aslan

“Dr. Abbot,” the department head says. Jack hadn’t even noticed her, all his attention was wrapped in the ghost standing in front of him. “This is Dr. Carter. He’s one of our MS4s.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack rasps. He shakes the ghost’s hand, they’re softer than Robby’s ever were, but that warm smile is exactly like he remembers.

“Nice to meet you too,” Carter says. “You know, it’s funny, my—“ The doors of the ambulance bay spring open and shouting overwhelms whatever he says.

“I’m sorry?” Jack needs to sit down, but there’s never a chance here.

Carter waves him off. “Not important.” He heads off to the trauma and Jack follows foolishly behind.

Every time Carter is on Jack’s shift he spends the whole time staring at him, wondering if he actually is his Mikey’s pup. He must be, the odds of someone else having a pup that looks exactly like him down to the crinkle by his eyes when he smiles are slim to none. Jack imagines what Robby would look like now. Stunningly beautiful, he’s certain. Those lines Jack loved would be permanently etched on his face, and he bets his thin waist has fattened sweetly with age. Jack would give anything to have seen him pregnant.

When they were courting, Jack would curl behind Robby and rub his palm over his stomach, picturing how it would feel when it expanded to grow their pup. Now, he lays in bed alone between shifts and tries not to vomit at the thought of some other alpha getting that instead.

He does the math on Carter’s age and pinches the bridge of his nose to stop himself from crying. How soon after their courtship did Robby get pupped? Was there some other alpha waiting for him while Jack thought they were planning a life together? Or worse, had already taken Robby while he was still Jack’s?

Pathetic as it is, he can’t stop the tears. Fifty years old, spending his day off sobbing in bed over an omega that had forgotten about him when their lives were still intertwined.

As gruesome as it is to see Carter happily bouncing around the ED, Jack won’t deny that he appreciates the small distraction from his pity party. He often eavesdrops on Carter’s chatting in the hopes of hearing something definitive about his mother.

One day, he overhears Carter mention that his first name is John, which is salt in the wound, but it gives Jack enough to google him like a creep without risking his coworkers finding him digging into their student’s private life.

John Carter is an unfortunately popular name, but after an hour of searching, Jack finds an Instagram account under jcartera. Carter doesn’t post very much, but there is one photo that takes Jack’s breath away.

Michael Robinavitch, twenty-five years older than the last time Jack saw him, hugging his pup tightly as they celebrate Carter’s graduation. He’s even more gorgeous than Jack imagined. His eyes shine proudly, and his smile is just as hypnotic as Jack remembered.

He clicks the photo for a closer look, and takes it in like oxygen. His eyes dart to Robby’s neck; he can’t see a bite. What idiot wouldn’t mate Robby?

Jack scrolls to the next photo and it’s as if a knife is driven into his heart. Robby looks almost exactly how Jack remembers him, the only difference is the bit of weight remaining around his jawline, and baby Carter snug against his chest.

A heavy weight slams into Jack. He wishes so badly he could’ve been the alpha that gave Robby that smile; that they could’ve had a pup and treasured them together.

Or even Carter. He’s such a wonderful young man, Jack would’ve been happy to claim him regardless of who his actual father was. He was always so weak for Robby; Jack would’ve raised any pup of his if for nothing else than to keep his dream omega in his life.

Jack goes back to the graduation photo. There’s an account tagged on Robby’s shoulder, m.robby; Jack gnaws his bottom lip and considers if this is a bridge to far, but figures he’s already past inappropriate.

Robby’s account is even emptier than Carter’s. He’s posted the same graduation picture, and a photo of a sunset with no caption. Jack sighs and goes back to Carter’s account. He stares at the two photos and imagines a whole different life.

He sees that life every time Carter’s name is mentioned for the next month. The first break he gets from the taunting fantasy comes after hours of working on the victims of a six car pile up.

Jack is taking his first real breath since the trauma was called in, sitting alone on a bench outside the ambulance bay, when Carter comes out, cheeks red and hair sticking to his forehead.

“Oh, hi, Dr. Abbot,” he smiles. Jack wonders if Carter got his ability to bounce back from his father because Robby had a nasty habit of taking every lost patient to heart.

“Hey, Carter. How you holding up?”

“Been better.” He takes the spot next to Jack. “I’m really glad that girl pulled through. She had me scared.”

“You and me both.”

Carter hums. “Maybe it’s an Abbot thing.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrow.

“I’m making a joke,” Carter laughs. “Because we have the same last name.”

All the air evaporates from Jack’s lungs. “What?”

“Just, because we were thinking the same thing and both our last names are Abbot.” Carter shrugs. “It’s stupid. There’s a reason I’m a doctor and not a comedian.”

Jack blinks, hard and heavy. “I thought your last name was Carter.”

He shakes his head. “No, Carter’s my middle name. I went by it in school, and when I continued for this rotation to avoid confusion after I found out there was already a Dr. Abbot.” He frowns. Good God, he is the absolute spit of Robby. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Jack says, breathless.

“I told you on my first day.”

Jack’s head is spinning. “I’d definitely remember that if you did.”

Carter, Abbot, John Carter Abbot, looks at him strangely before brightening. “Oh, yeah! The trauma came in and I forgot. Huh. Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

It does matter. It matters more than anything in the world. “Your name is John Abbot,” Jack says stupidly.

“Yeah?”

“My name is John Abbot.”

Carter’s frown returns. “But… I swear I’ve heard the other attendings call you Jack?”

“That— yeah. That’s the name I’ve gone by since childhood,” he laughs shallowly. He could wake up in a padded cell at any moment. “I’m named after my uncle, so I got called Jack to avoid confusion.”

“Oh.” Carter stares at his feet. “I’m named after my dad…”

Jack grabs the back of the bench to avoid giving himself a concussion when he inevitably passes out.

Carter at him with wide, somewhat frightened, eyes. “Do you… um, did you know a Michael Robinavitch?”

“Yes,” Jack whispers. His grip on the bench tightens.

All the color in Carter’s face drains. “How well?”

“Extremely.”

• When they got to the stadium on the day of the concert, Robby and Jack fell into their familiar dance of dividing and conquering — Robby joined the dense crowd to get food and drinks, and Jack was left with the task of powering through the merch line for a hoodie that Robby swore he definitely needed. Robby would’ve offered to wait out the merch line himself, but he intended to keep the price of their beers unbeknownst to Jack. That man would never accept a 15 buck miller lite if he found out, and inevitably Robby would be subjected to the accompanied rant about mediocre beer and unnecessarily ridiculous prices in the current economy.

• Jack started to feel restless around eight minutes into holding the fort of the merch line, and as he surveyed the crowd, he soon realized he was barricaded on three sides by young people half his ages and double his energy. He felt out of place and for a second unsure of what he was even doing there. But that was before his gaze landed on the camo cap on the merch wall and decided that was his calling.

Of course when Jack found Robby half an hour later, hoodie acquired, Robby would look over and nearly drop the two beers and chicken tenders he was balancing in his hands. Jack looked unfairly hot with that freshly acquired baseball cap he decided to wear backwards, his silver curls peeking out from underneath in a way that made Robby’s face flush with heat.

Jack obviously noticed the effect. He always did.

Safe to say that camo cap became a staple in his date night wardrobe.

(Camo cap and Noah Kahan’s set list for Pittsburgh for reference)

• The hoodie Robby asked Jack to buy was twice his size, a preference of Robby’s that Jack learned and found awfully adorable. The way Robby preferred to be enveloped by a bunch of fabric to feel small even though he was objectively taller than average adult men.

Robby put the hoodie on as they walked back to their car, since the weather at night had grown a bit chillier. Jack watched Robby tug his hands into the sleeves that were a bit too long for him, and found himself staring at how the hem of the hoodie rode lower and contoured just enough to suggest the shape of Robby’s ass.

He had waited all night to get his hands on Robby. And this was bringing more tinder to the fuel.

They allegedly spent more time than necessary in that parked car before they gained their composure again to make the drive home.

• When the concert started, Robby managed to hold on for two and a half minutes before his emotions let loose and he started sniffing. As the chorus of Doors came up, Robby reached over and grabbed Jack’s hand, lacing their fingers together without saying anything.

“I just live here, babe, but you’re the one who decided to knock. You knocked.”

And Jack felt the weight of the lyrics settle in his heart, together with all the things Robby left unsaid, their intertwined past perfectly conveyed through a single squeeze of Robby’s hand against Jack’s.

• Jack spent the first two acts watching Robby. The way Robby’s eyes got bright and his face softened as he lost himself in the music. Of all the people around them recording and taking photos of the concert, Jack proudly directed his camera to the person standing next to him, unapologetically capturing every moment. Because happiness never looked better on anyone. He wouldn’t think twice about paying an absurd amount of money for anything if that meant seeing Robby like this. Content. Relaxed. Present.

Right next to him, enjoying what life could offer if he actively participated.

• When Willing and Able came up though, Robby instantly crumpled and Jack followed suit. They’d been through too much to pretend that a song like this didn’t manage to reach the raw matter that was still healing within both of them. Ugly, maybe. But real. Tangible in a way that was intentional, led with a deliberate awareness that whatever this was between them — love, companionship, partnership or however they choose to define it — that they were in it together.