Chapter Text
Ever since his mom died, Jack’s Sundays have been totally free. Where he used to spend the day at her care home, reminiscing about childhood and their first family home in Aspinwall. Half the time she wasn’t even lucid, and would spend the day assuming Jack was his father, but he didn’t mind.
Part of him longed to live in the world that she did. One where his dad was still alive, and Jack had never joined the army. Had never lost his leg. Or his wife. Or you.
A life where Jack has a family. People who would care if he arrested in the street, and died before the paramedics even made it to him.
Currently, he’s pretty sure the only person who would even bat an eye is Robby. At one moment in time, the two of them were able to wallow in the grief of life’s momentous misery, but even Robby seems to be on the mend these days.
Taking therapy more seriously, seeing a nice, age-appropriate woman, enjoying life a little more. Meanwhile, Jack ends up on the roof more nights than not.
He wonders if you’d come to his funeral.
It doesn’t bear thinking about. Not anymore. What’s done is done, and Jack Abbot has to live with the consequences of his actions.
It’s fine. He’s fine.
And besides, the Pitt needs all the attendings they can get since Robby dropped to part-time. He’s just doing the people of Pittsburgh a favour, working eighty hour weeks for their pleasure. It’s certainly not because he has nothing else in his life, and days off are spent listening to the police scanner and hoping he has an excuse to come in.
So when Robby had asked for Jack to cover his Sunday shift, Jack had agreed. He’d told Robby he’d double-check the calendar, see if he could make things work, but they both knew it was just a front.
A way for Jack to feel slightly better about the turn his life has taken in the past year.
Which is how he finds himself here at 7am on the dot. He’s still very much a night-shift kind of guy, but a part of him derives a little comfort from being on the same schedule as most other people in Pittsburgh. Makes him feel less alone.
“What’ve you got for me, Doctor King?” He asks, stethoscope round his neck as he strolls towards Central. As usual, the board is already packed, and the waiting room is bursting at the seams. It’s going to be a long day.
“Well, there’s a priapism in North-”
“Nope. Count me out of that one,” He interjects, his gaze sweeping over the board.
Laceration.
Loss of consciousness.
DKA.
Nothing hugely interesting.
“Doctor Robby doesn’t let us cherry pick,” Mel points out, and Jack shrugs.
“Makes no difference to me, kid. Long as everybody gets seen.”
Santos appears at his side, charts already in hand. “There’s an Abbot in South-2, if you’re interested. With one ‘t’, too. Didn’t know there were more of you out there.”
Jack’s brow furrows a little. Sure, he has a couple of cousins in Pennsylvania, but they’re all Philly-way. And Trinity’s right. There aren’t many Abbot’s around. It’s all the double ‘t’s.
“First name?”
Maybe his little cousin Miriam is in town. He thinks her husband might be from here originally.
“Uh… Gwendoline.”
He stills, breath catching in his throat and muscles tensing. He hasn’t heard that name in months. He wasn’t sure he’d ever hear it again.
“Doctor Abbot? Is everything okay?” Mel’s voice cuts through his haze, and he blinks in her direction.
“Sorry - it’s just… that was my mom’s name. Caught me off guard,” He murmurs, reaching for the chart. “I’ll take the Abbot.”
He doesn’t even glance at the chart, immediately making a beeline for the consultation room. If he were a smarter man, he’d examine the chart, and see why this mysterious is Abbot is here. What they need, and where they came from.
But there’s some kind of pull, deep in his bones, drawing him towards the room at the end of the hall. Like he’ll die if he doesn’t get in there right now.
Before he even reaches the door, a baby’s cries wafts through the hallway.
Definitely not Miriam. She’s never had any interest in kids.
When he pushes into the room, drawing the curtain back, all the air is knocked from his lungs in one fell swoop.
You’re standing by the wall, a baby cradled to your chest, examining the pamphlets they have across all the walls.
Your guide to contraception.
Burn-care. When to come in, and when to treat at home.
Burnout: We’re here to help.
He wishes he could say that you look well. You look beautiful, because you always look beautiful to him, but well is not a word that jumps to mind right about now. The bags under your eyes are striking, and you’ve lost weight since he last saw you, which definitely shouldn’t be the case given the baby in your arms.
He murmurs your name softly, and you flinch, snapping back to reality.
Your lips part, your brow furrows, and Jack can’t tell what’s going through your head. In the old days, he'd be able to tell straight away with little hesitation. If he had to hedge his bets right now, he’d guess it’s not good. “Jack? I-I thought Robby worked days.”
The baby in your arms, Gwendoline, he assumes, lets out another wail, and Jack feels it pierce at his heart. Her voice is hoarse, barely more than a croak as her face scrunches up, tears leaking down her cheeks.
He can’t pull his eyes away from her. “He’s got the day off.”
Silence falls between you both, nothing but the baby’s cries punctuating the room. He knows the answer already from her name, and can see it in her nose and mouth, but he has to hear you say it. “Is she…?”
Lip between your teeth, you nod. “Yeah. She is.”
It’s like the world falls out from under him. All this time believing he was alone, that there was nothing left to live for, and he has a daughter.
With you.
Letting out a shaky breath, he closes the door behind him with a soft click. This doesn’t need to be overheard by the rest of the ER.
He suddenly doesn’t trust his leg, opting to lean against the doorframe to keep himself upright. He swallows hard, and allows his gaze to return to your face.
His voice comes out rough. “How old?”
“Ten weeks,” You reply quietly, as if ashamed. “She was early.”
The shock coursing through his veins finally gives way to something deeper. Something sharper. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried,” You cut in, tears bright in your eyes now. “But you left, Jack. You disappeared, and I tried texting and calling, b-but you didn’t ever get back to me, so I thought you didn’t want anything to do with us-”
It’s Jack’s turn for shame, a pit forming low in his gut.
He didn’t get back to you, because he’s had your number blocked since a week after you broke up.
I need some time, he’d said. I’ll be in touch soon.
Except he never was. And now Jack Abbot has a daughter, and he’s missed the first ten weeks of her life. “You could’ve found me over something like this, I mean.- you know where I live-”
His voice dies in his throat when Gwendoline lets out another sob that bubbles up into a cough. You pat at her back, rocking her gently to try and soothe her.
It doesn’t work.
Jack feels sick. Now isn’t the time to argue over logistics. Not when his daughter, his baby girl, is sick. “How long has this been going on for?”
“Just last night and this morning,” You reply. “S-she wasn’t sleeping, and she won’t feed, and I think she’s got a fever, but I don’t know-”
“Hey,” He murmurs. “It’s okay. Can I have a look at her?”
You nod, before passing her over. Jack tries to savour the moment for what it is: his first time holding his daughter, but he can’t quite find the joy in it when she’s obviously in so much pain.
“Hi, sweet girl,” He coos, moving to lay her down on the bed. “We’re going to get you sorted, alright?”
He listens to her chest, does a quick head-to-toe, and lets out a small sigh of relief. It doesn’t look to be anything serious. Just a bug. “We’ll give her some Tylenol to be safe, but it’s just a common cold. Feels a lot worse when she can’t express what’s wrong.”
“Are you sure?” You ask, arms wrapped tightly round yourself as you watch on.
“I’m sure. You did everything right.” He hopes he comes across as comforting, as he bundles Gwendoline back into her onesie. Glancing at you, as if scared to overstep, he continues, “Can I?”
“Go ahead.”
He picks her up again, cradling her head against his shoulder. She’s still crying, but quietens just a little at the movement. He’s struck by how tiny she is - her entire head can fit comfortably in the palm of his hand. His throat constricts, and he has to tell himself that he’s not going to cry today. “Gwendoline?”
He can’t bring himself to vocalise any further.
Why would you name her after his mother, after he hung you out to dry for your entire pregnancy? Why would he have even been a factor in your thinking?
“Gwen, normally,” You reply, glancing at the ceiling, blinking heavily. A tear trickles, and you wipe at it hastily. “I guess I uh, thought that if I named her after your mom, it might make you want to come back to us.”
The crack in your own voice is going to haunt him for the rest of his life, he's sure of it.
Jack stills, the motion of his rocking faltering before resuming, slower now, more deliberate. Gwen’s cries taper into small, uneven sounds against his shoulder, her cheek pressed to his collarbone. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I-I really didn’t know. I never would have… I’d have been there for you.”
It’s a pathetic response, really. How can a sorry even begin to undo all the pain and hurt he’s caused you both?
Before you can reply, his pager starts to bleep, and Jack’s never hated PTMC more. A world where he has to go back out to the ER and pretend that his life hasn’t just irrevocably changed is a cruel world indeed.
He should be here, with you both.
Looking after his family.
“You need to take that?”
He closes his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. “I’m so sorry - I’ll get her medication first.”
Passing Gwen back over, he checks the computer to put in an order. He makes a quick scan of the file, slowing to a stop when he sees a few blank sheets. “You haven’t filled out the insurance information.”
“Oh. I uh, I have cash-”
That raises Jack’s heckles. Last time you were in his life, your coverage was practically better than his. But his daughter is sick, and there’s a trauma incoming, and he’s already spent too long in here. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort it.”
“Jack-”
“I’ve got it,” He insists, voice firm as he meets your gaze.
You consider his words for a second, before finally nodding. There’s no point arguing now. Not over this. There’s much more to argue about later. “Thank you,” You whisper.
“When can I see you both again?”
Your eyebrows raise a little, as if surprised by his eagerness. He can’t blame you. Not when you’ve spent the last three months assuming he wants nothing to do with his daughter. Or you.
God, he thinks he might be sick.
Just a few more minutes. He just has to hold it together for a few more minutes, and then he can do whatever he needs to. But he can’t crack. Not here. Not in front of you.
“When do you finish tonight?”
“Five.”
“You could come over, if that’s not too soon-”
“It’s not too soon,” Jack interjects. Now that he knows he has a daughter, he can’t bear the idea of being without her for any longer. You could’ve asked him to drive you both home, and he’d have hung the ER out to dry without a second thought. “Tonight is perfect.”
You tell him your address, and Jack has to fight back a look of disdain. It’s not the worst part of town, but it’s certainly nowhere near the best, and the idea of you and Gwen living there makes him uneasy.
You begin to bundle Gwen back into her carrier, and Jack takes a second to simply take her in.
He’s missed so much already.
Finally willing himself to speak, he clears his throat. “You can get the medication from pharmacy, just to the left. And if you’re worried about anything else, you can bring her back in, or call-”
As soon as he unblocks your number.
“-I’ll pick up.”