minjixficrecs

[minjixficrecs]

whom the shadows sing for —(and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: eek not a request but an idea that wouldn't leave me alone! thus... we embark on a mulan-esque story that i hope u will enjoy <3 big thank you's to @strangerstilinski who listened and helped immensely as i whittled a hunky idea down to a plot

word count: 2.9k

synopsis: Someone in the Illryians Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lords. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter. fem!reader

— CHAPTER ONE :: STRANGERS

Frost was everywhere.

Despite all the eerie memories that tainted them, the Illyrian Mountains were hauntingly beautiful, even Azriel could admit that.

Pine trees stretched up tall, their timber trunks hidden beneath the snow-leaden branches. It was a sea of swirling frost. Snowflakes eddied down from the frozen sky, a soft blanket of white draped across the landscape.

He was sure that some, maybe the likes of Feyre and her artist's eye, could see that beauty easier than he could.

Beautiful, Azriel thought bitterly, but fucking freezing.

Normally, dealing with the likes of the war camps that riddled these mountains was left to Cassian. He had that raucous, fiery way about him that was far better suited to it. Enough pride to challenge the warriors and more than enough eager attitude to back his taunts if need be.

But Cassian was currently very much occupied— and highly unsuited to crack the whip against some rowdy Illyrians in his current state.

Azriel couldn't help the smile at the thought of when he'd last seen his brother.

Freshly mated Cassian looked as though he had tiny hearts circling around his head at all times. He resembled a puppy following his nose, always that wicked grin on his face as he trailed after Nesta. His adoration was impossible to miss.

Cassian had more than earned the time off. He deserved to celebrate properly, to have a couple weeks with no badgering worries, with no bickering Illyrian warriors to deal with (beyond his usual two).

So, as a mating gift to his brother —and partially to escape a house filled with intolerably mated couples— Azriel had taken over his duty temporarily. To oversee the war camps he detested so much.

Today, he was to investigate the rumoured stirrings amongst the camps and assess the level of threat it posed. More often than not, these sorts of stirrings were simply whispers of rebellion but nothing more.

There was an easy fix; a visit from one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history, or even from Rhys himself. It always made the Illyrians a little nervous and those whispers of a coup would sweep away with the wind in a matter of time.

This time, however, the network of spies that operated under Azriel had not come back spinning such rumours.

Instead, there was talk of Lords with ruffled feathers. Lords with bruised egos due to a single bastard warrior, rising in the ranks and not playing by the rules.

The familiarity of the situation was almost too ironic, Azriel thought. He had half a mind to tell Rhys what he had learned and leave them to it. Cauldron knew these brutal camps needed a bastard to challenge their ways from time to time.

But still, there was always the potential for such a warrior to pose a threat in the future. Azriel could not leave a possible danger to brew. No stone left unturned.

The snow beneath his boots was beginning to melt.

He had been standing in the cold and peering up at the war camp ahead, barely seen through the heavy snow falling, for too long now. Snow was gathering on his wings, tendrils of ice shooting through their sensitive membrane. Find the bastard.

Shaking off the snow, he began to walk.

—

Gods forsaken males and their egos.

The bone in your forearm ached, having taken the brunt of your initial fall in the mud. It's covered in it too, the muck of the ground that always seemed to linger. Always a layer of dirt beneath your fingernails. Truly, one of the many incredible appeals of the Illyrian mountains was never actually being clean.

You'd probably hate it more— if it didn't do such a good job of masking unwanted scents.

But right now with a jagged cut that tears up your left arm, all the way to the elbow, you're cursing the mud. It's likely festering with uncountable grim diseases. You'll have to flush the wound to properly clean it before it begins to heal.

That means water. That means energy that you don't particularly feel like summoning to fetch it. You cast your glance to the window.

Outside, the Mother's Kiss howls loudly.

The southerly chilled wind current that Illyrians don such a precious name is quite fitting for their backward ways — to expect a kiss from your mother to have such a sting on the face.

Tonight, the current seems particularly fierce. The windows of your shelter rattle in warning. A storm had blown through camp rather unexpectedly and you'd caught the worst of it, tangled up in a snarling fest against Brudam.

Brudam, who is responsible for the current state of your arm. Your lip curls at the mere thought of the arrogant male. Your wings bunch up tightly and you huff quietly to nobody.

He'd caught wind of the broth you had made that had filled the stomach of three ravenous bastards in the camp. It had been just enough to keep them on their feet. Tonight, you know that one hot meal might very well be the difference that helps them survive the night.

But Illyrians are a tough breed— and they don't take kindly to people giving handouts, as Brudam had put it.

You preferred the term leveling the playing field.

As if Brudam and his Lord father had ever experienced to ache of starvation. Ever had to sleep in the snow with nothing but their own wings for warmth against a blizzard.

Another deep pain twinges in your arm and you hiss, drawn out of your thoughts. If you have to pick your wins, you can at least admit you're glad he had only found out about the broth— and had seemed none the wiser to the healing tonics you were slipping the freshly-clipped girls.

It ached to see them and their quivering wings. The way the muscles in their backs buckled when they tried to spread their wings, a cut too deep into the wrong nerve. It ached to see it, yes, but beneath that pain was an ocean of bitter and furious fire.

But your righteous anger would not help these girls.

You were not the most proficient healer and the tonics you were attempting... it was hard to say if they would make any difference in saving any females' wings.

You were gathering knowledge as best you could though, scraping together herbs that scarcely grew in the frozen climate. It was a poor imitation of something that might work.

Whether it would be enough... that was up to the Mother. But you had to try.

You assess the wound on your arm once more, wondering about the reserve of water you had in your small hut— whether you could both clean your wound and have enough to hydrate.

Another glance out at the wintry snowscape outside. You grimaced. If you didn't, you would have to bear the blistering chill of the Mother's Kiss to get more.

Weariness weighs on your bones. You hadn't been prepared for the fight, hence your almost embarrassing injury, and it drained you more than you expected.

You stand with a sigh and drag your feet toward the tiny cauldron filled with melted snow collected earlier in the day. It hangs over the fireplace, the embers within long since snuffed out. Your motion stirs them up.

For a moment, you stare into the fireplace. The water in the cauldron shimmers. The shelter creaks around you, bending in the wind.

It's covered in soot, marred by the flames that usually lick it from beneath it. The lip of it, however, is still clean enough to see your own reflection. You peer into it.

And in that reflection, you find a tall figure with massive wings looming above their shoulders standing behind you.

Your heart spasms in shock and you have to swallow your gasp of surprise. Your eyes dart up, frantically hunting for a weapon. You grab the closest object you can, your hand closing around a kitchen fork. And before they get the chance, you twist and lunge, arm raised.

The floorboards groan as your boots slam into them, darting forward to attack. But the male dodges you easily, your strike passing through empty air.

You don't stop, turning and striking for him once again. The male sways back again easily to avoid your swing and you scowl.

Quickly feigning one way, you watch as his hands, weaponless, move to defend his gut — and you change direction, fast. Neck exposed, you snarl as you sink the fork deep into his shoulder.

The male hisses in pain.

You falter for a moment at the noise but it's a mistake. His hands move so fast you barely see them, gripping your wrist that holds the fork and twisting it down to the ground, immobilising you from using it.

You snarl again and tug against him fruitlessly. A swell of panic begins to rise within you as you tug again, again, again. His hold doesn't falter.

"Stop," The male commands you quietly.

This time when you tug, he opens his fingers and you fly back onto your ass, wings flaring out a moment too late to catch yourself.

You expect him to trudge forward, to beat an attack down on you now that you're less defended, but he doesn't move from his spot.

In fact, you realise as you stare at him, cheat heaving, he hasn't attacked you at all.

His weapons, which there are many of them, stay strapped to his side, glittering against the snow's reflected light. You spot the siphon on his hand, a churning sapphire colour — and clock the matching one on his other hand.

This was not just any Illyrian warrior in your home.

Faintly, your panic subsides as you realise that if this male meant to hurt you —to kill you— he very well could have done so by now.

You let your eyes trail up, taking in the face so hidden in shadow, and recognize that the darkness swirling around him is not ordinary shadow.

The revelation has you sitting up a bit straighter, the bindings around your chest pulling tight. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

What do you say to one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors in history —one who served on Rhysand's inner circle, friend of the High Lord of the Night Court— when you've just stabbed him with a fork?

As if your thought had reminded him, the male —Azriel, you know his name to be— shifts and reaches for the utensil still sticking out of his shoulder. He yanks it out without a noise of complaint.

Then he says, "Considering your choice of weapon, it's no surprise Brudam cut up your arm."

You scowl at him but at a closer look, you can see that his expression isn't condescending. No, with his raised brows, he almost looks... impressed.

"I wasn't expecting visitors." You bite back defensively.

Azriel's eyes dance with amusement. He throws the fork onto your table with a clatter. "That's how you greet visitors?"

"Uninvited ones, yes."

His amusement fades, the planes of his face shadowed and yet still handsome. Like most Illyrians, there's this incomprehensible sense of elegance to him, an alluring pull tied to his very demeanor.

But looking at him now, even in the dimness of your shelter, you could see Azriel went beyond to type of beauty that usual Illyrians had. An unparalleled grace, an unmatched Adonis.

He is the most beautiful male you had ever seen—and you had just stabbed him with a fork.

"Sorry," You mutter eventually when he doesn't say anything.

You shift onto your knees to stand, your hand coming to cup beneath your elbow— the ache of the injury had begun to bleed back in now that you weren't focused on fighting off an intruder.

"You're forgiven." He says. You can see lightly, through the dimming light, the faint blood on his neck you've caused.

"You fight well," He comments, with the air of a compliment. Something like amusement is in his eyes when he says, "Even with your unusual choice of weapon."

You glare at him as you climb to your feet and all but collapse into a chair. You don't even have another to offer to him. Buried beneath your leathers, your chest aches in pain — a reminder that it's been bound for far too long. You ignore it and tilt your chin towards him.

"Why are you here?"

You're actually sure that even if you offered Azriel a chair he wouldn't take it, given how stiffly he stands before you. He takes a moment to answer, his gaze flitting around the small room you both stand in. Calculating, categorizing.

"There were rumours of a warrior turning up trouble here."

He fixes his hazel-eyed gaze on you. You steel yourself beneath it. "A couple days in your camp and it became clear who the outlier was."

A couple days? For some reason, you can't believe that he's been surveying this place without detection from anyone. Another glance at his shadows, the dark masses that hang around his shoulders, and you can believe it a little more.

Besides, it's hardly as though the Lords would deign to tell a bastard like you anything important.

You clench your jaw but don't say anything.

"Brudam mentioned you feeding some warriors." Azriel continues, his tone unreadable. Though something, you couldn't tell what, glittered in his eyes. "Not very in the spirit of Illyrians."

You scowl at him again. Even if he had once faced these conditions before, you wondered if his time away, spent Cauldron knows where, had softened his memory.

"It's not against any law."

"No, it isn't," Azriel says. His eyes narrow. "But making healing tonics without a Healer's jurisdiction and selling them to young females is."

Your heart stops for just a moment. How could he know that? The last batch you had dropped off had been over a month ago.

Without thinking you snarl back, "I'm not selling them, you prick."

Something blooms on Azriel's face, surprise and a hint of smugness.

Your mouth snaps shut as you realise what you've done. You curse yourself. Slumping back in your chair, your wings sag with you and you let them droop onto the floor, uncaring. He could very well be here to kill you, given the knowledge of what you had just admitted.

For a long moment, there's just silence.

You stare at the floor and wonder which version of the High Lord is true; the Court of Nightmares whose power ripples through these camps and keeps them in line. Or the rumours of a softer side, a dreamer.

You wonder, more importantly, which of those this male before you is friends with.

Something in the floor creaks when Azriel finally moves. He crosses the room swiftly to the fireplace and gathers two logs from the stack of firewood beside it, tossing them onto the pile of ash.

You watch, perturbed, as he hunches over the fireplace for a quiet minute— and when he pulls back, a small flame is burning on the wood. It dances on the log, entrancing and amber-coloured.

Heat begins to fill the room. You pick your wings up and stretch them towards it, grateful for how they begin to warm. You hadn't quite realised the extent of your chill until right now.

It's such a kindness that hasn't been shown to you in many years. Surprise and silent gratitude bloom in your chest.

Azriel turns back to face you. You school your surprise away.

"What's your name?" He asks, his voice gruff.

It's been a while since anyone asked that either. Bastard. Mongrel. Imposter. There are a thousand other words that have become your name whilst growing up here.

You can't tell him your name. In the same way you can't tell anyone here your real name without revealing too much about yourself.

So you shorten it and tell him that instead.

Azriel nods. Doesn't repeat it, doesn't blink at your hesitance. Instead, he just says, "Like I said, you fight well. You could be better though."

You frown at the backhanded compliment, something in you sneering at the jab at your fighting skills. Worse, you know he's right.

If you had weapons suited to your size, exercises that focused on your agility more than your brute strength... There's a good reason you have to work twice as hard as every other warrior in camp.

Azriel looks at your arm, no longer bleeding and beginning to stitch itself up. Shit, you really need to clean that first.

"Clean that and get a good night's rest." He orders, not meanly. Then he crosses the space of your shelter in a few paces of his long legs, heading for the door.

"You—" The question dares to come out of you. "You're not going to turn me in?"

Azriel pauses, one hand, one scarred hand you can now see with the fire going, on the door. So, the rumours of that were true.

"No," He says lowly. He sees you staring, and as if on command, the shadows swirling around his shoulders dart down to cover his hands. They and the doorknob in his hand disappear from sight completely.

You evade your eyes back up to his hauntingly beautiful face. His expression is stony, unreadable. He stares at you for a long moment, the dancing fire reflected in his hazel eyes.

"I'm going to train you."

[NEXT PART: ALLIES]

[minjixficrecs]

Free Fall

Pairing: Azriel x reader (She/her pronouns)

Word Count: 2.3

Summary: She wanted to fall—just for a moment, just to feel free. Azriel promised he’d catch her. He always does.

Warning/Notes: Nothing too bad, this is just a short little piece I’ve wanted to make for sometime. Warning for falling from a great height, and maybe suggestive language to jumping off a cliff, but nothing outright. Please let me know if I should add anything, thanks for any feedback!

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

The wind whipped savagely around the mountainside. The rushing waterfall sparkled in the sunlight, the water tumbling over the rocks below wildly. A deep, unforgiving cliff lay just ahead. An abyss of clouds and blue skies covers the truth of the dense forest that lays so far beneath.

Y/n’s hands itched to reach out — from so high up, it felt as though she could capture them, the soft white powder weaving between her fingers like one of Azriel’s shadows. A chill nipped at her cheeks, slicing along her skin like a blade, leaving rouge in its wake.

This edge — it feels like freedom. 

She hadn’t realized the thought had shoved its way to his side of the bond. Not until the shadows stirred. Not until his presence tightened from across the mountaintop, sharp and silent. 

She took a step forward, whispers of freedom dancing along her ears. Promises of release. Of falling fast enough to forget. Of him catching her the way he always had.

But, the bond thrummed, boiling in her veins. His worry, buried deep beneath centuries of control, slowly began leaking from his side to hers.

A shadow curled around her wrist. Not forceful. Not dragging. Just there.

His quiet presence interrupted her thoughts, the looming figure behind capturing her attention immediately. His rough hand gripped her arm gently, replacing his shadows. More of them split apart and traveled the length of his arm to reach her, slipping easily from his hands to her leather-clad arm.

"If you fall," his teeth grazed the point of her ear, tongue flicking along the skin, "I will follow." His chest pressed to her back as he moved his other hand to caress her hip, grip keeping her in place.

Her hands were shaking, but it had little to do with where she stood. In fact, with her boots kissing the snow on this mountaintop, it might be the safest place she'd be all night. Now, she was distracted, his hands touching her softly, reverently. His rough, deep voice a lullaby made just for her. 

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, leaning into him, her eyes closing as the wind did its best to tear them apart.

His fingers trailed down the length of her arms, finding their home in her hands, clasping both of them against her stomach, his chin finding purchase on her shoulder. 

“Explain it to me, little star,” 

She sighed, enjoying the view even more now that his arms wrapped around her. Euphoria flooded through her at the use of her nickname, one he’d called her from the very beginning. 

She ignored where the other’s stood just a few paces away. They had come here for training that ended half an hour ago. Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian the only three left other than them. They spoke softly, the wind making it nearly impossible to decipher their words. Y/n couldn’t find it in herself to care, though. She wanted to enjoy the peace this place brought her for as long as she could.

“Sometimes I want to fall,” she spoke low so only he could hear, “but only for a moment—just long enough to feel the loss of control, to let go and be carried by the wind. I want to be weightless… and let gravity carry the burden of our enemies and war. Just for a breath. Just long enough to remember why I– we fight.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, pondering her words carefully, making sure she’s done.

“Then, you should fall.” He finally said, standing to his full height behind her. 

Her eyes flew open as she pivoted around sharply, her heel sliding along the snow seamlessly. Her mind stuttered when she saw him. He always stole the breath from her lungs, held it captive until her body could catch up with her soul.

His dark curls were tousled and crazed from the training, the wind doing little to help. His cheeks were chafed red and she could see cold breaths as they escaped from between his lips, looking like white versions of his little shadows. His golden honeyed eyes were bright and alert as they tracked her movements, a soft gleam in them that belonged to her fully.

He held her close to him, the tips of their boots touching as his nose ran along hers, inhaling her scent as he went.

“I’ll always catch you.” A lethal, pure promise. Pride and determination mixing with his fae heritage. Heat took over both of them as their bond glowed and vibrated between them.

She had been so distracted by her mate that she hadn’t realized the other’s departure, leaving them to their own private moment. Probably for the best, she and Az weren’t exactly known for being prudes, and they held little regard to who witnessed them.

“You trust me?” She asked, placing her toes on his, hooking her arms around his neck, lifting so they were eye to eye. 

His lips quirked at the mischief that now skipped across her face, his shadows chasing the look as if it could lead them to where they belonged.

Instead of answering her, he held her closer, capturing her lips as his hand cupped her cheek delicately. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips, devouring the little noises that escaped her. He kissed her passionately, her fingers finding their way to his hair, gripping the strands at the top and nape. She held him to her like a lifeline, his lips the only thing she could taste, feel. 

Frost and cedar clung to him, tangled with heat, as his teeth caught her bottom lip. She gasped, his tongue taking advantage and tangling with hers, kissing her like he may die if he didn’t. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as his lips trailed from lips to her cheek, her jaw, and down her throat– a trail of saliva left in their wake, the only other evidence of this happening. She hoped his left bruises, that he marked her as his, she wanted everyone to know who she belonged to.

Much too soon, he pulled away, both of them breathing harshly, foreheads brushing as they caught their breaths.

“Take me flying?” She asked softly, her chest pressed deliciously against his, her legs already wrapping around his middle. 

“Of course, little star.” His arm slipped more firmly around her waist, fingers spreading across her hips and back as he pulled her flush to his chest, once more.

“Hold on,” he murmured, breath brushing the shell of her ear.

And then he dropped off the ledge—just like that. Wings slicing through the sky, his shadows trailing like smoke.

Her voice echoed in the open, a mix between a laugh and a scream escaping her, and he felt it against him. He felt it deep in his bones. A small smile flashing along his face.

He flew a little faster.

His dive quickly settled and he began to rise higher and higher. They passed where they had just been standing, going as high as he could take her. His beautiful expanse of wings spread wide into the sky above. Soft pink hews glowing in the soft golden rays. 

The view stole her breath, the magic of flying making her ache for her own wings. She loved being in his arms, traveling the sky and stars with him, but sometimes she wished she could fly alongside him. She wanted to experience flying in the same way he and his brother’s did. She imagined that it tasted like freedom in its own way.

When he finally came to a stop, his wings flapping in the wind as they held them deep within the sky, he gave her a look—one that made her breath catch far more than the thought of open air beneath her feet. The kind of look she couldn’t hold for too long without unraveling, without completely surrendering herself to him.

The world narrowed to the warm strength of his hands on her, his body steady and secure, the hush of shadows curling around them like a shield.

“Az?” she asked, voice small against the wind, her lips pressing to his where her head lay buried near his neck.

“Mhm?”

“Did you mean it when you said you’d catch me?”

Without hesitation, “Always.”

“Drop me, then.” She pleaded…

She watched as his eyes widened comically, his wings faltering just long enough for them to tumble for a moment. His grip tightening around them, steady before she could even make a noise. 

She smiled widely as they righted themselves, meeting his frantic gaze with light. A giggle escaping in place of a scream, his eyes locking onto her face. 

“Did you hit that magnificent head of yours during training?” He asked, his hand tightening around her as if he could glue her to him. She did her best to hide her smile in his neck, but he would have none of it, one of his hands cupping the back of her neck, keeping her eyes in line with his. 

“Come on, Az. You said so yourself, you’d never let me hit the ground.”

He visibly cringed at the image, rage and sorrow briefly fighting for room on his face before his usual stoicism took control. “If you ever fell accidentally. I’m not exactly looking to tempt fate by dropping you on purpose, Y/n.”

“What if you never had to stop holding me?” 

He laughed, then. A quick shake of his curls before his wings fluttered angelically, a map of veins and power shimmering in the glow. Gods, she loved when Az let her touch them, she could get lost in all the ways she brought him to the brink with just soft touches and gentle caresses. She watched, mesmerized as they snapped in.

“You’re not going to let up are you?” He asked, adoration in his tone, he stared at her like she alone lit the night sky in moonlight. 

“I trust you, mate.” She tugged on his nape, lips catching his as a growl came from him. His lips still attached to hers as he pressed into her, letting his wings relax completely. She could have sworn she heard his shadows murmur…

hold on tight

don’t let go

safe, safe, safe

And then the wind chased after her and Azriel as they fell. Her stomach dipped violently at the sudden shift in gravity. The drop stealing her breath and skyrocketing her pulse, adrenaline rushing through her blood. 

Falling.

And, falling.

Free.

The world disappeared.

There was no ground. No sky. Just the wind — roaring past her ears, cold and relentless — her heart beating as if learning how to for the first time. His arms were steady around her, providing a warmth to her chilled bones. Electricity traveled through her body everywhere his skin touched hers.

And gods, it released her.

Her stomach dipped once more, but not in panic — it was like shedding something heavy. Like every worry, every burden she hadn’t realized she carried, had been peeled away and left behind in their dust.

 She was weightless, and the sky was endless, and for the first time ever…

She wasn’t holding on to anything but that warmth.

She was held captive by nothing.

And it was beautiful.

The wind tore his name from her lips in a laugh that felt like lightning. For a moment, they were nothing but heart and air and the thrill of absolute surrender.

And then the treeline came into sight, still far enough away that her fae sight could pick it up as though the trees were pieces to a child’s toy. 

Azriel’s wings flared, catching the wind like sails made of shadow and starlight, slowing their descent with practiced grace. The roar of the sky faded to a hush, the wild rush of air surrendering to silence. The snow-laced forest floor rose gently to meet them — not a crash, not a stumble, but a kiss-soft landing that only someone like Azriel could manage with a full-grown Fae in his arms.

His boots crunched into the frost-covered field, the impact so steady it felt like the mountain itself exhaled in relief.

She didn’t even realize she was shaking until they stopped moving.

Her face was tucked into his neck, breathing him in — frost and cedar and something ancient that always smelled like coming home. His grip eased slightly, arms loosening just enough to let her slide down his body, her feet brushing against the ground with a whisper. But he didn’t let her go. Not really.

One of his hands rose to the small of her back, the other curling protectively at her nape, thumb stroking along the line of her neck like he needed to reassure himself she was still here. Still breathing. Still his.

Their foreheads met as if drawn by that shared thread, breath mingling in the cold air, their chests rising and falling in uneven sync. The wind had quieted, but its ghost still tugged at her limbs, at her bones. Azriel reached up and smoothed a few wild strands of her hair away, his gloved knuckles brushing her temple with the kind of reverence one might reserve for holy things.

He kissed her then — not like before, not heat and hunger — but soft, grounding. A press of lips that said, You're safe. I'm here. I’ve you.

Then another, to her wind-chapped cheek.

Another, to the top of her hand.

And one more to the bend of each finger, like he was thanking every part of her for letting go.

She clutched the front of his leathers, not because she was afraid, but because she didn’t want to float away. She stood steady once more, but the feeling of flying — of falling — hadn’t left her bones yet.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispered, more to himself than to her, forehead still resting against hers.

Her smile was breathless, her lips brushing his. “Hold on tighter next time.”

His answering kiss was a promise, slow and deep, as the shadows curled around them in a quiet cocoon, sheltering them from the rest of the world.

[minjixficrecs]

At His Princess's Command

Relationship(s): Garrick Tavis/female!Tauri!reader, Xaden Riorson & reader, Violet Sorrengail & reader

Summary: When Garrick almost dies, you can no longer hide that you've been in love with him for years.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Onyx Storm spoilers, mentions of canon-typical violence, panic attacks, poison, mentions of reader's family being toxic/kinda abusive, slight canon-divergence (reader takes Aaric's place in quest squad and we're pretending they stopped for the night between Hedotis and Zehyllna), one mention of reader having long hair.

Based on this request.

You impatiently tap your fork against your hand, courtly table manners too deeply ingrained in you to start on the cake. No matter what your hosts say, it would be impolite not to wait. But damn, does that cake look good. You really hope the servers hurry with getting the triumvirate their forks so you can find out if the cake's taste matches its appearance.

Suddenly, your hand is empty.

You look down at it, then over at your fork in Violet's hand, blinking in confusion. Just as your gaze meets her tense face, Garrick, who sits at your other side, says the cake tastes just like home, and a jolt of terror has the blood freezing in your veins.

The word flares bright in your mind. Poison. Gods, how did you not think of it? Throughout your childhood, you've been drilled about the dangers of it time and time again — though most Navarrians adored their princess, the danger of being poisoned at some banquet or other was never zero. The fact that your hosts hadn't received their forks alongside you should have instantly set alarm bells ringing in your head, but you'd been so preoccupied with the triumvirate's ridiculous judgement of your friends' life choices and wondering if this really is supposed to be the test of wisdom Violet had said was waiting for you, that you hadn't even considered they might test you by poisoning the godsdamned food. That's why Faris had waited until desert, you suppose, so you would be reassured by having survived the main course and fully focused on the conversation — too focused to be suspicious about the missing forks until it was too late.

"Don't eat it!" you shout, head whipping around to face Garrick.

But of course he already has. Gods, how did he manage to shove down almost half the slice so quickly? Why didn't you think faster, fast enough to stop him?

As you watch Garrick's face slacken, it's like your heart stops in your chest. If Violet hadn't snatched the fork from you before you could even think about taking a bite, you would think you're poisoned too. Terror paralyzes you for a second, two, then your body remembers how to breathe and you snap out of the stupor, your hand shooting out just in time to keep Garrick's head from slamming into the table as he collapses.

"Garrick!" Xaden shouts.

Oh gods, no. This can't be happening.

"He's not breathing!" You should do something about that, give him mouth-to-mouth, but you can barely breathe yourself. With your much too fast and shallow breaths, you wouldn't do him much good. "Xaden, do something! He's not fucking brea—"

"I heard you the first time."

Your friend is already on his feet, passing behind your and Violet's chairs to help you lower Garrick to the floor.

The chair topples over as you shove out of it and fall to your knees at Garrick's side, frantically feeling for his pulse. You can't find it. Is it just because you're shaking too hard, or is there no pulse to find?

Mira is yelling at someone to get Trager, but what good is a medic when you don't have the antidote to whatever is killing him?

"What did you put in that fucking cake?!" you snap at the triumvirate, even as it dawns on you that there's no way they'll tell you.

The poison was part of the test — and Garrick failed. You failed.

Xaden kneels on Garrick's other side, opposite you, ear to his chest to check for a heartbeat. "Sluggish but beating."

Thank you, Malek, for not taking him yet. But he still isn't breathing. His face is starting to turn blue.

"Do something," you plead again, wetness trailing down your cheeks. "We have to— to get him breathing again. I— I can't—"

Xaden doesn't waste time on a reply, lowering his face to Garrick's to breathe air into his mouth.

Meanwhile Violet is now trying to get answers from Faris, but, as you already suspected, he isn't talking. That asshole is perfectly willing to let Garrick die on his dining room floor, just for failing to guess that the cake was poisoned.

"Violet."

Xaden's voice is pleading, vulnerable like you've never heard it in the three and a half years you've known him. The realization that even your usually stoic leader is close to losing composure only makes it harder to control your own distress.

You're having a panic attack, you realize — worse than any you've experienced before, and you've had your fair share of them. All the breathing techniques and grounding exercises you know have abandoned you; the only thing you can think of is that you might be about to lose Garrick.

Not that you have any claim to him whatsoever — unlike your dragons, the both of you are merely friends, nothing more. If he dies now, he'll never know you feel more for him than friendship.

"I won't let him die," Violet promises, the words directed as much at you as at her boyfriend.

You tear your gaze from Garrick for a second to give her a grateful look, the panic receding the tiniest bit. Violet is one of your oldest friends — one of the only real friends you had as a child — and has always been the smartest. If anyone can find the right antidote, it's her.

Moments later, the door flies open. Trager and the others — finally. You don't know how much good his medical training can do in this case, but hopefully he can keep Garrick from dying long enough for Violet to figure out how to actually save him.

As Trager joins you and Xaden at Garrick's side, Violet and Mira shout orders at the rest of the squad. They all disperse to do their part, leaving the four of you alone with the triumvirate — all of them bent over and clutching their stomachs, thanks to Violet's arinmint.

"We have to get his heart beating stronger." Trager puts one hand on top of the other on Garrick's sternum, then forces all his weight down. "Keep breathing for him."

You know you should do something, anything, to help too, but you can't bring yourself to take your eyes off Garrick for even a moment, can't do anything but clutch his hand, fight for breath, and pray, pray that Violet really will find an antidote.

You're vaguely aware you'll hyperventilate if you don't calm down, but all you can think about is Garrick. Though your dragons are mated, it's different than with Xaden and Violet, who would almost certainly both end up dead if one of them dies. If Garrick dies, Chradh will likely survive it, and you'll be forced to live in a world without Garrick in it.

The thought is unbearable.

Without interrupting the heart massage, Trager calls your name. "Breathe. It won't help Garrick if you pass out."

"I k-know," you gasp.

Gods, you feel so useless. Worse than useless — you're making the situation worse, distracting Trager from helping Garrick, just because you can't get a fucking grip on yourself.

"It's going to be okay. Just breathe in" — he waits for you to do so — "and out. Good. Again. Deep breaths."

You do your best to force your thoughts to stop spiraling into doom, focusing on your breathing under Trager's instruction. Eyes trained on the almost hypnotic rhythm of his hands compressing Garrick's chest, you slowly regain some semblance of control over yourself.

Giving yourself a firm shake, you rub your hands over your face. When you open your eyes again, Trager and Xaden have stopped their efforts.

"What—?"

"He's breathing on his own."

Oh thank the gods. He's breathing — shallowly, but he is breathing. That's as good as it can get without the antidote.

"You can't die, Garrick," you whisper, curling in on yourself with your head on Garrick's shoulder. Every breath you feel him take comes as a relief. "You hear me? I forbid it."

He always jokes about being at your beck and call, heeding his princess's every command. It always makes you feel a little awkward, a reminder of your power imbalance and the life you'll never be able to fully leave behind, but for once, you hope he meant it.

No matter how ridiculous it is to believe that an order from you will keep him hanging onto live long enough for Violet to find the antidote, you keep repeating it anyway. He is not allowed to die. Not here, not now, not if you have any say about it. You'll personally follow him into the afterworld and drag his sorry ass back out before you let him leave you like this — killed by a piece of cake, of all things! When he wakes up, you'll give him an earful about shoveling the damned thing into his mouth so carelessly, that's for sure. You try to convince yourself he will wake up again. He just has to.

There's noise in the kitchen, then Vi and Ridoc step out of it. Almost at the same moment, Dain returns with Violet's book, and it must contain what she was looking for, because she sends him to get figs.

You blink at that. Figs? You don't know what you expected the antidote to be, but certainly not that. No matter. If they really help Garrick, figs will be your new favorite fruit from now on.

Violet turns to you, sending you into the kitchen with Ridoc to prepare five cups of water. You don't want to leave Garrick's side, but it's to save him, so you make yourself go.

You've just filled the first cup when Dain comes sprinting into the kitchen with the figs. Grabbing the nearest knife, he cuts them as small as possible, crushing the pieces with the flat of the knife for good measure before dumping the stuff into the water cup you hold out to him.

Grabbing a spoon, you head for the door, stirring the mixture as you walk. Dain and Ridoc follow with the other water cups; you don't know what Violet needs them for, and you honestly don't care.

Xaden and Trager already have Garrick on his side, and together, the three of you manage to get the solution down his throat.

Garrick sputters, spitting some of the slurry out, but his eyes flash open. Xaden yells at him to wake the fuck up and drink it. It takes him four big swallows before the cup is drained and he falls back, his head landing in your lap.

He still doesn't look good.

You frown down at him, while Xaden's worried gaze snaps to Violet.

"Give it time," she soothes. "We're under the hour mark. He'll be alright."

You don't take your eyes off Garrick. "You don't know that."

If you weren't still so worried about Garrick you'd be embarrassed at the way you sound, voice shaking and thick with tears. Your heart is still thumping against your ribcage like a trapped bird, but at least your breathing has normalized.

While Violet turns to threaten Faris some more, you run your hand through Garrick's hair.

"Wake up, Garrick. Please. You can't just leave me like this. I need you."

You wish there was magic here, wish you could mentally reach for Garrick or the dragons. Chradh would be able to tell you if Garrick is close to waking up, but you can feel neither him nor your own dragon. Maybe that's for the better — they're probably both furious about the poisoned cake, and getting swamped with dragon rage is the last thing you need right now.

But gods, how you long for Garrick's voice in your head. How you wish he'd wake up and tease you about the tears you shed for him, for believing he would die that easily.

You don't remember how to live without him. Though it's only been three and a half years since that day your dragons choose you and forever bound you together, it feels like you've known him an eternity.

When you think back to life before you became a rider, before you met Garrick, it seems woefully empty.

Abandoning your father's court to go to Basgiath had been the best decision of your life, not just because being a rider allows you to fight for what is right or because your dragon understands you like nobody else, though both things are also true, but because if you hadn't joined the quadrant, you might have never met Garrick, certainly wouldn't have become so close with him and the other marked ones.

When you declared you wanted to become a rider, your father had been far from thrilled, but since — much unlike your older brothers — you rarely ever asked for anything, he had eventually given in and allowed it. Though you hadn't liked entering the quadrant together with your brother, it was your luck that you did. After Alic's death, your father would have never let you go.

But gods, how you had loathed it, loathed Alic, loathed the implications. You knew how it would make you look; like you were just a little girl trailing after her older and stronger brother. For a while, you had even considered going to the healers instead, just to put some distance between yourself and your brothers. But being a rider was what you wanted, had always been your dream, a way to truly make a difference, and you wouldn't let Alic take that from you just because he had decided a dragon would suit his ego. You'd ignore him and make your own path.

It was easy enough to ensure you were put in a different squad, a different wing, than Alic. Even though your status wasn't supposed to mean anything in the quadrant, everyone was eager to please the princess, to win your favor. Precisely for that reason, you kept to yourself as much as you could. You were tired of fake friends, tired of all the lies.

The marked ones were understandably wary of you — it was defying your father that had gotten their parents killed, and they had no way of knowing you despised him, despised the deceit and cowardice he ruled with. They couldn't know you came to Basgiath to escape all that, that you knew what was out there and couldn't stand the thought of sitting idly in your father's palace in Calldyr doing nothing about it, that you wanted to find a way to fight the real enemy.

The open hostility had been strangely refreshing. It wasn't like any of the marked ones tried to harm you — they weren't fools — but they made no secret of the fact they wanted nothing to do with you, and you could feel them glare at you anytime one of them was in your vicinity.

Sometimes other people would get mad about it on your behalf, but when they tried to start fights about it, you quickly shut it down. All you wanted was to be left alone, treated normally; the marked ones didn't bother you.

Alic, of course, was a different matter. While you ignored the marked ones when you could and treated them the same you would anyone else when you did have to interact with one of them, your brother found twisted amusement in the pain the children of the rebellion had been caused on your father's orders, and tormented them whenever he could.

Not that he didn't torment everyone else, too — even you weren't entirely safe from his bullying, though he didn't take it quite as far as with others he deemed farther beneath him. When it suited him, Alic played the protective brother, using you as an excuse to pick on any marked ones he caught being less than friendly to you, only to be the one pushing you around and insulting you moments later.

No one seemed to take notice of it, and you were used to it, so you simply avoided him as much as you could, the way you'd always done. Being away from home made it easier to keep your distance, though in the quadrant's limited space you couldn't help running into him occasionally.

At home, you had been expected to get along. As the only girl, you had been expected to keep the peace between all three of your brothers, to play the perfect daughter of the perfect royal family, smiling even when Alic pinched your arm so hard you teared up. Being not quite a full year younger than him and Halden, you'd spent your whole life quietly suffocating in their oppressive orbit, shielding Cam from their cruelty as much as you could in hopes he would grow up a better person than them.

But at Basgiath, you didn't have to pretend anymore. Though people would never let you forget where you came from, you weren't the princess there, just another cadet. There was no more need for you to associate with Alic.

Dropping the pretense was freeing, but also strange, like speaking a language you weren't quite fluent in. So many times you'd been lectured about being nice to your older brothers, even when they were anything but. Turning your back on Alic when he commanded you to write his assignments for him had felt like committing a crime against the crown, but you'd done it anyway.

And as you grew bolder, more openly cold towards your brother, the marked ones slowly warmed up to you. It was such a gradual change you didn't even notice at first.

Not until the day you faced Garrick Tavis on the challenge mat.

He completely kicked your ass, but he was... shockingly nice about it.

The moment you'd heard his name called out alongside your own, you had prepared to die. It was the first match in which the professors dared to pair you with one of the marked ones, though you had no doubt there'd been requests from them to challenge you before. Considering who you were, it was to be expected they would try to kill you — and on the mat, they would have every right to do it, though even so, there were sure to be repercussions. But in the quadrant, every cadet was equal — or was supposed to be, anyway — so the professors couldn't avoid letting you fight a marked one forever.

The separatist kids had every reason to want you dead, but when Garrick stepped on the mat with you, he didn't seem like he was out for blood. He looked calm, confident, eager for the fight — normal. Like you were just a regular cadet, not the princess of Navarre, not the daughter of the man responsible for hiding the truth and orphaning more than a hundred children, Garrick himself among them.

You wondered if maybe he was just that good at hiding his hatred, if he was trying to make you let your guard down so he could stick a blade in your heart. But you'd seen him fight, knew he was one of the best in your year, outdone only by Xaden Riorson himself. He had no need to resort to tricks if he wanted to kill you.

And he didn't. Didn't try to kill you, didn't even hurt you any more than was strictly necessary to defeat you.

You walked off the mat with all your bones intact, and only a single, finger-shaped bruise blooming around your wrist where he'd gripped it to twist your dagger from you. Your thoughts, however, were a jumble. Not just that Garrick had defeated you so gently, he'd even offered his hand to help you to your feet after you yielded. And he had smiled at you — not the cruel sort of smirk you were used to seeing from Alic when he won a fight, but an actual friendly smile. Slightly cocky, clearly proud of his victory, but friendly nonetheless. Like he was a little sorry for ending the victory streak you'd had going.

It didn't make any sense. The marked ones hated you. Why would one of them spare your life when presented with a chance to end it, let alone be so nice about it? You even wondered if it was a ploy to indebt you to him, if he would hold it over your head and claim you owed him for letting you live, but he did no such thing. He just went on with his life as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

You payed more attention to the marked ones from that day on, started watching Garrick, and realized the glares had stopped — or at least become significantly less frequent. When you passed a pair of them talking to each other in the courtyard, they no longer interrupted their conversation to watch you with narrowed eyes until you were gone. When you had breakfast duty and a marked one got something from your station, they politely thanked you, some of them even giving you a smile. One time a marked girl was nearby to see Alic shove you around, and wordlessly offered a hand to help you to your feet once he'd left.

None of them went so far as to befriend you, but it seemed the growing awareness that you were here to escape your family was enough to come to an unspoken truce.

And Garrick... Garrick slowly but surely started to take up more and more space in your thoughts. It was a little embarrassing, developing a crush on someone you'd never even talked to, but he had a certain charm about him that you could tell others weren't immune to, either. For someone with a rebellion relic, he was a very successful flirt.

He wore the dagger he'd won from you during that challenge strapped among his other ones, but so far as you could tell, he never used it — as if it were too valuable, too precious, something he didn't want to lose or damage. A ridiculous thought, of course, but you couldn't shake the feeling it was true.

Or maybe he just thought it too impractical — it being one of the daggers your father had gifted to you when you departed for Basgiath, it was a filigrane little thing adorned with jewels, looking more like a little girl's toy than an actual weapon. You yourself preferred fighting with the daggers you won in challenges, hating the way the blades you'd brought with you across the parapet seemed to scream spoiled princess.

Every time your eyes met across a room, you quickly looked away, lest Garrick notice the heat rising to your cheeks. You were used to male attention — guys had been hitting on you since you'd barely hit puberty. Everyone wanted the influence they thought they could gain from being with you, or to simply be able to brag about having kissed the princess of Navarre. But there was something different about having Garrick's attention on you, however fleetingly.

Maybe it was just that he didn't seem to care who you were, that even though he should consider you an enemy, he never treated you like it.

You'd never given any of your countless suitors the time of the day, which meant that now that there was someone you were actually interested in, you had no clue what to do about it. Was there even anything you could do? A marked one was the last person you should get involved with, the last person who would even want to get involved with you, no matter how many flirtatious looks he shot you.

Smiling at you from the other side of a room, handing you a book you dropped, brushing hands when you happened to reach for the basket of bread at the same time during lunch — none of that had to mean he liked you, or wanted anything to do with you.

The more you watched him, the more you doubted he even realized how friendly he was to you. Or — just as likely — maybe it was an act. Maybe he actually was trying to get close to you, to use you for your title like everyone else. Having the princess wrapped around his finger certainly would make life easier for him and the other marked ones.

Whatever his motives were, you kept your distance. You had joined the quadrant to bond a dragon, not to chase after boys, regardless of how handsome and charming they were. You needed to keep your eyes on your goal: to become a rider and fight for what's right. Between studying, hours in the gym, and Gauntlet training sessions, you had no time to waste on ridiculous crushes.

You did a good job of ignoring the way your heart sped up whenever you caught sight of Garrick, right up until Threshing came around.

When you stumbled upon him, Xaden Riorson, and Alic in the grounds, your resolve to keep away went right out the figurative window. It came as no surprise that your brother was using the opportunity to go after the marked ones, but you were still shaken that it was Garrick of all people he was targeting. Could Alic have noticed the way your eyes lingered on the marked cadet sometimes, or was it merely coincidence?

Seeing him raise his blade to strike Garrick down, you called your brother's name. You had no idea what exactly you thought you were doing — there was no way you could talk him out of the slaughter he seemed to have in mind. Did you seriously mean to fight him? Gods, you would be in so much trouble if you did. But you couldn't just walk away and let whatever happened happen, no more than you could stand there and watch it happen.

As it turned out, you didn't have to actually do anything. The brief distraction you provided gave Xaden enough time to place himself between his wounded friend and your brother. The following fight was short but brutal — and you did nothing to stop it, even when Xaden raised his sword for the killing blow.

Just before it fell, you turned your back, walking away with Alic's last scream ringing in your ears.

Even now, you sometimes find yourself wondering if the role you played in your brother's death makes you a bad person. You tell yourself it doesn't, that he was the bad person. The lack of remorse you feel about what happened, however, most certainly does. You can't bring yourself to care. He had been meaning to kill Garrick — Garrick, who is worth a dozen Alics. If Xaden hadn't been there to rid the world of your brother, you might have done so yourself. After twenty whole years in Alic's proximity, you had long given up any hope that he might grow out of being such a bully. He never would have changed.

You had still been reeling from the encounter when your dragon found you, leaving you no time to process what had happened — that you and the two marked ones were now co-conspirators in killing your brother. You might have only indirectly contributed to his death, but if your father got wind of it...

You could only hope he wouldn't.

Before you could contemplate what horrible fate would await you should anyone find out how exactly Alic had died, you were soaring through the sky to the flight field, where the next shock was already waiting for you in the form of your dragon's mate — a Brown that had bonded the very person your brother had been trying to kill. And because mated pairs couldn't be separated, that meant you were now tied to Garrick Tavis for the rest of your careers — and lives.

You still hadn't spoken a single word to each other.

It was a lot to get used to; the knowledge that Alic was dead and couldn't torment you any longer, the constant paranoia that someone would come arrest you for letting him die, and most of all, being bonded not just to a dragon, but by extension also to Garrick.

Once the both of you actually got to know each other, you'd instantly clicked, becoming almost as inseparable as your dragons, but despite all the lighthearted flirting, your bond never developed into anything more. It was like there was an invisible line neither of you were willing to cross, feelings the one thing you never spoke about — uncertain territory neither of you seemed willing to enter.

A groan from Garrick abruptly ends your reminiscing. His eyes open, meeting yours. "This is my least favorite isle."

You sob a laugh, silently agreeing. It's such a relief to have him awake and looking at you that you can barely hold back a fresh wave of tears. You hardly notice when Xaden jumps to his feet and attacks Faris; leaning down so your face hovers mere inches above Garrick's, it's like the two of you are in your own little world, shielded by the curtain of your hair.

"How are you feeling?" you ask, tracing your thumb along his scarred cheek.

"Well, I've definitely been better. But," he adds, that adorable dimple appearing as he grins up at you, "considering I have a beautiful princess fussing over me and acting as my pillow, I can't really complain."

"Gods, you're unbelievable." You don't know if you want to slap or kiss him. "You almost died, Garrick! And the first thing you do upon waking up is flirt with me?"

Upside down as he appears in your vision, it's hard to read his expression, but his shrug is entirely unapologetic. "It's not every day I get to wake up with my head on your lap. Those soft thighs do something to a guy, you know."

Un.be.lie.va.ble.

"More likely the poison got to your brain." You shake your head. "Do you even realize how fucking scared we all were for you?!"

No need to mention that it had been you who had freaked out the most.

Your expression must give something away though, because Garrick's face softens, and he reaches up to trace a finger over your cheek. Belatedly, you realize the tracks of your earlier tears must still be visible.

"I'm alright," he reassures you. "It'll take more than some poisoned cake to get rid of me."

You give him a wobbly smile, covering his hand with your own, the other still cupping his face. "Then I guess it's a good thing I don't want to get rid of you. Whatever would I do without you trailing after me?"

"Pretty sure it's usually you who trails after me, princess."

"Whatever. Just promise me that the next time we're served poisoned cake, you won't shovel it down like that."

"Yes, my lady. You can rest assured I will not be making that mistake twice."

Someone clears their throat next to you, interrupting the quiet conversation and reminding you that there are, in fact, other people in the room with you.

"Trager, help the princess with Garrick and start moving him toward Chradh," Dain orders. "Ridoc, let's pack everyone's shit."

The following night, you lie awake on your bedroll, watching Garrick's sleeping form in the firelight. While he seems to be recovering just fine from the effects of the poison — strong enough to keep his seat as you left Hedotis behind, and already back to doling out his usual sarcastic quips when you made camp for the night — the turmoil inside you still hasn't lessened. You can't bring yourself to take your eyes off Garrick, no matter how briefly; every time you do, the bitter taste of fear floods your mouth again.

He was so close to death, so close to leaving you. If he'd died, he would have done so without ever knowing how much he means to you.

The thought haunts you.

You've faced so much danger, overcame so many of your fears, pushed your limits time and time again. You like to think you've become truly brave in the three years you've been a rider, yet confessing your feelings is the one thing you still haven't found the courage to do.

How could you possibly tell Garrick you love him when even his and Xaden's friendship is already so much more than you deserve, considering everything your family has done to them?

Maybe it makes you a coward, but you've decided long ago that you would rather keep things as they are than risk rejection. With all his flirting, you're pretty certain Garrick would welcome you into his bed with open arms, but would he welcome you into his heart, too? He has never shown any indication he's interested in a long-term relationship — not with you, nor anyone else.

Maybe he just doesn't do romantic love.

If that's the case, you're fucked. You don't want a quick fling or to be friends with benefits. You could never be that casual about him, wouldn't be able to handle having him without having all of him. And if you tried and it ended up not working out, things would be terribly awkward. It's not like you would be able to avoid him, thanks to your dragons.

But watching him almost die made those worries pale in comparison to the sheer terror you'd felt at the idea of a life without him.

It's not like this was the first time you've witnessed him in mortal danger; gods know you've all had your share of close calls in your years as cadets, and even more since graduating. But somehow, this felt different. This wasn't just a blade evaded by hair's width, not an almost. This time, he stood right on Malek's doorstep — a door wide open, only waiting for him to walk through.

You've never come as close to losing him as this, never really had to think about what it would be like to have to go on without him, never quite realized just how much you need him, how much you rely on his presence to keep you sane in the midst of this war. You'd never dared to truly let yourself imagine what it would be like to have more than the friendship you built, kept telling yourself it's not worth the risk of destroying what you have, but after you almost lost him completely today...

You're not sure how you're supposed to keep hiding your feelings for him. Everyone saw you freak out. Oh gods, did they realize why you had reacted so extremely? Would they tell Garrick? Would it even matter if they do?

You know he cares about you, the question is just in what way; purely platonically, or maybe romantically, too?

If you don't find the guts to talk to him, you'll never know.

With a sigh, you turn onto your stomach, head resting on your folded arms, turned sideways in a way that will probably leave you with a stiff neck so you can keep Garrick in your sights. Your bedroll is laid out far enough from his to not seem clingy or improper, just close enough that if both of you were to stretch out an arm, your hands would be able to touch.

That's not going to happen, of course. He's sleeping, and you won't reach for him, no matter how much you want to.

You'll just watch over him, let the rise and fall of his chest reassure you that he's breathing. You know you won't be able to sleep anyway, no matter how hard you try.

Every time you close your eyes, the day's events play out in your mind again and again. Garrick chewing on that cursed cake, Garrick collapsing, Garrick laid limp on the floor, unbreathing. Better to stay awake, thinking about your feelings for Garrick and what to do about them, than to relive those moments over and over.

Maybe you should risk telling him. You only have this one life, only one chance to be with him. Do you really want to waste it just because you're scared he doesn't feel the same? What if he does? Wouldn't that be worth risking your heart for?

In the end, you must have dozed off after all, because the next thing you know, the stars overhead are gone, replaced by the dull twilight of early morning.

You've rolled closer to Garrick in your sleep — you're lying on the blank sand between his bedroll and your own, your blanket tangled around you like a constrictor snake.

Garrick's arm is stretched out in the sand next to you; a twitch of your hand is all it would take to make your pinkies touch. To your embarrassment, he stirrs before you can untangle yourself and move back onto your bedding. You can't even pretend to still be asleep; your fight to free yourself from the bondage-loving blanket made you twist into a position no one would believe you can sleep in.

Garrick doesn't even waste time on a good morning before he starts teasing you. "Careful, princess, or I'll get used to that beautiful face being the first thing I see when I wake up."

His voice, low and still rough with sleep, sends shivers down your spine. You're still so sleepy you can't stop yourself from imagining what it would be like to always wake up beside him and get to hear his morning voice.

"Shut up."

He doesn't, of course. "If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do is ask."

"Shut up! I must have gotten cold in my sleep or something."

Garrick chuckles quietly. "Yeah? Come here then, princess. I'll keep you warm."

If you actually were cold, the heat rising to your cheeks at his words would certainly be enough to change that. Nonetheless, you scoot just a tiny bit closer. A second later, Garrick's hand slides under your waist, pulling you flush against him so suddenly you can barely stifle your yelp of surprise.

Everyone else is still asleep around the dying fire, except for whoever had taken the last watch. In the dim light of dawn, you can just make out their silhouette on the opposite side of your campsite.

Garrick's body is warm and solid against your own, and though you hadn't actually been cold at all, you're far from complaining. You only hope he can't feel the way your heart is racing.

This close, you can make out every detail of his handsome face, from the stubble on his jaw over the scar he got at Resson and those oh so kissable lips to his ever observant eyes.

"You're staring again," he whispers. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you haven't stopped staring at me since we left Hedotis, except to sleep. Did the poison give me purple freckles or something, or is just my good looks that have you so enraptured?"

You're not yet awake enough to make up an excuse or evade the question, so you answer honestly. "Just assuring myself you're still here. That you're breathing. Yesterday was—" You shake your head, words failing to adequately describe the horror you'd felt. "I almost lost you. I just— I can't bear the thought of a world without you in it."

"Aww, you really care about me that much, huh?" he teases.

"Yes," you simply say. You don't feel like joking about the matter.

Garrick must realize it, his expression turning serious. "I heard you, you know. When you told me not to leave you. I thought you didn't like giving orders, but it seems you do have it in you after all."

You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant as you desperately try to remember what exactly you'd said. Had you let slip any of what you felt for him? You'd been so upset — too upset to care what you said or who might hear. "I figured it was worth a try, considering how you always say you'd do anything for me. Thought I'd see if that includes staying alive."

"It does. My life is all yours, princess."

Though the words are lighthearted, joking, his tone is anything but.

"You shouldn't say things like that," you whisper. "I might get the idea you actually mean them."

"I do. Not even Malek himself could make me leave if you tell me to stay."

Your hand curls into a fist around the fabric of his shirt. Gods, when he talks like that, you can almost convince yourself he feels about you the same way you feel about him.

"Good, because I don't know what I would do without you by my side. I don't— I don't think I want to know. When it looked like you were about to die it was like— like I couldn't function anymore." You hadn't meant to admit it, but the words are gushing out faster than you can stop them. "Everyone else did what they had to, but I— I was completely petrified. All I could think was that I was going to lose you and I couldn't do anything about it."

"But you didn't lose me. I'm alive, princess. And I won't be going anywhere, I promise."

He pulls you closer, both arms wrapped tight around your waist, and you rest a palm on his chest. His heart beats strong and steady, not at all like the sluggish slow stumbling it had done when he lay dying on Talia's dining room floor. Without thinking, you rest your head against Garrick's chest and close your eyes, soaking up the sound, every beat a promise that he's alive and will stay that way.

"Garrick?"

"Yes, princess?"

"What would you do if I said I love you?"

With your head still lying on his chest, you can hear his heart speed up at the question.

"If that were the case, I would have to kiss you."

You bite your lip, slightly angling your head to peek up at him. "Really?"

One of Garrick's hands leaves your back and gently lifts your chin, making you fully face him.

"Why don't you try saying it and find out?"

Because you're scared, that's why. But he wouldn't have said that if he didn't mean it, if he didn't feel something, too. He wouldn't play with your feelings like that. And the way he's looking at you...

You shove the fear aside, and say the words you've held back for so long. "I love you, Garrick."

"I love you too, princess," he says just as quietly, and then his lips are on yours.

[minjixficrecs]

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ A Star Amongst Shadows ˚.⭒☽ ˚.⋆

AO3 Link ⋆ Chapter One ~ A Star Falls ⋆

You do not remember falling.

Only the burn.

The burn.

The agony of flame tearing through starlight. The sickening lurch of magic snapping, your essence torn from the sky. And then — the weight. A terrible, suffocating heaviness as the world pulled you down. As the sky, your home, let you go.

You hit the earth hard enough to shatter bone. 

Shatter this newness that you feel physically.

Now, you lie in the smoldering crater — naked, heaving, trembling. Earth clings to your skin. There is a taste in your mouth that you do not recognise.

The air smells strange: rich and green and full of life.

Loud with it. And it presses too close.

Everything touches.

Touches you.

And you do not know how to move.

Your limbs — foreign. Your breath — ragged.

Your heart — loud.

Then footsteps. Crashing through the undergrowth, fast and sure.

A deep voice curses in shock, followed by the skid of boots against stone. Then warmth — presence — fills the air beside you.

“Gods,” the male breathes. “Are you—are you alive?”

You can’t answer. Your throat works, but no sound comes.

The scent of wind and steel and something like spice rushes over you. Then—fabric. Something heavy and warm is draped over your body, covering the shivering, shaking shell of you. 

You flinch. 

The feeling is strange. Everything is strange.

You struggle, as something creeps over your spine, fear. 

“Hey—hey, it’s alright,” the voice says, gentler now. “You’re safe.”

You manage to blink. His face is shadowed, but you see the concern in it. Golden-brown eyes, framed by dark hair. Big. Broad. His presence fills the space.

“I’m Cassian,” he says slowly, kneeling beside you. “Can you speak?”

Cassian.

You try, your lips move over the name.

It slides into you, anchors itself in your mind. You can’t form a reply, but you cling to the name like a star clings to sky.

He watches you for a moment longer, then shifts closer, easing his arms beneath you. You stiffen — your body too new, too sensitive — but he doesn’t hesitate. He lifts you with the ease of someone used to protecting things smaller than himself.

And you—

No longer in your familiar form, a foreign body. 

And then you make a sound, a little gasp as though you are taking your first breath.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs again. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t understand the words fully, not yet. But the meaning bleeds through his voice.

You let yourself lean into him.

There is nothing else for you to do.

Cassian carries you through the trees, up a ridge where stars once again peek through the canopy. The wind touches your face, and you ache with homesickness for it. You ache with everything.

You sense the others before you see them — power rippling through the forest like a heartbeat.

A soft voice speaks first, laced with caution. “What is that?”

Cassian huffs. “Not what. Who. She fell from the sky.”

Then there are figures — stepping into view like ghosts:

A tall male whose voice commands the world around him.

A silver-eyed female, ancient and unreadable.

A golden-haired woman, radiant and warm.

Another female with paint-streaked hands and eyes like quiet water.

And something else. Something behind them. Watching. Cloaked in shadow and silence.

Azriel.

You don’t know that name yet, but you feel him. Like a brush of wind you can’t place.

Cassian kneels, still holding you, and speaks low to the commanding male. “She’s…different. She’s not from here.”

“She’s fae,” the silver-eyed woman says sharply. “But she’s not—”

She cuts herself off, tilting her head. Staring at you like she’s trying to solve a riddle written in the stars.

The male steps forward. His eyes — violet — meet yours with such gentleness it nearly undoes you. He crouches. Doesn’t touch you. Just watches.

Then a quiet pressure enters your mind. Not forceful. Not cruel. Just…present.

You try to jerk away, but your body doesn’t obey.

Arms tighten as they hold onto you, keeping you steady.

“I won’t hurt you,” the voice says within your head. Warm. Steady. A little sad. “Let me show you who we are.”

And with that, the floodgates open.

Rhysand.

His name settles into you like nightfall.

High Lord.

Then —

Feyre. Soft, steady. A painter’s soul.

Mor. Laughter and sunshine.

Amren. A blade too bright to touch.

Cassian. Your anchor, your first name.

And—

A flicker in the corner of your awareness. A shadow. Silent, watchful. Azriel.

You flinch again. Rhysand withdraws, giving you space.

“You’re safe now,” his voice whispers in your thoughts. “You’re among friends.”

You don’t understand all of this. Not yet. But something in you starts to breathe again.

The others speak softly, but their voices are too quick, too clipped for your scattered mind to track.

Only one voice cuts clearly through the haze.

“She’s not just fae,” the silver-eyed woman — Amren, your mind supplies — says with sharp certainty. “She’s ancient. And she’s not from this realm.”

Cassian’s arms tighten protectively around you.

It’s strange, being held like this. 

You’ve never felt another being physically, it was never possible but now…

Rhysand’s tone shifts, curious and cool. “What are you saying?”

Amren stares down at you like she’s reading starlight from your skin. “She’s a fallen star.”

The words mean nothing. 

And everything. 

You feel them strike some half-buried part of yourself.

“Impossible,” Mor says, but even she sounds unsure.

“No.” Amren’s voice is low. Reverent. “I felt her magic before we arrived. She fell out of the sky. I’d stake my life on it — she’s celestial.”

A fallen star. 

The term hums inside you. You don’t know what it means. You only know that the sky is gone, and you are here, and everything hurts.

You shift in Cassian’s arms. The cloak slips slightly, and your body floods with fresh confusion. 

Embarrassment. Exposure. 

You don’t know why you feel that way, only that you do.

Cassian notices instantly. “Let’s get her inside,” he says, rising again with you in his arms. “She’s freezing.”

“She won’t be safe in the city,” Amren warns. “There are too many who would notice what she is.”

Rhysand’s eyes flick to you, calculating. Protective. “Then we take her to the House of Wind.”

Your senses stretch, weary and raw, and—

There it is again.

The presence.

A darkness tucked behind the others. Still. Quiet. But aware. Watching you not like a predator, not like prey—but like someone who sees you clearly.

You can’t name it yet.

But something in you pulls toward him. Not in fear. Not in pain.

Just… recognition.

The sky in you remembers shadow.

And you search for it, you will everything in this new body to move, your eyes searching for something, anything. 

There is a tug and you are not sure what it means.

The wind rushes past as you’re flown—flown—across the skies of this strange, bright place. You bury your face in Cassian’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the height, the speed, the weight of being carried.

He holds you steady. Offers you quiet reassurance as the others soar nearby.

When you land, you don’t even lift your head to look. Your limbs feel like they’ve been carved from stone.

Mor is already inside, preparing a bath. Feyre brings clothes — soft and light — things you don’t understand.

Cassian lays you gently in a cushioned chair beside a roaring hearth, and only then do you open your eyes again.

You are in a room full of firelight and warmth. 

A place that smells of cedar and lavender and something baked with cinnamon.

These are scents that’s are familiar, you’ve travelled across this realm and been to every nook in the sky, it’s always home.

You’ve experienced the world but not like this, never like this. 

Still draped in his cloak, you blink at the space around you. There is too much to see. Too many sensations. Too much you.

“You’re alright,” Cassian says again, kneeling in front of you. His hands are gentle where they adjust the cloak. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

You don’t know how to thank him. So you just stare.

Wrap the cloak tighter around your body.

Rhysand approaches, giving you time to notice him this time — how regal he is, and yet how careful he moves.

“We’ll give you time,” he says, voice warm. “We’re not here to demand anything from you.”

Why? you want to ask. Why are you helping me?

As if he hears the question behind your silence, Rhysand offers a faint smile. “Because once, we were all lost, too.”

And somehow, that undoes you more than anything else.

You can hear yourself waver, how your breath shakes and tears, droplets of water spill as everything becomes too much.

When they finally leave you in peace, you sit beside the fire, unmoving.

The cloak around you still smells like Cassian — wind and steel and smoke. It grounds you.

You watch the flames flicker and try to remember what it felt like to burn like that. 

Not with heat. But with light.

You try to remember what it felt like to shine.

But the truth is, you are cold. You are lost.

And somewhere in this house, in the quiet shadows of the hall, someone is still watching you.

Not with judgment.

With knowing.

You’re not sure how long you sit curled by the fire, listening to its low crackle. 

Long enough that the cloak begins to warm. 

Long enough that the strange ache in your limbs grows heavier, almost unbearable.

You don’t know how to move. Not well. Not yet. Every motion is stiff, like you’re inside a shell too small for your spirit. Or too large. Or wrong altogether.

You’re not used to being seen.

And yet now, here you are — draped in borrowed fabric, skin too alive, sitting in a palace carved into the sky.

Eventually, a quiet knock taps against the door. 

You stiffen. 

The sound feels like a blade against your nerves.

You don’t answer.

But the door opens anyway.

It’s her — Feyre.

Soft in her steps, gentle in her gaze. She holds a bundle of fabric and a wooden tray with warm food and drink.

“I brought you clothes,” she says kindly, setting them on the low table beside you. “And something to eat. No one expects you to come out. Take your time.”

You say nothing. Not because you don’t want to, but because you still don’t know how.

She nods, as if understanding that silence. “I didn’t speak much when I first came here,” she says gently. “It took me time to feel like my voice mattered again.”

You blink at her, startled.

Feyre smiles. “It’s a lot. The body. The weight of it. The air here is thick, isn’t it?”

You nod — once — and your throat burns.

“I’m not going to crowd you,” she says gently. “But I wanted you to know… you’re not alone.”

She leaves the tray and the clothes, and just like that, she’s gone.

And still —

The shadow remains.

You sense it at the edge of your awareness. Always in the background. A presence that doesn’t move or press or intrude. Just watches.

You don’t know it’s him. Not yet.

But you feel him.

The quiet tether. The silent weight.

You do not know how to eat.

You try.

But your fingers — these hands — feel too fragile for the task. You spill broth down your chin. You flinch at the temperature. You gag on the texture of bread.

It humiliates you.

You curl in tighter around yourself. It wasn’t like this before. You didn’t have to chew or swallow. 

You just… were.

Now everything is a task. A failing. A reminder of what you’ve lost.

You are no longer light. No longer untouchable.

Now, you are bound to flesh and bone—tethered to a body that aches and stumbles.

And someone saw you like this.

Cassian. Rhysand. Mor. Amren. Feyre.

You think again of the one in the shadows. The one who said nothing but looked with quiet gravity.

You don’t know who this presence is.

But something in you wants to.

Later, Rhysand appears again. Not with power this time, not with ceremony — just being,

“I’d like you to stay here,” he says, voice low and sincere. “At least for a while.”

You open your mouth. Then shut it. Then try again.

“…Why?”

The sound is hoarse. Like air dragged over broken stars.

Rhys’s violet eyes warm. “Because you’re not safe out there. And because someone needs to help you learn how to live in this body. How to exist here.”

You hesitate.

He waits.

“…I want to go home,” you whisper, not quite knowing what home is now.

“I know,” he says softly. “We’ll try to help you find a way back. But until then — you’re not alone.”

That seems to be his promise.

You nod slowly.

He smiles, and a glimmer of something ancient and powerful shines in his eyes. “Good. Tomorrow, Cassian will take you to the training ring. Just to stretch. See how the body moves.”

You blink. “…Training?”

His grin turns slightly wicked. “You’ll see.”

Then he nods once and leaves you again in the firelight.

And that’s when you feel it.

That presence — the one that’s lingered on the edge of your consciousness since the crater — draws closer. Just a step. Just enough.

He doesn’t enter. Doesn’t speak.

But you feel him standing there.

Like moonlight beneath a door.

Like shadow curled around your ankles.

And despite everything — the pain, the confusion, the foreignness of this body —

You are not afraid.

A note from me!

Hey, so it’s been a while since I wrote in second person and the first time on this blog… so I hope this tickles you in all the right places! 

I have adapted my style to fit in with the fantasy, the scene setting, the overall story I want to tell so apologies if it’s a little rocky. 

I’m trying! 

(I’m also in a deep ACOTAR hyper fixation so I’m going to try and get this story out of my brain and on to my notes app as quickly and as consistently as possible! I have also only read the first three books in the series so far so if there is anything that verges from canon, again my apologies!)

As always, let me know what you think? xo 

[minjixficrecs]

Not Your Weight To Carry

Summary: Liam has always been calm, cool, and collected no matter what, but when you become the target instead of him, no one ever stood a chance.

Note: Liam Week Day 1 - honor / Day 2 - Protective - @empyreanevents 

Pairing: Liam Mairi x reader

Warnings: harassment, misogyny(by unnamed character), bullying, violence, drugging, loss of consciousness, Liam on a rampage

Word Count: 1.6k

Read on Wattpad | Read on A03 | Liam Week 2025

You’d asked him the same question more times than you could count.

“Why do you let them talk to you like that?”

Every time someone muttered traitor under their breath, or spat the word rebel like it was poison. Every time they shoved past him in the mess hall or made a quiet, cruel joke during drills—like he wasn’t good enough to be here, like he hadn’t earned every damn scar on his hands.

And every time, Liam just shrugged with that infuriating calm. “Because I know who I am,” he’d say. “And I know what you think of me. Doesn’t matter what the rest of them believe.”

You hated how much sense that made. Hated more how often it worked.

When you tried to speak up—when your blood boiled hotter than his ever did—he’d always step between you and the fire. Pull you close. Tuck you just under his chin.

“Easy, Sunshine,” he’d murmur, voice soft against the shell of your ear. “Letting them get to you means they win.”

It made you feel safe. Steady. Like nothing they said could touch you as long as he was there.

But then—it all flips.

“He only picked you because you're easy to control, huh, sweetheart?” one of the cadets in your squad mutters as he brushes past you in the sparring gym.

You freeze. You were just taping your wrists, half-focused on your stance—until that voice, and those words, slither under your skin.

You straighten, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

He’s already pacing a slow circle, like this is just another round. “I’m just saying,” he adds with a shrug, “you’re the weakest in our squad—but I’m sure you’ve got other useful skills. Right?”

Your heart pounds. Your face burns. But not from shame. From rage. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

He turns back, grinning like this is funny. Like you’re the joke. “Relax. Just making an observation. He’s got a type, doesn’t he? Soft. Obedient. Easy to—”

You don’t see Liam until he’s beside you. “Finish that sentence,” his voice cuts through the gym like lightning—sharp, electrified, and cold. So cold it silences the space instantly.

The cadet stiffens. His smirk fades.

Liam’s jaw is locked, arms tense like he’s holding himself back from launching across the floor. But his voice? His voice is steel.

“Go on,” Liam repeats, stepping forward. “Finish it. I dare you.”

No one breathes.

The cadet falters. “Just joking,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean—”

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Liam says, low but deadly. “Ever.”

Then he turns to you. He doesn’t touch you right away—just looks. Like he’s checking to see if you’re okay, if you want him near.

You nod, but your hands are still shaking. “I got this,” you say quietly.

Liam nods back. “I know you do.” His voice softens. “But I’m done letting them think you’re fair game.”

Because now? You’re the one they’re aiming at. And Liam—calm, honorable, untouchable Liam—isn’t brushing any of it off.

The air inside the sparring arena is taut with anticipation—too quiet, too still. All eyes are on you and Ren, who is triple your size and known for breaking noses, shattering egos, and walking away without a scratch.

But you know you can handle him and you do for the first three minutes.

Your strikes land clean. Your footwork outpaces him. He scowls as you dodge another brutal kick and drive your elbow into his side. The crowd is murmuring now—surprised, maybe even impressed.

Then, one step lands too heavy. The next stumbles. Your limbs go hot, then numb. Your fingers twitch strangely as your blade dips mid-swing. It’s like your body’s disconnected—fog rolling over your nerves.

Then Ren’s fist slams into your ribs.

You gasp—but it’s slow. Like your lungs are filling with something thicker than air. Another hit. Your vision tilts. You're too sluggish to block the blow, and the blade cuts across your upper arm—deep.

You stagger back, blinking. The crowd blurs at the edges.

What’s happening?

You try to raise your blade again, but it slips from your fingers and hits the mat with a sharp clang. The world wobbles. Your knees hit next.

Ren hesitates—just for a second—like he’s realizing something’s off. But Emettario hasn’t called it, so he moves in again.

And this time, you can’t even flinch. The final hit crashes into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side and everything goes black.

Across the arena, Liam finishes his challenge with a clean takedown. He’s already turning to find you, expecting that crooked smile you always wear after a good fight.

But you’re not smiling. You’re not moving.

He sees your body first—twisted awkwardly on the mat. Then he sees Ren, standing over you. No remorse.

He sees red.

Liam’s already moving before his mind catches up. Shoving past those circled around your mat, ignoring the shouts of his name.

He hits Ren like a storm.

Fist to gut. Elbow to jaw. Ren doesn’t even get a guard up before he’s on the ground, groaning in pain as Liam drives a knee into his side.

“What did you do to her?!” Liam roars, voice shredded. “What the fuck did you do?!”

It takes Xaden, Bodhi, and Garrick to drag him off. Emettario is shouting over the noise, someone shoves Ren out of the ring as he stumbles to his feet.

Liam doesn’t care. He breaks free from his brother’s hold on him and drops to your side, hand hovering just above your face—afraid to touch, afraid he’s too late.

“Sunshine,” he breathes. “Hey—look at me. Please.”

Your face is pale. Too pale. Blood trickles from your nose. A shaking healer slides beside him, already working—but Liam doesn’t move.

He just stares. At your limp fingers. Your bruised jaw. The way your head lolled so easily to the side when they checked your pulse.

And it hits him. This wasn’t just a fight. Something was wrong.

His bloodied fists curl on the mat.

And for the first time since arriving at Basgiath—Liam Mairi is ready to burn the whole quadrant down.

You hadn't stirred in hours.

The healers said the bleeding stopped. That you were stable. But your skin is still too pale, your breathing too thin. They don’t know what was used on you—only that it was something slipped before the match. Maybe in your water or lunch.

Something subtle. Deliberate. Meant to break you without anyone noticing until it was too late.

Liam hadn't left the infirmary since they carried you in. Not until now.

Because someone did this to you and he’s going to find out who.

He stalks through Basgiath like a man possessed.

He tracks every cadet who made a comment towards you. Corners them. Demands names. He checks bottles, gear, and bags. 

He doesn’t care about rules anymore. Not after seeing the way your body laid on that floor.

Not after he heard the way the healers whispered about permanent damage—intentional, invasive, and premeditated.

He had just pinned one of the cadets in your squad when a sharp voice stopped him.

“Liam.” 

He turns—sharp, still seething–to see Xaden standing a few paces away, arms folded, jaw tight.

“You need to stop.”

“I’m not stopping until I find out who did this to her,” Liam snaps, turning back to the cadet in his arms.

“I get it,” Xaden says, pulling Liam away, letting the cadet get away. “I do. But dragging cadets out by their collars isn’t going to help her. And it sure as hell isn’t going to help you.”

Liam’s breathing hard. “She could’ve died.” Liam’s voice cracks, shoulders sagging as he finally just feels everything.

“I know.”

“She didn’t even get the chance to fight. Someone made sure of it before she stepped on that mat.”

“I know,” Xaden says again, softer this time. He takes a step closer. “But if she were awake right now—if she saw you like this—you know what she’d say.”

For a moment, all that rage just... folds in on itself. Exhaustion takes its place. The kind born of heartbreak, not battle.

“Is she...is she awake?”

Xaden nods, a faint smile breaking through. “She’s asking for you.”

Liam doesn’t run. He walks. But inside? He’s sprinting. 

And as he slips into the infirmary, breath caught in his throat, he sees you—awake. Bruised and dazed, but awake. His whole body relaxes.

You blink up at him, lips parting in a tired smile.

And he crosses the room in three long strides, falls to his knees at your bedside, and takes your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, like a prayer.

Your voice is hoarse, barely audible. “You look like hell.”

He huffs a broken laugh, pressing your hand to his lips. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You close your eyes briefly. “I was so scared, Liam. I didn’t understand what was happening. My body... it felt like it wasn’t mine anymore.”

He tightens his grip on your hand. “I thought—” His voice breaks, then steadies again. “I thought I lost you.”

Your lashes flutter open. “You didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” he says fiercely. “And I’m never gonna let anyone take you from me. Not now. Not ever.”

You nudge his shoulder weakly. “Letting them get to you means letting them win... remember?”

He chokes on a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Yeah,” he says. “I remember.”

But in his head, he promises himself:

They’re still going to pay. Later, but still pay.

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse

[minjixficrecs]

Promises, Promises Part 1

Summary: Of course, Jack and Callie's baby would decide to make their grand entrance when an idiot tried to smoke in L&D and flood the whole floor.

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, descriptions of labor and childbirth, blood, birth trauma, cursing

A/N: This will be a two part series because I need to get this one off my laptop and out of my head. I've been fiddling with it for months. It's a long one, so strap in!

“I can’t believe the L&D ward caught fire!” Dr. King shook her head. “they must have been so scared.”

“What idiot smokes in a hospital?” Santos scoffed.

“Dr. Robby does that mean we’ll be getting their patients?” Whittaker asked.

“No, they’re being transferred to the maternity center just down the road. Dispatch has been notified and are making sure all OB’s let their patients know. We may get in a couple of confused mothers. Nothing we can’t handle.” Robby nodded.

“Hey! Did you see the board?” Jack Abbot came barreling up to Robby at the nurses station.

“I never stop seeing it.” He sighed.

“What’s got your panties in a twist? I’m managing it just fine.” Dana scolded.

“N-no! Not that board! Ahmed has a betting board in his office. You’re all taking bets on the birth of my child?” He growled.  Robby and Dana looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Relax, it’s just a little fun.” Dana patted his arm.

“Fun. You’re sick.” Jack crossed his arms.

“Never thought I’d see the day Jack Abbot was upset about a baby pool! You nervous, cowboy?” Dana smiled.

“I’d be an idiot if I weren’t.” His signature stone face never letting up. “I hear L&D is down for at least two weeks, so that doesn’t help.”

“Relax, it’s not like she’s having the baby today. The Maternity center is nice anyway!” Robby crossed his arms.

“I don’t know them! I don’t know what equipment they have! I know they don’t have a surgical suite. What if she needs an emergency c-section? No way are we going there.” Jack shook his head.

“You two will figure it out. Not like you have any other choice.” Dana smiled.

“If she calls saying she’s contracting, I’m blaming you.” Jack pointed at Robby and stormed off.

“I don’t think I have ever seen him this wound tight.” Robby chuckled.

“You boys all get like this with the first. My husband had a panic attack and passed out when I told him my water broke.” Dana sighed as she looked at her clipboard.

Jack was finishing up with a road rash case, enjoying the monotony of it, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Dr. King, take over.” He said, handing her the instruments and stepping out of the room. The name on his phone wasn’t one he was expecting.

“Liz, what’s wrong?” He answered.

“Nothing. I just hadn’t heard from Callie all day and I think she turned her phone off. I was just seeing if she’d checked in with you.”

“Oh. No. She hasn’t, can you go over and make sure-” Before he could finish his sentence in walked Callie from triage. “You know what she just walked in. I’ll call you back.” Jack hung up and ran over to her.

“And he threatened me with soft restraints and I said that wasn’t a threat that was kinky.” Callie laughed with Dr. McKay.

“Baby? What the hell?” Jack looked her over.

“Hey! I was just looking for you.” Callie smiled.

“Why are you telling my resident that story?” He glared down at her.

“Because it’s funny.” Callie shrugged.

“Callie was just tell me that she’s been having contractions for the past six hours.” McKay gave a tight smile.

“What!?” Jack looked at her aghast.

“I was fine on my own, I knew it would take a while. I didn’t want to bother you until necessary.”

“Honey, how many damn times do I have to tell you that you do not bother me.” He ran a hand down his face.

“Besides you were going to be annoying anyway.” Callie smiled, Jack couldn’t help but smile back.

“I told her about the fire.” McKay said.

“Talk about bad timing. Where are they sending everyone?” Callie asked.

“The maternity center up the road.”

“The one with no surgery? Absolutely not. No way.” Callie crossed her arms.

“My girl.” Jack chuckled.

“Why don’t we just get you into a room here, check you out until you two make your decision on where to go.” McKay offered.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. If I can’t go upstairs, it’ll be here then.” Callie stated.

“Oh, I’m not sure you want to labor and deliver in the pitt. It’s not the most relaxing place.” Mckay said.

“I’m only as relaxed as he is and he won’t be relaxed anywhere else.” Callie smiled up at Jack.

“Right, Room 3 is open, on the quieter side of the department. Let’s go there.” Mckay smiled.

Jack kept his hand firmly on the small of Callie’s back as they walked toward the room.

“This is your fault.” Jack pointed at Robby as they passed by.

“Well, look whose here! Callie you look radiant.” Robby chuckled.

“Robby, I don’t appreciate lies. Especially while I’m in a tremendous amount of pain.” Callie winked.

“I would never lie to you. They tell you about the fire?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Where are you thinking of going?”

“Nowhere. Here’s fine.” Callie stated as she entered the room.

“Whoa, what?” Robby grabbed Jack before he entered the room.

“She’s made her mind up. You spoke this into the universe, brother. Gear up, big guy, you’re playing catcher.” Jack smiled as he smacked Robby’s arm.

“Get as comfortable as you can, we’ll take good care of you. Not that Dr. Abbot would let anyone do differently.” McKay smiled and left.

“Honey, are you sure you want to do this here?” Jack sat in front of Callie.

“I don’t know the staff at other hospitals, I don’t know their standards. These are our people. They will make sure we’re okay. I know they’ll take care of the baby well and look after me and you. Why would I go anywhere else? For fancy bathtubs and aroma therapy? We are not those people, Jack.” Callie ran her hands through his hair.

“If you’re sure.” He smiled up at her. Callie nodded but was hit with a contraction causing her to scrunch up her face.

“They’re getting more intense.” She groaned. Jack took hold of her hand, rubbing her arm with other.

“Deep breath if you can.” He reminded her.

“Easier said then done.” Callie sighed.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Jack smiled. Callie took a deep breath as the contraction ebbed away.

“You have patients to tend to.” Callie noted.

“Nope. Patient. You. That’s it. Robby and his team can manage without me. I was heading home soon anyway.”

“Jack you haven’t slept, oh honey. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t plan to go into labor today. Besides, I’m fine.” Jack tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You should get some rest. Go to the on call room or something.”

“Oh, I’m not sleeping now. Hey, what happened to your phone? Liz said you turned it off?”  Jack ran his hands up and down her thighs, something he did to ground himself.

“Oh. No. I dropped it by the TV. I couldn’t bend down to get it.” Callie sighed.  Jack failed at stifling a laugh. “Don’t laugh!” She smacked him.

“Sorry, the imagery of you trying to get it was too funny.” Jack laughed.

“Well, good morning!” Dana came walking into the room.

“Dana! Is this that VIP treatment I hear so much about? I get a charge nurse to take care of me.”

“Only for you darling. You’re always my favorite patient, but you’re extra special when you’re giving me a new little niece or nephew.” She hugged Callie.

“Since when are you their aunt?” Jack looked confused.

“Since I deemed it so.” Dana gave a curt nod.

“Who else do we got anyway? Beside you’d rather have an experienced charge nurse as the secondary contact for them anyway.” Callie pointed.

“Yeah, good point.” Jack shrugged.

“How you doing, Sweetheart?” Dana asked rubbing Callie’s back.

“Oh about as good as anyone can be when a 9 pound fetus is trying to push it’s way out of their vagina.” Callie smiled.

“Oh good. Some women complain about this stuff you know.” Dana laughed.

“I never complain.”

“Bullshit.” Jack laughed.

“Why don’t you go get coffee and I’ll help you into your gown?” Dana shot Jack a look.

“Sure. You need anything?” Jack kissed Callie’s forehead.

“Juice, my hands are shaking.” She sighed. Jack looked down to see her hands were in fact shaking. It sent a shiver up his spine.

“You got it. Dana, can you get her full work up going? Protocol for new mothers, don’t fight it.” Jack pointed at Callie who raised her hands in defeat.

“Can do, Boss.” Dana smiled.

Jack walked into the break room, pouring the stale coffee into a paper cup and sipping on it, quickly grabbing a bottle of orange juice. He went to find Robby, he was going over a suture technique with one of the med students. Jack caught Robby’s eye and he came shuffling over.

“How’s she doing?” Robby smiled.

“Okay. Her hands are shaking.” Jack stated.

“That’s normal. Adrenaline is coursing through her veins, shakes happen.” Robby reminds him.

“No. It’s not adrenaline. I can feel it. Something is off. She thinks it’s blood sugar, bringing her juice.” Jack shook the orange juice bottle in his hand.

“Maybe she’s right and maybe you’re instincts are off because you’re so damn nervous.” Robby said.

“Dana is pulling blood under the guise of a ‘new mothers’ protocol. She didn’t question it. She sees it too.”

“Let’s not get worked up until we see what we got going on. Okay?” Robby put his hands on Jack’s shoulders.

“I’m only going to say this once because I won’t be able to get the words out again. You save her if it comes down to it. You save Callie. We’ll survive if we lose the baby, it’ll hurt and be awful but we’ll figure it out. I won’t survive if I lose her. I can’t.” Jack shook his head.

“It’s not coming to that. I won’t let it.” Robby assured him.  

“Yeah…” Jack cleared his throat.

Dana came round the corner, handing the blood off to one of her nurses to head to lab stat. She gave Jack a tight smile.

“You think something’s off too?” Robby asked scratching the back of his neck, his nervous tick.

“I don’t know. My spidey senses are tingling a bit. She looks okay, pressure is perfectly normal. Her hands shaking could just be low blood sugar. She’s not acting herself.” Dana shrugged.

“She’s in labor, who acts normally in labor?” Robby sighed.

“No, I know. But she’s distant in a way freaks me out a little.” Dana said.

“Let’s not get our nerves up until we have more information. We’ll keep a close on her vitals and do repeat labs in an hour. Get her drinking the juice, if her sugar is too low, we’ll get hooked up to an IV.” Robby stated.

“I want to know the second those labs are back.” Jack said to Dana as he left.

“Robby, you know I’m not into superstitious stuff, but something in my gut is saying this isn’t going to go well.” Dana whispered.

“If I trust anyone’s gut it’s yours. One step at a time. Labs, then we’ll go from there. Keep her calm, that’s the main thing.” Robby nodded.

“I know you prefer cranberry juice but all I got was orange.” Jack came into the room and handed Callie the juice.

“I can stomach it I think.” Callie sipped the juice.

“Is there something you’re aren’t telling me?” Jack took her hand, rubbing up and down her forearm.

“What? Like what?” Callie looked confused.

“Something you feel that you aren’t saying. You just seem off, I want to help.” Jack said.

“No, I don’t know. This is all new to me Jack. I don’t know what’s normal really. I’m tired, I’ve been tired all day. Hell! I’ve been tired for the past six months!” Callie chuckled.

“Okay. I just…I want this to go as smoothly for you as possible.”

“Are you worried?” Callie looked at him concerned.

“I always worry about you. Have since the day we met.” He smiled as he stood up  and kissed her. Callie leaned her forehead against his as she started to groan through a contraction.

“Dr. Abbot they want to ask- Oh I’m so sorry!” Dr. Javadi jump and scrambled out of the room.

“Oh that poor girl!” Callie laughed through her pain.

“She’s supposed to knock for a reason.” Jack grumbled. He held Callie close as the contraction ended.

“Go put that girl’s mind at ease. She’s out there sweating.” Callie laughed.

“Let her.” Jack said.

“Be nice. They need to learn so they can be as good as you one day.” Callie cupped his face.

“In their dreams.” Jack scoffed as he got up and left the room.

“I am so sorry Dr. Abbot, I did not mean to interrupt such an intimate moment. It won’t happen again.” Javadi rambled.

“You’re lucky my girlfriend is a saint of a woman. What did you need?” Jack sighed.

“Um, Dr. Robby wanted to ask what her last appointment was like. The baby’s position, any concerns for pre-eclampsia, things like that.” Javadi said, her nervous energy was putting Jack off.

“You stay with her. Scream if she needs me.” Jack pointed at Javadi.

“oh, okay.” She cautiously entered the room.

“Oh I don’t bite like him. Stuck you on babysitting duty? You can say no.” Callie smiled.

“I absolutely could not.” Javadi gave a nervous laugh.

Jack came marching up to Dana’s desk, Robby was leaning across it. They were going over the patient flow and getting people out or upstairs.

“So, we are not putting med students on this. I didn’t think I had to say that, especially to you.” Jack growled.

“Take a beat Jack.” Dana warned.

“I’m not putting med students on this. I needed more information and Javadi is more than capable of gathering that while I juggle an entire ER of patients.” Robby snapped.

“Her chart is in the system. Normal, healthy pregnancy. No complications outside of the six weeks of morning sickness. Had an ultrasound and exam less than a week ago, baby was head down, in a good potion. No hypertension noted, no risk of eclampsia noted.” Jack recited as if he had memorized her whole chart.

“Okay. Good. She tell you anything new?”

“She’s been tired, but she’s always tired.” Jack shrugged.

“Dr. Robby, labs are back on Callie.” Perlah handed the tablet to him.

“what’s it look like?” Jack said, trying to peer over his shoulder.

“She’s got low blood sugar. Her platelet count is low and she’s slightly anemic. She’s always had anemia issues. Let’s test her clotting factors, I need to know if she’ll be able to clot when things get going.” Robby told Dana.

“I’ll get it going. You want to do a quick ultrasound, make sure there isn’t a bleed somewhere we don’t know about?” Dana asked as she typed up the orders.

“Yes. I’ll do it myself, just pull it into the room for me.” Robby nodded.

“If she can’t clot, she’ll bleed out either way.” Jack whispered to himself, but everyone heard it.

“Hey. We’re going to keep her safe.” Robby reassured.

“Dr. Abbot!” Javadi called from the end of the hall. Jack went sprinting, Robby and Dana close behind.

“What!? What happened!?” Jack barked as he slid into the room to find Callie trying to climb out of the bed.

“I’m sorry, she just was insisting on getting out of bed and I told her she shouldn’t, but she called me a really rude name and I just thought you should handle it.” Javadi said as she looked at all three of the clearly annoyed people.

“Ok, when I say scream if she needs me, I meant if something was medically wrong. Go.” Jack grumbled. Dana laughed as Javadi ran out of the room.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Jack helped Callie to her feet.

“This bed is killing my back, I don’t want to lay down. I didn’t realize it was a fucking crime to stand up.” Callie griped.

“What did you call her?” Dana smiled.

“an imbecilic child that looks like a deer in the head lights who needs to grow a pair of balls.” Callie sighed, throwing her arms around Jack’s neck and resting her head on his shoulder. She felt the vibrations of his laughter through his chest.

“Okay. Med students are not allowed in this room, I can’t have HR on my ass too.” Robby chuckled.

“Callie, your anemic. That’s why you’re tired.” Jack told her.

“Oh. That sucks.” She sighed.

“We need more blood to run a clotting test. We’re concerned you’re not going to be able to clot, which is bad when you’re about to lose a good amount of blood already.” Robby told her.

“I’m already low on blood and you’re taking more. Genius.” Callie sighed.

“Just a little more, Hun.” Dana said.

“We’re also going to do an ultrasound to make sure you’re not bleeding somewhere you shouldn’t be. Have your waters broke?” Robby asked. Callie shook her head into Jack’s shoulder.

“No.” He let them know.

“Okay. Do you want to sit so we can get this over with or do you want a minute?” Dana asked.

“Um…I need a minute. Fuck!” She groaned as a contraction hit her like a freight train. Jack rubbed hard circles on her back and swayed with her as she moaned through the contraction.

“Dana, come get me when the ultrasound is ready.” Robby whispered as he left the room.

“Here,” Dana came behind Callie and held her hips, putting hard counter pressure on them.

“Oh that’s good.” Callie sighed.  Jack mouthed a thank you to Dana who just gave a nod.

“You let me know when you’re ready, Sweetheart.” Dana said, her tone soft and low. Callie sighed as she sat back on the bed. “Let’s get this over with. Should I be worried?” Callie asked as Dana started pulling blood.

“Do I look worried?” Jack asked.

“You never look worried; that isn’t a good barometer.” Callie playfully slapped his cheek.

“She’s got you there.” Dana laughed. “Honey, we’ve got you. We’re not letting anything happen to either of you. Tomorrow you’re going home with your beautiful baby and you’ll get to make Jack stay up all night while you sleep.” Dana laughed.

“Alright. See? This is why we’re here and not at Presby or that fucking maternity center.” Callie smiled.

“Hi, Mrs. Abbot. It’s good to see you again!” Dr. Mel King came in with an ultrasound followed by Robby.

“Not Mrs. Abbot Mel. You can just call me Callie.”

“Right, Sorry. Force of habit. How are you feeling?” Mel asked, wringing her gloved hands.

“Fine. Guilty for making you all deal with his anxious, grouchy behavior.” Callie laughed.

“Oh, it’s common for first-time fathers to be anxious, especially if they work in the medical field, as they’ve seen how things can go wrong.” Mel said.

“Dr. King, how about we focus on the ultrasound.” Robby sighed.  Callie stifled a giggle as she smacked Jack’s arm as he growled.

“I thought I said no students.”

“She’s not a med student, she’s a resident. You don’t get to kick people out of MY room.” Callie said. “Go ahead Dr. King.”

“I was going to take the lead on the ultrasound, Callie.” Robby stated.

“Oh you’ve had a million years of practice. Give it to her. She can do it. I’ve seen her work.” Callie nodded.

“I’m going to go bald and it’s your fault.” Jack whispered in her ear.

“Okay, Dr. King she’s all yours. I’ll just be observing.” Robby got up from the stool.

“Yay! I love doing ultrasounds, babies are the best!” Mel smiled as she started putting the gel on Callie’s belly. She moved the wand around her skin, pushing in deeper in some spots.

“Tell me what we are looking for, Dr. King.” Robby stated.

“Any abnormal bleeding, especially within the uterus and around it. If there is we could be dealing with placental abruption.” She stated.

“But we aren’t seeing any.” Robby said as Jack stood up to look at the screen.

“As of right now, there are no abnormalities and baby is in good position.” Mel smiled as she wiped the gel from Callie’s belly.

“Thank you, Dr. King.” Callie smiled.

“If it’s alright with you, when it’s time for delivery I’d like to assist.

“No” “Yes” Jack and Callie said at the same time.

“Let me just see real quick, is your vagina and every intimate part of you about to be on display as you are in an indescribable amount of pain?” Callie questioned Jack.

“No, it’s not.” Jack sighed.

“Okay, so I think I get to say who gets to be in the room when that’s happening. And I’m already not thrilled that Robby is going to be in the hot seat, but here we are. I like Dr. King. Dr. King is a good doctor, and she’s kind and has a nice smile. If she wants the opportunity to learn and be a part of this, then I will make that decision.” Callie scolded. Jack sat back, crossing his arms. Robby and Dana had to hide their faces so he wouldn’t see them laughing.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to cause a fight.”

“We aren’t fighting.” Jack and Callie said at the same time.

“I’d love to have you in here for the delivery. Thank you, Dr. King.” Callie smiled.

“Thank you, Mrs- Callie!” Dr. King smiled as she ran off.

“You two are school children.” Jack barked.

“It’s just so satisfying to see someone put you in your place in the same way you do it to everyone else.” Dana laughed.

“Don’t you have an ER full of patients to tend to?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll be back in a bit. Drink your juice.” Robby ordered as he and Dana left.

“I can’t believe you want those two to be godparents.” Jack shook his head.

“Jack…” Callie groaned as a contraction took her breath away. Jack jumped up and grabbed her hand, rubbing her back.

“Breathe, in through the nose out through the mouth. You got this.” Jack said kissing her forehead.

Robby was typing on his computer, focused on his patients when Gloria came into view.

“Dr. Robinavitch, a word?”

“What can I do for you Gloria? I have a full house needing care, which you are impeding.” He scoffed.

“When were you going to inform us that Abbot was not coming in tonight?” Gloria asked.

“As soon as I remembered. I was a little preoccupied with making sure his family was safe and healthy. She’s doing fine, by the way.” Robby sneered.

“We need to know as soon as possible in order to properly staff-”

“When have we ever been properly staffed?”

“Why have you been taking extra time with Abbot and his fiancée?”

“She’s anemic and has low platelets. We’re running her clotting factors right now. He’s worried, I am making sure my patient is taken care of and her partner isn’t losing his mind making her job harder.” Robby snapped.

“did you say fiancé?” Perlah leaned over.

“He has her down as his fiancé in his paperwork. I don’t know if he’s even actually done it but I can’t prove otherwise without potentially spoiling something. I haven’t confirmed.” Gloria rolled her eyes.

“Gloria, can we get back to work and stop gossiping and griping about insignificant details.” Robby sighed. Gloria huffed and stomped off.

“Do not spread that please,” Robby warned Perlah.

“Hey, the clotting come back yet?” Jack came up to the desk, coffee cup in hand.

“Not yet.” Robby said taking his glasses off and rubbing his face.

“Are you two engaged?”Perlah asked.

“What? No. Who said that?” Jack looked confused.

“Gloria.” Perlah shrugged.

“I put her down so that if anything happens we have legal rights to know medical information in emergencies and can make decisions. She doesn’t want to get married.” Jack sipped his coffee.

“How’s she doing?” Dana asked as she sat down.

“She’s sleeping. I couldn’t stand the quiet, so I have Princess parked at the desk across from her room.”

“Since when have I ever let you park my nurses?” Dana squinted her eyes.

“Since you’d have done the same thing.” Jack tilted his head. Dana threw a pen at him.

“Mohan, why is your laceration still here?” Robby asked as he saw Samira walk by.

“Getting them out now. Hey, I heard Callie is here?” She stopped by Abbot.

“She is, she’s sleeping don’t you dare wake her up.” He warned.

“No, of course not! You must so excited!” She smiled.

“I’m excited for this to be over and we can go home.” He said. Samira rolled her eyes and left.

“Oh, clotting is back.” Robby sat up, putting his glasses on. “okay, it’s not bad, higher than I would like but I’ve seen worse on delivering mothers that had no complications.” Robby said.

“I still don’t like it.” Jack said.

“She’s doing okay Jack. You should get some rest too.” Robby said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Dr. Abbot! Robby!” Princess yelled. The two men took off down the hall, Dana shouting orders to Perlah to take over as she followed.

“Her water broke, it’s bloody.” Princess informed them as they entered the room. Callie was standing, leaning over the edge of the bed, panting through a contraction, tears rolling down her face. A puddle was at her feet, an unmistakable red.

“Princess call up and get an OR ready, see if any OBs stuck around if not anyone who can do a c-section.” Robby ordered.

“Jack!” Callie called out. Jack snapped from his frozen state and was next to her, putting pressure on her hips.

“I’m here, baby. I got you.” He told her.

“Callie, there's a lot of blood in your amniotic fluid, which means you’re placenta has separated from the uterus. We are going to have to take you to get surgery.” Robby told her as he snapped on gloves.

“It’s going to be okay.” Jack whispered into her ear.

“I’m going to do a quick exam and make sure baby isn’t too far into the birth canal.” Robby said.

“Jack, I’m scared now.” Callie whined.

“Have I ever let anything happen to you?” He forced her to make eye contact. She shook her head. “I won’t let anything happen to you now. You’re going to be fine. Baby is going to be fine.” He kissed her temple as he looked down at Robby, whose face was emotionless.

“Dr. Robby?” Princess called, the phone still to her ear. “They don’t have any ORs and no one will do the surgery.”  Robby pulled his gloves off and grabbed the phone and went to the hall where he could be heard shouting.

“You’re doing great, Sweetheart.” Dana said as she cleaned up the floor and Callie’s legs.

“Oh fuck!” Callie groaned as the contraction grew stronger. Jack rubbed circles on her back and whispered encouragement in her ear. His hands were shaking now.

“Okay, Callie, we’re going to do things a little differently now. Normally we would send you up and get you a c-section so we could control the blood loss. We don’t have an OR or surgeon available. They’re calling in some one but I don’t know when they’ll get here.” Robby explained.

“Jesus Christ, Robby!” Jack yelled.

“I know. What I’m going to do is get you hooked up to some medication to help you clot as well as some blood.”

“Can’t an ambulance take us somewhere with surgery?” Callie whined, another contraction rolling over her.

“It’s took risky. I can’t control how you deliver and the blood loss in an ambulance. It would take too long and expose you and the baby to infection.” Robby said.

“I don’t know…” Callie sobbed.

“Callie,” Robby stood in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I am not going to let anything happen to you or your baby. I swear. I’m going to take care of you, I just need you to trust me.” He told her.

“Okay, I trust you.” Callie shook her head. Robby nodded and stood up.

[minjixficrecs]

Hey man, idk if your goal was to make people cry with that Jack Abbot fic but if it was mission accomplished! *finger guns out of the room while sobbing*

10/10 fic would definitely recommend to anyone needing a satisfying story that ends with you crying

I honestly didn’t expect it to get so much love!!! im just obsessed with the Pitt rn and god that man… I need him….

anyways here’s part 2 to this!!

part 3 here!

jack doesn’t know what’s going on.

ellis came into the er with a gurney, screaming for robby, and then (if even possible) things in the ED got worse.

people scrambling, muffled sobs from nurses and doctors alike as they pass by whoever robby is currently working on. jack’s brows are furrowed, his eyes squinting to try and get a look across the room, but no dice. he starts to think maybe it’s jake— and fuck if it is.

“dr. abbot,” samira breathes beside him from where she’s hunched over their patient. another red, blood covering their torso— a gunshot wound through the upper chest. collapsed lung, struggling to breathe, struggling to live.

(like someone else across the room. but he doesn’t know that.)

“you’re good, mohan. keep going,” he says, voice even as he glances down at the resident’s work. she doesn’t need him here, really. she was one of the best residents on the floor— next to you, of course.

speaking of you— where were you? even if you’d been sleeping during dana’s slew of calls, he’d figure you’d have cracked an eye open by now. you always complained you tossed and turned at night (he had offered to remedy that in various ways.)

“done,” mohan exhales with a grin as jack’s fingers find the patients carotid, pressing for a pulse. it’s stronger than it was before mohan went to work.

“sound work,” he says, nodding down at her. her grin widens as she straightens up.

“great teacher.”

jack chuckles as he waves dr. walsh over. samira starts to walk away, but before he can even register what he’s doing, he’s got a light grip on her forearm. she glances over at him, obviously confused, head cocked to the side as chaos continues around them.

“check on robby, yeah? make sure that’s not jake he’s got.”

samira nods and leaves his grasp, weaving through gurneys and wheelchairs to reach the other attending.

“got one for me?” walsh has finally made her way over, her eyes assessing the stabilizing patient before her.

“yeah, this one’s good for upstairs,” he responds, eyes glancing once again to robby before santos starts yelling for an attending.

“better go see what she wants before she kills someone,” walsh says, smug grin adorning her lips as she grabs the gurney’s handles. “garcia says that one’s trouble.”

“yeah, yeah. don’t you have someone to cut into?”

“oh my god!”

even with all the clamor in the room, samira’s gasp cuts over the noise loud and clear. abbot’s head shoots up, watching as the resident’s hands fly over her mouth. dana hurries over, a hand landing on the young woman’s shoulder as she pulls her to the side.

“dr. abbot, we need you over at the yellows—” santos is saying as she catches her breath in front of him, her eyes flitting from the scene across the room and back to the attending beside her.

“abbot!” shen calls as he pushes a gurney through the bay doors “got another red!”

“are they dying, santos?” he asks, already starting towards shen.

“well, not actively—”

“get someone else.”

he hears her faint huff behind him, but it’s forgotten as soon as he gets his eyes on his next patient.

across the room, robby is sweating.

it’s awful, profuse, and he feels like he can’t catch his breath. there’s a ringing in his ears.

he’s never experienced drowning, but he imagines it feels a lot like this.

“c’mon,” he mutters, his eyes watching your face, searching for a sign that you were coming back.

your eyes were closed. your skin was pale from blood loss.

your heart had stopped beating.

“robby,” dana says, her voice as soft as it can be as she rests a hand on his shoulder.

“no,” he says, and he doesn’t need to say anything else. he’s tired. his body aches from the past twelve hours, but he can’t stop. this is you. he cannot stop.

somewhere in his brain, he realizes that this is not working. he’s been doing cpr since he lost your pulse, and it is not working. the tube shoved down your throat is helping you breathe. blood is still trickling from your gunshot wound.

your heart is still not beating.

this is not working.

samira is crying quietly behind him. princess has tears on her cheeks from where she stands beside your head, squeezing the bag attached to your intubation tube.

he can’t stop. one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four. up, down. up, down.

he presses down so hard he cracks your ribs. he cannot breathe. he can’t think. he can’t, he can’t—

“way past trauma protocol over there, brother.”

everything comes crashing down around him at the sound of jack’s voice carrying across the room.

he wants to laugh, because doesn’t jack know who he’s working on?

would he still be saying that if he was looking down at your pale face, your bloodstained skin?

robby ignores him. shakes his head as if shaking off the words. he can’t be done with this, he can’t give up on you. he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“we use blood on the ones that are gonna make it.”

jack again. robby wants to scream and laugh and cry. he’s turning hysterical, he knows it. this fucking day.

adamson. jake. abbot. you.

he can’t catch a goddamn break and it’s all weighing on him, and he’s about to lose his best friend and his best student and—

a hand on his shoulder. a firm hold, squeezing his skin so hard it almost hurts.

“robby,” it’s dana again. “you gotta let her go.”

he can hear the crack in the steely charge nurse’s tone, and that’s what really breaks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, and tears are clouding his vision. “fuck.”

dana’s hands land on top of his still moving ones. the ones that are physically beating the heart that lies dormant in your chest. she digs her nails into his skin, and that breaks him from his trance, and he finally stops.

someone sobs nearby. he doesn’t look up to see who.

he announces time of death. marks it on the card tied to your wrist.

princess removes the bag from your tube. dana pulls a blanket over your body, tucking it over your head as carefully as she can.

without a word, she and robby wheel you toward the makeshift morgue. you do not deserve to join the other bodies in there. you do not deserve to die.

dana leaves the room before him, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, he sinks to the ground.

“shit,” he cries, shaking hands reaching up to cover his eyes before scrubbing over his face. his trauma gown is covered in blood— some of it yours— and he tears at the thing as he sobs.

“fuck, fuck,” he can’t breathe. adamson, you. langdon and his drugs. jack and his trust. everything, all of it, is overwhelming. a wave too big to jump over or swim under. a current so strong it’s pulling him out to sea before he even knows he’s in the water.

“dr. robby?”

he can’t. his eyes are clenched shut, his hands grasping the chain around his neck. he mutters a prayer his grandmother taught him when he was a kid.

“dr. robby,” the voice calls again, and robby recoils as a hand grazes his shoulder, his eyes shooting open as he pushes the offender away.

whitaker looks distraught, a frown forming on his lips as he stands over the older man.

“we need you out there,” the intern says, his words firm. “you gotta get up.”

and robby wants to smack the kid, but as he finally starts to take deep breaths again. whitaker holds out a hand. robby (after a moment of contemplation) takes it.

and then he promptly shoves whitaker away as soon as he’s on his feet.

the intern nods, and without another word, leaves the room.

robby takes a breath, then another. he reaches for the door handle, but stops just short of turning it. he turns, his eyes landing on your gurney and the sheet hiding your body.

“im sorry,” he says. it is such a guttural and profound feeling, this sadness that overtakes him as he says those words.

but the ED needs him.

so he steps back into the chaos.

[minjixficrecs]

Sweet Heart (one-shot)

Synopsis:

The Pitt x The Bear (I've been thinking about this crossover for so long). I might make this a sort of interconnected standalone series :)

There is someone new living in the apartment across the hall from him. 14B. And 14B makes the best desserts ever, Jack Abbot being the lucky bastard that he is, gets to test them out first. However, he has never met 14B. Not until an accident brings her into his ED.

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!chef!Reader (age-gap - reader is stated to be 27 for the purposes of the story, Jack is mid to late 40ies);

Platonic! Carmy x fem!chef!Reader

Genre: pretty much pure fluff

Warnings: injuries (a cut ligament to be specific), talks of depression and suicide by our two favorite older men, mentions of a lost spouse, Pittfest, medical inaccuracies, though I did my best with the palm anatomy research (based on something that actually happend to my colleague) but I don't think anything else really

Word count: 11,206

The day had been absolute shit.

            Not that Jack really had any other kind, it was just shit and shittier, but that one had been one of the shittiest ones yet.

            For one, his shift ended with the death of a vet, and those always hit too close to home, poking holes into the walls he’d built around himself. But he didn’t even get a full day’s rest, a proper amount of time to process it, as the Pittfest shooting happened, and he had to rush back to the ED hours before his next one started, which was not how he’d planned on spending the time off he had.

            It was a routine – get home, maybe catch a couple of hours of shut-eye (at best, though he did attempt to give his body a proper rest), then heat up some of the leftover pasta he had in the fridge, and then, as a cherry on top before going back to the Pitt, delight himself into some dessert left on his doorstep by his neighbor from 14B.

            Instead, he’d had to leave the pasta bowl in the microwave, and he didn’t even have time to put on the prosthesis sock. He just had to raw-dog it out of the house, when the police scanner informed him of the mass shooting. He didn’t even get a chance to look towards the greeting mat in front of his door for a Tupperware; that was how quickly he rushed back to PTMC.

            112 people lived. 6 died. It could have been worse, he tried to compartmentalize. They were in the trade of balancing the scales of life and death, so anytime the life one tipped lower, Jack could breathe a sigh of relief.

            However, injuries and death, he knew how to deal with, despite the impact it always had. Having to talk your best friend off the ledge though, was a different beast. Because this time it was different. This time, as Jack watched Robby stand on the wrong side of the railing, he thought he might actually take that final step.

            So he talked, he was the voice of reason, like Robby had been to him on the mornings when the weight of the world just pressed down a bit too hard on his shoulders. The first proper breath Jack got to take was when Robby stepped back onto the safe side of the roof, walking with him back down to the chaos that was their workplace, where finally, a few hours later, they could emerge into the night, surrounded by their residents and students and interns, all sharing a drink of victory.

            And where most of their days would end, they’d go back home, get a full night’s rest, hopefully, one not filled with nightmares, Jack’s had only begun. He still had a night shift to manage.

            So, with a clap on Robby’s back, and a promise from Shen they'd hold down the fort, he drove back home for a couple of hours, if only to regroup and clean his scrubs before returning to the maw of the beast.

            This time though, he did glance down beside his door, only to be met with disappointment, when nothing awaited him. On the one day he so desperately wished for a sweet thing, there was nothing.

            Jack’s brows furrowed as he glanced across the hall towards the door of 14B.

            He’d never met the inhabitant of the flat. He’d never once seen anyone enter or exit, and would only sometimes hear quiet shuffling or soft humming.

            For a while, after Mr Redford who’d lived there for the past twenty years, only to move away to Sicily as some sort of a midlife crisis thing, the apartment had stood empty. And then one morning, about four months ago, as Jack had dragged his tired and sore body home, he noticed a new greeting mat by the door.

            His head slowly moved in a nod of approval. His only hope was that whoever now lived there, was a quiet and respectful person, but his brows rose in surprise when he went to unlock his own door, only for his foot to meet a Tupperware container, a neatly folded piece of paper on top.

            With a grunt he leaned down and took the glass square, opening the note.

Hi! This is from 14B across the hall. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Miss June from 2nd floor said you’re a doctor, so I dunno when or if we’ll have a chance to see one another, but I just wanted to do the neighborly thing and say hello. :) Inside are some Millionaire-shortbread-brownies. I swear they are not poisoned, but I am trying to perfect the recipe, so any and all feedback is appreciated, as long as it’s constructive. (If you actually throw them out, it’s fine, but please don’t tell me that). Besides, I need a new taste-tester, living in a new place and all that. P.S. ingredient list is attached to the bottom, just in case you have any allergies or food restrictions. Hope you enjoy! :)

            Jack stared at the container, finger slipping over the other paper attached to the back with tape, and turned to look at 14B as if he had some sort of laser vision, and could see through into the apartment.

            He waited for a minute, two, three, but still the door remained closed. He could just go there and knock, do the neighborly thing like 14B had tried and introduce himself to the new occupant, but then he heard the entrance door on the first floor click open, and took it as his cue to enter his own flat, Tupperware in hand though. He didn’t wanna get caught looking at the apartment like some sort of a creep.

            Slipping his bag down his shoulder, he left it by the couch, before plopping onto it. For a second, the dessert and 14B were forgotten, as Jack rolled up his scrub pants and removed his prosthetic.

            The leg had been killing him the entire shift, as the heel of his prosthetic had been worn down really bad on one side, and the new one was still in transit, so his weight distribution was completely off. The thought of having to walk up those five flights of stairs had made him want to go back to PTMC and finally fling himself off the edge.

            Jack allowed himself a couple of moments of pleasure, of simply existing in silence, before he stood up, grabbed the crutch he’d left resting against the couch, and ventured to the bathroom.

            He stripped off, throwing the scrubs in the washing machine, and allowed the hot water of the shower to wash away the thoughts of the day. After he’d run the water cold, with just a towel around his hips, he went back to the living room, but not before putting his scrubs into the drier, and finally took a real look at the Tupperware and its contents.

            Even without fully lifting the lid off, Jack was immediately enveloped by the sweet scent of chocolate, caramel and butter.

            He’d never been a desserts kind of a man, but he swore after taking the smallest bite of the brownie, quite literally popping a piece of crumb into his mouth, he would marry whoever had made it.

            It was decadent in all the ways that mattered, but not so dense you would be filled up by just one bite. The shortbread bottom had a nice, salty flavor to it, and how 14B had managed to keep the caramel the stretchy kind, was beyond Jack’s understanding. But he didn’t really bake either, so there was also that.

            There was no police scanner on, there was no TV or radio, just the sounds of Pittsburg in the morning, as Jack, for the first time in ages, enjoyed something sweet.

            The beeping of the drier was his cue to get up and get to bed, needing to grab at least a couple of hours of sleep before going back to PTMC, but before he did that, he took out the rest of the brownie and put it in his own container, washing 14B’s. As he exited and ventured over to the apartment, clad in some plaid pyjamas, he placed a note inside with a small comment,

“hope you’re settling in well, 14B. maybe some flaky salt on top, and it’d be a 10/10. current rating – 9.85/10. have a good day. 13A”

Once more, Jack debated whether or not he should try and knock, but it was already close to ten in the morning, and most normal people would be at their jobs, so he just placed the container down by the door, but not directly in front of it. Their doors swung out.

He lingered for a second, as if maybe whoever was on the other side would feel his presence. Why in the world was he so intrigued by 14B’s new inhabitant? Better yet – why did he suddenly feel so drawn towards someone he’d never met?

With one final glance, it was time for Jack to go, and dive into his bed. This time, he actually slept quite well and felt fairly rested for the night ahead. When he got to the Pitt, Robby passed the baton onto him without the need to venture up to the roof.

By the time he got home, leaving Robby in charge again, and was walking up to the fifth floor of his home, he was greeted by another Tupperware.

            Jack lifted it and took off the Post-It on top.

“Thank you!” it read in neat handwriting. “Will add it to the next batch! In the meantime, try this instead!  From 14B”

            And that is how this weird exchange began as an anonymous stranger managed to make Jack find a silver lining even on his bad days.

            Jack would return home to find some sort of a dessert in a glass container waiting for him, a piece of paper explaining the ingredients and allergens attached to it. He had given back a note once saying he didn’t have any restrictions, but still, it showed up, though it seemed like his words had unlocked some closed creativity and flavor vault, as 14B started to experiment with taste profiles.

            Sometimes it was as basic as a butter croissant, the flakiest one he'd ever eaten, pastry dough no doubt hand-laminated, and then sometimes it was as extravagant as a panna cotta with passion fruit jam and candied orange zest on top.

            More often than not, as Jack would dig into the sweet treat of the day, his eyes would roll to the back of his head in pleasure. After thoroughly enjoying it, he’d take a piece of paper and write down his thoughts, though he didn’t actually think he had much insight to give. Then he’d clean out the container and leave it by 14B’s doorstep.

            It was shift after shift, and they continued on with this dance. Sometimes he got a repeat dessert, but with whatever improvements Jack had told it needed, however, the one thing he looked forward to most was the notes, as he tried to figure out who 14B might actually be.

            Jack had a few theories and he wrote down the small deductions in a little notebook he’d started to keep.

            He was fairly certain it was a woman. Call him stereotypical, as much as he wouldn’t like to hear it, but he just couldn’t imagine a man doing such a thing, especially for so long.

            The handwriting was also too neat. Too clean and precise. But then again, maybe normal men who didn’t work in the medical field and didn’t have illegible cursive also had normal-looking handwriting.

            Jack had debated whether or not this person could be in the same profession as him, or maybe the same field due to the way 14B always gave him a full-on ingredient and allergen list, but he’d struck that out. The timing and consistency of the desserts appearing by his doorstep, were way too precise because even techs and sanitary workers couldn’t predict their hours so well. A hospital was one big hamster wheel that was spinning non-stop, and people just had to try and find when to jump if they wanted to get home.

            Finally, after dessert number 44 (thought he’d come to that conclusion by dessert 5 really), Jack had settled on the fact that 14B had to be a chef or a chef in training because when he’d gotten home, a still-hot dark chocolate lava cake had waited for him, a yuzu and raspberry sauce in a smaller container to the side. It was still something he dreamt about on the darker days.

            So now, returning home on one of the worst days he’d had at the Pitt, after one of the worst mass-casualty events they’d had to deal with, without a container and note waiting for him, was anxiety-inducing.

            A horrendous thought entered his mind – could 14B have been there at Pittfest? Could she have been one of the people he treated? Or had she been one of the unlucky ones who got a ride directly to the morgue?

            His feet carried him to the door in an instant, heart pounding in his chest. He was just about ready to knock when something crashed behind there.

            “Fucking hell,” Jack heard muffled swearing. “That’s batch number fucking three for the trash.”

            She was there.

            14B was right there, and seemingly warring with her food.

            Jack’s heart rate returned to normal and as it did so, he took a step back. Then another. And another until he was back at his own door.

            14B was alive, which meant Jack could get some rest.

            By the time he was back on his feet ready to finish off the shift, this time a proper prosthetic sock on, if only to help out a bit with the pain, it was dark outside, but Pittsburg seemed quieter. Like it was still reeling from what happened during the day.

            He could make his way to the Pitt blindfolded, as he’d taken the route so many times in his life by then, however, what was unusual was finding Robby there by the lockers. Jack was sure he had left to go home.

            “Brother, and I mean this with love, what the fuck are you still doing here?” he pulled him in for a hug. They both needed it.

            Robby ran a hand over his face, leaning to rest against the metal doors. “I know we took an oath to help and save people, but God, do I think we all should be afforded one murder per year. And I know how that sounds after today.”

            Jack snorted, putting in his combination and unlocking it. “Tell me about it.”

            “I get dibs on Gloria.”

            “What’d she harass you about now? I mean seriously, tonight after everything?”

            “Got on my ass about Santos.”

            The vet raised a brow. The intern was reckless, that was for sure, but her instincts were in the right place, as Jack had found out about her having done a REBOA unsupervised. She just had to hone them and start to listen to authority, otherwise, it could end badly for someone, and most likely, she wouldn’t be the victim.

            “Some reporter wants to sue. Says she chucked his phone into a mop bucket. Damage of personal property or some sort of bullshit.” Robby slammed his head back against the doors. “He literally took an actual victim’s hoodie just to get inside the hospital, and now he wants to sue?”

            “Jesus, and Gloria’s on his side? It hasn’t even been 24 hours!”

            “Gloria’s on the side that costs the least amount of money for PTMC.” Robby let out a scoff. “And a lawsuit is definitely on the expensive list.”

            “Yeah, well sucks to be her. She should start properly staffing us with nurses and security, and this kind of shit wouldn’t happen then.”

            Robby gave his friend a tired smile. It was a soul-tired kind of smile, something Jack understood intimately. “And yet despite all that, we always come back.”

            “Someone has to.”

            For a moment they basked in the silence between them, but it was never fully quiet. Not at the Pitt. Sirens could still be heard somewhere in the distance, probably coming towards them. For others, they had white noise in the background, or maybe a thunderstorm app on. They? They had ambulance wails and heart rate monitors.

            Robby clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready to take on the night, brother?”

            “As I’ll ever be,” Jack responded with the same gesture. “Someone has to keep Shen from saying certain stupid words.”

            “Heard this full moon’s gonna be one of those super moons or something too.” Robby slung his backpack on his shoulders, chuckling at Jack’s groan.

            “Then god help us all, and someone better find some tape for John’s mouth.”

            “You know what does help?” Robby took a glance from the side. “Those cookies from 14B. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything that tasted that good. Maybe you could ask for the recipe?”

            It had been day 84 when 14B had given him a larger container filled with browned butter, and dark chocolate chip cookies, dusted with freeze-dried raspberry powder. Robby had come over for a drink, as he had a day off, and when he’d found them on a plate, after taking just one bite, had pretty much melted into the cushions.

            “There is no fucking way you made these,” he practically moaned at the taste. Not that Jack could say he was any better when he’d tasted them. “And these are way too good to be store-bought.”

            “What? You don’t think I can bake?”

            “Not like this. Your speciality is Kraft. This is fucking artisanal.”

            That was when Jack had come clean about the situation with the apartment across the hall.

             Ever since that day, his brother-in-arms had been on his ass about getting the actual recipes with step-by-step instructions on how to make these wonderful desserts, because when Jack had given Robby the ingredient list for one of them, it hadn’t come out nearly as well, as when 14B had done it.

            One time, during day 99, Jack had brought in a piece of rum-soaked chocolate sponge cake, filled with blackberry jam in between the layers and coated in a chicory Mascarpone and Philadelphia cream cheese frosting, only to have Robby basically attack him like a vulture about how he still hadn’t made any contact with 14B apart from the notes they exchanged.

            “Don’t you wanna know who it is?”

            “Sure,” Jack shrugged. “But this way works too. Besides, I don’t think our schedules really align.”

            Robby just raised a brow at the dry rebuttal, stealing a bite from the cake, which Jack could only accept with a sigh. “Well, if you don’t I just might, and I just might and go on marry them. This is fucking nuts!”

            Jack couldn’t fault him for the sentiment, because it wasn’t the food he had slowly started to fall for either, it was the person on the other end making it.

            He still didn’t know how old she was (if 14B even was a she, but he was 99% sure he was right about that), or how she looked, but he knew her favorite book. Her favorite song and color. He knew she loved thunderstorms and lightning, that it was how she slept the best. He knew she loved indie rock, but pop-punk was her favorite music genre. He knew that and so many other little things that’d allowed him to form a version of the person behind 14B. Someone with a heart as sweet, as the desserts she made.

            But in the present, Jack just shook his head, giving Robby one last goodbye for the night. He hoped he would take the next day off, maybe a week or so. However, who was he to talk about a work-life balance when his whole life practically was his work. And, well, being a dessert taste-tester, but that was more a side gig.

            The night was surprisingly calm, a word he didn’t dare say out loud, and anytime anyone thought Shen just might, someone physically clapped a hand over the man’s mouth. A patient even shushed him as she was being prepped for an appendectomy, eyes wide as she looked at Jack and Mateo.

            “Isn’t that like totally illegal to say here?”

            “It is if he wants to remain an attending.” Jack gave Shen a look, a good-natured one, but that still said – do not say the ‘q’ word or the ‘c’ word or the ‘p’ word. Not after the day they’d had.

            John just rolled his eyes but did lift his hands in surrender, as he left the room to deal with other patients.

            And so, the night rolled on without too many intense traumas, as if even the supermoon hanging over the world, had decided to give them a break because they needed it. Jack needed it. Methodical, almost tear-jerkingly borking kind of work, where he didn’t need to call a time of death or watch someone code or try and get a life-saving surgery scheduled with all ORs already full.

            By the time it was 3:26 in the morning, Jack was on his third cup of coffee, when a soft voice invaded the ED.

            “Carmy, seriously, I’m fine,” a young woman, mid-to-late twenties by the looks of it, was trying to calm down the clearly anxious man next to her, as they walked to Lupe sitting behind the clerk’s desk. “They’re just gonna stitch me up, and I’ll be back on track.”

            “I mean that seemed way deeper than the usual cuts.” The blond man was chewing on the bottom of his lip.

            “Yeah, well, it’s why we’re here,” she rolled her Y/E/C eyes, thanking Lupe for the forms and venturing to sit down in one of the open chairs. “Per your insistence, might I add?”

            He ran a hand through his curly hair. “Oh, sorry for caring about how you were bleeding all over the counter.”

            “It’s just a cut! Honestly, I would’ve been fine with the first aid kit at home.”

            The man, Carmy as she’d called him, gave her a look. “We’ll see what the doctor has to say.”

            With that, Jack glanced up at the monitor as a new name appeared, one of the only three there at the moment. He nodded to Princess who was sitting behind the HUB. “I’ll take care of this.”

            This he could do. This was not a critical, high-stakes thing. This was hooking someone up to fluids, cleaning and assessing a wound, and giving some nice stitches, telling them to take it easy, and schedule a follow-up with their PM to get the threads out.

            As Perlah instructed the woman to follow her, Carmy going with like a puppy, Jack trailed on behind, eyes scanning the print-out Princess had given him.

            Name: Y/N Y/L/N

            Gender: Female

            Age: 27

            Type of injury: cut on the hand; the bleeding hasn’t stopped after thirty minutes of continuously applied pressure.

            “My name is Jack Abbot,” he introduced himself, entering the room Perlah had settled Y/N in. “And I will be your doctor today. What seems to be the issue?”

            She lifted her towel-covered hand, the material soaked through with blood. “Hi! I’m uh, Y/N and, I just gave myself a bit of a cut.”

            “A bit?” Jack snorted, eyeing the cloth that was still getting visibly soaked through.

            “Look, I was just a bit distracted while cutting some lemons, and the knife slipped. Sliced through the skin by my thumb. Honestly, the juice in the wound hurt more than the cut itself,” she let out a weak chuckle while Jack put on some gloves and sat down on the rolling chair, sliding in between her legs.

            “It’s not just a ‘flesh wound’,” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose, and Jack threw him an appraising look, mouth pursed while he untied the injured hand.

            “Are you her partner?”

            But before he could reply, Y/N butted in with a warm smile. “If this is some way to try and figure out if he was the one that cut me, then no. He didn’t. But I’m grateful you’re looking out for me like that.”

            “Just doing my job.” Jack shook his head. “Seen such things one too many times, and it’s hospital policy only family or legal guardians are allowed into the room, unless otherwise stated.”

            Y/N snorted. “Carmen’s more than okay to stay, but I mean on the other hand…” she wiggled her brows at her friend, who just stared back as deadpan as Jack was. “Geez, tough crowd.”

            “We’re co-workers,” Carmen offered as he sat down on another chair that was in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest. “And we’re both chefs, so I know it’s more than just a surface cut. I think she might’ve severed a tendon.”

            “Now why would you say that!?” Y/N snapped her head to him. “I say this is just a couple of stitches, and I’m on my way. Right, doc?”

            Carmen sighed. “All I’m saying is, we kept steady pressure on the wound, wrapped it for fifteen minutes straight, and fifteen more minutes later, she is still bleeding. Went through two towels already. Look, Y/N has a really high pain tolerance, but I’m worried about this.”

            “Oh, please!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You men just like to exaggerate everything.”

            “You literally told Syd one of those what was it, ovarian cysts? Yeah, it burst, and you thought it was cramps when you should’ve been at the hospital.”

            “PCOS is a bitch, what can I say,” she shrugged like it was a self-explanatory thing, and Perlah who was helping Jack place a sanitary pad underneath her hand, disposing of the dishtowel in the trash, muttered a small ‘word’ underneath her breath, eliciting a smile from Y/N.

            Jack, the good doctor he was, had been listening the whole time, making mental notes and asking Perlah to jot down some physical ones as well, but where he’d had to take in a breath and clear his throat had been when Carmen had told him their profession.

            Chefs.

            No, he reasoned. It couldn’t be, could it? Probably not. Pittsburg was a huge city and populated by many people with many different professions, and there had to be thousands if not tens of thousands of chefs even in the area they were in.

            Just in case he leaned over her chart and checked the address, but a Chicago zip code stared back at him, sending a pang of disappointment through his chest, because ever since Y/N’s eyes had met his, Jack swore she was his mysterious pastry fairy.

            There was this unexplainable warmth that’d seeped through his veins as if they already knew one another. As if he could ask what was the latest book she was reading, and Y/N would give him the answer from the post it from two days ago. But she wasn’t 14B. However, she was still a woman in need of medical attention.

            “Alright,” Jack finally positioned her hand in a way where he could see the issue better. “I will have Nurse Perlah hook you up to some fluids to counter the blood loss, in a bit too. Are you allergic to any medicine?”

            “Nope,” Y/N shook her head. “At least none I’ve been given before.”

             As gently as possible, Jack took hold of her wrist and helped her expand her fingers as far as they would go without causing much pain.

            It wasn’t a horrible bleed, but still a steady one, no doubt the worst of it having happened right after the cut. Even through the gloves he had on, Jack could feel the calluses marring her palm, signs of a skilled laborer. He trailed over where blisters and nicks had left small scars, and fuck… did her hand feel perfect in his.

            Well, apart from the massive cut sitting right at the base of her thumb. Clearly, the knife had gone through the commissural ligament. As he pressed against the wounded area, testing the nerves and reflexes, Perlah was already prepping gauze and oral painkillers, as both without a word understood there would be no simple stitching for them that night.

            “Okay, Y/N,” he murmured, taking hold of her wrist and twisting it as carefully as he could, and still, something in his heart tugged at the sharp intake of air, and the swearing she did under her breath. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts of 14B swearing just the same way a few hours prior. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

            “Uh, good?” She raised a brow, as Perlah handed her a small cup of pills and water, explaining it was for the pain. Y/N took them down in one gulp.

            “We’ll need some x-rays to confirm, but once they’re back, we can get you scheduled for surgery in a few hours.”

            “You said you had good news!” she scoffed.

            “Well, the bad news, at least for you, is that your friend’s right. This is more than a surface cut. It looks like you’ve managed to potentially sever one of the ligaments that's attached to your thumb.”

            She threw both men a scathing look, before settling on Carmen. “Not. A. Word.”

            “I didn’t even say anything!”

            “Then keep doing that.” She looked back at Jack. “But like how serious are you about that surgery? Because honestly, it doesn’t hurt that bad. Can’t you just pop in a couple of threads and send me on my way?”

            A smile he had no control over, bloomed on Jack’s lips at Y/N’s words, while Perlah helped her lay down onto the bed, going to the other side of the woman and asking for her hand to prep an IV line. “I promise you, you want this surgery, and you want this done by a professional. You have a cut, potentially severed, ligament, and it needs proper stitching. The hand is incredibly complex, and this unfortunately isn’t the kinda thing you want me to have a go at.”

            Y/N eyed him up and down. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional?”

            “Well, unless you never want to use your thumb again, I can always give it a go.” He pulled off his gloves, trashing them.

            “Well, not with that attitude,” she grumbled.

            “It’s quick,” Jack could feel the way he wanted to give a full smile, but if he started grinning like a madman, Perlah would make sure he got put in a padded cell at the sight. “You won’t even be fully under, and I will make sure you have the best on it.”

            She huffed, head lulling to the side and giving Carmen a dirty look. “You know this is all your fault, right?”

            “Wh – what? How?” He looked affronted, face completely red.

            “Well, you made me come here, didn’t you?”

            If Carmen pinched the bridge of his nose any harder, Jack might need to get him in for a rhinoplasty. “And if I hadn’t, you maybe would’ve lost all hope at ever moving your thumb! Did you not listen to a thing the doctor said?”

            She tried to cross her arms, but when she realized she couldn’t – one bandaged by her side the other being examined by Perlah as she tried to find a good vein on the top of her hand, Y/N glared at Carmen and then Jack. “I hope neither of you expect me to say you’re right.”

            “Please,” Carmen sighed running a hand through his hair. “I think Syd would have an aneurysm if she found out. Bet she could feel it all the way from Chicago; such a drastic shift in the cosmos.”

            Good, Jack thought as they talked, let him distract her from it all, as Y/N clearly had understood the severity of the situation while he went to call up ortho and ask for the hand surgeon, as he had a possible severed ligament on the way.

            “Thank you for putting up with me,” Y/N no doubt muttered to Carmen, as Jack tried to focus on the person at the other end of the line, confirming her slot for the OR.

            “Hey, I need my best pastry chef to be right as rain.”

            “Now I think Marcus might have a stroke,” she laughed, and Jack’s head almost snapped around at her words.

Chef was one thing, but a pastry chef? A chef specialising in desserts?

            Too many coincidences had happened that night.

            Way too many to be just coincidences.

            And he’d always been a man who followed his gut, despite it being no-man’s-land.

            Jack was positive he’d never seen her face before; he was sure of it. There would be no way in hell, he’d ever be able to forget it, but her whole being… her smile, the kindness in her eyes, the intensity of her words… it was like coming home and having the nightlight left on for you.

            Maybe the previous day’s mass-casualty event had impacted him a lot more than he thought. Maybe he was trying and hoping to find 14B safe and sound, all because a single dessert hadn’t been left out for him.

            But it was the way all the small details 14B had revealed about herself, that fit Y/N to a T, that made him truly wonder.

            14B who always managed to make him smile.

            14B who always took into account his suggestions, and gave him an improved recipe to try.

            14B who made sure to give him just enough of the sweet treat, that he had leftovers for the next day.

            “Oh,” it was Y/N speaking up that brought Jack out of his thoughts about the pastry ghost down the hall. “And also, can you tell Luca to give me a call when he can? I’d like his opinion on the blueberry and lemon pie. I think I might change up the ratio of the lemon, but I dunno if it’d be good overall unless I also increase the amount of basil in the peppermint drizzle.”

            The penny finally dropped.

            Blueberry-lemon pie with a basil and peppermint drizzle.

            No doubt with a saltine and Grahm cracker-mix crust.

            No. There was no such thing as coincidences, at least Jack didn’t believe in them anymore, not when it was way too specific of a recipe. One that he’d been a test subject to four days prior. One where he’d commented on how, maybe it was just what his taste buds liked, but he thought it’d be a bit more balanced if it was tarter.

            It took everything in him to wait until she’d given Carmen the rundown of the things she wanted from her apartment, Jack almost blurting out how he could get it, because they lived across from one another until he remembered he was her doctor, and he had to stay to make sure she was alright.

            He took one breath, another, and cleared his throat, drawing her attention away from where Carmen had left to go grab her some clean clothes, her wallet and a phone charger.

            Fuck it.

            “Alright, 14B, let’s get you prepped for the stay.”

            Y/N’s eyes were wide as saucers, head snapping up at him so fast, Jack almost thought he’d have to schedule a CT for whiplash. “What did you just call me?”

            “14B?” He raised his brows as if in nonchalance, even though his heart was beating out of his chest. He could actually be so far off with this hunch and just turned himself into a massive weirdo in his patient’s eyes, but he was curious to see if he was right, because hope was a bitch if nothing else.

            “Are…” She squinted at him, eyeing him up and down again as if seeing Jack in a new light. “Are you my taste-tester? Are you my salt-bae?”

            “Salt-bae?” Jack choked out through a laugh. God, he was glad Perlah had gone off to find a saline bag.

            “Yeah.” A warm smile blossomed across her lips. “That’s what you always write in your feedback if you think something is missing. ‘Needs a bit more salt’. It’s your most often-used suggestion.”

            And as Jack thought back to it, to all the little comments he left, he mainly did say he would prefer the dessert, if there was some flaky salt on top, or maybe in the crust or base, or mixed with the caramel. “Hey, you were asking for honest feedback. But in truth, I’ll uh, I’ll eat just about anything, so rest assured, nothing of yours has ever gone to waste. When you’ve lived off of army rations, you learn what cardboard tastes like. And then you try to make it edible, more often than not with salt, so you learn what... saltier cardboard tastes like. And that is at least digestible.”

            She chuckled. “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard?”

            “Contrary to normal indigestible cardboard, yes,” he confirmed, soaking up the sound of Y/N’s laugh like a sunflower soaked up the rays of the sun.

            “Guess now I understand why you didn’t answer the door that first day.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or why our paths haven’t crossed. You work just as shit hours as I do. Worse, actually.”

            “What time do you get home?”

            “Midnight usually,” she said, as Perlah returned and finally put on a tourniquet around her bicep. Jack frowned at the words, not liking the idea of Y/N walking across town during the dark hours of the night. Too many times, he’d seen people in the ED because they were just trying to get home, and someone decided to interfere with that. Violently. “Then I knock out for a few hours before I have to get back up and be ready to go to the restaurant for morning prep at around six-ish. You?”

            “Nightshift. Twelve hours on a good day, usually 7 to 7,” he explained, very much so avoiding Perlah’s raised brows at how ‘intimate’ the conversation was.

            “Alright,” the nurse said. “It’ll be just a little poke, but try and relax.”

            Y/N hummed a nod but turned her head away. Jack’s eyes trailed to how her wounded hand twitched at her side as if she wanted to grab onto something, to hold herself through it. On almost instinct, he placed a palm on her knee, squeezing it. He could feel the tension melt away, and fuck, if that didn’t make his heart stutter in his chest.

            “Good job,” Perlah gave Y/N a smile, as she taped down the IV line. “I’ll get you a gown before we hook you up, so you can change out of those bloody clothes.”

            “Oh, right.” Y/N took a glance down as if only now remembering she looked like a walking-talking murder scene.

            Perlah gave a warm laugh, patting her bicep. “And a bag too.”

            “Yeah, that’d be nice, thank you.”

            Jack helped pull the curtain closed and put up the standing partition, so Y/N could have as much privacy as possible while changing. Just as he informed her, he was gonna step out for a moment, she asked if he could stay.

            Jack froze on the spot. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with Perlah here?”

            “ ‘S fine, I don’t mind,” she looked at him from around the partition. “I trust you not to peek. Also, I just think you’ve probably seen one too many butts in your day-to-day life for mine to be anything special. But uh,” she stammered as if suddenly realizing something and hiding behind the curtain again. “But if you are uncomfortable, you can go. I mean, fuck you probably have other patients to see, and I’m wasting your time with this.”

            “Nope, I’m uh, right where I need to be.”

            He wasn’t uncomfortable, he was, however, worried he might say something beyond stupid. How he’d pretty much fallen in love with a person he didn’t know a thing about, but being able to put a face to the ghost across the hall, had only intensified the crush growing in his chest.

            Jack hadn’t had any romantic feelings in ages. Not since his wife had died. He still wore the ring she’d slipped on his finger, a steady comfort during the darker moments, like he could feel her hand holding his, guiding him towards the light when he couldn't find it himself.

            He wondered what she’d think about this whole situation, about the mystery desserts and him catching feelings for a neighbor he’d never met. Of course, he wouldn’t make any sort of move on Y/N, not while at work. She was his patient, almost half his age, and despite his ‘cowboyish’ nature, he’d never try and hit on her while she was in such a vulnerable position. But he would like to think, his late love would nudge his shoulder in the right direction… tell him it was okay for him to want to be happy again.

            “So,” Jack cleared his throat and busied himself with Y/N’s chart. “What brought you to Pittsburg? You put down a Chicago address by the way.”

            “Shit, yeah. I sometimes still do that… But uh, Carmen, the guy who brought me in, he’s opening up a restaurant not too far from here actually, and he wants me to be the pastry chef for it. It’s why I didn’t have a dessert for you today. We were at the restaurant testing things out, trying to get a feel for how we worked as staff.” Y/N bit down on her lip as she emerged from behind the screen, giving him an apologetic smile. “Wanted to leave a note too, but time just slipped by, and when I did try to make one at home, the food started fighting me.”

            Jack laughed, shaking his head. “I mean, you don’t have to feed me you know. But I… I can’t say I wasn’t worried about you. With everything that happened today… I just… I was scared you might’ve already been here and I hadn’t known. Had missed my opportunity to find you… but uh, then I heard you break something at the apartment, so we’re all good.”

            He tried to act as if the thought of her, of 14B, his one constant of the past four months, having possibly died, hadn’t gauged a hole in his chest.

She raised a brow, clearing her throat. “Why didn’t you knock? If you uh, if you were worried…”

            “Honestly?” Jack put his hands on his hips, as he looked at the floor, unable to keep his eyes on hers, but it was like Y/N understood him, so she turned her back. He stepped closer, tying the strings into knots, not once peeking below her waistline. “I was scared you might not answer. That there might be nobody there left to answer.”

            “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, turning around as Jack helped her settle in the bed and under the covers. “For what you had to go through today.”

            And when she didn’t try to pry, didn’t try to get anything else from him, simply offered her support, all Jack could do was say, “Thank you,” as emotions started to gather in his throat, forming a ball. “Where you uh, where you at the festival?”

            He just had to know Y/N had been hopefully as far away from it all as possible.

            “Uh, no,” she shook her head to his relief. “I was at The Bear with Carmy at that time, when we heard about it. We did have plans on going for the evening concert, but obviously... yeah...”

            “The Bear?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, like something he might’ve skimmed over in some article, but wouldn’t deem interesting enough to read the full thing. And Jack had to focus on that information, rather on how closely she and her friend had avoided a mass shooting.

            “It’s named after the OG one in Chicago. I told him, he should call it The Cub,” Y/N snorted. “You know, like the first one, the mother, if you will, is in Chicago, and the second, the child of The Bear, is here. Carmy and Syd thought Pittsburg people wouldn’t get it, though, and not come."

            “I think the Pittsburg people would come even if it was called The Trashcan, as long as you served your desserts there.”

            Jack couldn’t help the glee he felt, couldn’t stop the pride from rising as Y/N had to avert her gaze from him when her heart rate spiked, the monitor Perlah had hooked her up to, beeping in a quicker rhythm.

            He also made a mental note to find out where in Pittsburg exactly the new restaurant would be opened, so he could go and check it out sometime. And if he gathered enough courage, maybe give compliments to the chef there as well.

            They filled the time in between awaiting the x-ray results and getting sent up to the OR, by small talk. Jack asked about her background, how she got into cooking and how she’d met Carmy and their team back in Chicago. And miraculously, Jack shared too. Even some of the truly deep stuff - how he'd had a wife, how he’d been an army medic, how he liked to listen to the police scanner as he tried to catch some sleep, because the way Y/N looked at him, so disarmingly, did something to Jack. It made him want to share, it made him want to show his heart to her.

            Soon enough, he got a call the x-rays confirmed his suspicions and they were ready for her to be operated on.

            “So, how long until I can hold a knife?” Y/N asked as she was wheeled out of the room to the elevators. It was only at that moment, that Jack realized nobody had come in to ask him for a consult or even a second opinion. He was just about to thank the lucky stars of the night when a glance over at the HUB - Shen, Ellis and Princess all huddled together with sly grins on their faces - made him sigh.

            “Well, given how it isn’t your dominant hand, you can hold a knife with no problems.” He pressed the elevator button. “It’s the other one holding the ingredients, you’ll need to be careful with. And if you want the best outcome, you'll have to go to physical therapy at least two-three times a week, with at-home exercises.”

            “Physical therapy?” Her brows rose to almost her hairline. “And I get assigned homework? This sucks.”

            “I told you,” Jack shrugged but smiled down at her from where he stood at the side of her bed. “The hand is very complex. It’s why surgeons specialize in specific fields. Trust me, you wouldn’t want internal medicine operating on your money-makers.” He did a little jazz hands for emphasis. “And given how you almost perfectly severed the ligament in half, you’ll have to put in some work to get the full range of motion back, but I uh, I can refer you to some pretty good physios if you need some recommendations.”

            Y/N threw her head back against the pillow with a huff, earning a chuckle from Mateo who was wheeling her bed. “Yeah, I guess I’ll need some. Thank you.”

            “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Jack looked at her pouting face, and his stomach did a somersault. “Besides, I am very personally invested in the health of your hands. You’ve turned me into a dessert addict when I used to hate sweets.”

            “Well, we can’t have you munching on salted cardboard, can we?” she threw him one last laugh.

            And then the elevator arrived, taking her up and away from Jack. But he didn’t remain on his own for long. There was nowhere he could hide in the ED, not from the gossip vultures that were Shen and the rest of his posse.

            “So,” he dragged the word out. “Is this the mystery dessert ghost?”

            Jack schooled his face into one of his straight masks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Robby does. And Robby has been talking Dana’s ears off about these specific cookies made by your neighbor for months, at this point. And Dana talks to Princess and Perlah, who talk to me.” Shen shrugged, rolling back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels, hands in his scrub pant pockets. “I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “From what I’ve heard down the grapevine, they’re divine. And also – The Bear?”

            Jack raised a brow as John said the name with such reverence like it was something monumental.

            “You get food made by one of the best chefs in the world. The least you could do is share.”

            Jack clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, trying to hide a smile that wanted to tug at his lips and this time he succeeded. “For one, she baked them for me. And two, don’t you have patients to check on?”

            With a gentle shove, he sent Shen on his way, needing to return to his own attending duties, but not before hearing, “I see who your favorite is. Just tell Robby I can fight, especially when cookies are on the line.”

            As much as he’d thought about finding some cosmic way of speeding up time, it still ticked by in its usual tempo. At one point, though, Carmen returned, with everything Y/N had asked neatly placed in a bag.

            “I need to get back to the restaurant, so I can't really stay,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair while Jack put the bag on the chair in her assigned room. “How is she doing?”

            “Still up in surgery, but she’s in great hands.”

            “Good,” Carmen nodded. “ ‘Cause I need her great hands too.”

            “We’ll do our best,” Jack affirmed and agreed to give a call if anything was needed. He was Y/N’s emergency contact after all, but Jack guaranteed him, she’d be fine. He himself would make sure of it.

            Soon enough, the sky started to lighten, and people from the day shift trickled in, the first one being Dana, much to Jack's surprise. The shiner was badly concealed by some make-up, but honestly, Jack thought she should leave it as is. Maybe if Gloria had to look into the consequences of her own incompetence in the face, she’d hire the staff they so desperately needed.

            “How did everything go?” Dana asked, settling in behind the HUB.

            “Better than we could’ve hoped for. Everyone’s stable, no codes. It was like… like someone was watching over us, if only for a few hours, and you know I don't much believe in such a thing.” But just as Jack was about to start explaining about the patients they had, who was priority and whatnot, the elevator dinged, and he watched Mateo wheel Y/N back out into the ED, and into her room. “Give me a sec.”

            If Dana said anything, he didn’t hear it, not as he made for Y/N, and a boulder rolled off his lungs allowing him to breathe once more, when she turned to look at him in the doorway, eyelids half-closed and body, no doubt exhausted. Just because she wasn’t fully under, didn’t mean it wasn’t a strain on her.

            “Hey, how’re you feeling?” he lowered his voice to just barely above a whisper.

            “Tired,” Y/N mumbled, drowsy from the medication if he could gather anything from the slight slurring of her words. “But honestly, I don’t give a shit if I need even a microscopic surgery in the future. I am now and forever more, requesting to be put to sleep. Period.”

            The right side of his lips quirked up. “That bad?”

            “It was more so the sounds, and god when they first strapped me down, I thought I was gonna have a panic attack.” Y/N winced as she adjusted on the bed, Jack by her side like a lightning strike, a steady hand on her hip to help out. “I just… yeah… it’s one thing to watch a horror movie and it’s something else to hear it and feel it happen to yourself.” She let out a heavy exhausted sigh, as she sank against the thin pillow.

            “Carmen stopped by earlier. Brought you the stuff you asked,” Jack informed her and got a soft hum in response. “He had to go back to the restaurant though. Anyone you can call to take you home?”

            She shook her head, eyes closed. “I’ll just Uber.”

            Jack frowned at that. He didn’t like the thought of Y/N needing to figure out how to get back to their apartment complex on her own, especially when in such a state, so the offer slipped past his mouth before he had time to think. “I can take you home.”

            “Isn’t your shift just about over?” her brows furrowed, and his fingers itched to smooth the grooves out with just his touch. He also wondered if a kiss would help him achieve the goal, but that was better left to his imagination.

            “I can wait.”

            Y/N hummed again, snuggling deeper into the duvet, that he gently tucked under her neck. “No need to waste your time on me like that. Go home. Get some rest.”

            But Jack’s words fell on deaf ears, as he watched her breathing even out, and soft snores permeate the air, and yet, he still murmured, “wouldn’t be a waste at all.”

            Again, his hand twitched at his side, wanting to brush his thumb along her cheekbone.

            Nope.

            Jack was not gonna do that. She was still his patient, and he was still at work. Besides, just because he’d gotten to know her cooking talents for the past four months, didn’t mean he truly knew Y/N. Not yet at least, he hoped.

            He didn’t manage to even go to the other side of her bed to check the drip of the IV, when Robby poked his head inside, an almost insidious smile on his face. Well, Jack thought it was insidious, especially with the way his brown eyes darted over to Y/N’s sleeping form.

            “What in the world are you doing here, brother?” Jack let out a grunt. “Thought I’d told you to take some time off.”

            Robby crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “I will when you do the same.”

            “Fat chance of that happening,” Jack snorted, shaking his head.

            “Exactly, so the pot better stop calling the kettle black, and rather start explaining who this lovely person in here is.”

            “My patient.” Jack turned his head to scan Y/N’s vitals if only to make it seem like that was the true reason. He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, not on Robby, seeing as he was probably one of the few people who could glimpse past the mask he wore.

            A knowing smile pulled on the day-shift attending’s face. “I mean, I have heard some rumors that this might be the famous 14B. Did the mystery-baker’s identity finally get revealed?”

            Fucking Shen and fucking Dana and fucking Princess and fucking Perlah and fucking gossip, travelling all over their ED at the speed of light. God, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes since Y/N had been wheeled down from the OR, and they were already on his ass.

            Jack just lifted his shoulders, acting like this revelation didn’t mean anything. “She’s a chef, just like I thought.”

            “A pretty chef, no less.”

            “Yeah, and she’s like half my age,” Jack scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

            Robby stepped inside the room, hands in his pockets as he took a glance at Y/N. “First of all, that's an exaggeration, and second of all, she’s an adult woman capable of making her own decisions.”

            “She’s my patient,” Jack emphasized the last word, turning on his heel and exiting the room, but not without a final glance over his shoulder. Just to make sure everything was good. That she was good.

            “Oh, give me a fucking break. It’s day-shift hours now, so technically, she’s, my patient. So come on, spill…” Robby wiggled his brows a bit, but Jack wouldn’t break as easily, not even with his best friend.

            “There is nothing to say. Yeah, she's 14B. Yeah, she's a chef. And she got a really bad cut, almost severing the commissural ligament completely. Sue me for caring about a neighbor.”

            “Right,” Robby nodded as they walked to the lockers together. “And it has nothing to do with the fact you’ve been keeping 14B like some sort of a secret lover, and now that you finally know it’s a gorgeous young woman, you might be crushing just a bit harder.”

            Jack ran a hand down his face. “Look, I – I had my hopes, okay? But she’s a kid! Besides, I’ve only known her for a couple of hours, all of them as my patient.”

            Robby gave him a deadpan look. “She’s been giving you dessert to eat almost every day without a fault for the past four months.”

            “She’s a chef trying out recipes. She needed a taste-tester.” Jack shrugged. “That’s like a huge part of her job, man. Getting people’s opinions on food and stuff.”

            “Just explain this to me – why on Earth would she go out of her way to feed a neighbor she’s never met, to get an opinion of someone she’s never met, when she literally has chefs around her? You know, her fellow professionals that have taste buds made by the fucking food gods or something?” Robby raised his brows. “But no. She asks you – salted cardboard man.”

            God, Perlah could run her mouth faster than Usain Bolt could run 100 meters.

            “Research?”

            Robby looked at him and sighed, shaking his head. “Look, just because you didn’t know who she was, doesn’t mean she didn’t know who you were.”

            “We’ve never seen one another before,” but even as Jack said those words aloud, he thought back to how intuitive 14B had always been about when to give him the newest dessert.

            He took a glance towards Y/N’s room. How had the lava cake still been hot? It would’ve been amazing cold too, and yet… Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been the only one paying attention to the apartment across the hall from theirs…

            But all Jack said was, “You’re a hopeless fucking romantic, brother,” while moving back out towards the HUB to hand Dana off his final charts.

            And yet, the thought of leaving Y/N on her own, or her having to Uber home, just didn’t sit right with him.

            “I’m uh,” he cleared his throat, watching Robby’s brows raise. “I’m just gonna wait until she wakes. Take her home.”

            “And you’re not gonna help out, man?” the words were teasing, but given Jack’s workaholic tendencies, probably shocking as he shook his head this time.

            “The daytime is your kingdom, brother. But, do call if you need me.”

            With that, Jack slung his backpack over his shoulder, venturing back over to Y/N’s room and he just sat there. Sometimes he just looked at her, tracing her profile with his eyes, memorizing the features, putting them onto the vague shape of 14B he'd developed in his mind's eye. Sometimes he scrolled through his phone, pulling up some articles about The Bear and their team.

            Jack almost choked reading about Carmen, how the timid man was a Michelin-starred chef, a James Beard award recipient and so much more. Not to say the whole team behind the original restaurant wasn’t just as talented.

            And then there was a section on Y/N herself. A culinary prodigy, having staged in Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, New York, Zurich and so many other cities Jack didn’t even know existed. There was even a huge New York Times article about her and the food scene in the bustling city, and how at just 23 years of age she was dealing with helping run one of the most famous patisseries in the state.

            “Holy fucking shit,” Jack murmured in awe, and when he looked up, he was met with Y/N’s open eyes, a pout on her face.

            “I thought I told you to go home and catch some Zs.”

            Jack locked his phone, standing up and leaning over her. ���How are you feeling?”

            “Sore. Hand hurts like a bitch. But I just wanna get back to my own place, and rest there. Not to sound ungrateful, but I really don’t wanna stay at your workplace longer than I have to.”

            His lips quirked up at that, and when she responded with a smile of her own, Jack’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Then let’s get you checked out, and out of here.”

            Dipping out of the room, he asked for Robby, as he was the one person he truly trusted to handle this, no interns or students allowed, to start the discharge process.

            “Hey,” Y/N’s face lit up at the sight of Jack’s friend, which made him frown. “I know you.”

            “Good to see you again. I’m Dr Michael Robinavitch, but you can just call me Robby.”

            Jack cleared his throat. “How exactly do you two know one another?”

            “We met down at the lobby one time. My mailbox was being a little shit and wouldn’t open, and he helped out,” Y/N said while Robby took her hand and unwrapped the bindings, checking over the incision place and how the stitches were looking. Spraying on some antibacterial solvent, he had Princess help him rebind the wound and prescribed some oral antibiotics for the next week as a precautionary measure.

            Robby chuckled, signing the end of Y/N’s chart and giving it to Princess so she could finalize the discharge with Dana. “Had I known the woman by the mailbox was also the author of the best cookies I’ve ever eaten, I might’ve just had you struggle with it a bit more. Could've picked your brain a bit for the recipe.”

            She tilted her head to the side. “Which ones?”

            Robby raised a brow. “What do you mean which ones?”

            “I mean, I’ve made a lot of cookies for Jack to test out, I-,” she scoffed in the middle of her sentence, throwing the man in question a look. “Jack, you don’t share?”

            “No,” he said with a straight face. “And the only reason Robby got a piece was because he’s a damned thief. Now, can you please discharge her, so I can take her home?”

            Y/N tilted her head down a bit, a small shy smile blooming on her face. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”

            Jack wanted to say he knew that, that he was just being a friendly neighbor and it was the least of how he could repay her for all the desserts, but he just shrugged, a sudden bashfulness taking over his own body. “Honestly, it was more for my peace of mind.”

            “Well, thank you anyway… You didn’t have to stay, especially after a twelve-hour shift, and everything before that... but I appreciate it.”

            And he just nodded, nudging his chin in the direction of her bag, as Perlah came in to assist, Robby moving away with a small 'Hope you feel better soon,' while Jack nodded in thanks, turning his attention back on Y/N. “There are some clean clothes for you there, and when you’re done, we can get going. Let me know if you need any help.”

            With that, he left Y/N behind the partition, and closed the curtain and then the door. He was met with Dana’s smirking and Robby’s obnoxiously smug faces as they converged by the nurse's station. “Not a word.”

            “Oh, Jack,” the charge nurse shook her head, laughing at him. “You have no idea about the storm that’s coming your way.”

            Maybe he could move, Jack thought. He’d gather up his stuff and go somewhere deep into the Appalachian Mountains, where nobody would ever find him. The problem with that plan though, was when he started to wonder if Y/N would be willing to at least make a trip out there, if not move with him completely.

            “Ready to go?” She opened the door he’d been guarding like a knight, her bag over her shoulder, while handing him his own.

            Immediately, Jack took the strap of hers too, sliding it down her shoulder, despite her protests, and ignored her insistence on carrying her own stuff. “Got everything?”

            “Uh, yeah, I think so. But I mean, if I have forgotten anything, I know who to ask.”

            Jack’s lips pulled up in a smirk as they walked side by side, one of his hands hovering over the small of Y/N’s back as he guided her out of the ED and to the parking lot. “And you think he’d just jump at your every whim and request?”

            “I dunno. I’d like to think I might’ve sweetened him up a bit with all the desserts. After all, he did stay and wait for me.”

             “Maybe just a bit,” he let out a low laugh, heat crawling up his neck. “Can’t tell that to anyone though. Might ruin my street cred.”

            And with just a single smile, Y/N sent him spiralling.

            He helped her up into the passenger seat, putting their bags in the back and, reversed out of the parking lot in record time. They rode in silence, as she unrolled the window a bit, allowing the morning breeze to wash over her face.

            The ride home was too short for his liking, as any minute spent in her company, was a minute Jack cherished, but soon enough he was helping her out of the car, and holding their complex doors open. Step by step they moved up to the fifth floor.

            Jack waited as Y/N rummaged through the bag until she found her keys and unlocked her door.

            “Thank you, again.” She turned to face him. “For taking care of me.”

             “Just… doing my job.”

            “I mean yeah, but…. Giving me a ride home? Staying after hours?”

            “We live in the same house. On the same floor. It was no big deal.”

            Y/N cocked a hip. “You’d already worked your night shift.”

            And Jack had nothing to rebut. He just awkwardly cleared his throat and hoped she didn’t see the blushing staining his cheeks.

            “Do you uh,” she started, “Do you maybe wanna come inside for a bite and some coffee? I’m not much of a barista, so you’d have to take my shitty pour-over as is, but I still have some leftover millionaire-shortbread brownies I made two days ago.”

            Jack gave a small smile. He’d smiled more throughout that one night than in the past few years combined. “Flaky salt on top?”

            “Haven’t made it any other way since.”

            And when he followed her, closing the door behind them with a soft click, his eyes ventured over to a coffee table beside the couch.

            She’d left a night light on.

Tags: are open :) A/N: I need that old man so hard, I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

[minjixficrecs]

Broken hand

Pairing: Dr. Trinity 'Trin' Santos x reader

Synopsis: Reader breaks her hand and meets the prettiest knight in shining armor doctor she has ever seen.

Word count: 1.7k+ of pure nothingness

Warnings: Broken bones, no gruesome explanations though. Emotionally abusive father, so nothing new for me. Sucky writing, I wrote this at 2 am and didn't proof read, whoops. I don't even know if I like it all that much.

A/N: Hey, hi, hello. So was forced to watch The Pitt with my parents, and jokes on me, I fell in love with it. So, this is loosely based off myself. I fell at work back in November and I'm like 90% sure I broke my hand, but I never got it checked because I thought I could be a tough girl and deal with it. Anywho, haven't posted a fic since fictober, and here I am back with a brand new fandom. Please send in requests for The Pitt, I'm obsessed atm.

Also have an idea for a part 2 to this, reader takes Trin to a family event and reader's dad is pissed that Trin is around and she still refuses to put up with his shit.

With every hour you were stuck in the ER waiting room, your fathers temper grew shorter and shorter. After five long hours in the waiting room you’ve come to the conclusion that you should have just sucked it up and dealt with the pain, or at the very least gone to urgent care instead, but that  was closed when you arrived at the hospital hours ago. You’re approaching six hours when someone finally calls your name, and you can head to the back. You’re shown to your bed, and by the time you get situated three doctors are in the room waiting for you.

“I’m Dr. Langdon, and this is Dr. King, and Dr. Santos,” your eyes widen ever so slightly when they land on Dr. Santos, and if you didn’t know any better you would think hers did the same thing. All of those years on stupid dating apps, and all you needed to do was injure yourself to find the prettiest woman in Pittsburg. “It says in your file that you think you broke your wrist?”

“Are three doctors really necessary?” your irritated father asks from your bedside before you can even respond to the question. 

“This is a teaching hospital, sir,” Dr. Langdon responds, his own frustration thinly veiled. 

“It’s fine,” you speak up for the first time, voice small. “Nice to meet you three, I’d offer to shake your hands, but it hurts to grip things.” You let out a little self deprecating giggle.

“Does it hurt when you do anything else?” Dr. Langdon asks while lightly grabbing your hand to check for swelling. “It doesn’t look that swollen.”

“See, I told you it was fine,” your father mutters. 

“Actually, you can fracture your hand and have no noticeable swelling,” Dr. Santos adds, stepping to the other side of your bed, half blocking you from your father’s view.

“Um,” you give Dr. Santos a small smile before responding to Dr. Langdon’s earlier question. “It hurts when I grip, twist, bend my wrist to make my pinky closer to my wrist, and when I put pressure on it. It’s the outer part that hurts, the area below my pinky and ring finger.” You gesture towards the area, hand still being looked over by Dr. Langdon.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, twisting your wrist outward.

“Yes,” you whimper a little, Santos glaring at Langdon over your head. 

“Okay, do either of you have any questions for the patient?” Dr. Langdon asks his residents. 

“How did you hurt it?” Dr. Santos asks in a calming tone, one that earns strange looks from the other two doctors. 

“Um, well I slipped and fell at work, and I caught myself mainly on my right hand. It started to hurt pretty much right away, and I could barely move it without crying,” you admit the last part quietly, embarrassing yourself in front of the cute doctor. 

“Did you know, it’s better to fall without tensing your body, and rolling upon impact, it keeps you from landing roughly on one body part and breaking it,” Dr. King adds from the foot of the bed, pushing up her glasses. 

“Not helping,” Dr. Santos snaps, while Dr. Langdon also makes a face to the other doctor to let her know that he agrees with Santos for once. 

“That’s what I've been telling you for years, don’t be such a dumbass next time,” your dads irritation clearly growing throughout the consultation. 

“That’s me, just a dumbass,” you look down at your hand, refusing to meet the gaze of anyone in the room. “But yes, I did know that, um, I was falling in the direction of a wall, so it was either my hand or my head hitting the wall. I figured hand was the better option.” 

“Sir, why don’t we step out in the hall for a moment,” Dr. Langdon addresses your father. “Dr. King and Dr. Santos can ask some follow up questions in private.”

“I’ll stay where I god damn please, she’s on my insurance still, so I’m staying with her,” your dad yells, and you can practically hear the rest of the ER grow quiet for a few seconds. 

“Sir, she has to change into a gown and they have to take her for a urine sample, before we can take her for and X-ray,” Dr. Langdon tries to reason with your father.

“Do you have a smoking area around here?” your father grunts, conceding in his own way. 

“Yeha, I’ll have Nurse Evans show you where it is,” Dr. Langdon holds the curtain open for your father and closes it behind them when they exit. 

“I’m 25, so if I get injured again next year you won’t have to deal with him,” you laugh, breaking the awkward silence with the two female doctors. 

“Does he always act like this?” Dr. Santos asks, an annoyed clip to her voice.

“To an extent,” you nod for no one's benefit, you don’t even know why you’re telling her this. “He doesn’t do well when he or someone he cares about is hurt, so his way to cope is to get angry. Something about him not being in control, blah blah blah.”

“It doesn’t mean you should have to deal with that,” she’s staring at you so intently you feel like you could melt right into the bed. 

“Maybe not, but he’s not gonna change and the less I fight him the faster his moods go away,” you admit, never looking away from her gorgeous green eyes. 

“We have to ask you some routine questions,” Dr. King interrupts your staring contest. “Like Dr. Langdon said you’ll have to have an X-ray done so we need to know if you're pregnant.”

“Nope,�� you answer right away.

“Even if there’s a possibility of it, we don’t want to hurt a fetus by exposing it to radiation,” Dr. King continues.

“I’m not pregnant, I’m a lesbian so… never slept with a guy,” you swear you hear a quiet inhale from the dark haired doctor standing next to you. “But I know you won’t take my word for it, so where’s my cup,” you hold out your good hand expectantly. 

Sure enough your urine test proves that you aren’t pregnant, so you’re put in line for an X-ray. An hour after that you finally get it done, and according to Dr. Langdon you fractured your triquetrum and hamate bones. Dr. King is walking you back to your bay after letting you change back into your street clothes in the bathroom. You both stop short when you hear an agitated voice from the other side of the curtain, a voice that certainly isn’t your fathers. 

“Your daughter fractured two bones in her hand, and she handled her pain a lot better than most of the men I’ve seen come through here this week with less severe injuries. Ya know, I’ve known men like you, men who think they can walk all over the women in their lives, but you can’t. One day she’s gonna realize that she doesn’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore, and you’ll lose her forever. Show some damn respect for your daughter.”

“Who do you think you are-”

“Someone who cares more about your daughter and her health than you do right now. So get your act together, they’re going to put a cast on her and when it dries you guys can head home.”

Dr. Santos throws the curtain open and you come face to face with your gorgeous knight in shining armor. Nobody has ever had the guts to stand up to your father, especially not for you. You can’t read the expression on her face, and she’s stomping off through the ED before you can even form a sentence. 

“Guess I can’t say I’ve never broken a bone anymore,” you try to lighten the mood with your dad, sitting back down on the hospital bed. He doesn’t respond, and Dr. King informs you that someone will be back in a few minutes to wrap your hand, before she takes off across the ED. 

You’re shocked, but thrilled, when Dr. Santos returns with the supplies to put a cast on your arm. You’re dad huffs and leaves to have another cigarette when he sees who it is. Being alone with Dr. Santos for the first time, you're forced to confront the fact that you more than likely stink after eight hours at the hospital. The last thing you want to do is embarrass yourself in front of this gorgeous woman.

“You’ll have to come back in six weeks to get this cast off and have another round of X-rays to see if your hand healed properly. We can set up an appointment, that way you don’t have to wait for hours,” Dr Santos says, as she dips the plaster in water and starts wrapping it around your hand and arm.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” you can barely breathe when you fill her fingertips ghosting across your skin. 

“I also brought some pamphlets on mental and emotional abuse,” she’s staring directly into your soul as she tells you this. 

“Uh, thanks, but I don’t really need those. I’m fine, I’m moving out next month, it’ll be okay. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before, and he’s just turning into a crotchety old man,” you absently play with the hem of your shirt with your non-plastered hand. “Thanks though, and thank you for what you said to him, no one’s done that before.”

“Well they should,” she says assertively, slipping you a piece of paper with a number on it before going back to wrapping your hand. “And if you don’t want the pamphlets, at least take this, it’s my personal number. If you ever want to chat, I’ll be there to listen, I've dealt with men like that, I understand. It may take me twelve plus hours to respond, but I promise I will,”

“That I’ll do,” your face morphing into a goofy love struck grin, clutching tightly to the paper like it’s a life line. 

“And, maybe, you’d like to go on a date with me sometime,” she ventures, laying down the last bit of plaster. 

“I’d love to,” you giggle like a love struck teen.

“My name’s Trinity by the way,” she smiles back at you, leaning in ever so slightly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Trinity, definitely makes my fall worth it.”

[minjixficrecs]

say goodbye like you mean it | pt. one

dr. robby x f!charge nurse!oc content: 18+ mdni, swearing, vague age gap (oc mid to late thirties) words: 4.5k PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR synopsis: dana is serious about leaving, at least for a while. her replacement is bright eyed, bushy tailed, and determined to impress robby and robby is less than thrilled... but can't help but be impressed. as well as a little infatuated. a/n: this is my first fic for the pitt! idk how many parts this will be yet, but pls let me know your thoughts

“And there’s nothing I can do to convince you that this is a mistake?” Dr. Robby was looking at Dana with the softest, pleading eyes he could muster.

But Dana only smiled and shook her head, “Would you give the kid a chance first? It’s only a trial and I’ll be here the first few days and train her, alright? I vetted her myself. She was charge nurse in her own ER in Manhattan. During Covid.” She added for emphasis.

“Huh, no shit.” Robby rubbed at his beard, “How old is she?”

Dana shrugged, “I’m not sure, somewhere in her thirties?” 

Just then, the doors of the ER opened and the new charge nurse walked in, securing her hair with a claw clip as she walked toward the hub.

“Here she comes,” Dana said and elbowed Robby in the side, “Be nice, please.”

“Sweetheart!” Dana said as she approached and a smile lit up her face. “Welcome, thank you for coming in.”

“Of course,” She said, looking around the already chaotic ER, “I’m eager to get my hands dirty.”

“There will be no shortage of that, I can assure you.” Robby interjected.

Finally, her eyes fell on him and her smile widened, “You must be Dr. Robby. Dana told me all about you. It’s nice to put a face to the name,” She held out a hand, “Gwen Keating.”

He took her outstretched hand in his, “Good to meet you too. Though, I don’t envy you, you have big shoes to fill,” He dropped her hand, “I’m still trying to convince Dana to stay.”

Dana glared at Robby, “I told you to behave.”

“Gwen” Robby continued, ignoring Dana, “Dana tells me you were charge nurse at a hospital in Manhattan during the pandemic. Which one?”

Her face falls marginally, “New York Presbyterian.” She says softly.

The words hit him in the chest, “My God,” He shakes his head, “You guys were basically ground zero. We learned how to use one ventilator to treat two patients from you.”

Gwen looks down at her hands which he notices are now pulling at cuticles around her nail bed, “Yeah.” She says eventually, “It was a fucking nightmare and we adapted as quickly as we could.” Then she winces, “Sorry. Shouldn’t curse on my first day.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Dana said, putting an arm around her shoulders, “The pandemic was a motherfucker for all of us.”

She gives Dana a sad smile and leans into her embrace. 

Robby hates that Dana is leaving. Hates it so much, in fact, he had thought about putting in his two weeks several times. But each time he had faltered. And now Gwen was here, by all accounts looking like a goddamn angel, and he thought maybe everything would be okay after all.

Robby and Dana give her the grand tour, introducing her to everyone. She’s quick to learn names and she takes diligent notes. Though she’s a trained nurse and not a doctor, Robby learns quickly that being charge nurse during covid had many doctors giving her a lot of leeway. 

“We were constantly short staffed with doctors and nurses getting sick,” She shrugged, “It wasn’t uncommon for a doctor to be on speaker phone, sick at home, walking me through an intubation or a chest tube. But don’t worry,” Gwen said quickly at the look of alarm on Robby’s face, “That part of my life is over. Thankfully.”

Before he can comment, a lower abdominal GSW is rolling in and the three of them are immediately gloving up, following the gurney into trauma three.

Robby calls for Collins and Whitaker who trailed behind.

Giving the case to Collins, his eyes focus on Gwen as she reads vitals, jumps in when needed, and delegates tasks to other nurses with ease as things get more tricky. She has tools and meds ready before Collins can even ask, already anticipating how she would want to treat.

When the patient is stable and headed to an OR, Gwen degloves and walkd back over to Robby, looking a bit smug.

“So, did I pass?” She asks. Dana is grinning at Robby from behind her back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smirks, “So you weren’t evaluating me?”

“The person you should be trying to impress is Dana, not me.”

She scoffs, “Please. Dana is already impressed. I know it’s your approval I need to work here.”

He turns his attention from Collins to Gwen, eyes rolling carefully over her face. He is impressed. Thoroughly. But he doesn’t want her to know that yet.

“Have you ever thought about going to med school?”

“Oh, bite your tongue!” Dana snaps, “We need more nurses, not doctors.”

She laughs, and turns back to Robby, “I did, yeah. Before covid.” Again, he notices the way her face falls just slightly at the recollection of the pandemic, “But I decided I like it better in the background. As charge nurse, especially, I like all the admin work. I love working with patients, but I love taking care of my nurses and doctors more, I think. Is that awful?”

Robby’s shaking his head, “No. That’s exactly what we need from a charge nurse. A mother hen, right Dana?”

Dana had her arms around Gwen’s shoulders again as she laughed, “Isn’t she just the best?”

Robby rolled his eyes and began to walk away, “You haven’t passed yet.” He called over his shoulder.

“What?”

“We’ll see if you survive to the end of the shift.”

She laughed, “I do love a challenge.”

“Good,” Robby called back, “Because I’m very difficult to impress.”

Mateo was standing next to Dana at the hub, both of them intently watching Gwen and Robby, “I gotta hand it to you, Dana,” Mateo said as he took a bite of a sandwich from the patient bin, “You’re good. Not only have you given Robby a perfect replacement, you’re also getting him laid.”

Mateo offered Dana a fist, which Dana bumped while smiling, “Robby should be kissing my feet in thanks.”

The rest of the shift flew by with little incident. Things ran smoothly with Gwen behind the wheel. She had questions for Dana every now and then, but she was a fast learner and by the fourth hour, Dana hardly needed to do anything. She had Dana’s respect, and so she had the nurses’ respect as well. The doctors? Well, they looked to Robby first and he hadn’t yet decided how he felt about her. Though, it was clear the two of them worked well together almost immediately. And it was very clear that they had become a team when the reports of ICE being in the area started rolling in.

“What are you hearing?” Robby walked up to the hub, a bunch of nurses were around the desk, around Gwen, their phones out and scrolling.

“Reports of ICE vans in the area,” She said, looking at her own phone, “Rumors they plan to stop here.”

Robby nodded, “What do you want to do?”

Both Gwen and Dana’s eyes snapped to Robby in surprise, “You’re asking me?” She said slowly.

“Yeah. Surely you went through this sort of thing in New York. What’s the protocol?”

She stared at him for only a moment before she jumped into action, “Nurses, everyone is on a patient until I say otherwise. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure ICE does not get in here, but if they do, being in a hospital means these people are protected by the law. If it comes to it, make sure the patients know that. They do not have to speak to the officers without a lawyer. They do not have to leave with ICE unless they have a warrant signed by a judge. If that is the case, I will confirm the legitimacy of the warrant. 

We do not leave a single patient unattended until we’re sure no one is coming. I know there are more patients than there are nurses, assign yourselves no more than three patients that you can cycle through every thirty seconds. No one unattended more than thirty seconds, unless a medical emergency dictates otherwise. I trust you all to make sure every patient is covered, make sure you’re communicating with each other. Doctors, if you notice a patient doesn’t have a nurse, let me know and I will assign them one. You can explain to the patients why you’re there if you like, but do not pressure anyone to reveal their citizenship status to you. It’s better we don’t know anyway. Is Ahmad around?”

“Present.” Ahmad strolls up to the hub, hands on his belt.

“Can security make sure every entrance to the ER has at least one man watching it? If ICE shows up, do not let them in, call me. I will come out to meet them.”

Ahmad looked to Robby who nodded, and then looked back to Gwen, “Roger,” he said and headed for the ambulance bay.

“Any questions?” She asked the medical professionals that encircled her, but she’s met with only silence.

“Alright everyone, you’ve got your marching orders,” Robby said, “Back to work.”

While a nurse caught Gwen in conversation, Robby watched her and Dana sidled up to him, “You know, the sky won’t fall if you admit you like her.”

Robby just glared at her before heading in the direction of Whitaker, who was flagging him down to a patient’s bed.

It was true, he was really starting to warm to Gwen. Sure, it had only been half a shift, but things in the ED moved quickly and everyone worked in close quarters which meant he didn’t need long at all to get a sense of someone. And she was the real deal, that much was clear.

It was only thirty minutes before Ahmad was paging Gwen that ICE was in the ambulance bay.

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

She spun to see Robby just behind her. She had gotten used to his proximity in the first half of the shift, in fact, she was beginning to find his constant presence comforting.

“Only if you want to,” She said slowly, “Well… Yes, actually, if you don’t mind. I find they respond better to male authority figures.”

“Okay,” He started following her towards the exit, “But you take lead?”

She nods, “Of course. Thank you.”

“Officers, I’m the charge nurse here, this is Dr. Robinavitch, our senior physician. How can we help you?”

There were three men in street clothes, the tallest one in front stepped forward, “We have a warrant for a patient here, we need to be allowed inside to take them.”

“Okay, I need to see some ID and the warrant before I can let you inside.”

“We have a warrant. Let us inside now and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot let you inside without seeing the warrant myself first as well as some ID.”

The man made a big show of huffing and puffing before retrieving a warrant from his pocket. Gwen was conscious of Robby just behind her, shifting his weight from foot to foot. She let her shoulders drop remembering he was there. She had just met him, but felt already that she could trust him to have her back. It had been a long time since she had had that sort of rapport with a colleague, let alone a superior.

He handed the paper over and before she had time to read it, was already trying to shove past her.

“Excuse me—!” She scoffed and tried to shove him back, “Ahmad?”

Ahmad was immediately there, shoving the man back. “I gave you the warrant, let’s go!” The man snarled.

Gwen glared and took her time unfolding the piece of paper he gave her and scanning it. It took her only a moment to recognize it wasn’t a proper warrant, “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you in with this. Please come back when you have a warrant signed by a judge.”

She turned to leave, ignoring the man’s calls behind her. She doesn’t see what happens next, but very quickly, Robby has put himself between her and the ICE officer.

“You touch my nurse.” He said lowly, dangerously, “And we’re going to have bigger issues. If you want access to our department, you need a warrant signed by a judge, that is the law. Not a piece of paper signed by one of your own. Until then, get off the property or we call the police.”

“Hey man,” The officer backed off almost immediately, “We don’t want any trouble.”

Gwen rolls her eyes and walks away, thoroughly annoyed, “Asshole.” She mumbles under her breath.

Soon, Robby is jogging to her side, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She says, “Did he lunge at me?”

He hesitates, “Yes, but Ahmad and I wouldn’t have let him touch you.”

She almost smirks, “Are you worried I’m going to get scared and bolt?”

“What?” He says quickly, too quickly, “No. No.” He said firmly, “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“Well, Dr. Robby, it’ll take a lot more than a disgruntled ICE officer to get me out of your ER.”

He smiles at her, for the first time, and it sends a flutter to her chest. He had such kind, warm eyes.

“I’ll just have to try harder then, I guess.”

She smirked as they both walked back into central, “Come on, don’t you know a lost cause when you see one?”

He smiles, but grows serious again, “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks quietly, “If you need a break or anything, I would encourage you to do so.”

Gwen shakes her head, “I’m sure you know the rate of assault on nurses?” He nodded, looking down at the ground, “Believe me when I say I’ve had much worse than an attempted hair pull. But I appreciate your concern, truly. It’s… not common in my experience for doctors to treat their nurses with the attention and care you do. To treat the nurses as equals. It doesn’t go unnoticed.” She squeezed his arm and headed back to the hub, announcing to everyone to resume care as normal.

“So,” Robby didn’t hear Collins until she was already next to him, “The new Dana’s pretty badass, don’t you think?”

“Don’t call her that.”

Collins smirked and followed after Robby when he tried to walk away, “Come on, Robby. We’ve all been watching you flirt all shift. Just admit that you like her.”

He sits at his workspace and puts his glasses on, “Did Dana put you up to this?”

“She didn’t have to. It’s more and more obvious by the second.”

Robby sighed and rubbed at his eyes, “Don’t you have patients?”

Collins rolled her eyes, but walked away without another word. In her absence, Robby’s eyes seemed naturally drawn to Gwen. The phone was pressed to her ear, but with the chaos of the ER, he couldn’t hear who she was talking to or what she was saying. While on the phone, she directed some nurses and respiratory therapists looking for patients and supplies. It was uncanny to him how fast she came up to speed, but he supposed spending years in Manhattan would do that. Maybe his ER was a cake walk to her.

Beyond his fascination with Gwen’s professional capabilities, he would be lying if he said he didn’t find her unnervingly attractive. He knew Abbott would be egging him on if he were here, practically begging him to ask her out. If you don’t, I will. He could hear him say. And he couldn’t allow that. He would ask her out for a beer later, he decided. It wasn’t like him to move this fast, to acknowledge his feelings so quickly. More than likely she had someone waiting at home for her anyway. She would let him down gently, professionally, and then he could put this ridiculous pining behind him before it had a chance to really take root. It was genius, really.

Just three hours of the shift left before he could put it to rest.

***

7:17 PM

“Well.” Gwen was standing in front of Robby as he was finishing up charting, hands clasped behind her back and rocking on her heels like a little kid. He had been watching her, so he knew she had already done her rounds with the night shift charge nurse. She had sent Dana home an hour early, insisting she could handle it solo. Dana had given Robby the I told you so look before leaving.

“Well, what?” He asked, not looking up from his chart. 

“Are you impressed? Did I pass?”

He took a deep breath before meeting her eyes. She was flushed and sweating a little from the exertion of the shift. Strands of hair had freed themselves from her claw clip and either stuck to her face or hung loosely around it. Robby thought he might be more attracted to her now than he was a few hours ago.

“You did good, but it’s a long way before I’m impressed.”

She shrugged, “That’s fine, I’m very patient.”

He smiled and rubbed at his beard, “Would you… want to grab a beer with me?”

She blinked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. Here we go, Robby thought to himself and braced himself for the rejection.

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

He frowned, “I never said that.”

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes him and he feels himself beginning to sweat under the weight of her gaze. He wanted her to get it over with, to rip the bandaid, to say no so he could go home and drink alone in front of the TV.

But she didn’t do that.

“Yeah, okay.” She said finally.

“Y-Yeah?” He asked, mostly to confirm that he had heard correctly, “No… significant other or family waiting for you at home?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “Nope. You?”

He couldn’t believe it. How was it that she was all alone? “Not a soul.”

“Ok, well, I’ll meet you in the ambulance bay in five?”

He nodded, still feeling a bit in shock, “Yeah, sure.” 

When she walked away, he watched her hips sway and knew he was in deep shit. 

There was a familiar whistle and then a hand on his shoulder, “Nobody told me Dana’s replacement was hot.”

Robby shrugged off Dr. Abbott’s hand, “Have some respect, brother. She worked the ER during the pandemic in Manhattan.”

“The early days?” Robby nodded and Abbott let out another low whistle, “No shit?”

Robby sighed, beginning to log out of the computer after finishing his final chart, “That’s what I said. But her work today proves it, for sure. She’s a pro.”

“Why come work at the Pitt, then? She could probably have her pick of any hospital with the nurse shortage.”

“No idea. Hoping to find out now, I’m taking her out for a drink.”

“No shit!” Abbott said again, clapping him on the back, “Don’t let me keep you then, go get her Robby.”

***

The bar two blocks away from the hospital was quiet. It was a Tuesday, after all. The lighting was warm and soft and Gwen and Robby had sought shelter in a corner booth in the back.

They were sitting close enough that just a small movement would have their legs pushed together. Gwen tried not to notice, but over the 12 hour shift, she was beginning to wonder how anyone in the ER stopped themselves from having a huge massive crush on the grumpy attending with the kind eyes. She, certainly, was failing miserably.

“So, Dr. Robby, how long have you been at the Pitt?” She asked as she sipped her beer.

He sighed heavily, “I’ve lost track. probably about a decade, at least.”

“And you love it?”

His eyebrows furrow and he gives her a strange look, “That’s an odd question. Do any of us really love it?”

She laughs, “Probably the interns or med students. The way I see it, it’s like an addiction. When you’re fresh and new, nothing can beat the high of an ER shift. And then as the years pass, you keep coming back looking for that same high. And there are good moments. You save someone’s kid, or parent, or friend, or partner. But it never hits quite the same as it did the first time.” She takes a long swig of her beer, “But we still come back each shift, hoping it’ll be the shift that makes us feel the same way it did in the beginning.”

She turns her head back to Robby, “Is it like that for you, too?”

He nods slowly, watching her with awe, “Something like that, yeah.”

Silence falls between the two of them for a few moments, but it’s a comfortable one. Gwen doesn’t notice how Robby has moved marginally closer to her. They’re still not touching, but there’s only a hairsbreadth of space between them.

“Why’d you leave New York?” Robby asked finally.

Gwen chews on the inside of her cheek, peeling at the label on her beer bottle. The glass is cold and wet and the glue from the label comes off with ease.

“Um,” She said finally, “It was hard to be in the same place as I was during covid. The memories, the flashbacks. I needed a change, is all.”

Robby nods, but he thinks she’s not telling him the whole truth, “There was an almost two year gap on your resume, from 2023 to now.”

Her head snaps to him and now he knows for certain she’s definitely hiding something, “I didn’t know you saw my resume.”

“I asked Dana for it halfway through the shift, out of curiosity.”

She turns back to her beer bottle, “Does the gap concern you?”

He shook his head, “No. You obviously know what you’re doing in an ER. I just wonder why someone as talented as you would want a job at the Pitt.”

Gwen’s quiet for a few moments, “I’m from Pittsburgh. My parents live nearby, I wanted to be closer to them.”

It’s a half truth, and they both know it.

“And the gap?” 

She sighs, “Look, it’s not… It’s not something that affects my work, I’m just not comfortable talking about it right now. If that’s okay?”

Robby wants to know everything there is to know about her. But he understands the hesitancy. Who was he to push her to divulge personal information when he has trouble opening up to people he’d known for years? But he would get it out of her eventually.

“Yeah,” He says after a moment, “I understand.”

They talked for a while after about anything and everything. Her parents, his parents. Jake. What types of music she listened to (she loved 90s indie rock, like the Cranberries and Smashing Pumpkins) to how their families celebrated the holidays when they were young. They even delved into religion, discovering that though they both had been raised in organized religion (her, Catholicism; him, Judaism) neither of them believed in God anymore.

“It’s funny, though.” Gwen said, after she finished off her second beer, “During the pandemic I was so desperate for guidance I once found myself wandering into a church after a shift. I sat in a pew and cried for over an hour, repeating prayers I knew under my breath.”

“Did it help?”

She shrugged, “I felt better for a couple of days after. But nothing really changed.”

He nodded, “I do something similar, even now. When I feel at the end of my rope. I think it is… meditative in a way.”

Gwen nods, “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

They stared at each other, the mutual understanding intoxicating. 

But there was still so much they didn’t know.

Gwen cleared her throat, breaking eye contact first, “I should probably be getting home.”

“Sure,” Robby said, trying to hide his disappointment, “Me too.”

They walked in step until the cool night air hit them. Gwen was so lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice the uneven sidewalk until her sneaker caught it and she went flying.

Luckily, Robby’s reflexes were sharp and he reached out immediately to catch her, pulling her to his chest, “Woah,” He laughed, “Didn’t take you for a lightweight.”

“Shit,” Gwen swore, her hands flat against his chest, “I’m sorry.”

She started to move away, but his arms were solid, keeping her secured against him, “No need.” Their eyes locked again and he felt that pull to her that had been nagging at him all day, “Am I crazy,” He said softly, “if I tell you how badly I want to kiss you right now?”

Gwen’s eyes darted down to his mouth and she swallowed, “No.”

Robby lowered his head slowly, painfully slowly, as if he was afraid of scaring her off. Gwen had said earlier that she was patient, but not that patient. She rose on her toes until their lips met. She felt his gasp of surprise, but then he was reacting. One hand on her waist, another cupping her neck as he kissed her hard and slow.

Gwen hadn’t been kissed in something like two years, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had been kissed like this, if she ever had. Robby kissed like there was no one else in the world, but them. He kissed as if he wasn’t quite sure that the sun would rise the next morning. He kissed as if the ocean threatened to swallow them whole. It was all consuming and it made her head spin.

The kiss became hungrier and Robby sucked her lower lip into his mouth, biting the flesh gently. She sighed into his mouth, but the longer the kiss went on, the louder the alarm bells in her head began to ring. 

She broke the kiss, gently pulling away, “Sorry,” She said breathlessly, a hand on his chest, “I, um, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Robby frowned at her, “If you’re worried about the job, don’t. You don’t report to me, you report to the Nursing Director—“

“It’s not that.” She said quickly, “And it’s not you, either. I…” She trails off and then meets his eyes again, “I haven’t dated or done something like this in a long time. I’m not sure that I’m ready. I’m… I’m sorry, I thought I was, but—“

“It’s okay.” He said quickly, putting his hands over hers that were still against his chest, “You don’t have to explain. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Gwen wanted to stay here. She had the overwhelming feeling that once she stopped touching him, she wouldn’t be able to touch him again. But he was stepping away already, dropping her arms and allowing them distance. 

She nodded, “Yes. Tomorrow.”

His eyes roved down to her mouth and then back up to her eyes, “Goodnight, Gwen.” 

And then he was walking away. She watched his figure as he walked down the road, never turning back, until he turned right and disappeared behind a building.

She closed her eyes and sighed, ���Fuck me.”

PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

[minjixficrecs]

Early Spring Snow

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: Canon typical medical descriptions

Description: The Reader learns some surprising news after taking a fall that lands her back in the Pitt after her shift.

Jack Abbot Masterlist

——

You didn’t mean to end up in your own ER after a grueling day shift. There had been an early spring snow in Pittsburgh a couple of days ago, and the daytime sun and nighttime freeze caused black ice to form everywhere. The Pitt was slammed with broken bones from slipping and falling. And you were about to be one of those patients.

You had originally planned to go back to your apartment, but your boyfriend, Jack Abbot, insisted that you go to his house while he was at work. If the weather continued to fluctuate, he wanted you to have access to his backup generator that would keep the electricity going. So you agreed, and you had picked up some groceries to cook breakfast for him when he got off his night shift.

You were double fisting the grocery bags as you walked up the sidewalk. Jack had salted the concrete to prevent black ice, and you could hear each crystal crunch under your shoes. You made it to the front door before realizing you left your keys in the car. With an annoyed huff that you could visualize in the icy air, you set the groceries down, and turned to run back to your car to get out of the cold as soon as possible.

And that was your mistake. Your foot found the singular patch of ice on the sidewalk that had evaded Jack’s salting efforts. You had no time to react, and instinctively, your hands braced your fall as you fell hard onto the concrete. A string of curse words hissed from your mouth as you unsteadily rose to your feet. You brushed off the salt from your knees and upper body, but there was an odd pain coming from your left arm.

Because of your puffy coat, you couldn’t initially see that your forearm was going in a direction that it shouldn’t. In fact, the lower half of your forearm didn’t seem to be connected to your upper half.

Fuck. You knew the endorphins were gonna wear off soon, and you wanted to be under a considerable amount of pain meds when it did. Drunk with adrenaline, you got back in your car and drove to the Pitt, ditching the groceries at Jack’s front door.

When you arrived at the parking lot of the Pitt, you were grateful to find it generally unbusy. You walked through the front door and passed through the waiting room. Mel King was the first one to spot you. She grinned and waved eagerly.

“What are you doing here?” She asked excitedly.

You smiled at your friend’s enthusiasm, but the pain in your arm reminded you of your reason to visit. “I think I broke my arm.” You replied.

Mel’s smile quickly vanished, and she began to usher you towards an empty room. “Oh, that’s not good. Let’s get you checked out.” She said.

You entered the room and began to take off your puffy winter coat. You tossed it on the chair in the room, and you heard Mel gasp. Her eyes were locked on your arm, and you saw for the first time how bad it was. Definitely broken.

She sat you on the edge of the bed and immediately began a physical exam of your wounded arm. “What happened?” She asked.

You sighed, feeling embarrassment course through your veins after teasing patients all day about this very thing. “Slipped on black ice.” You responded.

Mel nodded, not an ounce of judgment on her face. What an angel. “I’m gonna go get you a sling and get you in line for an x-ray. I’ll order some morphine, too.” She said, about to run out of the room, but hesitated for a second. “Any chance you’re pregnant?” She asked.

You felt the default answer of “no” in the back of your throat, but you stopped yourself. You had irregular periods, and you and Jack weren’t the best at using protection every time he wanted to fuck you. Although you were confident that you were not, you found yourself answering “I don’t know.”

Mel nodded, taking the information the best she could. You could see from her reaction that she was a little surprised. “Um, okay! Let me get you a sling and we’ll do a urine test before we send you off to x-ray.” She said.

And you were alone in the room again. You shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed and wondered if you should tell Mel to get Jack. The only person on staff that knew of your relationship with him was Robby. There wasn’t much opportunity for others to speculate because day shift rarely interacted with night shift. You decided against telling Jack as you vaguely remembered seeing a mass of doctors and nurses in Trauma 1.

Mel soon returned with the sling and urine cup. “Alright, let’s get you in this sling.” She said.

She guided your distorted arm into the holder of the sling, making sure you didn’t endure anymore pain. Once the strap was adjusted, she handed you the urine cup. “You know the rules. Wipe front to back with the sanitary towel, pee for a few seconds, then collect the specimen.” She instructed.

You smiled slightly. “Thank you.” You replied before heading to the bathroom.

Getting your dirtied scrub bottoms off with one hand was much harder than you thought it would be. Bits of salt were still buried in the fabric, and they began to fall onto the tile floor of the bathroom as you shimmied out of the pants. You followed Mel’s instructions to a T, then did your best to wash your good hand with soap and warm water.

As you headed back to your room, you caught a glance of Trauma 1. Jack was commanding the room with ease and working hard to creatively intubate the patient. Your heart fluttered at the sight, rarely getting to see your boyfriend in action. You reentered the room, and Mel was there waiting for you.

“Why aren’t you in Trauma 1?” You asked.

Mel took the cup from your hands and immediately dipped a pregnancy test. “Oh, they have too many people in there already.” She answered and placed the test and cup on the counter behind her. “Plus, Doctor Abbot is scary in trauma situations.”

You giggled and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, he can be pretty fierce in a high stress situation.” You replied, trying not to let on the extent of which you knew him.

Mel nodded and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You know, I’ve heard Princess and Perlah mention that he has a girlfriend now. He’s been a lot less mean.” She added.

Your face flushed, and you prayed the fluorescent lighting wouldn’t highlight the redness. “Oh, seriously?” You tried to fake.

“Yeah. She works on the day shift I think. I don’t know who it is. Do you?” She looked to you, genuinely curious.

You shrugged nonchalantly, honing in on your best acting skills. “I don’t think so. But now I’ll be on the look out.” You replied.

Mel turned slightly to look at the test. “Oh. Um…let me get another test.” She said before hurrying out of the room.

You raised an eyebrow but figured she may not have saturated the first test enough. When she returned, she dipped the second test in the cup and placed it next to the first one.

“I’m gonna get you some acetaminophen for the baseline pain.” She said and disappeared again.

You let out a disappointed sigh. Acetaminophen wasn’t going to do shit with your broken arm. Morphine would work a lot better and faster. Mel returned with a couple of pills and a small cup of water. You downed the pills, hoping they would provide some relief.

Mel peered over at the pregnancy tests again, and you could see she was uncomfortable by the way she wrung her hands. “Okay, so both of these tests are positive. You’re pregnant.” She said, not knowing the exact tone to use.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn’t even speak, but with your free hand, you reached out. Mel handed both tests to you. And she was right. Two lines instead of one. Pregnant. Your hand began to tremble, and the room spun around you.

Mel noticed your distress and placed a hand on your shoulder to push you back against the bed. Your head came to rest on the mattress. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?” She tried to calm you.

You nodded, and you followed her lead in taking two deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I just-…I didn’t know.” You admitted sheepishly.

Mel nodded. “That’s okay. It’s not what you expected. Let me go get the ultrasound machine, and I can see how far along you are.” She said before hurrying out.

You were alone in the room again. Pregnant. How could you not know? You didn’t have any morning sickness. Your irregular periods made for a perfect red herring. Maybe your bras had been a little tighter, but you assumed that was from eating extra snacks in between breaks. Oh. Eating extra snacks. Yeah, that was one sign.

Then all you could think about was Jack. You had talked about the future, about kids, but that was wishy washy stuff. You expected that to be much farther into the future. If it ever happened. Not now. Was he going to be mad? Or sad? Was he going to leave?

You were brought back to reality when Mel swung the curtain open and wheeled the ultrasound in. “Okay, I’m gonna put some warm gel on your belly, could you lift up your shirt?” She asked.

You did as she asked, and your eyes were riveted on the compression marks from your scrub pants. They had been a little snug lately. Mel squirted the gel onto your belly, then took the probe to navigate.

“We may not see anything if it’s still early. I’ll have to use the transvaginal probe if it is. But…” She trailed off as she watched the screen. “It looks like we can see baby right now. Inside the uterus where it belongs.”

You looked to the screen, and there it was. Your baby. Jack’s baby. The outline of a head and body. Arms and legs compressed against it. Just a little fetus. You felt an odd feeling in your chest, a mix between anxiety and joy.

“Oh. That’s my baby.” You said, not even aware that it was out loud and not in your head.

The curtain swung open, and you flinched at the sudden sound. Mel’s hand jerked away from your belly and turned around. Jack stood there, trying to take in the sight before him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked firmly, but you could tell he was distressed in his eyes.

You looked awkwardly to Mel, who decided to present you as a patient case. “29-year-old female presenting with suspected left radial and ulnar fractures after a fall.” She stated, in perfect form.

Jack looked to the ultrasound and back to you, unable to follow based on Mel’s presentation. “So what’s the ultrasound for?” He asked.

Mel shifted uncomfortably, not sure if she should share her coworker’s business. But you were a patient now. “She had two positive pregnancy tests, and I was confirming with ultrasound before sending her to x-ray.” She explained. “Would you like to check?”

Jack had kept his eyes on you the whole time, something unreadable in his face. You had gotten pretty good at understanding the small changes in his expression. He never smiled, even when he laughed, so you had to pick up on the tiniest changes to figure out his mood. But this was new.

“Yes, thank you, Dr. King.” He answered, trading places with her on the rolling stool next to your bed.

He dragged the probe across your belly, staring straight at the screen. You watched him intently, trying to decipher his body language.

“Dr. King, can you give an estimated gestational age?” He asked.

Mel looked at the monitor, noting the baby’s features. “About 12 weeks. About to start the second trimester.” She answered.

You felt another wave of anxiety rush through you. You missed the entire first trimester. “A-are you sure?” You asked.

Jack nodded, not looking away from the screen. “She’s right. Measuring at about 5.4 centimeters.” He confirmed, voice as firm as ever.

Mel looked to you, a small smile on her face. “At 12 weeks, you can tell the gender.” She reminded you.

You looked to Jack, who was diligently studying the baby’s anatomy, making sure there were absolutely no informalities as of now. “The gender?” You repeated, and it brought Jack back to reality.

Jack turned to look at you fully for the first time since he entered the room. Those hazel eyes were welled up with tears, and he was doing everything he could from letting them spill over. “Do you want to know?” He asked, and you could hear the barely-there strain in his vocal cords.

You nodded, not breaking his eye contact. “Yes, please.” You whispered.

It took ounce of military training to hold Jack from breaking down in tears. “It’s a boy.” He answered as steadily as he could.

You smiled, then grinned, and tears streaked down your cheeks. “A boy?” You repeated.

Jack nodded, twisting his face to prevent himself from crying, grateful his face was turned away from Mel. “Yeah, a healthy baby boy.” He affirmed.

You brought your free hand to your face to wipe away some of the tears, and you laughed with a new joy you hadn’t felt before. Jack turned away from you in that moment, but still not fully facing Mel.

“Dr. King, could you go check with imaging and see if they’re ready?” He asked.

Mel nodded. “Yes, sir.” She replied, but looked to you and smiled the biggest smile she had. “Congrats on the baby boy!”

You matched her smile. “Thank you, Mel.” You replied, and then she disappeared behind the curtain.

Before you could begin to speak, Jack wrapped you into his arms, carefully cradling you to avoid your broken arm. The love you felt from that embrace had more than exceeded your expectations. “You’re not mad?” You asked, pulling away slightly.

Jack looked to you with an offended demeanor. “Mad?” He questioned while rubbing your shoulder. “Sweetheart, I could never be mad at you.” He added. “Especially over this.”

You smiled and ran your free hand through his thick, silvered curls. “You’re gonna be a dad.” You whispered.

Jack’s bottom lip quivered, and the tears spilled over his face. “I’m gonna be a dad.” He repeated.

You had never seen him cry before. You desperately wished you had two available arms to pull him tightly into your embrace. Instead, you guided his head to rest close to yours and kissed him gently. He energetically returned the kiss, fingers threading through your hair. But he pulled away when reality hit him.

“Wait, how did you break your arm?” He asked, a new wave of concern washing over his face.

You rolled your eyes at your own clumsiness. “I slipped and fell on black ice outside of your house.” You responded.

Jack huffed, disappointed that he hadn’t put down enough salt. “I’m sorry, love. I thought I fixed it up for you.” He replied.

You shrugged and a slow smile found its way to your lips. “It’s okay. Because now I’m here. And now we have a baby.”

Jack’s concerned expression melted into one of pure happiness. It was one that you had only seen a few times. But despite his tear-streaked face, the joy was unmistakable.

—

A/N: Yeah I’m a sucker for giving my favorite characters a baby, sorry this wasn’t super long, but I wanted to write it before the week started!

[minjixficrecs]

1) Love your writing and cant wait to see more!! 2) For the prompt inspiration, what about something along the lines of Jack's girlfriend, that Dana and Robby don't particularly like, shows up seriously injured at the Pitt?

Someone New: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma; traffic accident, death, injuries, mentions of a failed marriage, divorce

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: LMFAO guys, most of my requests rn are for injured readers are we okay? Anyway... enjoy xoxo (also, thanks so much for the compliment!! messages/comments like these are super motivating <3)

Mistress. Homewrecker. The Other Woman.

You’ve called yourself worse a thousand times. The guilt over how things started with Jack weighs on you. And though his love feels sweet and pure, it offers little comfort in the face of their judgment.

You wish you’d met under different circumstances. Started things the right way.

But in your heart you know it’s real. Even if they don’t.

The truth is, Jack’s marriage was over long before you came into the picture. They were separated when you met, though the divorce wasn’t final.

So you let others believe that it was your fault. Made little effort to dispel the rumors. To introduce yourself properly.

Maybe you were embarrassed.

Definitely ashamed.

Perhaps they had a point and you destroyed a perfectly good relationship. Or at least got in the way of Jack and his ex trying to salvage what was left.

But it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore. Nothing does.

“Female. 30s. Car vs. pedestrian. In and out of consciousness. Possible head injury. Probable femoral fracture”, the EMT presents.

The cold metal of the gurney beneath you makes you shiver, harsh sterile lights flickering overhead.

“Woah. What happened?” Dana’s voice is laced with concern.

“I’m fine", you murmur, but your voice betrays you, weak and unconvincing. “Just a bit sleepy.”

Why is everything spinning?

“You hit your head?” Robby's voice is sharp and suddenly close, the light of his pen so bright it feels like it’s burning through your skull. He instructs you to follow his finger. You try, but your vision is distorted, like shattered glass. You can barely manage to focus.

“I- I’m not sure”, you confess, struggling to catch your breath, your lungs burning.

“Someone pushed her into oncoming traffic", the EMT continues, calm and clinical, part of his routine. "A bicycle hit her head-on and a car slammed into her hip."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut and your stomach twists with horror.

You can't remember any of it.

You try to move, to sit up, but your body refuses.

Why is your face wet? You beg, pray, it’s just tears. It has to be.

But it’s thick and warm. And the familiar, metallic smell makes your head swim.

“J-Jack… I-“, you plead.

Robby’s movements are faster now. His commands sharp and alert. He gestures to Whittaker, who immediately reacts, moving swiftly, as he rushes out of the room, a quiet urgency in his steps.

Everyone knows about you and Jack. Though it feels like no one approves. Almost no one.

“Y/N, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Collins’ voice is warm, grounding. She takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. You’re thankful. Thankful for her presence. To see a friendly face amidst the chaos.

But you can't shake the quiet fear that maybe... it’s the last one you’ll ever see.

Heather is one of the few who welcomed you, made an effort to get to know you.

You’ve become friends.

You meet up for coffee, chat for hours about the boys. And though her and Robby’s relationship ended, you can tell there is unresolved sadness between them. You wonder if either of them will ever admit it.

“Heather… I-I’m…” Your voice is barely audible now. You're slipping. Slipping fast.

You fight to stay awake. To hold on. Just a little longer. At least until you see Jack.

Until you get to say goodbye.

But your eyes grow heavier by the second, something pulling at you, each blink slower than the last.

You can hear yourself saying something. But it’s far away.

You’re shaking. Why is this hospital so goddamn cold?

Before you can say another word, everything fades to black.

“Male. 20s. Cyclist vs. pedestrian. Unconscious. Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple fractures", another EMT announces, as they rush the gurney into Trauma Two, the team prepared and ready to work in perfect sync.

Jack's moves are quick, methodical. Driven by one clear, urgent goal: to stabilize the patient first, then assess for further injuries.

“Dr. Abbot?” Whittaker’s voice is tentative, his gaze flicking nervously between Jack and the patient on the table. He hovers just inside the doorframe, not quite sure whether to disturb Jack or not.

Jack glances up briefly, his hands moving over the patient's chest, steady and determined.

Whittaker hesitates, his voice shaky. “We need you in Trauma One.”

“I’m a little busy.” Jack mutters. “Get Robby!” His voice laced with authority. An order, not a suggestion.

He isn’t finished with this patient yet, not ready to be pulled away.

Whittaker hesitates, before he nods and steps back. Jack watches him go, but there's no time to think about what might be waiting in Trauma One.

His focus is here, the young patient's life literally in his hands.

“Abbot?” Robby growls, frustrated at Whittaker’s failed attempt.

Whittaker shakes his head, his expression tense. “He’s treating the cyclist in Trauma Two”, Whittaker answers, almost apologetic.

Robby curses under his breath, his eyes flashing to Dana.

He knows Jack will never forgive them if something happens to you and they didn’t tell him. If Jack doesn't get to you in time.

Dana knows, too. She knows that this isn’t just about the accident. It’s about what they owe Jack and what they owe you.

“Hold compressions.” Jack orders.

Everyone’s eyes are fixated on the monitor, but the flatline continues.

“Okay." Jack’s voice drops. "That’s it.”

“Time of death: 10:35”

Jack takes a minute of silent reflection. He’s been here before. Too many times. But it never gets any easier.

He steps out into the bay, taking a breath. His eyes search the nurse’s station, which is unusually empty.

Javadi almost crashes into him, gripping a blood bag tight to her chest. Jack steps back, putting distance between them.

“Slow down. If you trip and fall you’re no good to anybody.” Always the teacher, calm and collected. “Where’s Robby?”

Javadi stumbles over her words, struggling to catch her breath. “Trauma One, a- a pedestrian got hit.”

“Shit." Jack mutters. "I just called it on the cyclist.” His brows furrow. “Need any help?”

“Not sure… it’s not looking good.” And with that, she rushes back in.

Jack watches her go, making sure she doesn’t run into anyone else. His gaze flicks to the glass doors of Trauma One, catching Robby’s eyes. He's pressing into someone’s chest with practiced ease.

But there’s something else. Panic.

Jack’s alarm bells go off. He moves, quickly.

But before Jack reaches the door, Dana steps into his path. She places her palm against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Jack”, her voice calm but firm. “You can come in, but we need to do this the right way, honey.” Her eyes soften, full of compassion. “Robby’s doing everything he can.”

In that moment, Jack catches a glimpse of the patient’s face. Your bloodied, gorgeous, beautiful face. The woman he loves.

Multiple hands are on you, your own dangling off the side of the gurney.

His eyes lock on the delicate ring he gave you only a few days ago.

The one that was supposed to be forever.

“What the fuck”, Jack tries to push past Dana, but Langdon and Matteo are already there, hands on his arms, holding him back.

“Dana”, Jack’s voice cracks.

“I know, hon. Take a breath”, she rubs soothing circles on his chest, then steps back. “We’ve got her!”

The sincerity in her voice, comforts him, if only slightly.

The fact that he just called his patient’s death a few minutes ago, tells him everything about the severity of your injuries.

There's a deep ache in Jack’s chest as he follows Dana into the room. He steps to your side, his hand brushing gently over your forehead, the way you like it. The way he’s always calmed you.

“I’m here, baby”, he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m here.”

He watches Robby and the team work, each movement calculated, each second agonizing.

He knows his place. He won’t overstep. His only focus is you.

Like many times before, Jack finds himself on the rooftop. Each inhale of the harsh midnight air a painful reminder of you in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath.

Jack feels someone approaching, doesn’t have to turn around to know who. “Who pushed her?” Jack's voice is low and raw with pain.

“They’re…-" Robby pauses, scratching his neck nervously. "They're still looking.” His tone is soft.

Jack nods, but the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You’ve been too hard on her, man.” He exhales sharply.

“I know, brother.” Robby's words are filled with guilt and regret. He wants to make this right. Needs to.

Jack's gaze hardens. “She was afraid, you know. Felt like you were judging her… more than me.” He huffs out a humorless laugh.

Robby’s remorse is palpable. “We were worried about you. Didn’t want to see you get hurt. We had no idea it was serious between you.”

“Does it matter?” Jack’s voice cracks on the last word.

“I- I suppose not.” Robby shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t need Robby’s apology. You do.

“She gets it. She gets me.” Jack's looking straight at Robby now, barely bringing himself to say the words. “I wish you’d had the chance to get to know her. You would've loved her…” He tries to hold in a strangled sob, but it escapes anyway.

Robby steps closer, placing a hand on Jack's back, voice gentle and reassuring. “I still can… If she’ll let me.” He realizes he needs to carry that hope for both of them right now.

Jack isn’t convinced, but Robby’s belief gives him a moment’s peace.

The door to the rooftop suddenly slams open. Jack and Robby both turn instinctively.

Dana stands in the doorway, her pulse racing. “Jack.”

Jack is terrified to hear what she has to say, assuming the worst.

The midnight air suddenly feels suffocating.

“Jack?” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and tired, the effort of speaking taking all of your energy.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He moves closer to your bed. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes certainly isn't helping, it hurts to see him like this.

You shake your head, but it’s a lie. You know it and Jack knows it too. He doesn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to the IV to adjust the meds with practiced hands.

Warmth floods you and you exhale slowly. The deep physical ache subsides and your thoughts clear. Only now, you can fully appreciate that you’re alive. That Jack’s here.

“I’m here," he repeats, more to himself than to you and for a second you wonder if you said the words out loud.

Jack's hand is gentle against your skin, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Robby and Dana feel badly about how they’ve treated you.” The words heavy with sorrow.

“They shouldn’t.” You're exhausted, but you mean it. “They don’t even know me.” You give him a smile, weak but genuine.

“Maybe it’s time we change that?” Jack leans in gently stroking your forehead, like he always does. Like he always will.

His other hand traces the space where your ring used to rest. You realize it’s no longer there. It was taken off during the chaos of saving you. But Jack knows where it belongs.

With a tender, deliberate touch, he slides the ring back onto your finger, a symbol of the forever he’s promised.

Hahahah aaall the fluff!! It was needed after so many angsty requests lol Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[minjixficrecs]

Coffee Snob

Summary: Robby meets his neighbor in the middle of the night on the rooftop of his apartment building, quickly establishing a relationship he wasn’t fully expecting and finding it to be more serious than originally thought when she shows up in his ER a few days later

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Reader gets stitches but process isn’t described at all, Author has absolutely no medical knowledge, Robby’s a worrywart

Author’s Note: Thank you everyone who read my Jack fic Wrong Name! It got way more love an attention than I ever thought it would and that means the absolute world to me! This is my first Robby fic so of course let me know what you think and I hope you like it!

Part 2

There was a man in your spot.

You’ve been up here nearly every night for the past few months and never had there been a man in your spot.

Usually you crave the silence this spot gave you, the peace of nighttime, the calm connectivity of the city below you. A man in your spot threatened to burst that bubble.

But seeing this man, in his fraying hoodie, with his legs dangling over the edge, drinking a beer, didn’t bring you any bitterness or disappointment. Rather you felt strangely calm.

Before you could fully process what you were doing you gave the handle to the roof access door a little jiggle and kicked the rocks beneath your feet softly, letting him know you were here before calling out “You know I’m not an expert but I’m pretty sure heights and alcohol don’t mix well”

He pivoted around slowly, your loud entrance having the desired effect of warning him of your arrival rather than startling him.

Soft brown eyes connected with yours in silence for a moment, you taking the opportunity to see just how downtrodden the man before you looked before his eyes flickered down to your hands, noting the beer that dangled from your fingers with a quiet huff “not an expert huh”

“Not an expert” you confirmed, taking a slow step forward “I practice this as an amateur”

He snorted under his breath at that. Turning back to the city before him, you taking that as a silent invitation to join him, planting yourself just far enough away to avoid making it awkward. “You know that’s my spot”

At that a dejected chuckle came out of him, an acknowledgement of an inside joke you weren’t apart of before shaking his head “not an expert but you have a spot”

“Never said I usually drink up here” you tossed the comment out as you twisted the top off your drink, giving his abandoned can next to him a toast before taking a swig.

The silence blanketed the two of you for a moment, somehow avoiding ever being oppressive or awkward, before he broke it “usually my spot’s at work”

“ahhh” you hummed, watching the lights of the city below you “so you’re the expert here then”

He laughed at that, a big sigh coming out of him as his shoulders finally fell slightly “never said I usually drink up there”

You let your eyes drift over his form for a second, taking the time to finally properly appreciate the man beside you “Honestly I kind of hope not, you strike me as someone with a job I wouldn’t want alcohol mixed with”

Another chuckle left the man, his chin tucking down into his chest as if to hide it “What gave that away, the scrubs?”

You smiled mischievously at him from behind the lip of your bottle, taking the time to take another swig, letting the silence between the two of you settle a bit before speaking “since you’re not offering the information that mean I get to guess?”

A deep breath left him as he looked you over for a second, clearly debating how much further he really wanted to venture into this conversation before answering with a shrug “give it your best shot”

You shifted slightly to better face him, picking your knee up and brining it onto the rooftop with you to fully look at the man before you, giving a dramatic hum before answering “Well the rooftop viewing is hinting at you being a bit of an adrenaline junkie, posture screams that you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, eyes tell me you’ve seen far too much tragedy in your time, dark scrubs to hide bodily fluid stains” you scrunched your nose up slightly at that,  pointedly ignoring the man’s startled gaze as you continued “and finally zip-up hoodie to help you contend with both inside and outside temperatures when necessary. I’m going to go with ER doc”

You tried to bite back your shit eating grin as the man before you froze on the spot, his entire body seeming to go through a system-reboot before a shocked huff escaped him, his neck forcing his head to bring his gaze back to the city as a chuckle finally escaped him “alright that was impressive”

“What can I say it’s a gift” you shrugged humbly, taking another swig before continuing “plus Ethel on the second floor will not stop talking about Michael, the handsome ER doctor who’s single and would really benefit from getting to know a nice girl like me”

At that a real laugh spilled from his lips, his eyes casting up to the sky as he sighed, giving his head a soft shake as he did so “I didn’t realize Ethel was so worried about me”

“You are alone in the middle of the night on the roof drinking”

He snapped his gaze over to you at your words, throwing a pointed look at the bottle in your hands before raising a single brow.

“Didn’t you hear I’m a nice girl”

Another sharp exhalation through his nose, another soft shake of his head, another comfortable silence wrapping around the two of you.

“Robby”

“hmm” you hummed back the silent question, raising a brow of your own in response.

“Most people call me Robby”

“Y/N” you offered your own name in response, extending a hand to him “nice to meet you Dr.Robby”

He smiled at that, the first honest one you had gotten all night, before he slipped his hand into yours “It’s nice to meet you Y/N”

-

You were there again the next night.

Robby wasn’t sure whether he had been hoping you would be or not.

Originally he had sought out the rooftop for the quiet it would offer, for the solace of it all when things got too overwhelming, another person being there threatened to ruin that.

But for some reason in his head you didn’t really count against that.

“So does the alcohol and heights thing still apply if someone else brought it”

You threw your gaze over your shoulder at his words with a warm smile and he couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t seem at all surprised to see him there, couldn’t help but wonder if you had been looking forward to this as much as he had.

“You’ll have to tell me, I thought we had decided you were the expert here”

“I believe that is what you decided” he volleyed back, handing you one of the cans as he sat down beside you, watching you crack it open and take a sip, scrunching your nose up slightly at the taste before looking down at the label.

“Okay if you’re going to start supplying the beer for these we’re going to have to work on your taste” he tried not to attach too much weight to the implied invitation in your words.

“what’s wrong with these?”

“They’re so one note, so flat, so quintessentially IPA” you spoke with heightened dramatics and he couldn’t help but note just how much he appreciated the lightness of the conversation, the inconsequence of it all, the opportunity to finally talk about something other than the hospital. “I’m fairly certain if you were to look up wheat beer in the dictionary the entry would just be a photo of this can”

“So your problem with it is that it tastes like beer?”

You glared at him at that, Robby unable to fully bite down the smirk that grew on his lips at the expression “My problem is that it tastes like beer stripped of anything that could make it interesting.”

“So it’s not bad it’s just boring”

“That’s arguably worse”

“mm no I’m fairly certain I’d rather drink a boring beer than a bad one”

“You willing spent your own money on this swill you no longer get to have an opinion” he couldn’t help but laugh at that, shake his head slightly as you went on “It’s like coffee. You know when you brew it poorly, or use a shitty machine and instead of getting the subtle fruity or chocolate notes of the beans you just get bitter brown water”

And a part of him was almost excited to be the butt of your next joke, to reveal what he had to say next, something you seemed to be able to read in his eyes. “No”

“You’re going to hate me for this”

“Michael please”

He was grinning at the use of his first name, at the sheer desperation in your tone “I’m fairly certain the only coffee I drink comes from a ten dollar machine that’s as old as I am”

You reacted as if you had been physically struck, hand going to your chest as you winced “I can’t believe you’ve never had good coffee”

“I’ve had good coffee before”

“Never experienced a proper pour over”

“I just said that’s the coffee I drink day to day”

“Never taken the time to appreciate the subtle flavors of a good brew”

“Some days it’s just about the caffeine”

“I’m making you coffee for your next shift” Your words yanked him out of the conversation suddenly, his brain taking a few seconds to fully comprehend your words.

“Wait what”

“What time do you leave? 7? 8?” You steamrolled right through his confusion, the favor already a done deal in your head.

“No you don’t have to-“

“I’ll put it in a to-go cup for you” You cut him right off, the sentence coming off so matter of fact-ly it had him chuckling.

“If I’m rushing to work I won’t have time to properly enjoy it”

You shrugged at that, throwing him a cheeky wink as you spoke “guess you’ll have to stop by early then”

A silence settled over the two of you at that, Robby taking the opportunity to properly look at you for the first time that night as you gazed over the city. “Coffee snob, can’t stand boring food, old burns on your forearms. I’m guessing chef”

You grinned at him from his periphery and Robby found himself reciprocating the expression easily. “Ethel’s such a gossip”

He snorted at that, taking a sip of his drink, suddenly a bit more excited for what the morning held for him than usual.

-

You had tried to convince the rest of the kitchen you would be fine, that surely if you just held pressure against it for another ten minutes that the bleeding would finally stop on its own.

None of them of course believed you, but in your opinion it was a valiant effort that should be noted.

You’d at least been able to fend them off from trying to go with you, the poor kid who had accidently cut you looked like he was ready to carry you there himself with the way he carried the guilt of your injury on his shoulders.

But you made it to the PTMH on your own, packed into a waiting room holding more people than it felt like it was fire rated for, and finally taken back to a room after a doctor had caught sight of the shade of red you had stained the once white prep towel you had been using for pressure.

As you were led back a part of you wondered if you should ask for him. This was afterall his hospital, you probably could’ve been seen sooner if you had pulled that card. But was it really your card to pull? You’ve sat on the roof a few times with the man, made him coffee once, did that somehow entitle you to specifically request him?

And even if it did was that really fair? The staff clearly had a system in place, prioritizing, as they should, the most severe cases first you absolutely weren’t going to mess with that.

So instead you kept your mouth shut and followed the doctor who had introduced herself as Mckay and the med student Javadi back to a bed in the ED.

You sat up on the bed as you had been instructed, Dr.Mckay moving to the computer and typing away immediately while Javadi moved to prep a suture kit, the two working together in surprisingly good tandem.

“Now Y/N since this is a teaching hospital do you mind if I let my med student take over here?” Dr.Mckay asked with a comforting smile, gesturing to the girl who didn’t look like she was old enough to be out of high school let alone a doctor.

“No I’ll happily be your pin cushion” Javadi froze at your words, giving you a wide eye look before looking over at Dr.Mckay for direction who only laughed good naturally from behind the terminal and gave her student a small nod to continue.

The rest of the appointment passed without a hiccup. Javadi stitching you up like an absolute pro and sending you on your way with instructions on how to care for it and to see a doctor in a week to get them removed.

You had almost made it through your entire visit without seeing him when on your way out you heard your name being called from behind you.

With one hand still on the door you spun around to look at who had called your name, the rapid sudden movement making you lightheaded and slightly woozy on the spot, your legs starting to wobble beneath you.

Two strong arms caught your own before the world could tilt too much, the new grounding force as well as the stillness more than enough to keep you upright and centered to the spot.

The soft, brown eyes now staring deeply into your own, however, clearly hadn’t picked up on your newfound steadiness. Snapping sharply back and forth between your own, calling your name urgently as his grip on you tightened.

“Robby I’m fine” you tried to brush him off but the man before you wasn’t having any of it.

“What’s wrong are you-“ he paused suddenly, his thumb catching on the bandage on your forearm drawing his gaze down “are you a patient?”

“I was a patient” you corrected him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling your arms back from him “just a few stitches I’ve already been discharged”

“Few stitches and you’re feeling dizzy did they even have you on fluids?” He asked with a frown, barely listening to your “no” in response before he was pulling you into the nearest empty room by your hand.

“I don’t need fluids” you protested weakly as he ignored you completely, helping you up onto the bed and immediately going to the terminal in the room and logging in.

“Can’t believe they would send you on your way without any fluids who patched you up?” his complaint was spoken gruffly under his breath, just soft enough you weren’t entirely sure if it was a question for you or the computer.

“Robby please”

He finally paused at that, finally looked up at you and made proper eye contact, peering at you from above his glasses with a clearly displeased expression.

“Ask me the questions” His brows furrowed slightly in response, his head tilting ever so slightly to one side making you dramatically roll your eyes “fine I’ll do it. Are you experiencing any light-headedness, dizziness, or nausea?” You pretended to think on it for a second, humming softly before answering, ticking each response off on your fingers as you did so “no, no, and no”

Robby looked nothing short of completely unimpressed by your skit, merely raising a single eyebrow in response.

“I just turned around too fast” you tried to explain with no small amount of exasperation in your voice “world went off kilter for a second because of it but that’s it”

At that he sighed heavily, taking off his glasses and giving his eyes a tired rub before he straightened his posture, crossing his arms over his chest before gesturing down to your arm “what happened”

You huffed a little at how the words were less a question than a command “accident at work, got sliced by a knife. Bleeding wouldn’t stop so I came here”

He clearly wasn’t completely placated by your answer but let it slide anyway, taking a seat on a rolling stool and coming up next to you “can I see?”

Wordlessly you placed your arm in his hands, watching his fingers delicately undo the dressing Javadi had just wrapped for you minutes before. He took a deep breath once the stitches were unearthed, taking a moment to properly look at each of them as his thumb stroked softly back and forth over the skin around it.

“Stitches look good”

“Javadi did a good job”

His sharp gaze again cut up to you with a small frown on his face, his thumbs back and forth movement halting “you had a med student working on you”

“You just said she did good” you shot back with a tired laugh, a sound that finally had the corners of his lips tilting up.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Your own small smile dropped instantly at his question, at the rawness of it, the vulnerability.

“It was no big deal. I didn’t want to bother you with it”

“Bother me with it” he repeated almost bitterly under his breath with a shake of his head, pivoting slightly to reach for a new set of dressings, getting ready to start wrapping up your arm again before speaking louder this time “how long were you waiting out there”

You shrugged at that, choosing to focus your gaze down on your arm as he started to wrap it rather than the man himself “Not long, there were people who needed-“

“And yet you’re lightheaded from blood-loss”

He took in a sharp breath right after the words slipped out of him, Robby recognizing the sharpness in his tone before you could point it out to him and giving himself a deep breath to try and reset before continuing “Just- next time bother me okay. I don’t care how small it is”

“Okay” you agreed blindly, Robby seeming to notice your lack of attention and giving your wrist a soft squeeze, physically pulling your gaze up to meet his.

“I mean it. No matter what. You find yourself in the Pitt I want you to ask for me okay. Or Jack Abbot if I’m not here he’ll take care of you”

And you couldn’t help but smile softly at his concern, nodding along with him before repeating yourself with more conviction “okay”

He mirrored your smile with one of his own, giving you a nod before softly placing your arm back in your lap and backing up a bit, you having not noticed how close he had gotten over the course of looking you over. “Now you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine” you assured him “promise I’ll find the juice with the highest sugar content the minute I get back to work”

He smile fell instantly at your words, head going back into his hands as he groaned dramatically “of course you’re going back to work”

And you couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics “dinner rush, they need me. I’ll cut back though, won’t do anything with this arm scouts honor”

“were you even a scout?” His tone was nothing short of unamused making your snort.

“I’ll send someone by with dinner for the whole staff” you tried to distract him with a grin, Robby unable to bite down his own in response.

“At least tell me someone is coming by to pick you up”

“nah I walked here”

Another dramatic groan, one you weren’t entirely sure wasn’t fully for your benefit “You’re killing me here honey”

He started to stand at that, as if he hadn’t thrown your entire world off kilter again with a simple pet name, and started to take off his gloves “Text me when you make it back to the restaurant okay” he paused after that, seemed almost unsure of his next words before he forced them out “and come by mine tonight when you’re done I’ll change your dressings for you”

“I can change my own-“

“Let me” he interrupted with a soft a plea.

You couldn’t help but pause at that, to look the man before you over once, to note the sincerity in his expression before answering “I may be pretty late” you tried to warn him, playing it off like you were trying to get him to back down, fully knowing you were hoping he wouldn’t.

“doesn’t matter” his answer came quick and without any real thought behind it, as if the conclusion were obvious “I know where to get a good coffee if I need it”

“make a guy a cup of coffee once and all of a sudden he thinks he’s entitled to more” you teased with a smirk

He chuckled softly at that, hiding his gaze down in his hands briefly before looking back up at you “You’ll come right?”

“Yeah Mike I’ll be there”

A lopsided smile grew on his face at the nickname “good” he pushed the door open behind him and stood slightly off to the side to allow you to pass, letting his hand fall to the small of your back as you did so “now get out of here before I hook you up to an IV anyways”

You laughed off the threat. Ignoring the tingle left behind from his touch as he ushered you forward, not making it very far before a blonde woman in scrubs came rushing in, nose buried in a tablet.

“Robby there you are we have a-“ she cut herself off as she raised her eyes to the scene before her, her gaze zeroing in quickly on the hand Robby still had on your spine, on the closeness between you two, a grin that could only be described as downright wolfish growing on her face as she cut her eyes to meet Robby’s “this blue tumbler?”

You raised a brow at the question, cutting your eyes up to meet Robby’s only to see his cheeks starting to go pink as he ducked his head ever so slightly with a soft sigh “Y/N this is Dana, the only person able to keep this entire ED running in something resembling order, also the person who stole the coffee you gave me the other day”

Immediately you were grinning at the woman, relishing the way she was able to make Robby sweat from beneath her gaze “You tried it? What did you think?”

She took a second longer to pull her gaze from Robby, relishing the way he squirmed before her before she smiled warmly at you “best damn cup of coffee I’ve ever had”

“Thank you!” You exclaimed in relief, giving Robby a pointed elbow in the side as you said it “this man doesn’t properly appreciate a good cup of coffee I swear. You ever been to Brewsters on Canton?”

She shook her head at your question, popping one hip to stand more comfortably as if she were settling into the conversation “that where you get it from?”

“Where I got he beans from” You nodded eagerly “you go on Tuesdays ask for Joey he’ll hook you up with the freshly roasted shit”

“Okay Dana did you need something” Robby cut in before she could respond in pure exasperation, sending the woman a silent glare that you couldn’t help but giggle at.

She seemed to bite back her own laugh as well, her smirk sent at Robby filled with mirth as she nodded “asthmatic kid’s family in asking to see you. Not an emergency I think they just got questions”

“Thank you Dana I’ll be right there” he sent her what was obviously a dismissal with a pointed glare, Dana taking the whole thing in stride and fading back from the two of you, never going too far and looking much too interested in her tablet to really be doing anything productive.

“I like her” You chuckled up at him, the corners of his own mouth tipping up despite his obvious best attempt to remain stern.

“Yeah that’s what I was afraid of”

You grinned back at him at that, reaching out almost instinctually to give his arm a soft squeeze as you started to drift towards the exit “alright doc I’ll let you get back to it”

“I mean it you feel even slightly dizzy I want you back here for an IV” he called after you, staying rooted on the spot as you parted.

“Aye yai cap” you mock saluted with a smirk “tell the woman eavesdropping in the corner I’ll send you in with a cup of coffee for her tomorrow”

“Thank you sweetheart” Dana called back with a grin, not even bothering to pretend she wasn’t doing exactly that.

You grinned back at her and with a final nod left the ED, the door barely swinging back shut behind you before Dana was beside Robby once again, the two of them watching the door close fully with vastly different expressions.

Dana chuckled under her breath, pressing the tablet in her hands to Robby’s chest as she clapped his shoulder and gave it a shake “you are so screwed Robinavitch”

Almost numbly Robby grabbed the tablet from her and peered down at it, barely noting the words that came out under his breath as he said them “yeah I know”

Dana cackled loudly at that, leaving her attending in his spot as she started to make her way back to the nursing station “oh I cannot wait to tell Abbot”

That seemed to knock Robby out of his stupor, his head whipping around to watch the charge nurse disappear around the corner. “Wait Dana”

Part 2

[minjixficrecs]

if anything

bob reynolds x reader

summary: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

tags: some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, idiots in love, yearning, light descriptions of violence, reader is held at gunpoint during a mission, mentions of wounds and bruises, tiny bleed, shame room, everyone in the watchtower knows you and bob are in love, bob has a cat (he gets her in this one shot that absolutely does not require to be read to enjoy this!)

word count: 2k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

It’s unusually quiet when you step in and join the room, so quiet that you would have first guessed no one is actually here, so it comes as a shock when you hear the faint sizzling of the pan over the stove and see Walker and Ava cooking in a peaceful, unusual, almost unsettling silence considering they usually can’t stop bickering and picking at each other.

Yelena is sitting at the table lazily filing her nails, Bob is tucked away in his reading nook, and you glance around but Bucky and Alexei are nowhere to be seen, so you assume they’re down at the training floor.

You pull a chair and sit across from Yelena, making her glance up at you with a compassionate, gentle smile before she resumes her business. “You okay?” she asks simply, polishing her nails back and forth.

You hum softly and nod, repressing anything more. The truth is you’re exhausted and your limbs ache more than the painkillers can handle, and you’ve developed an awful headache from the pressure of it all, but you would rather leave today behind.

You know the reason everyone is so uptight and quiet, you know why the air feels so heavy. You’re painfully aware of the tension you have brought into the group after what happened during the mission, and you know how everyone feels despite no one really talking about it or letting it seep through except for that cold, weighing silence and the gentle motion as if everyone is afraid it will break the space around you. 

The overwhelming quiet after the storm.

“I filed the report and got it sent to Valentina” you announce in a mutter.

Yelena’s eyes are back on you in a second. “Did you make it true to what happened?”

You nervously play with your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails, giving her a shake of the head. You can see Walker and Ava closely listening from the corner of your eye, exchanging a look before they resume their task when you look in their direction. 

You sink back into your chair, wincing in discomfort when the shift in position painfully jabs at your side and steals your breath. “We didn’t tell Bob,” Yelena declares, setting her nail file down. “We figured we would save him the worry. We know how much he cares about you” she says, prompting you to look over your shoulder at Bob reading, earbuds in, blissfully unaware of the heavy atmosphere of the room. 

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage but you are convinced it doesn’t have anything to do with the nagging pain of your wounded body. “Yeah, we should move on” you agree, turning back to Yelena. “Let’s not talk about that again,” you offer.

“We got to thank you one last time though” she grins with a slight tilt of her head. “You really put yourself out there for us. I doubt we would have made it if you didn’t offer yourself and put your life on the line for us. As stupid as it was”

You chuckle softly. “Come on, what’s a few broken ribs and a bet that could have easily gotten me killed?” you joke with a grin, the ache at your temple strangely familiar and similar to the feeling of the gun barrel pointed at it hours ago. 

Despite the joke, you try to shake the feeling and memory away, grounding yourself with the thought that you’re here, you’re home, you’re safe, and there will only be bad dreams to catch up on you, nothing real.

You turn and lightly clear your throat when you hear Bob shift across the room, removing his wired earbuds, Yelena quietly quickly dismissing the conversation by not adding onto it, looking at you with a knowing glance. 

“Bob, buddy, train your cat not to jump over the fucking counter when we’re cooking” Ava points at the evidence, the black cat meowing in response. 

“Sorry, I’ll work on that” Bob says with an apologetic quirk of his lips as he gets Missy off the kitchen counter and puts her down on the floor. “She’s just hungry, it’s feeding time. C’mon Missy,” Bob calls, and the cat follows his every step as he grabs the box containing her food, needing to push her head aside when she already has it in the bowl even before he gets to pour her food. 

“You can also work on those fangs of hers,” Walker remarks. “She bit me this morning.” 

“Oh I’m sure you deserved it” Yelena casually mutters. Bob tilts his head in silent agreement, a small smirk threatening to grow on his face, and you can’t help but silently snort, the tension finally beginning to lift. 

You feel safe here. It all feels warmer. 

—

Missy is curled onto your bed, slowly blinking her sleepy yellowish eyes at you, not moving even as much as a millimeter when you sit down at the edge, not far from her. 

A painful sigh escapes you, hand instinctively coming to clutch onto your badly wounded side in naive hope that the heat of your hand would make the pain subside just for a moment, but even the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe makes it hurt.

Your hand leaves your side and you try to compose yourself when you hear a soft knock at the door, Bob’s head peeking in the slight opening. “Hi– just checking in, have you seen– oh” he pinches his lips into a smile when you lean to the side – painfully, but you try your best for it not to show – and reveal Missy sleeping behind you.

“I didn’t close the door all the way so she made her way in,” you turn to look at the cat now peacefully sleeping.

“Sorry for that–”

“What are you apologizing for? I don’t mind. At all” you shrug. 

Bob pinches a smile again, repressing another apology like you all have been teaching him, having been working on making him stop apologizing for everything and anything. 

“Okay, I’ll–” he starts to back away, but suddenly stops, a worried frown forming over his face as he points a finger at you. “You– You’re bleeding”

You look down at yourself and see the spot of blood seeping through your shirt, a curse escaping under your breath. Bob quickly comes to your side, sitting down next to you. 

Then, the second his hand rests over your arm, you’re sucked in.

Back there. 

Your breath falls short again as you're standing in front of yourself, the version of yourself a few hours ago, gun kissing your temple. You watch as the civilian you willingly replaced breaks down in sobs, two other people clutching his side, leading him away from the scene.

When you turn around, the whole team is in front of you, just the way they were earlier, only this time, Bob is also there.

That's when you get it. His touch triggered this.

The scene unfolds, excruciatingly slowly for the second time today, and Bob watches intently, mouth slightly agape as Walker points his gun, as Yelena tries to reason with the man holding the gun to your head, as Alexei gets ready to charge onto him at any opening that could be offered.

You and Bob both remain silent as it goes on, flinching when the man threatening you readjusts and grips harder onto his gun, but you both know for a reason he eventually won’t go through with it.

Bucky steps forward and offers the man a deal, and everything seems to accelerate again as the man eventually gives up and kicks a knee onto your side before he violently drops you to the ground like a marionette with cut strings, your body crashing onto the same side you have been kicked. The man runs away while you groan and clutch the ground in pain, Alexei and Bucky rushing to you while the rest of them go after the man, Ava shifting through to stop him in his run and Walker giving him a hit of his folded shield, knocking him out. 

Then, like you just blinked, you’re back in your bedroom, sitting next to Bob. Your eyes widen over him like you have seen a ghost, and he seems equally distraught, if not more.

“I’m sorry– You know I can’t control it” he pulls away, visibly shaken by what just happened.

“I know.”

You swallow, hard. The room remains heavy with silence until Bob speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me? Any of you?” 

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “It was easier that way”

He nods and hums. “So much for trying to make me feel included” he smiles bitterly, hurt.

You close your eyes for a second, suddenly aware of how wrong it sounded. “Bob” you reach for him and pull him back when he tries to leave. This time, you remain here, and your hand stays over his arm. “I didn’t mean it that way” you nod seriously. He readjusts his position over the bed. “We decided to just put it under the rug and not talk about it anymore. I even lied in the report. Valentina won’t hear about that but it wasn’t meant for the same reasons as you”

He frowns softly, listening intently. His gaze is focused on you, like your face could speak hidden facts directly.

“If we decided not to tell you it’s not because we don’t trust you or something” you explain with a small shake of your head, looking at him earnestly. “It was probably wrong that we tried to hide something like this from you, but we just didn’t want you to worry.” you nod. Your throat feels tight from the pressure, invisible hands grasping at you, suffocating you. “Because we know you care.”

“You’re damn right I do” he mutters, his dark blue eyes slightly flickering. 

You can't exactly read his expression; it sits between frustration and something else that translates into the softness of his gaze but that you couldn't really pinpoint.

But you don't ask yourself any more questions. You have grown tired of it, and today might as well have been the last straw, so you do this the exact same way you did on the mission; you rush into it. 

You rush into taking his face into your hands, pressing your lips against his without even questioning yourself. 

A soft sound escapes his mouth as you do, but before you can even begin to wonder if you’ve startled him, he reaches for you with hesitant hands, as if he’s afraid to touch you, before they eventually come to rest at your neck for good. 

When you pull back, your foreheads are still pressed together, his lips still lightly grazing yours before a contented smile lights up his face, his knuckles brushing against your face with more confidence he suspected he could have. 

It feels like behind pulled back to the surface when you hear Missy’s high pitched meowing, making you both turn in her direction, making her desire for attention obvious when she sits right in the tight space between the both of you; it’s tricky, but she still manages to adopt a strange position that makes it fit.

Bob huffs out a laugh, petting her back, looking back up at you and watching the amused smile over your face when Missy stretches her lithe body under his scratches, asking for more. 

You hiss softly when a fresh shot of pain courses through you, reminding you of the current state of your body, and Bob’s expression instantly shifts into a more serious one. “You gotta let me help,” 

“That’s fine” you dismiss, trying to convince yourself that not giving importance to your pain will make it lessen; everything would be so much easier if it worked that way.

Bob’s head tilts slightly. “Trust me,” he mutters. “I know a thing or two about bruises”

You give him a bittersweet, compassionate smile before eventually surrendering, letting him take a look, assessing the situation before he takes it as his personal mission to look after you the way he wished he could have been looked after when he needed it.

—

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[minjixficrecs]

How to Save a Life (Dr. Jack Abbott x Reader) Part 1

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word Count: 1613

TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of firearms, women being threatened.

I altered the show's timeline slightly to make my story work. I will continue to post parts, if you would like to be included in the tag list, comment down below.

“Resuscitation efforts discontinued at 14:51,” Robby said and she felt like see had been been punched in chest. Kid loses always hit everyone hard. Especially a drowning. Y/N’s eyes locked with Robby’s as the mother of the lost girl screamed with grief. She just shook her head as she bolted from the room, not wanting anyone to see her tears. She always felt like so weak when she lost it after losing a patient. She had been a doctor for 10 years, it should affect her as much anymore. But the hard cases always got to her. 

“Caring does not make you weak,” She could hear her husbands voice in her head say as she reached for the necklace he gave her. “It makes you a better doctor.” 

She stumbled out to the ambulance bay, taking a deep breath. The cool air filled her lungs and she felt like she could breathe. She wiped some tears away as she pulled out her phone, pulling up Jack’s contact. She knew he would be waking up soon if he wasn’t already. They had a tradition of texting one another if something happened at work that upset them. Sometimes it was easier for Jack to write down his feelings than it was to speak them out loud. Y/N appreciated him sharing in whatever form made him feel the most comfortable. And Y/N always knew the best things to say to make him feel better.

“Just had a really rough case. Lost them. Just wanted to remind you that I love you more than anything in this world, and you make me incredibly happy.” 

“You have time for a call Doctor?” A text shot back and Y/N smiled as she hit call. 

“What are you doing up?” She laughed. 

“Ugh, you know I can’t sleep without you next to me.” Jack said groggily. “What’s going on Doll.” 

“It was a six year old kid, Jack. Drowned.” Y/N said her emotions coming to the surface again. “She was trying to save her little sister.” 

Jack remained silent just listening as Y/N explained everything they tried to do to save the girl. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry” 

“I just kept thinking, what if it was our baby lying on that table.” Her hand instinctively hovered over her stomach. Neither of them had told anyone yet, but Y/N was about 8 weeks pregnant. 

“Y/N, you can’t think like that. If you connect every lost kid to our baby, you are going to go insane.” 

“I know. It’s just hard.” Y/N sighed. 

“Well, just think, in a few more hours, you will be home with me, I will make us dinner, and then we can do whatever you want to take your mind off the day.” 

“Oh anything I want Doctor Abbott that sounds like you have something dirty in mind.” Suddenly Y/N felt something heavy and blunt against the base of her skull. 

In one ear she could hear Jack talking about all the things he wanted to do with her. In the other ear, she heard someone whisper. 

“Hang up the fucking phone. Now.” 

“Jack, honey, I have to go. I love you so fucking much.” She said and she quickly hung up, just as she heard Jack call her name questioningly. 

As soon as the phone was hung up and put in her pocket, Y/N felt an arm wrap around her chest pulled her roughly back as the barrel of a gun was placed against her temple. 

“Inside. Now.” The voice snapped as he started to drag her inside. 

Her mind was a blur as they came in through ambulance bay doors. She immediately saw the look of horror on everyones face as they came in. 

“Listen here!” The voice screamed. “I want to be treated fairly, I want to be seen by a doctor!” 

Y/N saw Robby come into main area and his eye went wide. 

“I need everyone to calm down.” Robby said with as much composer as he could, but in his head he was full on panicked. “Sir, I need you to let my resident go.” 

“No. Not until I am fucking seen. I have been waiting for hours and no one has seen me yet. It’s not fair. So I am going to get someone to help me, or so help me God I won’t hesitate to shoot her.” 

Ahmad took a step forward but the minute he did, the man cocked the gun and Y/N flinched. 

“Don’t you fucking move, you piece of shit, I’m not joking I will kill her. I need you all to take me seriously!” 

“Mr. Driscoll, we are taking you very seriously…” Robby said hands up his eyes looking over at Y/N’s scared form, trying to figure out some way to get her out of this. 

“Well then who is going to treat me!” Doug screamed as he swung the gun out at the rest of the group causing everyone to duck for cover. 

“I will!” Y/N screamed. “I will treat you! Just don’t point the gun at anyone else, just at me got it.” She negotiated and she could feel her phone buzzing in her pocket. Jack. Her heart broke, she hoped that by seeing this patient she could deescilate the situation. But she also knew that if he was going to these extremes, there was a higher than likely chance this could end in violence. 

“Y/N.” Robby said shaking his head.

“Listen Mr. Driscoll. I have been a doctor for 10 years. I am confident that I can get you the care you deserve.” 

“Finally, that’s all I’m asking. Was that so fucking hard!” Driscoll screamed. “Now,” He said as he started to drag her toward the empty room he could see. “If I so much as see a cop, things won’t end well for…” He leaned over to read her badge. “Dr. Abbott here. Is that clear?” 

“Mr. Driscoll, this is…” Robby started again but Driscoll quickly moved the gun to under Y/N’s chin shoving her face up so she was looking at the ceiling.

“I said is that fucking clear!” He screamed and Y/N could feel a tear roll down her cheek. 

“Crystal.” Robby snapped a look of pure rage in his eyes. 

Everyone watched in silence as Doug Driscoll dragged Y/N into one of the exam rooms and shut both doors. 

“Robby.” Dana said panicked. 

“We need to start moving all the other patients elsewhere for their safety. Also we need to…” He started but he could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. 

He pulled it out to see he had multiple missed texts and calls from Jack. 

“What’s going on with Y/N. She sounded weird when she hung up the phone.” 

“Robby, I’m worried about Y/N.” 

“Can you just let me know if she is tied up right now. She’s not answering me and I just want to make sure she is ok.” 

Robby sighed. He didn’t want to make this phone call, and he knew what the outcome would be, but he knew Jack deserved to know. 

“Is that Jack?” Dana asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“You want me to call him.” 

“No, I got this, go try to calm down the newbies. And let’s get everyone moving.” He sighed as he pulled out his phone, his eyes still fixed on the room Y/N was in. 

“Robby, brother, thanks for calling, Y/N sounded really weird on the phone and I swear to God  I heard another voice in the background I know it’s probably silly, but I got this gut feeling…” Abbott started. 

“Jack.” Robby cut him off and Jack instantly went silent. 

“What’s wrong?” Jack said fear filling him instantly. 

“There has been an incidence. A disgruntled patient and he…” Robby hesitated. 

“Is she ok?” Jack asked and Robby could hear the sound of rustling as he was sure Jack was starting to rush out the door. 

“She’s ok, but the patient brought in a gun. He currently is holding her hostage in one of the exam rooms.” 

“Fuck!” Jack screamed and Robby heard the sound of Jack’s truck peeling out of the driveway. 

“Jack if you are coming here I need you to remain calm and level headed ok. That’s the only way we are going to get Y/N out ok.” 

“I’m not going to remain calm! He’s got my girl Robby. And she…” Jack hesitated his voice catching in his throat. “Have you called the cops?” 

“Not yet, I need to get all the other patients somewhere safe, and I need to talk to Gloria. And he threatened to kill Y/N if he saw any cops.” 

“I’m on my way, please don’t call the cops until I get there. I’m only about 5 minutes out.” 

“Jack you live 15 minutes away how the fuck are you already…” 

“I really don’t give a shit about speed limits right now.” Jack screamed before he let out a loud sigh. “Micheal, I can’t lose her.” 

“Don’t think like that ok, we are no where near that point. This guy is just pissed off but I think once he gets what he needs I think he will be gone.” Robby tried to reassure. 

“She’s pregnant, we haven’t told anyone yet because it is still super early.” Jack said and Robby could hear him breaking. 

“Jack, I am going to do everything in my power to make sure she is safe.” Micheal insisted. But he couldn’t help but feel that this situation was not going to end well. 

[minjixficrecs]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part three.

part one. | part two.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 4.3k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, fluffy near the end, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), the void is hot unfortunately, foul language, everyone's mental health sucks but they're actually getting better now!

a/n ; this chapter is a bit shorter than the other two just because it only covers the very end of the movie PLUS a little bonus scene to get you guys excited for future avengers tower moments :) thank you again for all the support! also did you guys catch the mutant mention wink wonk

main masterlist. read on ao3!

Bob’s first room had an angry, middle-aged man standing in the very center, veins protruding out of his neck as he yelled gibberish. Flecks of spittle fell from his slurring lips. Bob, whose warm hand was intertwined with yours, flinched at the sudden volume. 

Walker didn’t hesitate to strike him down with his taco-shaped shield. 

“He seems nice,” Ava said.

The room gave a massive rumble, as if upset that things weren’t going its way, and the walls began to close in. 

“This way!” Alexei bellowed, ushering everyone forward into a wooden wardrobe full of clothes. 

“Narnia?” you asked as you shouldered through moth-eaten coats, giving Bob a quick glance over your shoulder. 

Bob gave you a nervous smile. “It was one of my favorites as a kid.”

The floors gave out beneath you, and you found yourself free-falling for a few seconds before landing on the rough ground with a resounding thud. The new room smelled of gasoline and burnt rubber tires.

You helped Yelena up to her feet, only to be whacked over the back of the head with a sharp plastic sign that read ALFREDO’S BAIL BONDS! in a hideous shade of red, by a chicken mascot that had equally hard-on-the-eyes yellow feathers. With a low moan, you started crawling away from the crazed chicken, who had turned to attack Ava and Alexei. 

“Oh, God!” Bob exclaimed, scrambling over to give you a hand. “Are you okay?”

“IF YOU DON’T STOP HITTING ME WITH THAT SIGN—!” Alexei gruffed from across the room, now bleeding from the nose.

“I was on meth!” Bob shrieked apologetically right before grabbing your head and shoving you down just in time to duck away from another sign-swing from the high chicken. 

Whilst lowered, you spotted a stack of wooden vegetable crates across the street. There seemed to be no other exits from the room. Ava kept the chicken occupied and distracted by repeatedly phasing through him, so you took the opportunity to break open the bottom of the crates, which smelled faintly of rotting tomatoes.

“Through here!” you called. “Crawl through the crates!”

Past-Bob made a bee-line for current Bob, the sharp end of the sign aimed straight at him like a crude stake. With a stinging cheek and a clenched jaw, Bucky stepped in between them and punched the chicken square in the face (beak?) with his metal arm. 

As you made your way through to the new room, you distantly heard Walker gagging behind you. “I hate tomatoes.”

Through the crates was a cleaner, more sterile space. The new room looked… clinical. You immediately tensed, eyes darting back and forth. There were beakers, needles, and measuring devices everywhere—all the marks of a science lab. You had to suck in a deep, painful breath to remind yourself that this wasn’t your room—it was Bob’s. A few meters away from you, there was an operating table. Big surgical lights looming over it like curved, robotic flowers. And on the bed sat past-Bob, shoulders hunched into himself. He looked the very same as the Bob right beside you, holding your hand. But his eyes were sunken and empty. Tired.

“I’ve been here before,” Yelena whispered. “Malaysia.”

Bob bit down on the inside of his cheek. “It’s where it all started. I was roaming Southeast Asia. Thought I’d figure something out. A way to find more drugs. And there’s this guy… he started talking to me about a medical study. A trial drug that can make me stronger and not feel like… me anymore. It was like a miracle.”

You felt your face fall with sympathy. You squeezed his hand, and Bob met your gaze with pursed lips. Slowly, the group began to advance towards Past-Bob. At least he wasn’t swinging a sign at all of your heads in a chicken suit this time.

“I thought I would get to show everyone that I was more… that I was something,” Bob told everyone, shame tinting each of his words a melancholic blue.

Past-Bob, now shrouded in shadow, finally straightened. 

“And look what you unleashed,” the voice purred, echoing in your head as if he had managed to worm inside and tapping at the very base of your ear drums.

That wasn’t Bob, you realized with a heavy pit in your stomach. It was the Void. He hopped off the surgical table, turning to face the team, face dark, but eyes glowing.

“How could you possibly think you could be worth anything?” he said, calm as untouched waters. You could feel your skin prickle.

Yelena stepped forward. “We’re leaving.”

The Void stayed silent for a moment, scrutinizing the ragged team of misfits and criminals with an empty expression. Then, he shook his head in miniscule movements. “No,” he simply said.

Behind him the surgical table rose into the air and flew across the room at a startlingly rapid speed, crashing against Yelena and Alexei, pinning them against the wall behind. The long strips of buzzing, artificial lights above were torn from the ceiling and wound around Bucky, keeping him to one of the lab’s counters. Several metal frames from a window came whizzing across the room to bury into the edges of Walker’s suit, keeping him stuck on the ground. Ava was sent flying into the other side of the lab when a crumbled garbage can wound about her midriff. She would have phased right through it, but there was a force weighing her down. 

You managed to dodge the door that was coming at you, having to relinquish Bob’s hand to do so, but missed the heavy metal shelf used to store plastic pill pots heading toward you from the opposite direction. It slammed into your stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs, and you were left struggling fruitlessly against the wall it lodged you up against. 

“Stop,” Bob pleaded to the Void with wide, watery eyes. “Let them go.”

“You think they care about you?” The Void stepped closer until he was right in front of you, close enough that you could feel it—the cold darkness. The dread. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The weight of all you’ve done wrong, all the people you’ve murdered and maimed, all your deaths, all your lies—resting right on top of your sternum. You gasped for breath. You felt something cold touch your face, so cold it felt blistering hot. You simultaneously wanted to pull away and lean in closer. The Void’s fingers were caressing your cheek ever so gently, and Bob did nothing but watch. He felt frozen to the floor, paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. 

“Xerox… lovely, sad Xerox…” crooned the Void, almost sing-songy. “Bob’s got a fixation with you, you know. It’s pathetic. He’s like a sad mutt begging for scraps from the table.” There was an amused hum from him before he continued, this time speaking to Bob. “Xerox doesn’t want to help you. None of them do. They’re all using you. Deep down, you know they despise you. You’re a burden.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena screamed from the opposite side of the room. IV drip wires wrapped around her throat so tight her eyelids fluttered and her words were caught on her tongue. 

“Isn’t that right, Xerox?” said the Void, his cool thumb slipped beneath your chin to tilt your head up as he regarded you with those cold, blank eyes. “You chose the darkness. You chose me.”

“I came…” The weight was growing stronger. The words felt like thorns in your mouth, painful to speak. What was he doing to you? “I came to help him.”

The Void tilted his head. Then, you felt the coldness close around your throat. The edges of your vision darkened. If your hands weren’t pinned back, you would’ve been clawing at your neck for breath.

“I told you… he doesn’t want your help. He’s pathetic. Why would he deserve it? Deserve you? Now tell him. Tell him the truth. It’s what he needs to hear… some tough love.”

When you opened your mouth this time, words spilled out that weren’t yours. “I don’t want to help you,” you found yourself saying. Not to the Void, but to Bob. Your Pal. You gasped, a cold tear slipping down your cheek. The words came out grated, as if someone had forced you to swallow razors. “I never liked you, Robert. You’re nothing. In fact, worse than that. You’re an active hindrance. A thorn in everyone’s side. I wish… schkk—I wish you had stayed dead when they shot you down.”

“That’s right,” murmured the Void. “Good.”

“Please stop,” Bob ground out. You weren’t sure if he was saying that to you or to the Void. 

His dark counterpart laughed a deep, rumbling noise. “Robert the Hero. Doesn’t sound right, does it? Fake. Like a comic book story. What a joke.”

Walker was close to prying himself out of his confines. 

The Void flicked his wrist. All the glass from the beakers and volumetric cylinders in the lab exploded. Crystal shards scratched at the team’s face, leaving everyone with stinging, bloodied cuts. The Void’s hand slipped away from your throat to pull out the piece of glass that had embedded into your skin. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, almost a whisper. It would’ve sounded sincere if it hadn’t sounded like an automated message. “You do enough of that to yourself. Did you enjoy what I showed you? The darkness has been kind to you, hasn’t it? The only one you can trust is yourself.”

“Yes,” you choked out, and your head bowed into a nod even though you hadn’t wanted to. “I deserve to relive it all. All the worst parts of me. I’m just as bad as I thought I was.”

Bob was breathing heavily, expression twisted into one of pain. The Void was hurting you. He was hurting you. 

“I’m stronger than you,” Bob told his alter-ego, trying to sound more confident than he was. “I can beat you.”

The Void grinned. It was a terrifying sight. Wolfish. Predatory. “Let’s see.”

The shadowed figure finally stepped away from you, and you seemed to lean forward, as if chasing his touch. Once the Void was far enough, Bob watched you recoil with a trace of disgust to your expression. At yourself or at him?

“It wasn’t me,” you croaked, misty eyes now glued to Bob. Not the Void. Just Bob. “Palindrome. It wasn’t me.”

And Bob believed you. He trusted you. With a determined nod, he ran forward and swung a punch to the Void. The dark mass hit back with equal ferocity, sending Bob sprawling to the ground. Glass dug into his skin.

“Get up, Bobby,” Walker gruffed. “Get up!”

“You thought you would be some great man? Some savior?” taunted the Void as he kicked at Bob. “You can’t even save yourself.”

You watched in horror as the Void picked Bob up by the scruff of his sweatshirt, and struck him three more times. 

“We will always be alone.”

The room began to shift, elongating. The entire group was pulled further and further away from Bob and the Void. Bob watched the team go—his friends grow smaller with the distance—and blew out a choked breath. Alexei was bleeding profusely from his head. Yelena’s face was turning blue from the cords cutting her airway. Ava, Bucky, and John were still working against their bonds. Bob glanced at you hanging limply behind the shelf, staring at nothing in particular with glazed eyes. No doubt that was the Void’s doing. 

Bob turned. His lips curled angrily. Then he launched himself at the Void with a mangled cry. He began punching the figure with all his might. To his fury, the Void only smiled, unhurt.

“There we go,” the Void whispered in a mocking manner. “Show them how strong you are.”

The room began to crack and crumble. Darkness began to eat away at Bob the more he struck his darker self. His shoes were swallowed first, now beginning to crawl up his shins. 

“This isn’t right,” Bucky gruffed. 

“Bob, stop!” Yelena coughed out. Having had enough, Alexei strained as much as he could to push the weight off of them. Just enough to let Yelena wriggle loose. She slipped out with a pained groan, tore the IV off her, and began running towards Bob. The room shifted to try to stop her—throwing cabinets and beakers and tables at her, but she lithely dodged each one. 

By the time she got to Bob, the darkness had seeped up to his neck. 

“I’m here,” she said, wrapping her arms around Bob from behind, trying to hold him back. Bob kept hitting the darkness, relentless.

“It will always be just us,” the Void told him, almost comforting. “I’m the only one you can rely on.”

Yelena held onto him tighter. “I’m here, Bob,” repeated Yelena. “You’re not alone.”

Finally, Bucky managed to tear himself free. He helped Walker get free, and Walker then stalked over to push the shelf off of you with a grunt. You collapsed with a dizzy intake of breath. Ava and Alexei were quick to free themselves afterwards, bonds slightly loosened—it seemed that Yelena’s words of comfort were actually helping. 

The rest of the team ran towards Bob, Yelena, and the Void. 

“We’re all here,” Yelena told her friend. “We’re here for you, Bob.”

You kneeled down beside him, hand wrapping around the wrist that led to a now-bloodied fist. The team piled together, all holding Bob—and each other. In the tangled mess of limbs and arms, Bob began to weep. His head knocked against yours as he sobbed, and you held him all the tighter. 

“Let it out, Pal,” you said. “We’ve got you.”

Then the entire group fell backwards. Your spine hit the rough surface of a broken road. After blinking several times and adjusting to the sudden onslaught of light, the city of New York came back into view. The shadows were slowly but surely melting away. 

The team slowly struggled to their feet. People were gradually but surely returning from the Void’s realm.

You sniffled, wiping an errant tear with your sleeve. The Void’s hold on your mind was still fresh, and you certainly felt a little worse for wear. You felt Bob’s concerned hand on your shoulder, and you turned and enveloped him into a sudden, tight hug, yanking him close. He emitted a noise of surprise, but his arms wound around you out of instinct. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, breathing shallow and rapid. “I don’t wish you died. I don’t think you’re a burden. I think you’re really sweet and cool and—” Your words were spoken so quickly and pretty muffled into the fabric of his sweatshirt that Bob didn’t really catch them.

Bob held you until your breaths mellowed out a bit. Even patted your back a few times for good measure. There were no complaints on his end for the hug, but he wasn’t very sure why you were giving him one. 

“This is nice,” he started, uncertain.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask if I could hug you,” you whispered once you pulled away, cheeks flushed.

“You don’t need to ask,” he said, almost too quickly. There was a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You don’t ever need to ask to hug me. It’s nice. I like it.”

Walker came to stand beside you, having done a quick survey of the premise. “You were great in there, Bob.”

Bob blinked at the bearded man and smiled. That was probably the nicest thing Walker has ever said to him. Too bad he had no clue what he was talking about. “Thanks, Walker,” he said, still smiling goofily. “In—wait, in where?” Finally, Bob took a glance around. There was wreckage everywhere. Had the Avengers totaled New York yet again? “Woah. What happened here?”

“You don’t… remember?” you asked, eyeing him with kinked brows.. “Did you hit your head a bit too hard?”

Bob patted down his skull. “Feels normal.” He laughed a bit—a nervous, knee-jerk reaction. “Sorry, I’m a bit confused.”

“Are you okay?” Yelena asked, looking at him with nothing but concern. 

Bob’s brows twitched, still completely lost. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why’s everyone looking at me like that?”

“Are you serious?” Alexei deadpanned. “We were in crazy rooms of despair and misery and—”

“Thanks, Alexei,” you cut in, giving the giant of a man a pointed look. “You did good, Bob. I can explain the details later. For now—”

Your reassurance was cut off by Valentina shrilly speaking into a phone, only a few yards away. You could feel anger twist your insides just from seeing her. 

“I’m going to kill that woman,” Alexei gruffed.

“We can’t kill her. We have to take her in,” Bucky said with an exasperated sigh. It was clear that he had plenty of experience being the voice of reason. 

“What happens when he regains his memory?” Walker asked. “Will we have to go through that all over again?”

Yelena shook her head. She took Bob by the elbow and began leading him towards Valentina. “Okay. Come on, Bob.”

“I’m going with you guys?”

“Of course you are,” you said as you walked alongside them towards Valentina, nudging Bob with a soft smile. “We’re a team now.”

Bob returned your smile easily. “That sounds nice.”

Yelena nodded. “We stick together from now on.”

When Valentina spotted the Thunderbolts coming towards her, she began to hurry backwards. “Hello, team! I know we’re all dealing with very big feelings right now, just give me—give me half a second—!”

She disappeared behind some wreckage. 

As you rounded the broken pieces of construction, you were met with the blinding flashes of about fifty cameras. There were news trucks, reporters, microphones, the entire shebang. Even a podium for Valentina to stand behind as she hushed the audience. A small part of you thought about all the dried blood on your face and body—it was a relief your suit was dark, or it would’ve looked like you were mauled by a bear. Or, more likely that you were the one that mauled the bear. 

“What’s going on?” Bob leaned closer to whisper to you.

“No idea,” you whispered back.

“Cool.” The smile that appeared on his face was boyish and lopsided. “It’s nice not being the only one who’s confused.”

“Are we live?” Valentina asked one of the cameramen. Once he nodded, she began speaking with a shiny, rehearsed smile. “For years, I have been working secretly to develop a new age of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States need that protection. Thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen… meet the new Avengers.”

Avenger? You? That didn’t sound quite right. The Avengers were heroes. They were a beacon of light and hope and occasional destruction of city-folk. You were… 

Just a person trying to do better.

The Thunderbolts stared at each other in a mixture of disbelief and disdain. Bob began to clap loudly, but you put a hand on his, forcing him to lower them down. 

“What?” he asked, still completely miffed, and you shook your head with an I’ll tell you later look. Bob nodded solemnly and put his hands behind his back, which made you hold back an amused grin. The snaps coming from the cameras seemed to flare with every tiny movement you made, so you weren’t too keen on giving them anything to pick apart. 

Yelena strode up to Valentina. She covered the microphone, leaned down, and said, just loud enough so she and the rest of the team could hear. “We own you now.”

This time, you didn’t bother trying to smother your smile. The cameras went crazy.

“Have you seen the news?” Bob asked you, settling down next to you on the couch. He handed you the steaming mug of tea, made just the way you liked. His knees knocked against yours. 

You glanced away from your crossword puzzle and took the mug with a warm smile. “Thanks. Seen what? I haven’t checked ever since news of mutants broke out.” You were still waiting for your own test results to come back. The memory of the clinic drawing your blood made you shudder. It did, however, make you feel slightly better knowing that the entire team was squashed in the tiny waiting room right outside the door for you. Even Bucky, who swore up and down that he was busy that afternoon still showed up. You made a mental note to get him a smoothie from that juice shop he liked so much. 

Bob gave you an awkward grimace. “They’re writing about us again.”

This made you roll your eyes. “They’re always writing about us.”

Just yesterday, Ava had shown you an article that said: THE HEROES NOBODY ASKED FOR! IS NEW ALWAYS BETTER? 

Which, to be fair, was a completely valid article. However, counterpoint, none of you asked to be on the Avengers. Except Alexei and Walker at some point, you suspected.

“No,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “Not us like the group, but us us.”

“Oh?” You quirked a brow. “What are they saying this time?” Last week, they were convinced Bob was a special secret agent of sorts. 

Bob handed you the rolled up newspaper he was holding. 

SPOTTED: BOB WHO? MYSTERY MAN SEEN WITH NEW AVENGER ‘XEROX’ — ROMANCE BLOSSOMING IN THE TOWER?

Though you were wearing a baseball cap, that clearly wasn’t enough to hide your identity. Beneath the article title was a grainy image of you and Bob in the park, feeding the ducks. The two of you were wearing identical, fond grins; but you were looking at the ducks, and his eyes were trained on you. There was another photo beneath where the two of you were sharing a milkshake in one of your favorite diners. You let out a sigh—you supposed you couldn’t be going to that diner as often anymore.

“Oh,” you muttered, reading through the first few lines, which turned out to be a whole bunch of speculative nonsense. “They’re always doing this, aren’t they? Making something out of nothing.” 

“Right,” said Bob, nodding. “It’s nothing. You’re right.”

When you caught his eye, noting the slightly crestfallen look on his face, you shook your head, assuming he was just upset about the whole ordeal. You could understand—losing your privacy overnight wasn’t something you were very keen about, either. “Try not to pay too much mind to the news people. I guess we just have to lay low for a while. It’ll die down. They’ll move on to the next big trendy thing in a minute or two.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bob said. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Does this mean we have to stop going to the park together?”

“No,” you reassured. “We just have to put on some better disguises. I’m sure Valentina could scrounge up the money. After all, she kinda has to do whatever we want now.”

Bob smiled, all awkward and endearing. “Good. Yeah. I… I like the time we spend together.”

“I like it, too,” you said, lips upturned. Bob had to force his eyes away. It was nothing. Right.

You patted his leg and returned to your crossword puzzle. You were about halfway through the crossword book that Bob had bought for you from the musty cornerstore two blocks away. It was the first gift you’d ever gotten from someone. 

Yelena walked into one of the Tower’s many common areas an hour later to find you and Bob leaning against each other, dozing away. Your puzzle book was discarded to the side, pencil sticking out one of the pages to mark your place. Bob’s mouth was slightly agape and he looked about two seconds away from slipping and face-planting painfully into the boniest part of your shoulder. Your legs were intertwined with his in a position that certainly couldn’t have been comfortable. Yelena regarded the two of you with a downturned smile. 

“Okay, you sleepy lovebirds,” she muttered, grabbing a neatly folded blanket from the corner of the long couch and draping it over the both of you. You stirred ever so slightly, mumbling something under your breath, then settled back closer to Bob. “Sweet dreams.”

The two of you were startled awake just as Yelena was leaving and Alexei stormed in, loudly complaining about how this lady in the grocery store wouldn’t buy the Avengers Wheaties cereal box even though he’d explicitly recommended it to her.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly, standing up to stretch upwards like a feline after a long nap. Bob watched you with a sleepy grin. “Ooh, that just reminded me. I need to go pick up some ingredients for soup night tomorrow. Walker hates tomatoes, so tomato soup is off the menu.” 

With no hesitation whatsoever, Bob asked, “Can I come with you?” 

You thought distantly to the news reports. Let them think what they want. Whatever you had with Bob, you liked it just as it was.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love that. We can stop by the library afterwards, too. I’ve heard they’ve got a new copy of…”

Alexei and Yelena watched the two of you head out, animatedly discussing some sort of new mystery book, shoulders practically pressed up to each other. 

“Are they—” Alexei sent his daughter a pointed look. “You know?”

“I’m not speaking about this with you,” Yelena curtly said, turning on her heel. “But no, not yet. Ava and I have a bet going on.”

This made a devilish grin spread over Alexei’s face. “He makes it obvious, the way he looks at Xerox. I give them a week.”

Yelena scoffed. He was such an optimist. She gave them three months at the very least. “You’re on.”

[minjixficrecs]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part two.

part one. | part three.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 11.8k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; much more intense violence/gore/death than in part one, suicide, self-harm, human experimentation, child abuse, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), foul language, mentions of pregnancy, everyone's mental health sucks!

a/n ; the support so far has been so sick guys! thank you so much! i initially wanted to cover all the events of the movie in two parts and move on to avengers tower type of stuff in the next part but i decided this part was already long enough and was itching to post LMAOO regardless, i hope you all enjoy!

main masterlist. read on ao3!

There was rarely a time in your early life when you weren’t being under surveillance. Cameras, everywhere. Nurses making their rounds. Scientists probing you. Surgeons with their hands on you, over you, inside you. 

But once, when you were sixteen, there was a black-out in the facility, which you later learned to be a total power outage through the entire city. No cameras to watch you. The nurses who had been drawing your blood scurried out with owlish eyes, spooked. Moving gingerly, you pulled the needle out of your arm, bandaged it with the gauze on the medical cart, and glanced out of your barred window. The past few weeks, the scientists had been trying to use your DNA to perfect biological cloning technology. As revolutionary as it sounded, you really didn’t like the idea of someone having to live your reality, death and pain constantly hovering over your shoulder.

For a few minutes, however, you got to be alone with yourself. Nothing but you and your own thoughts. You began to shake, but you didn’t register it. The only thing you clearly remembered was the scalpel on the medical cart. A pale silver, but reflecting the hazy green of the emergency exit signs from outside your cell. You’d always thought the sign taunted you. Exit here, just in case you have to, even though you can’t.

The blade was cold in your touch, cutting the warmth of your skin. 

You watched the blood drip down the first arm, and then sliced through the next. It hurt, of course it did. But then it wouldn’t hurt anymore, and it would all be over. 

Your shaking had intensified so much that the bed frame rattled like bones. Then, you began to split. Whether it was subconscious or your body’s natural, instinctive reaction, you weren’t sure. You sobbed, a mangled noise caught in the back of your throat, trying to merge back together. But this had never occurred before—you had never tried to stop yourself from duplicating. Typically when you split, you carried forth the same wounds as the original, but that wasn’t the case this time. 

It was as if your body had stored a clean, woundless back-up in case of a singular copy’s dire emergencies. You still felt it—the throbbing, searing pain on your arms—but no signs of the gash on you at all. You were wiped clean from your choice. A fresh restart. 

That was the first time you had to watch yourself die by your own hand. You tried to give your copy some sense of comfort during the last few moments, but it felt futile knowing you craved the very same thing. You never tried committing suicide again. Mostly because, well, you were a walking paradox. Unkillable, yet you’ve died a thousand and one deaths.

And so—when you watched Valentina’s cavalry pierce poor, innocent Bob with round after round of bullets, a guilty, nasty part of you thought about how lucky he was to be able to die so quickly. Of course, you felt terrible as soon as the thought entered your mind. You rather liked Bob and his warbly doe eyes, his skittish but considerate demeanor, and his eagerness to help. It was an awful shame you didn’t get to know him better. You were still reeling over seeing him in your nightmare—was that your mind playing cruel tricks on you or was Bob less innocent than he came off to be? 

His sacrifice certainly wasn’t going to be in vain. Walker had begun to drive the truck out of the compound down winding, sandy paths. 

Except—it seemed Bob was a lot more similar to you than you thought. When someone shot you down, another cropped right back up. Bob, to your relief and utter confusion, did just the same.

The streaking figure across the sky was no star. It was flailing about amongst the grey clouds and bore the pale, baggy silhouette of hospital clothes. 

Bob. Your Bob. He was alive!

“Palindrome,” you whispered in awe, face just about pressed up against the warm glass of the truck’s window. It was only a few seconds that he was suspended up in the air, but it felt like ages. Then, he began to plummet back down to the earth. “Oh, no.” 

His landing was not a graceful descent—in fact, the impact was so massive that it sent a strong gust of wind billowing across the base, knocking your truck clean off its path. The vehicle tumbled in rotation as it made its way down the sandy slopes. You would’ve likely gotten a concussion from being jostled about had you not split yourself into as many copies as you could fit, which was nearly forty, and stayed nice and tight amongst your own nervous copies.

It landed on its side, and you reabsorbed all the duplicates into one body. Moonlight spilled into the vehicle when John hacked at the truck’s metal with his shield. It caved noisily beneath the initial strikes, then eventually split. You might not have liked the man, but he was impressively strong. Was he super-serumed up just like the previous Captain America? The scientists in Madripoor that had been working on you were sure as hell trying their best to make their own formula of super serum, to no avail. 

“Oh,” he said, peering into the dark belly of the truck and seeing your deer-in-headlights expression. “I was worried you’d died in here. Good.”

“Xerox,” Yelena had said, helping you climb out of the truck. You took caution to avoid the sharp edges of the gap Walker carved for you. “Are you okay? Did you see that?”

You nodded. “That was Pal—Bob. Right? I wasn’t just seeing things?”

“Not unless all of us had a collective hallucination,” Ava put in. The group began to walk away from the totaled truck. There was no point in trying to get it up and running now—it was ruined beyond saving from the crash.

“Weirder things have happened,” you said, looking around the great expanse of nighttime desert. “Where did he land? Maybe we can help him.” 

“On the other side of the base. We couldn’t possibly get to him in time before Val and her crew,” Yelena said. Then, she handed you a file. “Valentina did this. To test on someone like that… it’s inhuman. She plans to use him.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, then you looked down. It was designs of superhero suits—a collage of striking gold and blue, all sharp angles and bold flares. Lacking all the soft gentleness you would’ve attributed to Bob. It even had a cape. 

“The power of a thousand exploding suns? Golden Guardian of Good?” Ava read over your shoulder, scoffing. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Sentry,” said Walker, taking the case file from you, to your annoyance. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he took a quick gander. “Very shiny. I didn’t think any of them were still around.”

“Did you know about this?” you asked. 

Walker shoved the file back into your awaiting hands. “There was a rumor that O.X.E. had some kind of big breakthrough. I don’t know much, but whatever it was, it was apparently way too extreme. Test subjects were dying. And then when the government looked into it, Val shut it down, and she put me on clean-up duty. I was meant to take care of him.”

“Take care of him,” you scathingly echoed. “Kill him.”

“Well, yeah,” John bit back. “We all were sent to kill each other. Haven’t you gotten over it by now?”

Your eye twitched. “I’m sorry I haven’t warmed up to the idea just yet!”

Ava drew a large, heaving sigh. It seemed she had no energy left to bicker. “Let’s just get home without getting caught.”

John, to your delight, found cactus berries for everyone to eat. You were starving. When you thanked him, quietly, he twisted his mouth to the side and nodded. Not embarrassed, not prideful, but… something more muted, as if he wasn’t sure how to accept gratitude. 

The rest of the group ate and walked in relative silence, save for the occasional complaint, grumble, and irritated tongue-click. 

The Red Guardian—and Yelena’s adoptive father, which you later came to find out—had come to pick her and everyone else up in the middle of the desert, waving his arms about and screaming like a madman. He was a giant of a man, so large that he had to drive his beat-up limo hunched over the steering wheel, despite putting his seat as far back as it would go. His shoulders were broader than the sticky leather seat itself. He donned a shoddy red suit that looked like it belonged in a museum dedicated to decades-old artifacts. And he was terribly loud, always spouting out something about collaboration, family, and the terrific rag-tag team the lot of you made. He seemed intent on calling the group the Thunderbolts in honor of Yelena’s peewee soccer team.

You found him rather amusing, even if he was obnoxious, overstimulating, and smelled of stale tortilla chips.

Both Yelena and Alexei were arguing about the next course of action—the former wanting to hunker down and hide, while the boisterous latter seemed intent on defeating Valentina with the power of… friendship. You decided to stay silent on the matter. You couldn’t deny that going home sounded like a brilliant idea. But… so did saving Bob. 

Before a proper conclusion could be reached, Walker announced a convoy approaching the limo from behind, three chunky vehicles gaining speed. Alexei tried to engage “defensive measures”, but he’d forgotten which of the several buttons to press, and instead engaged a “party mode”, where the lights turned flashy pinks and purples, and a ridiculous EDM song began to blare from the built-in speaker system, nearly shocking you into splitting. 

And then the gunshots started firing. Walker made himself useful by deflecting the majority of the bullets with his shield. Ghost tried to climb out one of the windows, only to be met by a piercing blast of concentrated, high-frequency sound waves, instantly disabling her suit’s phasing abilities. Yelena currently had nothing but a gun, and Alexei was busy driving. That left you.

With a determined puff of breath, you multiplied once, then climbed out the car window. Distantly, John barked at you to stay behind the shield but he went largely ignored. 

This was going to hurt like hell. But, on the plus side, you never really knew if you had a limit to the number of clones you could produce before you exhausted yourself. Maybe today you could find out. Within the blink of an eye, there were a hundred of you, growing exponentially by the second. 

Yelena realized what you were doing before the others. You were forming a human wall. 

One of the military vehicles plowed right through the weakest part of the wall, your blood and guts splattering every which way, staining the sand a deep shade of crimson. Another tried to swerve around, but ended up skidding too quickly, tipping over and crashing to the side, tires moving fruitlessly in the air. Your copies, still multiplying, swarmed the vehicle like angry, hell-bent ants, slipping into the open windows and pummeling the few soldiers in there. You could feel the bullets empty into your body, but you swallowed down the pain and kept going. But exactly as you told Yelena before—limited bullets, inifinite of you. And good Lord, did it hurt like—well, like you were being run over a thousand times over because you quite literally were. 

The remaining car was taken care of by an explosion so loud that it seemed to reverberate through the very ground. Initially, you wondered if someone from the car had thrown back a grenade, but when you caught sight of the sleek motorbike, you knew it was a newcomer. 

You heard Walker distantly yell, “Bucky!”

And true to his word, It was Bucky Barnes, in the flesh. Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You reabsorbed your copies—the few remaining that were still alive—and watched from a distance as he swerved past the last car’s gunfire, pinned a cable to its underbelly, and fell back to hold the wire down with his metal arm. The car flipped in the air as if it were an omelet on an oiled skillet. You blinked, impressed. 

Then, to your dismay, Bucky took off his sunglasses, and proceeded to shoot an explosive disk at Alexei’s limo. Similar to the previous car, it did an uneven pirouette before crashing onto the road upside-down. You winced, hoping none of them were killed in the crash. Even if they weren’t your friends, you thought that killing them went a step too far. 

Bucky was a little ways ahead of you, but he turned and fixed you with an expectant stare. Was he going to shoot you, too?

But you should’ve known—Bucky Barnes was smarter than that. He pulled out a different gun—and when he shot, electric ropes shot out as if they were sticky webs. You came crashing to the ground as they wound about your body, spasming with the sharp current frying your skin. To your panic, duplicating was not an option if you were bound. 

“If—” you choked out as he drew nearer to you. “If you’re going to kill me, please do it quickly.”

The ex-Winter Soldier looked down at you with a cocked head. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re evidence.”

Bob couldn’t remember the last time he woke up in a nice bed. In fact, this was probably the nicest bed he’s ever been in. His fingers twitched beside him—silk sheets. Just from that, he knew that this wasn’t his home (thank God for that), nor was it a hospital. He sat up.

There was a woman sitting by his bedside, watching him.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and meticulously tender. “How are you feeling, Robert? Are you comfortable?”

He stared at her for a moment before awkwardly saying, “Yeah.”

She nodded in satisfaction. “Good, good. My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.”

The name immediately had Robert backing up to the headboard, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “No, you—you tried to kill us!”

She began shushing him as if he were a child throwing a fit. On the glass table beside her, she put down what looked and sounded to be a metal plate.

“Let me explain. Would you like that?”

Bob stared at her for a moment, before looking down at his hands fidgeting with the silk. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

“You signed up for a medical study, which was, as advertised, at the cutting edge of human improvement. But not everybody could handle the amount of greatness that we had in mind—”

As she spoke, Bob took to looking around. The room was rather empty save for the bed, the glass table, and the chair Valentina was sitting on. Where was he? He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay here long… he didn’t like empty spaces very much. The blankness of the walls always made him worse than usual. When he was younger, he wasn’t even allowed to put up posters because his father would tear them down the minute he saw them. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing he hadn’t been listening to what Valentina was saying.

“Where—where is everyone?” he asked, interrupting her long-winded explanation. “Xerox? Yelena?”

“Xerox?” she repeated, pulling a distasteful face. Bob frowned. “Yelena… Oh, Bob, those people you were with… they’re not honest people. They’re criminals. Villains, really.”

Bob inched closer to the headboard until his back was flush against the leather. “No, but they… they helped me.” 

Well, if they weren’t here, he hoped everyone managed to get to safety. That he was useful for once in his damn life and not just… in the way.

Valentina stood up from the chair and sat down on the bed, inches away from him. Bob stiffened at the sudden movement.

“Let’s just forget about them for a bit. Let’s focus on you,” the woman said, “and how perfect you are.”

Perfect? Him, perfect? Perfect Bob. It sounded like an oxymoron. An embedded contradiction.

“You always thought of yourself as the victim. But you overcame it! You went to Malaysia—you were lost. You were searching for something, someone to help you. And you found me,” she crooned. 

Bob could feel his breath hitch in his throat. “How do you know about that?” 

It was embarrassing—mortifying, even—that someone found out that he was looking for help because he was a pathetic loser who couldn’t do anything on his own, as if he even deserved help to begin with. And now she was confronting him about it! Bob wanted a hole to open in the ground so he could crawl inside of it and hide away for the rest of his stupid life.

“I know all of it,” Valentina assured, though it wasn’t very reassuring. “I know about your mom’s mental illness, I know about your addiction, your juvenile record, and, you know—I even know about the times your father—”

Bob felt his insides seize at the mention of his father. “Stop!” he said, hands immediately coming up to cup his ears. “No, I didn’t say you could know that.” The lights began to flicker, a dangerous hum filling the room.

Valentina shook her head, scooching even closer. “Robert, I know everything about you—and I still want you to be my guy! All the bad things you’ve done… and I accept it. I accept you. Isn’t that what you want? To be chosen? No one else sees it. But I do. I see you. And I think, Robert, that your past is what makes you so special.”

At this, Bob could feel a small part of him cave. She wanted him. Out of all people, she thought he was capable! Capable of what? Did it even matter? He was picked. Wanted, chosen, special, needed, valuable, a true asset!

That was what he wanted. Yes, a dark voice whispered in the back of his mind. She’s your ticket out. You won’t be a useless fucking loser anymore. 

Then, Valentina took his hand. His eyes narrowed a fraction. He dove into her mind and he saw it all—her father, the tears on her chubby nine-year-old cheeks, the bullet in his chest. When he pulled away, he regarded her with a mixture of pity and confusion. 

This woman was just as sad as him. Was everyone equally messed up in the head or did he just attract like-minded people?

Valentina cleared her throat, trying her best to give him a warm smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. “Would you excuse me for just a moment?” she said, getting up from the bed. She looked a bit frazzled. Bob supposed being forced to live your most traumatic memory again did that to someone. 

Before she could leave, she picked up the metal disk. He caught a glimpse of the shiny golden S engraved on the front side.

Your ticket! the dark voice hissed. You fucking idiot.

“No,” he croaked out, scrambling away from the headboard. “No, wait!” He swallowed the bile in his throat. “I can control it.”

She smiled, victorious. “Great,” she said. Then, she turned and left, leaving Bob alone in the empty room.

Bucky Barnes was very good at ignoring you. He only seemed to listen after tying the super soldiers up with bent metal rods, and you, Ava, and Yelena with special power-defusing cuffs. And even then, he dismissed everyone trying to tell him about Bob, Project Sentry, and how Valentina betrayed all of you. He made a scathing remark to John about his wife and kid deciding to leave him—it was clear the two had a tense, troubled history. 

Finally, after about half an hour sitting around and wasting time, Bucky got a phone call. Who with, you didn’t know. Someone close to Valentina, maybe. But she mentioned Bob, and suddenly Bucky straightened. His scowl deepened upon realizing that this group of misfits and criminals—were telling him the truth all along.

“So…” he said after hanging up the phone. “Bob.”

“Bob,” the rest of the group echoed in both exasperation and relief.

“We have to help him,” you said, emphatically wriggling your wrists and shoulders to indicate the cuffs. “Valentina is only going to hurt him or use him to hurt others.”

“Or both,” Ava chimed.

Bucky thought on it for a long second, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Finally, he stalked over and uncuffed you, Yelena, then Ava. He unwound the metal pipe around Alexei as if he was snapping a string. He paused behind Walker, clearly unhappy to let him back on his feet, but he also broke him free of his bonds.

“You guys know Valentina,” he said. His eyes met yours. “Like you said—people are going to get hurt. And if your knowledge of this Bob can help… then you’re coming with me.”

“Us?” Yelena said, incredulous. “Bucky, you have the wrong people. Isn’t there anyone else you can call? Thor?”

“Off-world.”

“Captain America?” you asked, venturing a glance at Walker.

“Busy. Out of the country.”

“The Hulk?” Ava asked.

Bucky shook his head, patience wearing thin. “Listen. I’ve been where you are. You can run, but it catches up. It doesn’t go away. I’m giving you guys the opportunity to do something about it now. It’s either you come with me, or it’s a prison cell. Take your pick.”

Alexei needed no convincing. “This is great!” he roared. “All of us will be fighting together, like a team!”

More reluctant, Yelena drew in a breath. “Stop Val. Save Bob.”

You nodded. “I’m in.”

Walker pursed his lips. “Fine,” he gruffed.

Ava nodded, solemn. “Come on, then.”

Alexei looked around with a wide, oafish grin on his face. “YES!” he yelled. “Come on, then, you slowpokes! What are we waiting for?”

The plan to save Bob was really no plan at all—which was to be expected from a group of mercenaries and assassins who were typically used to working alone. 

Crash into the Avengers Tower. Beat up the guards. Find Valentina. Take care of her (you still weren’t very sure what this bit meant). Save Bob. Easy, right?

Well, crashing into the tower and beating up the guards certainly were a piece of cake. Finding Valentina, which you suspected to be one of the harder steps, turned out to be handed over to you on a silver platter. 

Her voice echoed on the intercom, effectively halting everyone mid-punch or mid-kick. As for Bucky, he dropped the guard he’d been strangling. “Jesus, you guys,” Valentina sighed. “I literally just had a new drywall installed. Should’ve known you lot would mess that up, too. I left the door unlocked for you. Come up.”

Yelena stood beside you, chest heaving. “Think it’s a trap?”

“Probably,” you said. “But do we have a better plan?”

“We didn’t have one to begin with,” Ava retorted. She gestured to the elevator. “Come on.”

The elevator took the group up to one of the very top floors of the tower. You stepped in with wide, scrutinizing eyes. Most of the original Avengers were dead now, weren’t they? Dead or retired. A vague memory of heroism and destruction. You were gone during the Blip—and you thanked God for that—so the Avengers bringing you back was more of a curse than a blessing on your end. 

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Valentina greeted everyone from behind an island counter. There was the pop of a champagne bottle as she poured herself a glass. “Think of all the monumental fights that happened exactly where you’re standing. I mean, I don’t really care—the place wasn’t cheap, but it’s got good optics.”

That’s all she ever seemed to care about, wasn’t it? Image. Branding. It was no wonder she always sent you on undercover missions. You weren’t marketable. No little girl or boy would buy your figurine when there was an Iron Man or Black Widow to pick from. 

“It’s over, Valentina,” Bucky said, expression stoic. “This ends now.”

“Congressman Barnes,” Valentina greeted, voice snippy. “I never thought you’d have a promising career but—you managed to disappoint even the lowest of expectations. Not even half a term, huh? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker interrupted. 

This made her laugh, though it was inauthentic and hollow. “I don’t think so… junior varsity Captain America.”

His hand fell on his gun, and he only paused when Bucky said his name with a warning tone.

“It’s good to see you, Ava. Yelena. You look awful, by the way. You sure you’re really ready for that public-facing role you asked me about?” 

“Eat shit, Valentina.”

“Where’s Bob?” you said, feeling the tensions creeping up until it felt near suffocating. “What did you do to him?”

“Xerox. I thought you wanted to leave… And yet here you are. Just makes me wonder why you haven’t left. You had every opportunity to. Are you getting attached already? That was always a weakness of yours, wasn’t it?” She took a long sip from her champagne flute. “You know, he asked about you. Even mentioned the little nickname you gave him. Palindrome, right? It’s a little bit of a mouthful, but that’s just me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Why were you still here? You didn’t owe Bob—or anyone else in this group—anything. 

Your evident hesitation made Valentina’s eyes light up. “Just look at you guys! So adorable, really. I sent you all down there to kill each other… but you made nice, and you form a team. Who would’ve thought?”

To your relief, Bucky cut through her condescending tirade by asking for Mel, who you assumed to be the person he was on the phone with earlier. 

“Oh, Mel,” she said, dismissive. “She’s having loyalty issues. But I’m just so grateful that she stuck around long enough to lure you all in—”

As she spoke, Bucky took the flute of champagne from her hands and placed it onto the island with a resounding tink. His hand then moved to close around Valentina’s throat.

But it never got there.

His hand froze mid-air, vibrating with strain. Bucky stared down at his arm with furrowed brows.

With a sharp, satisfactory grin, Valentina hummed, “I’m not alone. Robert?”

You turned to see a pair of dark boots descend down a flight of stairs. Each step revealed more of him—flashy golden suit, cinched blue belt, a dark, flowing cape. Blonde hair. A confident stance. A set jaw.

“Oh, my God,” Yelena said. 

“That’s Bob?” Bucky asked, words laced with disbelief.

“He looks… a little different from when we last saw him,” Ava said.

You stayed silent, watching him with what could only be described as a crestfallen expression. This wasn’t the Palindrome you remembered. What did Valentina do to him?

“It is my great honor to introduce to you… the Sentry,” Valentina beckoned to Bob as if he were a shiny new car she was parading. 

Bob nodded at the rest of you. “Hey, guys.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, but he was quick to look away. Your insides felt as if they were curdling.

“All powerful. Invincible. Stronger than all the Avengers combined—and soon to be known as Earth’s mightiest hero,” Valentina announced. 

Ava narrowed her eyes at him. “Have you dyed your hair?”

Bob blinked. “Yeah. It was—”

“My idea,” Valentina nodded.

“I preferred the dark hair,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were saying it to spite Valentina or because it was the genuine truth. Perhaps both. “Brought out your eyes.”

Bob looked at you as if you had slapped him.

“People love a classic hero,” Valentina said. “All the strongest and most beloved were blondes. The original Captain America, blonde. Thor, blonde. Hawkeye, blonde-ish. Black Widow… blonde for some time.”

The mention of her sister made Yelena flinch. Valentina didn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s the plan?” Bucky said. He wasn’t here to discuss frivolities like hair color.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, Bucky? Geez. Did all that time in the freezer slow your brain down? At least you’re kinda cute—you have that going for you.” 

“You’re not going to hurt people?” the Guardian intervened, his inflection cautious and mildly confused. 

“Oh, no! No. I’m not going to hurt people. I’m going to hurt you—or, well, Robert here will. You see, the press is on their way here now. They’re going to witness the magnificent power of Sentry as he takes down this group of ruthless, rogue agents. Thus beginning a new era where I decide how to keep the American people safe, answering to no one. I’ll be unimpeachable.”

“Cool,” you snarked, lips curling into a snarl. “You got the villain monologue down and everything.” Then, you turned to Bob, trying your best to ignore Valentina’s presence right beside him. Your expression softened considerably. “You told her about Palindrome?” 

Bob froze, as if pondering if he’d done something wrong. “Ye–yeah. I thought—at first, I thought it would be a cool hero name. But yeah, uhm… Sentry is… better. Rolls off the tongue.”

You nodded. “Okay. No, you’re right, maybe. But Palindrome—same backwards as it is forwards, remember? Are you the same Bob I met down in the vault? Because I liked that Bob a lot more than what I see in front of me now.”

Initially, Bob’s expression crumpled. Any hope of seeking the team’s approval was immediately crushed under the heel of your foot. Then, to your dismay, Bob—no, Sentry’s—face grew stony.

“Valentina fixed me,” he said. “I’m better now.”

The team’s incredulous, disbelieving faces told Bob all he needed to know. None of you were on his side. 

Valentina nodded at the tall, now-blonde super. “Sentry. Your first mission is to take out these criminals.”

Bob swallowed heavily, brows furrowed as he weighed between his options. “I don’t want to hurt you guys,” he finally said. “Why don’t you just turn yourselves in?”

With a scoff, Walker said, “You don’t wanna do this, Bobby.”

A vein jumped on the side of Bob’s neck. “You can call me Sentry.”

“Please, you do not need to listen to her,” Yelena attempted to rationalize. 

“See?” Valentina exclaimed. “It’s exactly as I told you—they don’t think you’re good enough.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena asserted. “You can trust me, Bob! I know you!”

Bob fixed her with what looked to be a disappointed gaze. “I don’t think that you do.”

“But—you saved us. Only a few hours ago, you sacrificed yourself to help us escape. What was any of that for?” You loathed how your voice broke with desperation. 

Bob had a hard time swallowing around the rising lump in his throat. His mind darted back to the many times you died just to save him. None of this sat well with him, but… it needed to be done. 

“It was a mistake,” he said, simply. He chanced a glance to Valentina, who nodded in approval.

You recoiled like a wounded snake. 

“ENOUGH TALKING!” Alexei bellowed. Bob still wasn’t very sure who he was. “No one messes with the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts!” 

Just as Val incredulously echoed, “Thunderbolts?” Alexei stormed forward, pulling all his weight into a barrel-slam. It was as if he were hit with a solid, thick wall of dense lead. Bob punched him straight in his round belly, and like a ragdoll, the super soldier went flying backwards, crumpling into a red heap against a nearby pillar. Immediately, the rest of the team dove into action and attacked Bob. Save for Yelena, who was still trying to make peace with him.

Bob was, as Valentina had alluded to earlier, seemingly invincible. Able to fling people away without having to disturb a single dyed hair on his head. Stop special-grade bullets mid-air and send them right back to the assailant at twice the speed. Withstood the sharpest of blades and the strongest of punches. 

You split into two copies. One to assist Walker, whose shield was embedded into a sofa, nearly cleaving it in two, and another running after Valentina, who you spotted hurrying to hide behind a corner.

“You lied to us,” you hissed, grabbing the collar of her dress shirt, yanking her close until her nose was inches away from yours. “I came to you for help. I thought you would save me.”

“I did,” she said, and began to howl and laugh like a maniac. “When I found you, you were an empty husk of a person. Now look at you. Fighting with your friends. There’s a spark that wasn’t there before. You know, if I hadn’t only stuck you to do my dirty work, you would’ve made a good hero. A lack of planning on my end, I’m afraid.”

You felt your eyes sting with the promise of tears. “I could’ve been good?”

“Yes,” she said, shrugging. “But you chose this. Sure, I gave you the order… but who, in the end, pulled the trigger?” Without giving you the chance to respond, she lolled her head to the side. “Oh, Sentry!”

Bob, who had been preoccupied smashing Alexei through the windows as if he were playing frisbee, snapped his head to see you holding Valentina. Immediately, his eyes started glowing, and you were ripped away. 

There was no hope in fighting against a man more powerful than all the Avengers rolled into one. You braced yourself for pain, squeezing your eyes shut. But there came none. Instead, when you cracked an eye open you were suspended midair outside of the penthouse. 

“How far?” he asked you, striding to the window, its frames lined with shattered bullet-proof glass.

“What?” you choked out, trying to struggle, though you knew that if he dropped you, you would be met with a terrible fall that was likely worse than the fall you had in the vault. 

“How far until you lose control and get a seizure?” He turned and bent Walker’s shield until it caved around his arm, now shaped like a curved taco shell. “I don’t want to send you too far. I’d prefer not to hurt you.”

“Fuck you!” you snarled. A second too late, you realized that was probably a terrible thing to say to him when he had you floating mid-air, completely at his mercy. “Wait, Bob—please just stop this—!” The rest of your plea was lost to the wind as he sent you streaking further away from the tower, going so fast that the civilians down below must have thought you were some sort of high-tech drone.

Your duplicate watched in horror, knowing there was nothing you could do for your other-you. You were taken farther and farther until you grew limp, convulsing hundreds of feet above the ground. The copy in the tower crumpled to the ground with not a sound. Ava, battered and bruised, dragged your convulsing body away from the action so you were less likely to be struck while down. 

And when the rest of the team gave up and turned to retreat, Bucky was the one to pick you up by the scruff of your dark suit, dragging you into the elevator. He was missing his metal arm, which Sentry had torn off like it had been attached with paperclips, hot glue, and a dream. Ava picked it up on her way into the lift.

Sentry advanced on them with glowing eyes. “Forgetting someone?” 

He reached out behind him, fingers curled into a beckoning motion. Your copy came flying back into the tower, crashing into the rest of the team as if you were a bowling ball, and the rest of the team the pins. Your skull rattled as it knocked into Alexei’s, and you gasped for air, dizzy and disoriented. If you had been more lucid, you would have apologized to Walker for your boot crashing into his eye. That was likely going to leave a terrible bruise. Yelena took your arm and wound it around her to help you stay upright. 

“I’m so glad you were able to catch a glimpse before your… retirement,” Valentina called out, slinking out from the shadows she was hiding in. “Camera crews are assembling. Finish the job, Robert.”

Bob waited until the elevator doors slid to a close, hiding all the fearful faces from his observant gaze, and he could hear the lift move downwards.

“Finish the job?” he echoed. “No. They’re not a threat to me, so… why do I need to kill them?”

Valentina gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You need to do what I say, Robert.”

Confusion washed over his polished, golden features. “Why?” 

“Why?” Valentina parroted, almost mocking. Bob could feel anger bubble behind his chest.

“I just…” He exhaled in frustration. “I feel like there’s an… unwarranted power imbalance here.” He motioned between himself and her. “There needs to be more of a collaboration between us if this is going to work. Like, the hair—I don’t know. Maybe I should have more of a say.”

She rolled her eyes to the broken ceiling from when Yelena was flung upwards. “Don’t let those idiots get to your head. The blonde is great.”

“You sure?” said Bob, now pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. “I thought I liked it, but now I’m not so sure. Xerox said—”

“Forget Xerox!” Valentina exclaimed. “That’s enough about the hair, Sentry.”

“It’s not just about the hair, though—”

“Well, you keep bringing it up, so—”

“No, but it’s everything!” Bob asserted. “It’s all of it. My suit, my name, my missions. I didn’t even want to be Sentry. I thought Palindrome was good. It… it is good.”

As if she were consoling a child, Valentina relented. “Fine. If you want to change it so bad, be my guest. We’ll just have to re-do all the paperwork all over again and—”

Bob shook his head. “Why would a god… take orders from anyone at all?”

Brow cocked, Valentina slowly said, “I think you’re throwing the word god a bit loosely there.”

“No,” Bob said. “No, but you said… I was all-powerful and stronger than the entire team of Avengers, which includes at least one God. I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t actually know what I am, nor what I’m capable of. I’m the only survivor from the medical trials, aren’t I? I’m the only one left.” 

Val drew in a sharp breath, folding her hands behind her back. “Oh, God.”

“Yeah,” said Bob. “Yes, that’s more like it.”

Before she could draw out the emergency killswitch, Bob took her by the throat and sent her flying across the room, pinning her against a metal support frame. She struggled against his hold fruitlessly. 

“You were going to turn on me,” said Bob, narrowing his eyes. “Just like the rest of them.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Robert,” she croaked before he began to apply more pressure against her esophagus.

“It’s not Robert you have to be afraid of,” he said, voice as cold as the steel behind her. His eyes began to glow a terrifying golden hue and—

There was a click and a zap, and Bob’s hold on her loosened. Sentry crumpled to the ground in a heap of golds and blues. Mel was standing behind the pair, holding the killswitch, legs shaking. 

“I want a raise,” she demanded. 

“Fine. Order cleanup and it’s yours,” said Val, gripping the support beam with shaking hands. “And help me up, damn it!”

The two eventually stumbled into the elevator, leaving Bob’s body alone in the Avengers tower. A minute after Val abandoned his corpse, however, the floors darkened to an inky blank around him. His suit and face was now pitch-dark, absent of any sort of color. His finger twitched. First his pinky, then his thumb, then his whole hand. By the second minute, he began levitating, floating a meter above the cracked floors.

Bob, Palindrome, Robert, Sentry, the Golden Guardian of Who Gives a Flying Fuck—what he used to be… was gone now. And what was left of him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Just a void.

Once outside the Avengers Tower, you reabsorbed into one body, stumbling away from Yelena to sit on the curb. Behind you, they were bickering, as always. Alexei wanted to go somewhere to regroup and try again. As if being completely beaten to a pulp wasn’t enough. 

Yelena was done. She was fed up with his bullshit. 

“Stop. Just stop! There is no us. There is no we. Bob is gone. He changed into that thing—and there is nothing that any of you could do about it,” she hissed. 

“Right,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. “And what did you do, exactly? Because I seem to remember you getting your ass beat way worse than mine. Xerox didn’t even try to stop Bob.”

“Because we didn’t stand a chance. There was no point,” you gritted out, getting back up to your feet. “Sorry I prioritized getting Valentina over him.”

“Fat load of good that did!” Ava exclaimed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, I get it! I suck! We suck! We’re all terrible!” Yelena screamed. The pedestrians going about their day eyed the rag-tag team of bloodied, bruised, suited individuals. “Ava, you’re not a hero. You’re not even a good person.”

Ava pretended that didn’t sting. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath. 

When Alexei tried to step in, Yelena exploded at him, too. “I am not your little girl! I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a year! It’s like you didn’t even care about Natasha. You’re a fucking fake and a coward and I wish you never pretended to be my father!”

Walker stepped in, saying, “Come on, go easy on him.”

“Oh, so you’re nice now?” Yelena said, rounding on him.

“What, is it my turn?” he said, tone flat and unimpressed.

“No, you know you’re a piece of trash,” Yelena spat. “And so does your family.”

“Jesus,” said Walker, grimacing at how much that stung.

“Yelena,” you said, weary of her biting your head off for even speaking. “We tried. We failed. We move on. Can we do that?”

“No, but you didn’t try, did you? I saw you talking to Valentina. You could’ve done it. You had the chance to kill her, but you didn’t. You were too caught up in your selfish fantasies of self-fulfillment that you’ve doomed the rest of us!” 

You nodded, withdrawing, clearly wounded. “Mhm. Okay.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was your fault. You had Valentina. You did. Was your need for closure selfish? Did it cost everyone a potential victory?

“We lost,” Yelena said with a tone of finality. She turned around and began to stalk away. “This fucking team was built on delusions. We were never anything, not ever.”

Alexei went after her. The rest of the group slowly started to retreat into different directions. You looked to Bucky with sad eyes he thought resembled a kicked animal.

“Does it get better?” you asked. Your gesture to your head was vague and hard to interpret, but Bucky seemed to understand you almost instantly.

“I wish I had an easy answer for you, kid.” The soldier pursed his lips, regarding you with furrowed brows. “But not like this, it won’t. Not like this.”

“What are you going to do now?” you whispered. 

Bucky clenched his jaw. It was clear that he had no idea what the protocol was for a situation like this. “As of now, Valentina’s intentions with Sentry are unclear. She could be planning out acts of terrorism as we speak. I think the smartest course of action is evacuating the premises.” He eyed you warily. “You can go home. You’ve done enough.”

“I want…” The words lodged in your throat. “Bucky, I know I’m a fuck-up. I’ve done bad, terrible things. I know there’s no coming back from that. But I want to help. I want to be better.”

Something flickered in the blue of his eyes, as if he was recalling something. Someone. “Okay, kid,” he said after a brief pause. “Come on.”

The two of you began to usher the crowd away. You multiplied a few dozen times, scattering to hoard as many people you could off the streets. You heard many shocked whispers amongst the passerby. Is that Congressman Barnes? No fucking way—that’s the Winter Soldier. Is Captain America around? Why are there four of you? That’s freaky as shit.

“I’m Xerox,” you hurriedly told a family loitering by the entrance to the subway station, trying your best to seem friendly but you likely came off as a raving lunatic instead. “You need to evacuate the premises now. Someone dangerous could be—”

“Are you a hero?” a little girl asked you in wonder, taking a gander at your suit, which was battered and covered with dust and soot. It definitely had seen better days. “You don’t really look like one.”

The mother flinched with shock, and began to frantically apologize for her daughter’s lack of a filter.

“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I’m no hero. I just want to help.”

The mother nodded, looking worried. “That’s good enough for me.” It was clear she was no stranger to bizarre happenings in New York. “Come on, Adeline. Let’s go.” They hurried off, and you returned to Bucky, who was urging a gaggle of laughing teenagers not to go into a theater.

“Good. You cleared the street,” said Bucky. “We should set up some sort of blockade to—”

Abruptly, Bucky stopped mid-sentence. His eyes were trained up to the sky, and you turned to follow his gaze. You felt your heart painfully skip a beat in your chest.

A dark figure floated above the city. Caped, with a suspiciously similar silhouette to Sentry. You squinted, straining your vision, barely making out his arm extending out as if he was mimicking grabbing something.

“That’s—” Bucky started.

“Bob,” you breathed out. 

You watched in horror as helicopters came flying towards him. At first, you thought they were press, just as Valentina promised—until they started shooting at him. The bullets seemed to disappear through him. And after a second, the helicopters came crashing down, as if they were completely void of pilots. The vehicles spun into construction scaffolding, pieces of unfinished building breaking apart and falling to the world below.

You and Bucky were quick to move then, yanking civilians out from under falling rubble. You multiplied more in an effort to help, even if it meant getting hit by falling concrete once in a while. You caught sight of Alexei using a metal sign he had torn off a shawarma restaurant to protect citizens as they escaped down the subway tunnels, and Yelena saving an elderly woman from getting run over by a news van. Another helicopter was tumbling down from further down the street, and Ghost phased through rapidly-rotating blades to shove people out of the way. Walker was stopping a large slab of concrete from crushing a civilian. Your clones being as scattered as they possibly could meant you had eyes in all directions. A dozen of you hurried over to help him push it upwards, gritting your teeth with the solid weight.

Another one of you dragged the woman out from underneath. She was sobbing profusely, praying in a language you couldn’t understand. But she signed something—the tips of her fingers touching her lips, then beckoning out to you. Thank you.

It felt like something finally clicked into place. Was it inherently selfish of you to want to help people because it made you feel good? Or did it cancel out?

Yelena joined, then Alexei. Ghost phased through and began pushing beside Walker. Bucky put all his weight in with his metal arm, and the slab finally tipped over, crashing onto the street with such a weighty thud that the asphalt beneath fractured. 

And then the crowd around you started clapping. Quietly at first, but rising up to a deafening applause. 

“Mom?” called a small child across the street. There was a shadow falling over her, growing larger. Alexei was there before anyone else, shielding the little girl from the falling debris that would certainly have crushed her to death if he hadn’t been there. 

“You’re safe, little one,” said Alexei, kneeling down to her height. 

The dry tear tracks on her chubby cheeks bent as she smiled at the red giant before her.

And then she was gone. The only thing left in her place was a shadow in a blobby, vague shape of the girl, spilling darkness across the street. 

You flinched. Three civilians across from you disappeared in the same way. Then two to your left. Another pair behind you. Your eyes flew upwards to see Bob—Sentry—whoever that was descend down to hover only a few feet above the totaled street. 

“You will all know the truth,” his voice echoed. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

Screams erupted around you as people fled every which way. You reabsorbed your copies closest to the growing darkness.

“Come on,” Walker said, yanking your arm. “We need to get people off the streets!”

You nodded, rushing ahead to direct people into the subway tunnels. 

“Yelena!” you heard Alexei bellow. “Yelena, what are you doing?”

You turned to see her calmly striding towards the darkness. 

“No,” you whispered. Your closest copy ran towards her, only a few feet away.

“It’s like you said,” the dark figure murmured, his voice somehow loud enough to reverberate in your ears like a piercing drum. “We’re all alone. All of us.”

“Yelena,” you said, taking her forearm. “Yelena, we have to go.”

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” Bob asked. Instinctively, you knew he was speaking to you. “I can fix it. Let me fix it.”

“No, Pal,” you said, edging away from the darkness, which was eating at the streets. “I don’t need you to fix me, thank you. I haven’t even tried a licensed therapist yet. Come, Yelena, please.”

Your words fell on deaf ears. The assassin shut her eyes and let out a sigh. She stepped forward, and then she was gone. You heard Alexei’s anguished screams somewhere behind you. 

The Void reached out and turned a few more panicked civilians into shadows. Before you knew it, the entire street was blackened, leaving only a circle around you.

“I promise it won’t hurt,” The Void said. He floated down to the ground to stand in front of you, just inches away. If you reached out, you would be able to touch him. You could feel the cold emanating off his body, tempting you to just—fall into him. “The darkness will keep you company.”

“And that’s you?” you whispered, trying your best to look for an expression in such a blank canvas of darkness. “Where’s Bob?”

“He doesn’t matter anymore,” the Void said.

“He does,” you insisted. “He did to me.” 

“You died for him,” he said, tilting his head.

You nodded. “And I would again.”

“Why?” 

The question, though it was just one word, weighed heavy on your mind. 

“I’m not the bad guy I thought I was,” you finally told him. You stared at the darkness closing in around you with a heavy heart. “If I went in—would I find Bob in there?”

“Your Palindrome is hiding. He isn’t looking to be saved.” The Void motioned around him. “Look at this mess. This is no place to be. Step in with me. I’ll take care of it. You wouldn’t need to worry anymore… it’ll be just us.”

“Can I try to help him in there?” Your voice broke, betraying your own fear.

The black figure’s shoulders trembled as if he were smothering a laugh. “You can try. I’d advise giving up, though. It’s never worth it. Now… come.” 

His arms spread wide open, inviting you in. Distantly, you could hear Bucky and Ava call out your name. You swallowed heavily.

Then you fell forward, willingly embracing someone for the first time since you were a child. He was solid for a split moment. All frigid edges and hard muscle—then you collapsed into the soft darkness, and sat back up in a hospital room.

It was the same vision as before. Two of you. One whole and one cut. Without hesitating, you kicked at the surgeon, grabbing a scalpel from the table and slitting his throat. You watched the blood gush out of his wound, dark and bubbling. Too dark to be real blood. 

You turned to free yourself with the missing leg from the operating table, slicing at the leather straps. And then, to your shock, young-you began attacking yourself. 

It was disorienting to see your younger self snarl like a rabid animal, leaping from the table to claw at you, sinking sharp little teeth into your exposed throat. You made a garbled noise of pain, and threw the kid off. Your throat stung, but it was a hollow pain that was quick to fade back into nothingness.

“I’m you!” you screamed before the kid could leap at you again. “I’m you!”

“I don’t know you,” little Xerox said. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”

“I’m you,” you whispered. You put the scalpel down and approached like one would a nervous horse. “Honey, I’m you. I’m okay, see? You’ll be okay.”

Little-you swayed. You began to cry in the silent way you always did, smaller frame wracking. 

“It’s okay,” you said with an aching chest, gathering yourself up in your arms, stroking the back of your head. “Let it out. There you go.”

The child began to bawl into your chest. You reached over for the scalpel again, slicing through the bonds of the young, whole copy. “Here. Take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay,” the whole copy said. Both of the younger Xeroxes held onto one another. You stepped away with a heavy heart. 

“Palindrome?” you called out. “I’m here to help. Come talk to me.”

Nothing.

With a huff, you turned out of the hospital room, shoving your way through the doors, though not before bidding a respectful goodbye to your younger copies. 

You found yourself in a different room now. You had escaped the hospital at this point, now living off of the meager cash you earned by doing the dirty work for Madripoorean crime lords. Your gun was trained on a woman as she sobbed for mercy.

“I didn’t mean to—” she said, wiping away the snot that dribbled from her nose. “I didn’t mean to, please tell him that for me!”

“I don’t speak to my bosses,” your copy said. Current-you rounded about to look at Xerox’s face here. Gaunt, with glassy, empty eyes. “He wants you gone.”

“I can be gone!” she said, nodding. “Please. You can pretend you shot me. I can disappear without a trace.” When you said nothing, she doubled over, wailing out a pitiful noise. “I’m pregnant. Please. Please don’t kill me.”

Past-Xerox’s eyes thinned into disbelieving slits. “Lie.”

“I’m not lying. Please. It’s his child, but I can—”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“Just listen to me—”

Your younger self began to panic. “Why would you tell me that?”

“If you could—”

“Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.” 

“Is—do you need money? Is it money you want?”

“No.” Yes. “I don’t need your charity.”

The woman shakily pulled out crumpled bills from her bag, offering them to you. You gritted your jaw and pulled the trigger. She fell to the ground with her mouth frozen mid-plea. Before you left, you took the bills and stuffed them into the holey pockets of your ratty trousers. You took the silver necklace the woman was wearing for good measure, too.

Your past-self looked up at you. “Do we ever find out?”

“What?”

“Was she really pregnant?”

You stared down at the dead woman with horror. “I don’t know.”

Young Xerox straightened, shoulders rolling back. “We don’t deserve to be forgiven. Not for this.”

“Maybe not,” you agreed. “You’re also only eighteen.”

“So?”

“You were just a kid. You had no money. No food. No home. No family. Just you and your copies and your missions,” you whispered. 

“Tch. Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s an excuse.” You looked down the alleyway. “Valentina will be coming soon for you. She’ll be too good to be true at first. A house. A clean bed. Food in the fridge. But it’ll be the same thing again. Just… repackaged.”

Your younger self’s face twisted with a rotten, disappointed look. “Do we ever get better?”

“We try to. I try to.”

“Good.” Young Xerox pointed up a rusty metal fire escape. “He’s up there. Your Pal.”

“Thank you,” you said, about to make your way up the creaky stairs. 

“He wants to be found,” said young you, nodding. “He made the rooms easy for you. There’s a lot worse that he could’ve chosen from.”

“That’s true,” you whispered, though saying that made you feel all the more terrible for the dead woman on the ground. “What about you? Did you want to be found?” you asked, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“You tell me,” retorted the younger you with a wolfish grin. “I’m all me, remember?”

Your final room was when you lived in America. It was dark in your apartment. You were twenty-five, looking a bit healthier than you had been at eighteen, but still just as miserable. 

You stood in front of the stove, which held a pot that was almost halfway full to the brim with boiling water. “Come on,” younger you said, jumping up and down on the spot, psyching yourself up. Your palm raised to slap yourself across the face. There was a belt tied about your mouth so as to not alert your civilian neighbors. “Come on, you pussy,” you hissed at yourself from behind the belt.

Inhaling sharply, you held in your breath as you dove your left palm into the boiling water. Your scream went muffled behind the belt. After a moment, you quietened to an occasional whimper. It was strange being able to watch yourself and not feel the same pain. Only the memory of it. 

It wasn’t self-harm. At least, you didn’t consider it to be so back then. It was endurance training. Upping your pain tolerance for the job. Valentina had told you that you were useless if you couldn’t handle dying. 

Younger you pulled your raw hand out of the pot after about thirty seconds, then flipped the tap on to its coldest setting, sticking it beneath the running water with a hiss. The next day, you would repeat the process until you lost all feeling in your left hand, frying your nerve endings to shit. 

As the room began to repeat itself, you stopped your younger self from plunging a hand into the pot by grabbing your wrist. “You don’t have to do that,” you said. “There are other ways of being strong.”

“If I don’t do this, I’m not worth anything,” young Xerox said. “I’d be nothing.”

“Hurting yourself doesn’t make you stronger,” you deadpanned. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” the younger you sighed. “I know that. It’s just nice to be in control of my own pain for once.”

“You can be in control by consciously trying to keep yourself from the pain,” came your soft whisper. “Hurting yourself doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t solve anything. It only leaves scars that take way too long to heal. Trust me. I still can’t wear short sleeves.”

Younger you barked out a laugh. “Oh, I know. Summers are hell.”

“I know, right?” you said, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. “You know what helped me?”

“What?”

“Crosswords,” you said. “The newspaper stand across the store sells entire books. Every time I had the urge, I would solve a puzzle or two.”

“Oh, God,” said the younger you, bending over into what sounded like a cry, but it was actually an incredulous laugh. “I’m such a nerd. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just try it. It helps.”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ geek.”

“We memorized every single element of the periodic table in order by age eleven. I think the nerd has been with us all along.” As you spoke, you took the pot of boiling water and carefully maneuvered to dump the steaming water into the sink. You turned off the stove, and past-you didn’t try to stop you.

Your younger self smiled, and it was clear that it’s been a while since that happened, too. Then, it faded just as quickly as it appeared. “What happens if we run out of crosswords?” 

The question didn’t seem to be just about crosswords.

“We can always try something new,” you ventured. “I think crocheting is all the rage now.”

“Is it?” 

“Probably not, no. I’m not really sure what the youths are into these days. It changes every other day.”

“We can try crocheting anyway,” past-you laughed. Then, you pointed into the living room. “Look in the TV. He should be there.”

“Alright. Thanks.” You gave mid-twenties Xerox a two-fingered salute, then turned to sit down in front of your TV. 

And, as promised, you caught a glimpse of Bob in the reflection. When you looked behind you, it was still your regular, dim living room. You looked back at the dark screen.

“Found you,” you murmured, a relieved smile playing at the corner of your lips. “Hey, Bob? It’s good to see you.”

Despite the warped reflection, you could see him look up with a creased, almost guilty expression. “You found me,” he said, surprise evident in his tone. 

“I did. Will you let me in?��

“... I don’t know.”

“Please let me in. I want to help.”

Bob drew his knees up to his chest, cradling himself. The darkness surrounded you, and in the blink of an eye, you were in a different room. One you didn’t recognize. Your gaze flickered about. This must’ve been one of Bob’s rooms. An attic, by the looks of it—cluttered with junk.

You sat down in front of him. He was fiddling with a Rubix cube. “I used to love solving those,” you told him. 

“I’m—” He handed the cube over to you. “I’m pretty bad at it. I don’t know.”

“I was, too,” you said, turning the squares about. Bob watched you gradually align the colors together—orange with orange, green with green, blue with blue. You struggled with one side, but after moving back a few paces, you managed to get it right. “I was terrible at it. I kept giving up and reshuffling. But I got better with time and practice.”

You handed the cube back to him, neatly solved. Bob took it with soft fingers, inspecting your handiwork. “I don’t know how.”

“I can help you,” you said. “And there’s people out there that can help you, too.”

“They can’t help me. I’m… broken.”

There was screaming coming from downstairs. The noise made Bob flinch, his hands instinctively going up to his ears. As you listened, you could hear a man yelling, the sound of skin smacking skin, and the sound of a woman crying. A little boy intervened. More thuds, smacks, a shattering glass. The woman began berating the little boy for making things worse. It made your heart sink low to the pits of your stomach.

“Just ignore that, please,” he said once the noise died down, as if afraid you would leave now. “Don’t mind them.”

You drew in a breath. Tentative, you asked, “Can I touch you, Bob?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice croaky. “Yeah, you can. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to give you a hug. Is that okay?” 

Bob nodded again. His mom used to give him hugs, but that was a long time ago. Before she…

“Yeah,” he said, and he felt shame wash over him when tears pricked the corner of his eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him. He patted at your back awkwardly, but eventually took to mimicking your embrace when you sank into him, holding you close. 

“This is the first time I’ve hugged someone else in a very long time, you know. I’ve mostly just hugged my clones, as sad as that sounds,” you mumbled into his shoulder. 

“I don’t think that’s sad. I like to hold myself, too.”

“I like your hair like this, by the way,” you said as you tried to pull away, but he was holding onto you rather tightly. “Bob.”

“Oh!” He cleared his throat shyly, forcing himself to relinquish his grasp on you. “Sorry. Thanks. That was nice.”

“It was,” you agreed. There was some more silence. Bob put a fist up to his mouth and began to weep, utterly overwhelmed but nearly silent. You placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles over his back. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“No, I’m—” Bob let out a quaky breath and began to cry all over again. You scooched closer to him and let your hand lay over his. He enjoyed feeling your fingers trace shapeless patterns over his skin.

“Bob,” you murmured after he began to calm down. “I don’t want to stay here forever. Do you?”

He swallowed around nothing, and avoided the question. “It’s quiet here. Quieter than the other places. The rest are… worse than this.”

“Hm.”

“It’s not me, you know. I wish I could fix it, but I just can’t. I can’t stop it,” he muttered. “It’s—it’s the Void.” 

You nodded. “Could you let Yelena in here, at least? I saw the Void take her. We can help you together.”

Bob blinked back his tears. He nodded. The room slowly rotated ninety degrees, and you could hear creaking footsteps outside. Yelena busted the door open with a sharp kick to the doorknob, which you found amusing, considering the door didn’t look to have a lock on it. The team had a troubling tendency not to check if doors could just open on their own without breaking them down first.

“Bob!” she exclaimed. Then, her brows rose upon seeing you. “Xerox.”

“Hi,” you greeted. Bob waved at her besides you.

“What’s going on?” she asked, surveilling her surroundings in typical assassin-fashion. 

“Therapy session,” you said, only half-joking, patting the spot beside you. 

There was screaming downstairs again. Yelena wandered over to look down the attic’s opening, where she could see a man with a glass bottle in his hands. She looked up at you and Bob, then sat down where you gestured. 

“I’m sorry, you had to live through this, Bob. And listen,” she said, lips pursed, meeting his watery gaze. “What I said to you before was wrong. You can’t stuff it down. You can’t hold it in all alone. No one can. Nobody should. We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. Even if it doesn’t make the emptiness go away, I promise you… it’ll make you feel lighter.”

Bob sniffed. “How do you know?” he whispered.

“Because it already has for me,” Yelena told him. “I found a team of people I could trust.”

At this, she looked to you, expression apologetic. “I’m sorry for what I said to you out there, too. You are not selfish. In fact, you’re probably the most selfless person I know. Not a lot of people are willing to die all the time for others.”

“Thanks, Yelena,” you said, simultaneously warm with sincerity and stiff because you weren’t at all used to receiving compliments. “So what do you say, Bob? Will you help us get out of here?”

To your delight, Bob nodded. You smiled, taking his hand. Yelena’s eyes bounced between the two of you—absent-mindedly wondering what the two of you were talking about before she arrived. She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, because the walls and furniture began to hum with a low-tone frequency.

“Look out!” Bob exclaimed, pulling Yelena down as a lamp flew across the room, nearly hitting her square in the head. A plastic kiddie chair whizzed into his back, striking him painfully. There were papers—monstrous childhood drawings—flying every which way. The curtains broke free of their hooks on the railing, wrapping around you and Yelena. Bob hurried over to try to claw the fabric off you, to no avail. It wouldn’t let go.

“Just try to get used to it, okay?” he called out over the whizzing and smashing of objects. “If you try to resist—the pain only gets worse!”

You could feel your vision swim with black dots as you gasped for breath—and all of a sudden, there was a slicing noise, and you were falling to your knees, filling your lungs with air. It was Ava, holding a sharp blade in one hand. 

She nodded at you, helping you up to your feet. “I should start keeping track of how many times I’ve saved you.”

Before you could respond, Walker and Alexei burst in through the walls, followed by Bucky through one of the windows. You only narrowly managed to dodge his metal arm cuffing you across the head with his dramatic entrance. 

“You came for us,” Yelena said, looking at her father with a touched frown. “What did you see? Are you all okay?”

Bucky only shrugged. “Oh, I’m fine. I have a great past, so I’m totally fine.”

“We’re probably going to need another one group therapy session once we’re out of here,” you said, which made both Bob and Yelena smile to themselves, nodding. 

“Thank you guys,” said Bob. “Really.” He was about to say something about how he didn’t deserve this—but when you put a hand on his arm, he bobbed his head again and kept his mouth shut.

“How do we get out of here?” asked Walker, glancing back at the ruined walls. “I’d prefer not to have to go through my rooms again.”

Bob scratched at the back of his head. “As far as I know, it’s just… endless rooms.”

“You said that this was the quietest room, right? That all the others are worse?” you asked, and Bob nodded hesitantly. 

The Thunderbolts team all exchanged determined looks. Alexei cracked his neck, John rolled his shoulders, and Ava flexed her fists. 

You gave Bob a gentle push towards the broken doorway. “Okay, Palindrome. Show us the worst of ‘em. We’ll take on whatever comes our way together.”