laying on his bed, movie playing in the background. It’s the first time you’ve been together in person in months, and you haven’t let go of each other since your plane landed in San Jose earlier this evening.

Mack and Will picked you up from the airport, then took you to their favorite pho restaurant for dinner. Then you and Mack dropped Will off at his apartment, and came back here, to Mack’s. The rest of your trip to San Jose, a week long, is jam-packed full of fun activities, catching up with people, going to one of Mack’s games tomorrow. But tonight, you both agreed that it would be best to just have a quiet night in with just the two of you.

At first, the intention was just to put on a movie, cuddle, and then fall asleep.

That didn’t last long.

Pretty soon you were kissing his cheek. And then his lips. And then you were straddling his lap, making out with more desperation than you thought was possible.

Mack’s tongue is in your mouth, massaging yours. His hands are planted on your ass, holding you tight against him as his hips twitch up every few seconds. He’s hard. Really hard.

You can tell by the way Mack’s hands are gripping and kneading at the fat of your ass, how he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from dragging you across his boner, that he wants more. His entire body hums with barely restrained need, fingers gripping you just a bit too tight, his kisses a bit too eager. This is the farthest the two of you have ever gone, heated makeouts that stutter to an end once Mack realizes he’s not going to be able to hold himself back very much longer.

Every time you reach this point, this level of hunger and anticipation, and then Mack pulls away. Separates your bodies, puts as much space between you, and clenches his eyes shut while taking deep breaths.

And while it can definitely be a little frustrating that he has yet to allow the two of you to go farther than heavily making out, you do understand why.

You’re a virgin.

There were a few guys before Mack, but not very many. And of the few, you didn’t feel comfortable having sex with any of them. Definitely not losing your virginity to them. So you held off. When you started dating Mack, you were very transparent from the beginning about how you’ve yet to go all the way with someone, and that you want it to be with a person that you love and can trust.

Well, there’s no one you love or trust more than Mack.

You’ve decided that tonight is the night. You want him, so badly, and you know that he wants you, too. It’s definitely a little bit intimidating to think about, but you want this, want to do it with him.

And, quite frankly, your fingers just aren’t cutting it anymore.

You test the waters by grinding down, ever so slightly, on Mack’s thick bulge, which has been pressing into your core for the past ten minutes. He groans, low and hot, into your mouth, hips stuttering for a few seconds before he schools them back into complacency. You smirk, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then finding his pulse point and beginning to suck a mark into it.

Mack’s head tips back, little moans escaping his mouth as you swivel your hips. You kiss up and down his neck, one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other sliding under his hoodie and t-shirt, scratching lightly at his ribcage. His entire body shudders, and you smirk.

For a few seconds, he loses himself in it. Mack plants his hands on your hips, grinds up into you, and holds you down against him so that you can both feel it. He’s moaning unashamedly now, eyes clenched shut, heat rising up his cheeks.

The air between the two of you is charged with so much electricity you both feel like live wires, moving frantically and desperately.

But then it hits him. What he’s doing, where this is headed.

“Wait,” Mack’s voice is breathless, chest still heaving up and down as he starts to push you off of him, face full of pain at just the thought of stopping.

“No, no,” you say, hands grabbing Mack’s and putting them back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes wide, shocked and hopeful at the same time. “Don’t stop.”

Mack’s eyebrows are nearly in his hair now. “What?” he gasps, sitting up straighter. “W-What… what are you talking about?”

You place your hands on Mack’s cheeks, then lean in to press a sweet kiss to his lips. When you pull back, you just look at him for a second, gather your courage, and then say it. “Mack… I’m ready.”

“Ready?” he echoes, a look of pure disbelief on his face, like he’s trying not to get his hopes up.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “I’m ready. To have sex. With you.”

You feel Mack’s cock twitch below you.

“A-Are you sure?” he stutters out. “Because, you said that you wanted to have your first time with someone who you love and trust, and I don’t want you to rush anything because you think I want it. I’m totally okay. Don’t do it because you think I wanna do it, I only wanna do it if you wanna do it. I don’t want you to feel pressured, or worried, or–”

“Mack,” you cut him off. “I love and trust you. So much. I want to do this with you.”

He just blinks at you for a few seconds, before his shocked expression slowly morphs to one of happiness, and excitement.

You let out a yelp of surprise as Mack flips the two of you so that you’re laying down, and Mack is holding himself above you.

He kisses you again, smushing your lips together, teeth clashing. You’re both smiling into the kiss, giggling a little bit. There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that this is actually happening, that you’re about to have sex for the first time.

Mack isn’t a virgin. He’s only had one long-term girlfriend (who he lost it to), and another girl that he hooked up with right before he got drafted. So even though he’s got slightly more experience with you, he’s by no means experienced.

“We’re um, we’re gonna have to get you ready. Prep you,” he says, pulling away suddenly.

You smile at him, biting your bottom lip. “Okay,” you respond. Your hands slide down from where they’ve been holding onto his shoulders down to your shorts, and hook your fingers in the waistband. “So, should I take these off?”

Mack gulps, eyes glued to the little sliver of stomach exposed by your shirt having ridden up a bit. He just stares hungrily for a few seconds, before apparently remembering that you’d asked him a question. So he looks up again, pupils dilated, and nods.

He shifts to the side so you can shimmy your shorts down your legs. You kick them off, leaving you in just your cotton panties, and a tiny tank top. His eyes rove up and down your body, drinking in every curve, every bit of exposed skin, practically drooling at the sight of you.

Mack looks up again, your eyes locking with his. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

You know he’s not just talking about your body. That he’s talking about every part of you, your mind, your personality, and also your body. The reverence in his voice makes your heart soar, makes you smile, because you never thought that you would ever feel this loved. It’s an amazing feeling, and you’re so incredibly grateful that you have such an amazing boyfriend.

Mack leans in and softly kisses your lips, then your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder. He kisses down your body, finding his way to your hip. He’s laying on his stomach now, gazing up at you with such soft, lust-filled eyes. He holds your gaze as his thumbs slip under the thin fabric at your sides, caressing your hipbone.

You watch with bated breath as he lifts his head, anticipation and arousal curling low in your stomach. Eyes still locked on yours, Mack leans in and presses a kiss to your clothed cunt, soft as ever.

“Haah,” you breathe, fingers twitching at your side.

Mack’s eyes drift closed, pressing his face harder into you. His tongue peeks out, kitten licking at your core. You let out a gasp at the feeling, one of your hands clutching the sheets, and the other flying to the back of Mack’s head, finger tangling in his hair. He stays like that for a minute, tongue wetting your panties, eyes closed in bliss. When they flutter open, slow, they’re glazed over, hungry.

His hold on the sides of your panties tightens, and he inches it down ever so slightly. He pulls back just enough to ask in a hoarse voice, “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you nod frantically, excitedly. “Yes, please.”

Mack smirks, and doesn’t hesitate. The drag of the fabric sends shivers down your spine as he slowly exposes you, your knees coming together as he pulls your panties off your feet and tosses them somewhere over your shoulder. He tsks, placing his hands on your knees and slowly spreading them, coming face to face with your center.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs softly. “Never, baby.”

He settles himself back on his belly, throwing your ankles over his shoulders while simultaneously hooking his arms under your thighs. You can feel his breath ghosting over your folds, your entire body shuddering with anticipation and arousal, eyes half-lidded as you watch Mack slowly lower his head, mouth opening.

You inhale at the feeling of his tongue flattening against you, licking from your hole up to your clit. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a shiver wracking through you as his lips find your clit and close around it, sucking harshly once and then pulling away.

“How’re you doing, baby?” he asks, already panting. You’re staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavy, mind racing and already empty with how amazing it feels. Mack taps your thigh lightly, bringing your attention back to him. “You gotta talk to me, babe. Gotta tell me what feels good, so I know you’re enjoying yourself.”

You playfully roll your eyes, but smile down at him. “Feels good, Mackie. Keep going,” you reassure as you play with Mack’s hair, massaging his scalp with your fingers in the way that you know he likes. He hums happily, accepting your response, and then he’s back to work.

Up until now, the only person pleasuring you has been yourself. With your fingers and toys, lots of times throughout your life. But it’s never felt like this. This electric, this all-consuming, this… amazing.

Mack’s lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking gently but steadily, causing your back to arch. His tongue keeps moving down to gather as much of your wetness into his mouth, greedily slurping it up. The combination of the sight of him, absolutely going to town on you, as well as the audible wet sounds is almost too much for you to handle, your entire body buzzing with the sensation of your boyfriend’s mouth on you, sucking and licking so perfectly.

And right when you start to think there’s no way that this could possibly get better, you feel Mack’s finger prodding at your entrance.

He lifts his eyes, searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You moan, nodding your head, and then he pushes in.

For some reason, you thought you had a good idea of what it would feel like to have something inside of you like this. You’ve been using tampons since you were sixteen, when Anna (Geno’s wife) finally explained how they work.

You were absolutely not prepared.

A gasp leaves your mouth as Mack pushes in to the first knuckle. He holds it there for a second, tongue laving on your clit to distract you from the feeling of the stretch. It’s a foreign feeling, but not an unpleasant one. Mack wraps his lips around your clit and starts sucking, the feeling punching another moan out of you.

He slips his finger in farther, farther. More and more as you loosen up, and then he’s shallowly pumping it in and out, eyes flicking up to your face every few seconds to gauge your reaction.

“M-Mack…” you whimper, throwing your head back against the pillows. “Oh f-fuck,”

You feel him smirk against you, finger plunging in and out of you. He’s going slow, but deep, curling his finger when it’s buried to the third knuckle, caressing a spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed, a coil of arousal tightening in your belly with every movement.

But then he does something else.

He pulls his finger out all the way. You start to whine at the loss of touch, but it’s quickly cut off by the feeling of two fingers pushing into you.

Mack’s eyes are glued to your face, noting every little change in your expression as he starts slowly fingering you with his middle and ring fingers, kitten licking your clit to keep you opening up for him. Your thighs are shaking, attempting to close with every push in, but his shoulders are blocking them.

You clench around his fingers, small uh uh uhs leaving your mouth at his actions, and Mack clenches his eyes shut. He drops his forehead to rest on your hipbone, fingers continuing to plunge in and out of you. The wet squelch of your cunt is music to his ears, and the sight of you like this is something that he’s been dreaming about for months. He never wanted to pressure you, and has gone to great lengths to make sure you never felt like you had to do anything with him just to make him happy.

Mack has spent the last six months imagining you every time he wanted to get off. Cock in hand, eyes shut, cheeks pink, he would imagine all the things he wanted to do with you, all the things he wanted to do to you.

Actually seeing you like this? It’s ten million times better than he ever thought it would be.

He doesn’t realize that he’s doing it, not right away at least. But you do.

You glance down at Mack, breathing heavily against your skin, fingers steadily pumping in and out. Through your haze of pleasure, you notice something. Mack’s hips are shifting, up and down. And then it dawns on you: he’s humping the mattress.

Another loud groan leaves your mouth at the realization, your stomach getting hot, and you feel your arousal begin to gush again, coating Mack’s fingers and hand. “Oh my god,” you sob, your own hips bucking up to meet his fingers with every thrust.

All of a sudden, it’s not enough. You need Mack to be getting off too, to have him closer to you than anyone else has been, to have him inside of you.

“Mack,” your voice is wrecked. “Mack please. Need you inside of me.”

His head snaps up, jaw dropped open. He starts nodding, frantically, easing his fingers out of you as gently as possible. He leaves one last loving lick to your clit before sitting up straighter, hands reaching to the back of his shirt to tug it off frantically and throw it over his shoulder.

You do the same with your tank, grunting slightly as it gets caught on your ear. When it clears your head, you open your eyes to see Mack staring directly at your tits, jaw dropped, drool beginning to pool in the corner of his mouth. In the same moment, your eyes dart down to Mack’s lap, which is now exposed. He’s still wearing his jeans, which sport a large, painful-looking bulge. You watch in amazement as Mack’s hand drifts down, and starts palming at the bulge, just at the sight of you.

Butterflies take flight in your stomach as you let out a hot breath.

He just looks at you for a second, eyes drinking in every inch of you. You shift a little bit, which seems to snap him from his stupor. He swallows, thickly, and then starts pulling his pants and boxers down, his blushing, hard cock popping out.

Your eyes widen. “Oh… my god,” you mutter, sitting up straighter to get a better look. Sure, you’ve watched porn before, seen a few dirty pictures in magazines and things like that, but you’ve never seen a penis in real life before.

One of your hands reaches out, curious. Without thinking, you wrap your fingers around his length, feeling the warm, smooth skin throb as soon as you touch it.

“Fuck…” Mack breathes, eyes glued to your hand on his cock. His chest goes bright red, stomach clenching and a helpless little noise leaving his mouth as you squeeze.

Your eyes snap up to the way he reacts, amazed at the sight and feeling of him. You pull your hand back, Mack watching, heart racing, as you reach down to your cunt, gather some of your slick, and then return your hand to his cock. Mack nearly doubles over as you start stroking him up and down, the glide easy now that you have the lubrication, smiling at his reaction.

“Y’gonna kill me,” he gasps out, eyes glued to your hand, at the innocent, curious way you’re touching him. He only lets you go on for about a minute, suddenly grabbing your hand and ripping it away from him. When you look up, curious and worried, he rushes to reassure you. “It feels so, so good baby. I just… I won’t be able to last.”

The admission brings another smile to your face, but worsens the ache in your pussy.

“Are you… are you ready?” Mack asks, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. His thick cock rests heavy on your stomach, precum drippling down from his tip and onto your navel.

You nod, heart thumping against your ribcage, anticipation building in your stomach. “Yeah,” your voice is shaky, but there’s a smile on your face.

Mack is smiling, too.

He pulls away, reaching for his jeans. You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself, and watch as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, reaching inside to reveal a condom. You give him a look at the fact that he had one in his wallet, had one ready, but he ignores you as he rips it open, and slides it on with pink cheeks.

When he returns, he holds himself above you again. One hand holding him up, the other wrapped around his cock. He gives it a few tugs, before lining himself up with your entrance.

The feeling of his head pressed to your hole has you reaching up to grasp his shoulders, eyes locking onto his. Mack gives you the softest, most reassuring smile, one hand moving to caress the soft skin of your thigh next to his hip, before pushing in.

“Oh!” you yelp. Just the head is inside you, and you already feel split in half. You glance down, gasping once again when you realize just how much more has yet to enter you.

“You okay?” Mack asks, nuzzling into your cheek, pressing loving kisses against your skin. “Talk to me baby, tell me how you feel.”

“G-Good,” you stutter out, taking deep breaths, willing yourself to relax. “Y-You’re big….”

Mack groans, hips stuttering, as he drops his head to your shoulder. He pushes in another inch, causing you to hiss, nails digging into his shoulder. “Can’t say things like that, baby,” he says into your shoulder. “Gonna make me cum too soon.”

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him as he eases the rest of the way inside. He goes slow, gentle, thumb finding your clit and pressing into it to make you feel good.

When he’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, he stays like that for a few moments, letting you adjust to the feeling. He holds you, pressing kisses to your face, whispering loving words into your ear. “Doing so good, baby, so pretty. Taking me so perfect. You feel so good.”

You can feel him practically vibrating with need, his stomach clenching, chest heaving against yours. His hips twitch every few seconds, desperate for stimulation, but he holds himself back. Forces himself to stay still for your benefit. It’s sweet, and you’re eternally grateful for him, and how thoughtful he is. That, and you’re also thankful for how pretty he looks like this. Pink cheeks, mouth dropped open in a constant low whine, cock twitching inside of you every time you clench. He grinds into your clit, moving as little as possible while also trying to pleasure you.

You have the most perfect boyfriend in the world.

“Mack,” you say, voice unsteady yet confident. “You can move now. P-Please, move.”

Mack does his best to not look too excited, but fails. He nods, and dutifully raises himself up a bit, leaning in to kiss you as he pulls his hips back, swallowing your moan at the feeling of him sliding out of you. His thumb finds your clit again, pressing on your button as he slides all the way back inside, the dull head of his cock thumping against that spot again. That spot that feels really good.

After that, it’s like Mack can’t hold himself back anymore. He pulls back again, thrusting inside with as much gentleness as he can muster while also trying to sate his need for you. Little noises leave your with every thrust, little moans and whines and whimpers that were music to Mack’s ears.

He moves to your neck, softly sucking marks into the soft skin there. You whine at the feeling, tilting your head to give him better access as he continues to pump himself in and out.

The steady thump of him inside of you, combined with the feeling of him kissing at your pulse point and pressing on your clit, has you teetering on the edge within minutes. You can tell Mack’s there too, based on the way his moans have gotten louder and closer together, directly in your ear, and the way his thrusts are getting sloppier.

Mack takes a deep breath, then starts doubling down. “Cum for me,” he says. “C’mon baby, let me feel it.”

You’re shaking like a leaf, eyes rolling to the back of your head with pleasure. Your nails are digging into Mack’s biceps, he hisses but doesn’t falter.

“S-So tight…” he grunts out as he continues fucking you like his life depends on it, the steady smack of his hips hitting yours sounding throughout he room, mixing with your moans and his. “Feels so good baby. So good….”

You hit your peak not long after that, the coil snapping in your stomach. You cry out, legs wrapping around his middle, holding him to you as you ride it out.

Mack finishes, buried inside you, nose pressed to your cheek while you come down from your orgasm. He lays against your for a few minutes, neither of you saying anything as you catch your breath. You stay pressed together like that, Mack softening inside of you, your fingers tangled in his hair. For everything that you and Mack have done together before this, you’ve never felt closer to him than right now, and you fucking love it.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head, looking at you with such raw concern it makes your heart ache. “Was that okay?” he asks. “Are… are you okay?”

You nod, feeling a blissed out smile come onto your face. “I’m great,” you say breathily, laughing a little bit. “That was… amazing.”

“Really?” Mack sits up straighter, disbelief written across his face.

You nod, pulling him down and into a kiss. “Yeah, Mackie. That was great. I’m so thankful that my first time was with you.” Your smile is wide, pressing your forehead to his.

Mack just kisses you again, smiling into it, holding you tight.

You know that it’s early, that you probably shouldn’t be thinking things like this, but Mack is it for you. You know it. The connection that the two of you have, the way he makes you feel. For most of your life, it’s been just you and your dad, and a part of you thought that it always would be. You really struggled meeting people your age growing up, especially guys. You never thought that you would experience love like this, and feeling like this with Mack? You’re so unbelievably grateful for him, and count your lucky stars for him every day.

The two of you lay together like that for a few minutes, basking in each other’s presence, holding each other. After such an intimate moment, combined with the fact that this is the first night you’re going to spend in each other’s arms after being apart for so long.

“I love you so much,” Mack whispers into your ear, pressing loving kisses to your cheek. “I can’t believe how lucky I am, that I get to be with you.”

You smile, feeling your entire being swell with love and happiness. You open your mouth, about to say something, when your phone buzzes on the other side of the bed.

Groaning, you reach over, pulling it closer to you before picking it up.

“Oh fuck,” you say, laughing. “It’s a text from my dad.”

“What?” Mack sits up, panicked.

You giggle at his reaction, as if your dad were to walk through the door at this very moment and catch the two of you… like this. “He’s just asking if I got here safe,” you smile, typing out a quick response. “You’re fine, babe.”

Mack lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

He lays back down, nuzzling into your neck, letting out a sigh of relief. In a few minutes, you’re going to tell him to get up and clean you off. Maybe take a shower, but you’re concerned about how well you’ll be able to stand, considering your legs feel like jelly right now. Then you’re going to fall asleep in your boyfriend’s arms, and you’re going to sleep in tomorrow morning.

Nothing has ever felt more natural than this.

This feels like the start of forever, the beginning of the rest of your life with Mack, and you can’t wait to see how your life intertwines with his.

Rebecca shifts Yn higher on her hip, pressing a kiss into her daughter’s curls. Yn doesn’t respond.

Normally, this would be her favorite part of the day.

“Mi amor,” Rebecca murmurs softly, brushing her thumb along Yn’s chubby cheek. “Look, Carmen’s here.”

Carmen looks up from her coffee immediately, eyes lighting up. “Hola, princesa,” she says warmly, switching to Spanish without thinking. “¿Quieres venir con tía Carmen?”

Yn usually would. Usually, she’d wriggle free, toddle over, climb straight into Carmen’s lap and chatter away in her mix of toddler Spanish and nonsense sounds. But today, Yn only tightens her grip on Rebecca’s shirt, her little face scrunched into a pout so deep it looks practiced.

Her bottom lip trembles.

Rebecca sighs quietly.

“She’s still upset,” she says apologetically.

Carmen reaches out anyway, gently tickling Yn’s foot. “Ay, pobrecita. Still missing Papá?”

Yn sniffles and buries her face into her mother’s shoulder.

Across the table, Lily leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. “That bad, huh?”

Rebecca lets out a small, helpless laugh. “Carlos went to press half an hour ago. You’d think I dropped her off at boarding school.”

“It’s because she’s literally his shadow,” Kika says fondly, sipping her drink. “I swear, I’ve never seen a child more attached.”

“That’s an understatement,” Rebecca replies.

Yn Sainz, three years old, curly-haired, brown-eyed, stubborn in the exact same way her father is, is not just attached to Carlos. She is glued to him. If Carlos stands, she stands. If he walks, she waddles behind him as fast as her short legs allow. If he sits, she climbs. If he disappears, even for a moment, the world might as well be ending.

Carlos encourages it too much.

He carries her everywhere. On his shoulders through the paddock, balanced on one arm while talking to engineers, perched on his lap during meetings when no one dares to say a word. Yn loves it. Loves being close, loves tangling her fingers in his hair, loves pressing her cheek to his neck and whispering secrets only he is allowed to hear.

Rebecca has learned, over time, that separating them is an emotional operation requiring planning, patience, and usually tissues.

Today was no different.

Carlos had crouched in front of Yn before leaving, holding her tiny hands in his big ones.

“Papá has to go talk for a little bit,” he’d said gently. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Yn’s eyes had immediately filled with tears.

“No,” she’d said firmly, shaking her head. “Papá come.”

“I know, cariño,” Carlos had whispered, pulling her into his chest. “I know.”

Rebecca remembers the way his jaw tightened, the way he’d closed his eyes for a second like physically walking away hurt him. It always does.

Now, sitting at the café, Rebecca feels like she’s carrying half a heartbreak in her arms.

Lily tries next. She slides her chair closer and opens her arms. “Do you want a cuddle with Lily?”

Yn peeks up briefly, eyes red and glassy, considers it, then shakes her head and hides again.

Kika pulls a silly face. Nothing.

Carmen hums a soft Spanish lullaby. Yn sniffles harder.

Rebecca rubs slow circles on her daughter’s back. “She’ll calm down,” she says, though she doesn’t fully believe it. “She just needs time.”

“She’s like a little duckling,” Lily says softly. “Imprinted and everything.”

Rebecca smiles sadly. “Tell me about it.”

Minutes pass. Coffee cools. Conversation continues around them, but Rebecca barely hears it. Yn stays quiet now, not crying, just sulking. The worst kind of sadness. Her arms are locked around her mother’s neck, her head resting heavily against Rebecca’s shoulder like the weight of missing someone is too much for her small body.

Then, suddenly, Yn stiffens.

Rebecca feels it before she sees it.

Yn lifts her head. Her eyes dart past the table, past Carmen, past the street.

“Papá,” Yn breathes.

Rebecca turns.

Carlos is walking toward them.

He’s still in his team polo, sunglasses perched on his head, phone in one hand. He looks tired in that post-press way, shoulders slightly tense, jaw tight, until his eyes land on Yn.

Everything softens instantly.

There is nothing subtle about the way his face changes.

“Hey,” he says, stopping mid-step.

Yn lets out a small gasp, like she’s been holding her breath the entire time.

“Papá!” she squeaks.

Before Rebecca can even react, Yn is wiggling free, practically launching herself out of her arms. She stumbles for half a second, tiny legs moving too fast, and then she’s running.

Carlos drops his phone without caring.

He crouches just in time.

Yn crashes into him, arms flinging around his neck, face burying into his shoulder with a sobby sound that breaks something deep in his chest.

“Hey, hey,” Carlos murmurs instantly, wrapping her up tight. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Yn clings to him like he might disappear again if she loosens her grip.

“Papá go,” she says shakily.

“I know,” he whispers, pressing his cheek to her hair. “I’m sorry, cariño. Papá’s back now.”

Rebecca watches from her chair, heart aching and melting all at once.

Carlos lifts Yn easily, settling her on his hip. She immediately tucks herself closer, one arm around his neck, the other gripping his shirt like an anchor. Her tears slow, then stop completely, replaced by quiet sniffles and deep, calming breaths.

“Better now,” Carmen says softly, smiling.

Carlos glances up, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” Rebecca replies gently. “She’s been like this the whole time.”

Carlos looks down at Yn, thumb brushing under her eye. “That bad, hm?”

Yn nods seriously, her face still pressed into his shoulder.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs.

Rebecca stands and steps closer. “Press went okay?”

He exhales. “Yeah. Same questions, same answers.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “I hated leaving her.”

Rebecca reaches out, resting her hand on Yn’s back. “We know.”

Carlos adjusts his grip, lifting Yn a little higher. She sighs contentedly, like everything is finally back where it belongs.

“I’ll just—” Carlos starts, gesturing vaguely. “I’ll stand here for a bit.”

“No rush,” Lily says with a grin. “Clearly you’re occupied.”

Carlos chuckles softly. “Always.”

Yn peeks up then, eyes still a little puffy, but calmer. She reaches up and gently pulls Carlos’s sunglasses down onto his nose.

“There,” she says, very pleased with herself.

Carlos laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Gracias, mi estilista.”

Rebecca watches them, the way Yn mirrors him even in stillness, how her hand rests on his chest exactly where his would if he were holding someone else, how her legs hook around his waist like muscle memory.

She knows there will be many more moments like this. Many more separations, many more reunions that feel just as intense. It’s hard. Sometimes exhausting.

But standing there, watching her husband sway gently with their daughter in his arms, whispering to her in soft Spanish, Rebecca knows one thing for certain.

Yn has never, ever doubted where she belongs.

Sometimes through silence that lasts just a little too long to ignore.

Sometimes through words that stop halfway and are never picked back up.

Sometimes through doors that close so softly you almost convince yourself they were never open at all.

And eventually, you stop noticing it happening.

That's how it gets you.

Not in the breaking.

In the getting used to it.

Because once you start adjusting, you stop questioning what's missing.

Or you pretend you don't.

It's easier that way.

To name it something harmless.

Distance.

Busyness.

Timing.

Anything but absence.

Oh, how naive you had been.

Because time doesn't fix things like that.

It reveals them.

And sometimes...

it chooses the worst possible moment to do it.

Your steps don't slow as Gotham moves around you.

The city is still alive in the way it always is, loud and indifferent, like it has no intention of ever looking up at itself. Light spills across wet asphalt. People pass without really seeing each other. Somewhere far off, a siren cuts through the air and fades just as quickly.

You've learned how to exist inside it without really being part of it.

Most days, that's fine.

Today, it isn't.

There's something sitting under your ribs again. Quiet. Familiar. Wrong in a way you can't explain without sounding dramatic, so you don't try.

You've done that before.

So you keep walking.

The manor comes into view.

Same silhouette. Same weight. Same silence it always carries like it belongs there.

Home.

The word doesn't quite land the way it should.

So you let it go.

Something is off.

Not in the way storms announce themselves, or in the way danger sharpens the air until it hurts to breathe.

This is quieter.

Wrong quieter.

The manor is never loud, not truly. But it is also never empty.

There is always movement somewhere.

Cass passing through without a sound but never without presence.

Steph talking too much in one room and laughing too loudly in another like she refuses to let the house stay serious.

Duke drifting between daytime and nighttime like the manor never quite decides which version of him it prefers.

Tim's focused chaos. Damian's controlled sharpness. Dick's attempts at filling silence with noise that almost works.

Even Bruce, when he is present, makes the space feel occupied in a way no one else manages.

Even when people leave, someone remains.

That is how the manor survives itself.

But today.

None of that exists.

You notice it in layers, not all at once.

First, the lack of movement in the air.

Then the absence of overlapping footsteps in different parts of the house.

Then the realization that you cannot pinpoint a single room that feels "in use."

The manor is not just quiet.

It is unused.

Your steps slow in the hallway.

You listen harder, like effort could force something familiar to appear.

Nothing answers.

No Jason, or Dick.

No Tim, or Damian.

No Cassandra, or Stephanie.

No Duke, or the expected noise of Alfred.

And definitely no Bruce.

But that's expected.

Your phone is already in your hand before you fully decide to use it. Nothing about it feels intentional, as if your body moved ahead of your thoughts and your mind is only catching up in fragments.

You don't call anyone. You don't even unlock it at first. It just sits there in your grip for a moment too long before you let it fall back into your pocket, like it was never meant to be part of anything important.

The house should correct that feeling immediately. It usually does. There is always something to interrupt silence here, always something to pull your attention sideways before it settles too deeply into itself.

But nothing does.

You pass through rooms without meaning to linger in any of them. Spaces that should carry traces of presence instead feel reset, as if time itself skipped over them and forgot to leave anything behind. Even your own footsteps sound slightly misplaced, like they belong to someone who isn't supposed to be here alone.

It should register as strange. It does register, but not loudly enough to become panic, only enough to sharpen the edges of your attention as you move.

By the time you reach the lower corridor, you're no longer checking rooms so much as confirming a pattern you don't want to name. The absence is consistent in a way it shouldn't be, repeating itself through every space you pass like the house has been quietly emptied without explanation.

You turn the corner and the grandfather clock is there, waiting at the end of the hall like it always has been. Ancient wood. Brass pendulum frozen mid-swing. You have watched your family disappear behind it more times than you can count. They never told you the combination. You figured it out anyway, years ago, by sitting in the dark and listening to the sequence of clicks.

Your hand finds the mechanism. You press.

The clock swings open.

The stairs go down. Cold air rises up. The lights flicker once, then hold steady, and you take the steps two at a time because something in your chest is telling you to hurry.

The cave opens around you. Platforms and screens and the row of suits standing empty. The main computer is alive, screens lit up across the entire wall, data streaming.

Windows are open everywhere. Tracker maps. Communication logs. News feeds. Security camera footage from half the city.

Alfred is at the keyboard.

He is not sitting. He is standing, hunched forward, his fingers moving across the keys in a way you have never seen before. Alfred does not type frantically. Alfred does not do anything frantically. He moves through the world with the kind of calm that comes from decades of managing chaos. You have watched him clean blood off the cave floor without his hands shaking. You have watched him serve tea during a crisis like it was any other afternoon.

Right now, his hands are shaking.

He pulls up another window and types something and the window closes and he pulls it up again. He is muttering under his breath, words you cannot catch, his voice rough and low. His jacket is unbuttoned. His hair is slightly disheveled. You have never seen Alfred with his hair out of place before.

You stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"Alfred?"

He does not hear you. He is cycling through camera feeds, each one showing a different part of Gotham, each one showing nothing out of the ordinary. Streets. Intersections. Alleyways. People walking. Cars driving. The city moving like nothing has happened.

He pulls up a map. Dots appear. Red dots, each one labeled with a name. Bruce. Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Cassandra. Stephanie. Duke.

None of the dots are moving.

"Alfred," you say again, louder.

He flinches. His shoulders jerk. He turns his head, and his eyes are red. Not just tired. Red in the way that comes from not sleeping, from staring at a screen for hours while the world refused to give him answers.

"You are here," he says. His voice cracks. "Good. I need you to look at something."

He turns back to the computer. His fingers start moving again.

"I have gone over this data seven times," he says. "Seven times. Their last known positions are all marked. They were fine. They checked in. They responded to each other. And then at 1:47 AM, every single signal went dark."

He pulls up a timeline. The lines are perfect, consistent, then they stop. All at once. The same millisecond.

"That is not possible," he says. "Technology does not work that way. People do not work that way. I have called everyone. Every contact. Every ally. No one has seen them. No one has heard from them."

His fingers hover over the keyboard. Then he pulls up another window. A communication log. You see the names scrolling by. Timestamps. Messages. Voice calls.

"Last night, at 1:35 AM, they all checked in with Barbara," Alfred says. "Separately. Each one confirming their position, their status, their route home. Barbara logged each check-in. She told them to stay safe. Standard procedure."

He scrolls down.

"At 1:46 AM, Barbara sent one final message. A group message. Just a reminder about a morning meeting."

He points to the screen. You see it. A single line of text from Barbara to the entire family. Tomorrow 8 AM. Don't be late.

No responses.

Alfred scrolls further. The log continues. New entries appear every few seconds, timestamped with the current time. 4:31 PM. 4:32 PM. Each new entry shows the same thing. Same locations. Same vitals. Same status updates. As if every few seconds, the system is recording the exact same information again.

"The logs are still active," Alfred says. "They are still transmitting. But nothing is changing."

He refreshes. A new entry appears. 4:33 PM. Location: Batman, last known coordinates unchanged. Heart rate: same as 1:47 AM. Suit status: same as 1:47 AM.

The data is identical to every entry that appears.

He pulls up the tracker map. The red dots are there. Bruce. Dick. Jason. Tim. Damian. Cassandra. Stephanie. Duke. Their positions are frozen. But beside each dot, the system shows a green checkmark. Signal active. Connection live. Receiving data.

The data just never changes.

"And Barbara?" you ask.

Alfred opens another window. Barbara's tracker. The clock tower. Her dot is there. The log shows entries every few seconds. Same location. Same status. Same everything. The timestamps keep moving forward. The data stays frozen at 1:47 AM.

He turns to look at you. His face is pale.

"I do not understand what I am looking at," he says.

Taglist

@kohaiyuki @wisefuncherryblossom @suvivve @eas-8 @diamondnightsky23 @marcspectorondeeznuts

Jack Abbot was a man of routine, calm precision and sharp witt — That's why he liked the night shift (yes, his therapist said it was because he liked the dark but he liked to argue). He would arrive a little early, parking his truck in the spot that everyone knew to be his, go to the locker room to drop off his bag and then get a cup of coffee before finding Robby for shift change and debrief.

Today is different however — Today, Robby seeks him out before he can even get into the locker room. There is blood on his gloves and arms and while he wears the calm expression only years and years as a doctor can teach you, Jack can still see the lines of panic and despair cracking through the carefully put-up wall. "Robby?" Jack frowns.

"Hey, man, you, uh—" Robby stammers, rocking back and forth on his heels. He cut himself off with an akward clear of his throat, pushing his glasses back on his nose with one finger "Have you checked your phone today?" he settles on after a brief moment of silence, eyes cast down to bloodied ends of his shoes.

Jack wordlessly shakes his head, lips formed into a tight line, eyebrows furrowed in worry. "Not really. Kiddo went straight to a friend's house after school and so I took the time to finally build that make up desk I'm gonna surprise her with." he explains, cocking his head to the side with a smile so font that it was solely reserved for his daughter. Normally, Jack kept his personal life as far away from the hospital as possible — especially his pride and joy, his daughter, that he vowed to protect and love with his entire being when she was still so tiny, she fit perfectly in the palms of his hands — but Robby was as much family as the cat, his daughter had once found wandering their street and took in without a second thought.

Robby humms, swallowing against the thick lump forming in his throat — He knew what desk Jack was talking about; had spend an hour and two panicked calls to Dana at a furniture store with Jack picking it out after Tiny Abbot had briefly mentioned that she was saving up for a new table.

Jack always prided himself with the fact that he'd raised his daughter to be independent — She rarely asked for anything. If she did it was mostly for school and even then he had to remind her time and time again that he was her dad and it was his job to provide for her. She worked three shifts a week at a cafe just down the street from where they lived, had gotten her lisence as soon as possible and had even bought her car on her own (although Jack had put double the amount in her bank account as soon as he'd found out and refused to take it back.)

Still, Jack was a doctor. He fixed peole, he took care of people and his daughter was no exception to that. So when she ran out of her (ridiculously expensive) skin-care, there was a new bottle sitting on the vanity the next day and when she got her period (especially during an endometriosis flare-up) she would find a hot water bottle, her favorite chocolate and pain medication waiting for her on her bedside within minutes and when she wanted a new table to get ready at he would buy the best one and set it up for her without losing a word over it.

"Jack, before I say anything else, I promise she is okay." Robby says calmly, his eyes wide with thinly veiled worry. Jack's jaw tenses in a split second, body rigid with a sudden paralysing fear "There was a crash—"

It's at that moment that Jack's world comes to a screeching halt before tilting on its' axis "Robby, she's all I have left." he says unnecessarily like if he could will her to be okay with the sheer force of his hope.

"I know." Robby nods — and he does. He knows, because everyone knows that after the death of his wife all Jack breathed and live for was his daughter. "She's okay. I swear. I took over her entire care. She has a broken leg, a minor concussion and lots of cuts and bruises but with lots of rest and care, she'll make a quick recovery." he explains. Jack is a doctor, but right now he is a dad first and so Robby explains it to him like he was just the parent of another patient.

Jack's jaw ticks and there is a faint tremor in his hand but Robby doesn't comment on it — He knows that after losing his wife, Jack was panicked if she as much as breathed wrong "She is awake." Robby continues "Dana's got her bundled up in the blanket you keep here for your naps and Langdon gave her his phone to rewatch New Girl. She is okay. We just couldn't reach you and I didn't want you to freak out when you see her name on the board."

Jack nods; an ever-growing motion "Okay, okay, okay... The leg. Is it a clean break? Did you do a head CT? Did any of her cuts get stitches?" he rambled, eyes narrowed and hands clasped together — the face of a doctor.

Robby shook his head, putting a firm hand on Jack's shoulder "Be her dad. Not her doctor."

Jack nodded wordlessly; the lines of being a dad and being a doctor blurred in front of his eyes — He treated car crash victims every single day. A broken leg and a concussion were trivial in comparison to the injuries he was used to treating but this was his daughter. His lifeline, his achilles' heel, his heart and soul and the idea of seeing her in a hospital bed had bile rising in his throat "Where is she?"

"Still in South 6, but Dana is trying to pull some strings to get in a room upstairs. You know how she got that woman wrapped around her finger." he explained, eyes crinkling at the corners as he gave Jack a tentative chuckle.

Jack huffed out a breathy laugh at that. Of course he knew — He knew because every morning when he came back from work he saw the growing stack of tupperware that he just kept adding onto everytime Dana held out a box with baked goods or a homecooked meal so the kiddo doesn't starve when he showed up for his shift. He knew because that one time she had a dance at school and he had tried (and miserably failed) to curl her hair, it had only taken a three-words message — Need help ASAP — for Dana to show up at their house with a bag of beauty products, some jewellery and a bottle of wine for which Jack had tried to tell her off but Dana had merely told him to pull the stick out of his ass. He knew because that one time he had a single mother come into the ER about to give birth, he had told her it takes a village and he had thought of Dana and Robby.

"She bled a lot." Robby continued "There was a gash on her face and you know how it is with head injuries... they just bleed an unnecessary amount." he huffed, starring down at his bloody gloves before pulling them off with a shake of his head. "She got all stitched up and Dana helped her get cleaned up."

Jack hummed, muscular arms crossed in front of a broad chest and head tilted upwards by an inch — He looked stern, disciplined and all like the doctor he was but Robby could see the way his eyes blinked furiously against the tears now brimming just beneath his waterline and the way his hand gripped his own bicep with a little too much force "Gonna put my bag away and then check up on her."

Robby nodded, putting one hand on Jack's shoulder, feeling the tense knots under his fingers "I'm taking over your shift tonight." he says simply. Jack openes his mouth to protest but Robby just shakes his head "This as much for you as it is for her. She still needs her dad every now and then, no matter how big and independent she gets."

Jack nodded jerkily — He rolled his shoulders one last time and then he was off; long, purposeful strides towards South 6, barely aware of the throbbing of his prosthesis or Robby following him a step behind. The curtains were pulled shut and for a moment Jack wondered if he hated or loved that he got a moment longer to collect himself; a moment longer to take a deep breath in and calm the trembling in his fingers.

She was propped up in the bed when he finally found the courage to step in — buried under the unfamiliar terror that had taken over all of his senses. Her left leg was in a cast and elevated, the army blanket he kept in his locker for the times he once again spend too much time at the hospital wrapped around her and the sweat jacket Robby always wore loosely hanging from her thin shoulders. Jack's entire body sagged at the sight of her.

Her eyes were half-lidded, focused on the phone in her hand but she looked up when he entered, "Dad..." she breathed shakily and for a moment she wasn't the sixteen years old that prepared breakfast for him after every shift and ducked away from even a pat on the back, but the tiny six years old that crawled into his bed every night, curling up on his chest because that was the place where she felt safest. There was a moment where just blinked at him blearily before a sudden wave of terror washed over her face, sitting up so fast Jack could only hope she didn't tear any of her stitches "Oh my god— dad! I'm so sorry! I was driving carefully and all, the man just ran the red light, the car is fucked but I'll pay for it, I swe—"

Jack didn't know if he wanted to laugh or sob. His daughter — his baby; the light of his life — could have gotten killed today; taken away from his side just like wife had been taken away from him and all she cared about was the car "Kiddo." he breathed "I couldn't give less of a fuck about the car right now. Are you okay?" he stressed, stumbling forward to cradle her thin face in between calloused hands.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. she nodded immediately "Robby took care of me, you don't need to worry."

Jack did laugh at that — a broken, wet chuckle "I always worry. I'm your dad, that's my job. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job and if I made you feel as though you had to be independent because if there is one thing that will always be true it's that I will always be here to take care of you."

Don't worry my ass, he grumbled under his breath as he pulled up a chair with one hand while the other one fussed with the blanket wrapped around her "Are you warm enough? I can get you another blanket or I'll ask Dana to make you a hot water bottle, I'm sure we have one lying around. I can also get you more painkillers if it get's too bad, just tell me—"

"Dad." her voice cut through his rambling. His fingers stilled where they were uselessly pulling up the blanket again. "I'm okay." she smiled softly, one trembling hand lifting before she closed it into a fist, kissing the fist tenderly and then rubbing it against her sternum — Something her mom used to do when she was too sick to be visited and the only time they could see her was through a visiting window looking into her hospital room.

That means she loves you, Jack had explained to an actually tiny Tiny Abbot back then and three year old Tiny — bless her heart! — had mimicked her mommy's actions.

Jack swallowed harshly around the stubborn knot that had formed in his throat. He wanted to say so much; wanted to tell her how if she died he would go to the next bridge and jump, how he loved her so greatly and so fiercely he would've pried her out of her car with his bare hands and given her every organ she needed if that meant she was safe.

"I love you." he settled on instead, but Tiny smiled and Jack just knew she knew.

Jack's relationship with your mother was unconventional. Still mourning the loss of his wife, Jack had bumped into your mother at a bar after trying to smother his feelings with alcohol and ending going home with her. They had formed a with-benefits pact afterwards, neither wanting a relation but rather a way to blow off steam. Your conception followed a few months later and Jack kept his opinion to himself; he didn't want a child, not while he was still knee deep in grief but he would never ask or tell your mother to get an abortion so he left the decision in her hands, stepping up when she decided to keep the baby.

Their co-parent dynamic didn't last long, your mother left when you were only four weeks old, still in NICU. Traumatised by the c-section and your subsequent stay in the NICU, she bowed out, unable to deal, leaving you with just your dad.

You had your first surgery before you had even hit two weeks, an open heart surgery that Jack spent the duration of stalking the halls of the hospital, unable to physically sit still. When he returns to ward, he finds you in the observation room, hooked up to a ventilator, chest tubes protruding from your tiny little body, machines tracking vitals, ready to blare in alarm when something strays from the perfectly calculated numbers it desired. 

He wasn't allowed into the room, forced to look at you from the other side of the large window, watching as your chest moved with every breath you took. The nurses had assured him that you'd only be in there for a few days, under constant observation to make sure that everything went well post-surgery and then you would be back to your regular room.

Your surgeon, the best in the city–is beside him, telling him that everything went to plan, there were no complications and it was the best outcome they could ever hope for. You weren't totally out of the woods yet, your life would be filled with complex medical issues, but this was the first step of many. 

When you were three years old, you moved to Pittsburgh, your father got a job offer there and that's where you have ever since. 

You were kept firmly away from the hospital, more specifically the ED unless you had a medical emergency. Your weakened immune system paired with the ED waiting room was Jack's worst nightmare, so you were strictly ordered to stay well away. 

Your surgeries and hospital visits hadn't stopped since you were a baby but instead of having you go to PTMC, you go to the closeby children's hospital. It's not that he didn't trust the doctors who worked in PTMC, but he preferred having you in the children's hospital.

Your father loved what he did, he loved the buzz it gave him, the high stress, busy environment is what he excelled in. Despite it being a second home; a place that he secretly loves a lot, it was also a place of too much death and despair and sometimes miracles but it was enough to keep you away.

The people he worked with knew he had a daughter, he was always happy to talk about you, updating Lena and Dana with whatever milestone and accomplishment you had achieved over the years, happily flaunting the homemade keychain you made him; multiple hanging from his backpack in a multitude of colours and his phone wallpaper was one of the first times he got to hold you, when you were still so tiny and fragile, curled up his chest, soaking up his body heat.

Despite your existence being known, only one of his colleagues had ever met you and that was Robby when you were seven. After an extremely rough shift, Robby didn't want to go home to his empty apartment so he reached out to Jack whose day off it was and Jack invited him around for beers, take out and whatever sports game that was on that night. You were meant to be at a friend's house for a sleepover, a rare occasion that Jack only allowed with the few parents he approved but your friend had fallen sick, the first signs appearing after a few hours. Your friend's parents knew of your medical issues and how strict your father is concerning your health so your friend's parents quickly bundled you up and drove you home.

Your dad hadn't answered his phone but you had assured Mrs Myers, your friend's mom, that he would be home. Your dad tended to be more of a homebody, preferring to stay at home on his days off so you knew he would be at home.

You release a sigh as you dump your backpack on the front porch before you incessantly ring the doorbell, knowing that it would irritate your dad. You peer over your shoulder, looking at where Mrs Myers idles in her car parked in front of the car, waiting until she sees your dad open the door before she pulls away.

It's not long before you see the entrance lights flicked on through the window panels of the door before the familiar silhouette of your father appears, beelining towards the door. 

Your dad blinks down at you in surprise before they land on the car idling at the curb. Mrs Myers gives him a one handed wave before she peels off down the street and your father is looking back down at you in confusion. He's quick to crouch down, hands simultaneously checking your body for any scrapes of bruises and checking to see if you had a fever. 

"What's wrong? Why are you here? Are you sick?" The questions spill from your dad in quick succession.

"Anna started to get sick so Mrs Myers took me home," You tell him, letting him fret over you, completely used to it now, "She called and texted you but you didn't answer."

Your dad pats his pockets, searching for his phone before he sighs, remembering where he left it, "Sorry buggie, I left it in the kitchen. I have a friend over, I got distracted."

You raise your arms up at him, wanting to be lifted and though you were too old for it, Jack always indulged you, telling himself that it was because you were still small for your age.

"A friend?" You may be young but you knew your dad didn't hang out with friends that much, "A girl- friend?"

Your dad rolls his eyes at you but a smile tugs on his lips as he lifts you, settling you on his hip before he swings your bag onto his free shoulder and re-enters the house. He pulls your shoes off, throwing them down to the heap of shoes near the door and dumps your bag on the staircase to remind him to bring it upstairs later on. He swings through the kitchen to collect his forgotten phone and a pizza flyer before he enters the living room where you're greeted with a stranger. 

Your hands tighten in your dad's t-shirt, gripping harder when he tries to set you down on the ground, apprehensive of the stranger.

"Lovebug, this Robby. I work with him at the hospital." Jack tells you, "He had a bad day at work so I'm trying to cheer him up."

Robby stands, staying far enough away to give you space and extends his hand out, greeting you, "Hello, I'm Michael. It's nice to meet you."

You giggle at his seriousness, as if he was introducing himself to an adult and not little you. You reach forward, one hand still gripping your dads t-shirt as you shake the extended hand, "I thought your name is Robby?"

"It is, it's my nickname. My last name is Robinavitch, so people call me Robby." Robby explains as he settles back onto the couch. Your dad once again tries to place you down but you protest, looking up at him in confusion.

"I'm just gonna get us some drinks," Your dad tells you, nudging you so that you sit down properly before handing you the pizza flyer, "Here, look at this and choose what pizza you want."

Happily distracted, you hum as you read the options as your dad dips out of the room, returning only moments later with two beer bottles and your water bottle, setting them down on the coffee table before he falls back onto the couch with a sigh, sitting in the middle of the couch.

Your hand automatically rests on his arm, as if to remind yourself that he's right next to you and hasn't disappeared. Robby spies it and flicks his inquisitive gaze over to Jack, "Clingy?"

"Stage four clinger," The huff that comes out of Jack is fond, "It's my fault though, I'm a bit of an enabler."

"She's your kid, it's understandable," Robby rationalises. 

"Whenever I look at her all I see is that tiny baby who had to fight through every odd to get here today. She's already had three surgeries and she's only seven, she's got a lifetime of surgeries ahead of her plus she gets sick so easily, a simple cold will wipe her out for a week and it'll take another week to get her back to full health." Jack glances down at you, making sure you were properly distracted before he turns back to Robby, "I feel like I'm failing her sometimes, always keeping her by my side, wrapping her up in so much bubblewrap but I'm scared that if I don't then something will happen to her."

Robby watches you for a moment, noting how comfortable you were curled up into your fathers side, still looking over the flyer not bothered by the conversation happening beside you.

"I think you're doing a great job."

Jack looks at Robby in shock, not expecting him to say that.

"Look at her, sure she's a bit clingy but she's seven and you're her whole world. She's in and out of hospitals but she has you and you're always there when she wakes up after a surgery, you're there when she's sick and you help her recover and she knows, more than anything else in the world, that you're there for her." Robby continues, " She has friends and sleepovers and even when they're cancelled she gets to chill at home with you and order pizza."

Jack doesn't respond at first, absorbing Robby's words. He had always doubted his fathering abilities, solo parenting along with working long hours had him harbouring a lot of guilt but Robby's words settled something within him.

"Daddy!" Your chirp, waving the flyer in front of him to grab his attention, "I'm ready. I know what I want!"

"You're ready? Okay, how about we give the flyer to Robby so he can choose his while you tell me what you want." Jack says as he passes the flyer over to Robby.

"I want a cheese pizza."

Robby snorts into the glossy pizza menu. Ten minutes of deliberating only to decide on cheese pizza is something only a seven year old could do.

"Just cheese?" Jack asks, "Are you sure?"

"...And sweetcorn!"

"Okay, okay," Jack laughs as he reaches for his phone, dialling the familiar number that he called at least once a week as he turns to Robby, "You ready?"

Now almost ten years later, you have transformed into a little independent butterfly, often hanging out with friends or at the part-time job you convinced your dad to allow you to get. Your dad still fretted over you; quarantining you whenever you or your friends got sick, not wanting to take the risk and he always checked up throughout the day, especially ever since he moved to the night shift.

Jack still carried the keychains you made when you were younger on his backpack and the background on his phone was still of you but it was no longer the one of you as a baby as Jack had frequently changed it over the years as you grew.

It was the fourth of July, you were hanging with your friends all day while your dad pulled a daytime SWAT shift before working his regular nightshift. You had raised your concerns with him, criticising him for working the whole day with minimal rest in between but he brushed off your concerns and even though you didn't like it, you trusted him to know his limits. 

Your dad had been going along like normal, you woke up feeling fine, you ate breakfast with your dad and the early afternoon you had spent with friends was fun, doing last minute grocery store runs for the barbeque, fighting against everyone else as they did the same thing.

It wasn't until the sun began to set; the sky darkening into a deep orange, the bonfire was burning steadily and the stronger drinks that you were technically too young to drink were getting passed around, did you get hit with a sudden shortness of breath. At first you thought it was your asthma playing because of the fumes and smoke coming from the bonfire so you dug through your bag for the inhaler you always carried with you and took a couple of puffs in hopes it would settle your lungs but to no avail, the heaviness remained.

Then comes the wave of fatigue and you stumble over your feet as your chest begins to feel heavy, like someone was crushing it, putting on so much pressure it felt like you couldn't breath.

Your breath was coming out in panicked pants as one of your friends caught on to what was happening, rushing over to your side as they helped you lay down flat, crying out over her shoulder for someone to call 911. 

You faintly hear someone call out 'Call Mr. Abbot too!', before you pass out completely.

"Ah fuck…"

Robby curses as your unconscious body is wheeled past him by the emt's, straight into Trauma One with Al-Hashimi, Langdon and Javadi quickly following behind.

"Dana?" 

The charge nurse hums in acknowledgement.

"Page Abbot. Tell him it's urgent. Top priority. ASAP."

Dana looks up at him, confused, painting her features as her eyes briefly flutter to the busy trauma room before they return to Robby, "For this patient? How do you know that you will need him?"

"For an emergency contact. That's his daughter." With that, Robby pulls off his hoodie and disappears into trauma one.

Dana stares in shock as Robby disappears into the room before reality slams into her and she's reaching for the phone and dialling Abbot's number. She knew Jack had a daughter, she had even seen photos but Robby's reaction was more than just as simple as his friend's kid coming through, he knew something was seriously wrong before the rest of them did.

Trauma One was heaving with a mess of bodies and energy, Al-Hashimi and Langdon were trying to stabilise your vitals, calling at each other over your body, guessing what could have caused your condition. Javadi was at the computer, eyes wide as she read through your medical history, telling the doctors your chronic conditions, everything that could possibly be contributing towards your current condition.

They had only just managed to stabilise you, with the cardiology consult with them. Your vitals just pushing at the boundaries, ready to dip again at any moment when your father finally storms in, still disheveled as he only had woken up moments ago, the incessant buzzing of his phone waking him from his brief nap, his heart dropping at the notifications from your friends and Dana.

Jack ignores everyone in the room, he heads straight to your side and takes you in, trying to figure out what happened to you. He's quiet as he rubs his thumb across your cheek and only takes his eyes off you to take note of what your monitor displays.

"What happened?" Jack's voice is low and full of emotion.

"She collapsed at a bonfire with her friends," Robby tells him, "Her friends told the EMTs that at first she was struggling to breath and she tried her inhaler but shortly after that she collapsed."

There's a pause before Jack speaks again, "...Is it her heart?"

This time the cardiology consultant speaks up, "Yes. She needs emergency surgery, as soon as possible."

"Here?" Jack looks up at them, panic swimming in his eyes, "It can't be here. She goes to the children's hospital for everything, her doctor is there and every surgery she's ever had since she was three has been there. She has to go there."

The cardiologist exchanges a look with Robby before they speak again, "I understand this is difficult Dr Abbot but we're running out of time here. We don't know if they're affected by hacking either and even if they're not, requesting a transfer and getting transport over there will take time we don't have."

Robby steps forward, clasping Jack on the shoulder as he bends down to whisper to him, giving them a little bit of privacy from everyone else in the room. "I know you trust the team over there more than anyone else but you have to trust the one we have here right now. She needs surgery, Jack."

Jack gazes down at you again, seeing your eyelids flutter as you slowly gain consciousness before he looks back up at Robby and nods, "...She needs the surgery. What do I need to sign?"

The consent form is pushed in front of him and Jack immediately signs it, prompting the room back into motion again. Instructions are being called as they begin to take you upstairs to surgery.

You're half conscious as they move you into the elevator but your eyes remain on your dad. He had taken a hold of your hand at some point but you were gripping as hard as you could.

He tries to pull away once you reach the surgical floor but you cling to him, your eyes watering with tears, "Please stay…"

Jack turns to the cardiologist, ready to beg to stay in some capacity when the surgeon nods before he could even open his mouth, "Sterile scrub and gown up and you can stay during anaesthesia."

Being an attending physician at the hospital had its perks it seemed.

Jack squeezes your hand and presses a kiss to your forehead, "I'll be back soon buggie. I'll be there until you go to sleep, I promise."

Jack, scrubbed up, is by your side as anaesthetic does its job. 

"I love you so much buggie, you're my world." Jack whispers to you, eyes watering as he watches you eyelids slowly flutter closed, "My whole world and I'll do anything for you. I'll be right by your side when you wake up as well, I promise."

Jack continues to whisper to you until he has to leave, reminding you that you were strong and you would get through this unexpected surgery and you would continue to get stronger and stronger.

Your drift in and out of consciousness at first, not having a grasp on where you were or what had happened. You can tell your chest hurts and you can hear solid beeping whenever you're briefly conscious but when you wake properly, the first thing you notice is the tube in your throat, catching you off guard as you choke around it.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." A voice tells you, "Try to breathe normally…that's it, nice and slowly…in and out, that's it."

Wherever you are suddenly gets busier, multiple people are talking over each other and multiple hands on you. It overwhelms you but there's nothing you can do other than sit through it, letting it wash over you. Someone holds your hand through everything, their thumb running over your knuckles repetitively as they whisper something about buggie.

The room slowly quietens again but someone is calling your attention, it was a nurse explaining what was happening. You would remain on the ventilator for a little bit longer as they monitor you to make sure you could breathe comfortably enough on your own, then they would take you off it.

Once they leave you stare absentmindedly into the room, trying to short your racing thoughts out. You can't remember how you got to the hospital but you could guess why you were there judging by the soft ache in your chest. 

"How you doing lovebug?"

The voice startles you and you flinch as you look to your right, blinking in confusion at the man beside you before it suddenly hits you all at once. Tears spill from your eyes as you reach towards your dad, unable to speak but he knows what you want to say.

"I know honey, I know." Your dad comforts you, "I'm here for you."

You squeeze his hand, hoping it conveys what you want to say and when your dad tears up, you know it was.