lpmurphy

[lpmurphy]

I love that Beth calls Abby Boo that’s what my family mostly my sister calls me 😊😊

Omg that preview. Abby sure is in a roll the hospital incident now stealing from Jack deep secrets Beth doesn’t even know about and her moms nudes😂😂 and any doesn’t need to freak out to much she is named after the man that should have been her father I feel like all three of them need to see the therapist a lot to work through hahahaahah

Awww I love that! 🥹🥰

Our poor girl is going THROUGH IT, as you’ll see in the sneak peek of this week’s chapter under the cut. Jack’s therapist would have a field day with the three of them. 🤣

Okay but like, fuck Hoodie Guy, honestly.

Wasn’t it his entire job to de-escalate that kind of thing? Like, congratulations on being the world’s most useless adult. Abby stood there in her Crocs, red-eyed and running on maybe an hour of sleep, while she accidentally nuked her mom and Jack’s whole relationship in the middle of their workplace like she was acting out some kind of daytime soap opera, and Hoodie Guy’s response was to… what? Watch? He just stood there like a human screensaver, doing his best impression of that one Lisa Simpson meme while the rest of the room just… jumped her like they were gossip hungry parking lot seagulls and she was a single French fry. In sweatpants. Confused and without counsel. Making a Murderer: Hospital Edition. Like yeah, thank you for the silence, king. Very helpful.

And it wasn’t even like she meant to. It just kind of happened. One minute she was sitting there, trying not to throw up, and the next she was ripping through years of family secrets like they were her goddamn birthright. She didn’t plan to ruin anything. But how was she supposed to know Mom and Jack had told literally no one? Not HR, not the people they work with every single day, not even like… one trusted friend in the breakroom? They were grown adults in a kind-of relationship. Why was she, the literal teenager, the one who had to manage the fallout like some kind of deranged PR intern?

God, fuck Parent Trapping. Lindsay Lohan did not prepare her for this. The public breakdowns made so much more sense now.

Maybe this was on Mom and Jack. Maybe Hoodie Guy should’ve taken one single psychology elective and actually paid attention during his workplace harassment refresher instead of speed-clicking through it while playing Tetris on his phone like her mom does.

God, why was he in charge?

She was so glad her mom wasn’t dating him. The bar was already underground, and that man was out here digging tunnels. Jack would never.

Abby fiddled with Jack’s keys as she walked down the hallway, stomach tight and brain still buzzing with every stupid thing she said. Okay…yes. She had run her mouth. A lot. Like it was trying to qualify for the Olympics. But she’d been trying to help. Kind of. And yeah, she might have said too much, but also? She was literally just a girl. A teenager. A deeply sleep-deprived, sick, emotionally volatile, father-abandonment-issue-having baby.

She could’ve maybe handled it better. She’d been a mess, sure—but what else were they expecting? Grace and composure? She was literally a child. Grow up. So maybe next time, Hoodie Guy could try literally anything other than standing there while the adults formed a verbal firing squad. Dumbass.

And like… yeah, she regretted the explosion. But also? It wasn’t her job to prevent it. She wasn’t the adult in the room. She wasn’t the one keeping secrets. Maybe if someone had looped her in instead of acting like she couldn’t handle the truth, she wouldn’t have delivered it like a plot twist in a courtroom drama.

Pathetic.

God, adults sucked. No wonder this country’s in shambles.

[lpmurphy]

Okay but that last chapter. I was screaming!!! I can’t wait a week to know who Robby is calling. I will literally die. Tomorrow is my birthday and all I want is a sneak peek at the next chapter. Lives are at stake!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY!! 🥳🥳🥳

Sneak peek is below the cut. Consider lives saved. 🫡

The first thing Abby noticed was the music.

Not a playlist or something Alexa was told to spin out, but actual music. From the record player. The dusty, moody, “nobody touch this, it’s vintage” record player Mom hadn’t used in, like, months. Maybe longer. And it wasn’t even a cool record, like Fleetwood Mac or something you’d hear playing in a hipster bookstore. It was Van Morrison, which she only knew because Grandma listened to him, like, constantly. Old old. Like “please get off the landline, I’m trying to use the internet” old.

The living room was warm and dim, lit only by the lamp in the corner and the flickering light of a candle that made the whole room smell like cinnamon. Moose and Atlas were sprawled across Mom’s lap like weighted blankets, Moose’s tail thumping in lazy rhythm as she rubbed behind his ear and whispered something that made Atlas sigh. Her ridiculously gigantic book she bought in November and still hadn’t read was propped against one knee. Her hair was down, loose and soft and wavy, the way it looked when she actually listened to Abby and used the leave-in conditioner and wave spray she kept not-so-subtly leaving on her bathroom counter. In the low light, she looked… different. Softer. Younger. Almost like she had in that photo Abby found. That campfire one. That hoodie. That smile.

Abby kicked off her shoes, toeing them off the best she could with her brace on and her hands full. Her left Converse smacked the wall and Atlas let out a single, judgmental boof.

“Oh, hush,” Mom said, barely louder than the music. She shifted the book, turned toward the doorway, and offered Abby a smile that was entirely rude, honestly. Way too gentle for someone who was about to kill her for detonating her love life in the middle of her workplace. “Hey, sweetheart. Find everything okay?”

Abby nodded and gently set the box down in the entryway. Atlas trotted over, sniffing it like it might be hiding contraband.

Her mom’s eyes flicked toward it, and then widened. “Good lord, Abigail Quinn. How much did you buy?”

Oh this? Oh no, Mom. This isn’t makeup. It’s a box of your and Jack’s most private thoughts that I stole out of his house. Like a criminal. Because I’m on a fucking roll today. 

“Not that much,” Abby muttered, toeing off her socks one at a time. “Just… some stuff. It’s still out in the car.” She didn’t look up as she said it. She was still holding the envelope. Still turning it over in her hands like it might start burning if she stopped.

“Where’s Jack?” she asked, quieter now, her eyes flicking toward the empty armchair, to Mom’s keys alone on the hook by the door, the TV remote neatly aligned with the edge of the coffee table. All the little signs of him that weren’t him.

Her mom turned fully toward her now, pushing her glasses back into her hair. “Robby called him about an hour ago and woke him up. He had to go meet with him. Hopefully he doesn’t give him our crud, huh?”

Abby winced. Cool. That might’ve been her fault. She felt the guilt bloom low in her stomach like it was carbonated. She didn’t mean to start a whole hospital incident. But also, like, be adults and talk to your friends, weirdos. That was hardly on her. Abby made a face and muttered under her breath, “Oops.”

“Why?” her mom asked, narrowing her eyes in that very specific Mom way.

“No reason,” Abby said, immediately walking farther into the room to pretend she hadn’t just maybe accidentally triggered a minor HR crisis. “Is he coming back soon?”

Abby kept rolling the envelope between her fingers, the edge going all soft and warped from how long she’d been fidgeting with it. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. Honestly, she didn’t know what to do with anything. First, she shot her mouth off in the middle of the ER and triggered a full-body embarrassment that might never leave her soul. Then, in a wildly unplanned detour, she managed to uncover her mom’s thirty-year-old nudes hidden in love letters addressed to her high school boyfriend, with Abby’s name on the top of the letter like that somehow made it less horrifying. And as if that wasn’t enough, the box also held at least eight years’ worth of notebook pages—actual bound spiral notebooks—filled with letters that said ex had written to her mom like some tragic Ryan Gosling character. Today was quickly topping her list of the most whack-ass days of her life. She would be taking detailed notes to review with Doctor Cam next week.

Her mom set her book on the coffee table, face down, spine cracked, and stretched a little beneath the weight of two dogs. She rubbed Moose’s ear absentmindedly, and Abby watched his leg thump lazily against the cushion.

“He should be home soon,” Mom said, glancing toward the door like she expected it to open any second. She said it so casually, like it was normal. Like Jack just came home now. Like he'd been coming home for years.

Something about that made Abby’s stomach twist. Not in a bad way. Just… a way. Because he had been around a lot lately. And she hadn’t really thought about it until now; how she’d kind of started expecting him to be here too. How she’d felt less weird when he was, like the house didn't feel too big or too quiet without him talking through Gilmore Girls or pestering Mom to drink her water. She liked having him here. Mom had always done such a good job of taking care of her, but she really liked having someone to take care of them.

Her mom gave her a look, gentle and patient, and Abby watched her smile droop just slightly as she said, “If you want him to go home, though, I can call him and—”

“No,” Abby said quickly. Her voice caught on the edge of something real and she swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. “No, it’s fine. I… I like him being here. Really.”

Mom gave her this small, almost shy smile. “I do too,” she said.

Mom’s eyes dropped to the envelope like it had just appeared in Abby’s hands.

“What’s that, honey?” she asked, already sounding unsure.

Abby held it out to her.

Mom’s whole body paused, like her brain stuttered trying to catch up to her eyes. She didn’t take it at first, but instead stared at it like it might bite her. Then her brows pulled together slowly, recognition flickering across her face, and her mouth parted slightly as she looked between Abby and the envelope like the math wasn’t mathing. When she finally reached out, she stopped just short of touching it and her hand hovered for a moment. Then she took it, gently. 

She turned it over in her palms, slow and careful, as if it might crumble. Her thumb brushed over the flap. Abby watched her expression shift again when she saw the faded number one, drawn inside a heart. When her thumb landed just below it, on the tiny, hand-scrawled I love you in worn ink, she made a sound that Abby couldn’t quite place. Not a sob. Not a gasp or a laugh or a sigh. Just… breath catching somewhere it hadn’t caught in a long time.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, still staring at the envelope, voice distant. Like her feet weren’t entirely in the living room anymore.

“It was in his bedroom,” Abby said, quiet and cautious now. “With some other stuff. I didn’t snoop, Mom, I swear. He said Moose’s meds were in the kitchen, and they weren’t, so I went looking, and they were on the dresser, and then I tripped on this blanket and…and this picture fell out. Of you, like, a really long time ago. And then I saw your yearbooks and the box was right there. And I saw your handwriting on this, and…”

She didn’t finish. She let the sentence trail off like the rest of it was obvious. Mom ran her thumb slowly across the edge of the envelope again.

“There was more stuff in it,” Abby went on. “Letters. I think they were from you. And some notebooks. I didn’t read them or anything, I just…looked.”

Her mom finally looked up and she looked…stunned. Not mad. Not exactly sad, either. Just like her heart was somewhere a few steps behind her. Abby shifted where she stood, folding her hands tightly in front of her. 

“It had my name on it,” she said quietly. “Why…why was my name on it?”

Mom’s lips pressed together, her eyes falling back to the envelope. She turned it over again, studying her own handwriting on the address like she was seeing it for the first time in years. She was quiet for a long time.

“Why is my name on it, Mom?” Abby whispered, and that time it cracked a little at the end.

Mom closed her eyes. The candlelight flickered across her face, catching in the soft creases at the corners of her mouth, making everything look warmer and older at the same time. She exhaled through her nose and her whole body seemed to fold in on itself.

Her thumb kept brushing the same line over and over. The edge of the flap. The worn crease. The tiny heart drawn over the number 1. Over and over, like she was trying to smooth time out with her fingertip.

And then, finally, she spoke. Barely above a whisper.

“It was his name first, boo.”

[lpmurphy]

Not to hate on Robby but I’m kinda excited for him to be a little butt hurt that Jack got Beth and he didn’t know they had a history I think Abby hate is rubbing off on me hahahaha

Abby took one look at that man and decided she needed to break his spirit. She’s forever the Kendrick to his Drake. 50 Cent has nothing on how hard Abigail Baker hates.

Poor guy can’t catch a break. 😂 First his brain shuts off as soon as he hears her say “yeah and Mom and Jack went back to bed lol” and just stands there like

and literally forgets that he has a job while Abby keeps trying to backpedal and just makes it SO MUCH WORSE.

Like the coworker he has a flirty little thing with is suddenly now VERY unavailable, and also his buddy’s high school ex-girlfriend (???), and this all feels like a HR disaster waiting to happen, along with whatever just happened with Abby, and also like ??? she’s been working here for months and Jack hasn’t said a word??? The crash out just waiting to happen y’all I’m telling ya

[lpmurphy]

I could feel it in my bones that Abby could find those letters if they are out or she decides to snoop a little I really thought that’s how the chapter was going to end lol loved her spilling all the gossip though hahHhaa

Hehehehe it might not have been how last chapter ended, but it’s certainly going to be a huge part of this upcoming chapter. 💕

[lpmurphy]

don’t forget to live for the hope of it all this month

[lpmurphy]

I hope Abby little mess up won’t get in the way of Jack and Beth wanting to be together

It wasn’t IDEAL but I promise, things will be fine for our little disaster people!!!

[lpmurphy]

Poor Abby, riding that that high just to fall down with the wrong lever 😂😜

Are we going to see Robbys crash out? Is it even a crash out or more of a "are you FUCKING kidding me?"

But that small domestic bliss? 🤌🤌 More please

(10/10 as always)

😂😂😂

Wrong lever!!!

Our poor girl woke up thinking she was an absolute MASTERMIND and instead she just caused problems. Poor Abby. Someone give that girl a break. 🤣

Yes and yes! We will, and it is! We’ll find out who that call was to, and see allllll the explaining both Beth and Jack will have to do. Well, Beth will be explaining something, just not that. Remember, Abby still has to go to Jack’s apartment… where a certain box of certain things might just be out in the open where she can find them… 👀💌

[lpmurphy]

Begin Again

<- Previous

Summary: It had been thirty years since his truck tires rolled out of her drive for the last time. Even longer since the day his locker door slammed shut beside hers and marked the beginning of Jack Abbot. Beth had never expected it to end. Never expected to live a lifetime with only the ghost of the boy who promised her one together. She never expected to see him again. Until that curtain flung open, and there he was. And just like that, Jack Abbot began again.

Notes: jack abbot/single mom!attending!ofc, reunited high school sweethearts, second chance romance, slow (emphasis on the SLOW) burn, seriously it's slow, ofc’s daughter is a teenage gen z menace and we love her for it, angst/longing/yearning to the max, hurt/comfort, author is just an english teacher with no medical background, eventual smut, jack and ofc are emotionally constipated idiots, sick day grossness (divider credit to: @saradika-graphics)

Notes: Abigail Baker is mean to men and that’s canon.

Word Count: 9,774

Read on AO3

Chapter Twenty-Three: Whoopsies

Moose was still on her bed when she woke up. Which, yay. Because Moose. Obviously. But also, less yay, because Moose had apparently spent the night climbing higher and higher until his massive, hairy self was stretched out like a corpse beside her with his head on her pillow. And his breath? Straight-up hot garbage truck juice. Like, someone-get-this-dog-a-mint level bad. She was fairly certain something inside of him was literally rotting.

She turned her face into the blanket with a groan. “Jesus, dude. Do you eat garbage for fun?”

He snorted in response, tail thumping once against the wall like yes, bitch, and what about it?

But—still Moose. So. She’d allow it.

It also meant Jack was still here.

She already knew that he had stayed late. Hard not to, considering she’d fled upstairs the second he pulled Mom into his lap and she folded into him like a paper swan. Literally traumatizing. The secondhand embarrassment alone was enough to trigger a full-body cringe. She turned and hauled ass up the stairs before her brain could process it fully and melt out of her ears.

But she couldn’t sleep. She had a headache like a freight train and woke up sometime past 3 a.m. with her brain pulsing behind her eyes like it was trying to claw its way out. She’d made her way downstairs half-asleep, meds still making everything feel like she was wading through soup, tripped on the bottom stair because of course she did, and then paused when she saw that the TV was still on. She squinted into the dark, eyes still bleary and adjusting. For a second she thought the couch was empty. But then Jack shifted, just barely, and the movement caught her attention.

Mom was curled on top of him, snoring. Like, dead-to-the-world, unapologetically-out kind of snoring. She was tucked under his chin, face buried in his sweatshirt, completely out cold. It was the most relaxed Abby had ever seen her. Like her whole body had gone ugh, fine, I’m safe, and just powered down.

His head was tipped back against the couch, mouth slightly open, the blue light of the TV washing over his face and softening the edges. No tight jaw. No furrowed brows. No ghost-haunted look he sometimes got when he thought no one was watching. Just… quiet. He had his arms around her like he’d never unlearned the shape of her. Like they’d been doing this every night for the last thirty years instead of missing each other and pretending they didn’t.

And it hit her, all at once; like, oh. So maybe this wasn’t just nostalgia. Maybe it wasn’t about her mom being lonely, or Jack just sticking around out of guilt, or her own weird fantasy about getting to rewind time and maybe finally getting her dad. Maybe this was just… them. Still.

And it was amazing. 

God, she was brilliant. She was already planning her speech at their wedding. “Hi, for those of you I haven’t met yet; I’m Abby, and I’m literally the reason you all are here.” Maybe Mom would wear a dress like Monica Geller’s. Maybe she’d get to pick her own maid of honor dress. She hoped it would be blue. Or green. Just not whatever shade of coral nonsense she had to wear at Aunt Becca’s last wedding that totally washed her out. Maybe she’d start a Pinterest board…

The blanket had slipped to the floor, half-draped over Mom’s foot. Abby crept the rest of the way down the stairs and picked it up, trying not to wake them. Gently, she shook it out and tossed it back over them, tucked it under her mom’s legs, then stood there for a second longer than she meant to, watching the slow rise and fall of their breathing.

As she turned back toward the kitchen, she heard Jack cough. Low and wet and kind of awful-sounding, like his chest was full of packing peanuts. Which was a bummer, because they were totally the reason for that, but she figured she’d find a way to work that to their advantage in the morning. And quite frankly, that felt more like Mom’s fault than her own.

Thank God that was finally over. She was exhausted. That whole emotionally-facilitating-her-mom’s-second-chance-love-story thing? Not for the weak. Abby Baker had carried. She had project managed. She had won. She did not have time to keep emotionally micromanaging two grown adults who were clearly in love but also clearly allergic to basic communication.

She had real priorities now.

Like an AP Physics test on Thursday, which meant if she wanted to keep her GPA intact, and keep valedictorian out of Kayla Matthews’ tragically manicured hands, she needed to start studying, like, yesterday.

She also had to keep Kenadie and Charlee from killing each other, which was becoming increasingly difficult now that the Purple Dress Problem had escalated into a full-blown crisis. They’d both bought the same dress, and of course it was the dress, so neither wanted to return it and pick something else. And now it was a whole thing. And Sabrina? Useless. Traitorously ditched the group to go with her boyfriend’s friends and hadn’t texted back in 48 hours. RIP to the group chat. 

She also still had to figure out where they were doing pictures. Probably at her house, since the landscapers were coming Friday and the yard was finally going to look semi-Instagrammable.

Honestly? Why was she always the one holding the entire operation together? When was it her turn to be borderline incompetent? It was unfair, really. 

No time to complain, though. Homecoming was on Saturday, and getting sick had set her back at least two days. Which was dangerously behind schedule. She needed to lock in.

First: a makeup game plan that didn’t end with her crying halfway through eyeliner again. Then, hair; she needed to figure out what she was doing with it and practice so she didn’t fully crumble under pressure this weekend. She also needed to see if she could talk Mom into letting her get lash extensions, because she could not with falsies, and honestly, Mom had lash extensions anyway, so what was the big deal?

And, most importantly: nails. The dress was red sequins. That part was locked. But the nails? Still undecided. Glossy red or sparkly chrome? She was leaning red. Very Taylor-at-the-Grammys-core. Which, obviously, was the whole aesthetic she was going for anyway.

Point was, her work here was done. Mission accomplished. They were back together. Or, like, probably. At the very least, emotionally making out on the couch, which had to count for something. And not to be dramatic, but she had just completely altered the course of two actual grown adults’ lives. She deserved a medal. Or a cake pop. Maybe a nap.

Abby blinked in the dim light of her bedroom, rubbing sleep from her face. The soft yellow glow of the fairy lights strung along the ceiling cast gentle shadows on the walls, catching the corners of posters, the overstuffed bookshelf jammed with fantasy paperbacks and old AP study guides, and the Polaroids tacked above her mirror.

Atlas had ditched her sometime in the night. She spotted him now, curled up like a loaf on her laundry chair; which, at this point, had evolved into a full-on laundry mountain. If she dug deep enough, she was 90% sure she’d find the black cropped scuba jacket she thought she lost. Maybe her AirPods. Maybe both. Honestly, she was a little impressed it hadn’t avalanched yet. One wrong move and half her closet would hit the floor. Again.

She should really deal with it. And take the six—no, seven—water cups off her desk and back to the kitchen. They were lined up like a tiny hydration army. At least two had to be from last week. The sight made her wince.

She’d get to it.

Eventually.

There were low voices drifting in from the kitchen. The quiet clink of silverware. Then Jack’s laugh—low and gravelly, like he was trying not to wake anyone up—followed immediately by the kind of dad cough that rattled the walls and probably shook the earth’s core a little. Abby smirked into her pillow.

She rolled onto her side, burying her face halfway into the pillow just as Mom said something back in that softer voice she didn’t use often, the one she usually reserved for Sunday mornings or when she was half-asleep and forgot to be wound tight. And then she laughed.

Not the fake laugh. Not the polite, closed-mouth version Abby had gotten used to hearing at PTA meetings and awkward neighbor catch-ups. This one was real. The kind that came from her stomach instead of her shoulders. Warm and unguarded.

Abby smiled, eyes slipping closed.

Mission accomplished, Baker. You can rest now.

Except she couldn’t.

Like, physically could not.

Because her nose was still completely out of commission. Breathing? Never heard of her. She was somewhere between “mildly suffocating” and “one wrong sniff away from a sinus explosion.” Not cute. Not glamorous. Not Taylor-at-the-Grammys-core.

First mission of the week: survive whatever plague this was. She was marginally better. Her fever was gone, her spine didn’t ache every time she blinked; but she was still about one tissue box away from a full breakdown. She did feel a little better, so that was something. Still congested enough to sound like she’d been crying for three days, but at least the fever was gone.

Abby rolled out of bed with all the grace of a newborn deer and shuffled toward the door, hair matted on one side and one sock already half off. Her feet hit the cold floor, kicking aside one of her volleyball shoes, and dodged a sock that may or may not have been clean. Jury was still out.

One of Atlas’s toys squeaked under her foot, which felt like a personal attack in the otherwise quiet room. Why couldn’t he have given that one a squeakerectomy like literally every other toy he owns? The dogs immediately stirred; Atlas jumped down from Mount Laundry with a grunt like he was sixty instead of six to investigate, and Moose gave a full-body stretch before trotting after her.

She padded down the hall and began her slow, creaky descent down the stairs, the dogs trailing behind her like furry little ducklings. Atlas, always the overachiever, took the lead, while Moose hung back to make sure she didn’t collapse from mild plague symptoms and general teenage despair, nuzzling at her hand when she slowed down like ‘you good?’

The voices in the kitchen grew louder as she neared the bottom step. It was a strangely nostalgic sound; both of them talking low and quiet, like they were trying not to wake her. The scrape of chair legs, the soft clink of silverware as Mom unloaded the dishwasher, the TV murmuring in the background. It felt like weekend mornings when Grandma and Grandpa were visiting, and Abby could sense their presence before she ever saw them, like the air shifted just enough to make the house feel warmer.

Sure, it wasn’t the first time she’d come downstairs to Mom and a guy in the kitchen. But with Ed, he was always halfway out the door by the time she hit the landing, already barking into his phone at one of his detectives, way too loud for how early it was. This? This was quieter. Gentler. Weirdly domestic; their voices low and warm in the kitchen, her mom’s soft laugh curling around whatever Jack was saying. It didn’t sound like grief, or guilt, or mess. It just sounded like morning.

She preferred this. 

Abby stepped into the living room, Moose and Atlas trotting ahead like they had a mission, tails wagging as they disappeared around the corner. A second later, she heard Mom’s voice rising in that syrupy, sing-song tone she used only for dogs. Abby smiled to herself. It was ridiculous. It was also kind of nice.

The couch was empty now. No Jack in sight. The TV murmured quietly while Pittsburgh Today played to no one. But the living room wasn’t untouched. The blankets from last night were folded with military precision and stacked on the back of the couch, the throw pillows returned to their corners, the remote nestled back on the cushion. The coffee table was cleared, wiped clean of the mugs and tissues, leaving no evidence of the cinematic heartbreak cleanup she’d stumbled into the night before. It wasn’t scrubbed away. It wasn’t erased. It was…cared for.

There was something soft about it all; intentional. Like someone had taken their time putting things back together, not to hide what happened, but to make space for something gentler. The weight wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t sitting on the coffee table anymore.

It was giving Lifetime Original. How dare they be so disgusting. 

She followed the dogs into the kitchen. Hazy morning light filtered through the windows, casting everything in a soft grayish glow. The clouds were thick, stubborn, hanging low like they were still waking up too. Abby glanced at the sky and made a face.

She really hoped the Homecoming gods would get it together and bless them with halfway decent weather this weekend. Rain would totally kill the vibe. Not that their group was known for thriving under pressure. Or planning. Or basic coordination. Though… clear umbrellas could actually be kind of a moment. Abby filed that away mentally; she’d bring it up later in the group chat, even though no one was going to respond before noon. Charlee would probably claim it was “giving funeral,” but Abby had a vision.

Mom was standing at the counter, back to Abby, sorting through silverware. She looked… surprisingly alive for someone who had spent most of yesterday rotting into the couch. Her hair was still wet and pulled into a clip, and she’d swapped out the frumpy, oversized sick lady sweater for soft black leggings and a faded blue Nike crewneck Abby hadn’t seen in a while. Her glasses were perched on top of her head, and there was a bit more color in her face. She was human-shaped again. Almost chipper.

Jack, on the other hand, did not look like he showered. Thank God. If he’d come strolling in freshly showered too, smelling like her mom’s body wash, Abby might’ve had to throw herself out the kitchen window. She had to believe they’d shown some level of human decency and were waiting until she was out of the house, preferably out of the state, before doing… whatever it was they were obviously on their way to doing. 

In fact, it was his turn to look like absolute shit.

And he literally would not shut up.

“—not even that bad,” he was saying, hunched over the kitchen counter, elbows propped, cheeks pale, nose the color of a stop sign. “I’ve had worse. There was a week in Ranger School where we all had the stomach flu during a field exercise. That was sick. This is nothing. It’s like a light cold. Barely even a tickle. I’m fine. Totally fine. Unless we’re talking about my back, which is completely jacked from that couch, by the way—.”

“Jack,” Mom tried, gently.

“—definitely a design flaw, I don’t know how you live with it. And having you curled up on me all night didn’t help. Not that I’m complaining. It was worth sleeping like shit, even if you snore like a damn lumberjack—.”

“Jack.”

Mom was trying to put a bowl away, stretching on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf. He wrapped an arm around her waist, took the bowl gently from her hands, and slid it onto the shelf without any fanfare.

Then, still mid-sentence, he kissed her cheek and said, “—I’m telling you though. I’m not even sick, really. Just tired. Allergies, probably. Could be the dog. Or the weather. You know how my sinuses are with pressure changes—.”

“Jack.”

“—I could run a mile right now. Maybe two. Not well, but I could. If I didn’t sound like I gargled gravel, you wouldn’t even know I was—”

“Jack,” Mom said, turning in his arms and smoothing her hands over his wrinkled sweatshirt.

The Keurig hissed beside them as it finished the pour. Jack reached for the mug on the pedestal like it might save his life, but Mom was faster. She snatched it from under him and took a casual sip, ignoring his betrayed little grunt.

That finally shut him up.

“Seriously?” he rasped.

“You’ve been talking for six minutes straight,” she said, calm and unimpressed. “Your lungs need a break. Also, you’re annoying me. You need sleep, not coffee.”

“I slept plenty,” he said, waving her off like he wasn’t visibly swaying on his feet. “I’m fine, Sparky. Really. I can go to work.”

Then he coughed—loud and rough and sustained, like his lungs were personally offended by the suggestion. He had to stop mid-sentence, one hand on the counter while he caught his breath.

“Could go to work right now,” he rasped, like that sealed the deal. “I’ll just mask up. Speaking of which—”

“Oh yeah, because that’s what every patient wants when they come into the ER; a doctor that’s masked up and coughing like he’s on Death’s doorstep. That’ll really get Robby’s patient satisfaction scores up. No.”

“My patient satisfaction scores are fine—.”

“Jack Elliot,” Mom interrupted, using the mom voice, the full-name voice, the don’t test me voice. “You are not going to work. You are going to bed. If you aren’t going to go home and sleep, then you’re doing it here where I can make you.”

“Make me, huh?” He said, nuzzling his face into Mom’s neck. She smiled and sniffled, leaning back into him. “I like the sound of that,” he added, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughed.

“You’re beautiful.”

Oh barf. Alright, that’s enough. God, she’d really doomed herself to this, hadn’t she? Nice thinking, Baker.

Abby finally cleared her throat from the doorway. “You sound like Kermit the Frog if he chainsmoked.”

Jack turned, and he looked awful. Pale, clammy, nose glowing like Rudolph’s sadder cousin. Hoodie rumpled, hair wrecked from the couch. Mom didn’t leap away, and Jack didn’t exactly rush to put space between them either. He kissed her temple and reached for the coffee again, which she held out of reach with a look.

He sighed and accepted the water and Mucinex she handed him instead. “It was the 70s,” he muttered, leaning against the counter. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

“Morning, Mullet,” Abby said as she wandered into the kitchen, arms crossed and voice a little raspy.

“Morning, House,” he croaked back, immediately reaching for a tissue. “How are you feeling, kid?”

“Better than you, obviously.”

“Well, gee. Wonder who I have to blame for that?”

“It’s been well documented that I am the flea of this plague,” Abby said with mock solemnity. 

She stepped under Mom’s outstretched arm and let herself be pulled in. Her mom hugged her close and kissed her temple, brushing a few strands of hair out of Abby’s face before murmuring, “Morning, boo.”

“Morning,” Abby mumbled, returning the hug. She let herself lean into it a moment longer, closing her eyes when Mom wrapped the other around her and pulled her close. 

“Feeling okay?”

“A little bit,” Abby admitted.

“Just a little?” Mom asked, already pulling back to look her over. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

“I’m okay.” 

Mom nodded once like she was convincing herself, then turned to cough softly into the crook of her elbow. When she straightened again, she looked between them with a sheepish smile. “Whatever this is, you and I must’ve given it to Jack.”

Abby looked over at Jack, who was now slouched against the counter like it was keeping him upright, patting Moose’s side. Abby looked back at her mom, then raised a single brow.

Sure, Mom. Let’s pretend this was a team effort. We gave it to Jack. Certainly not you. She was just the flea of this plague. Never mind the fact that Mom had quite literally shoved it down his throat. But whatever. Abby wasn’t a doctor. What did she know?

“I’m fine,” he insisted, already congested beyond reason, voice scratchy. “No fever, no chills. Just a little—” He coughed hard enough to turn pink. “—just a little postnasal stuff. That’s all. I can go to work.”

“You’re not going to work,” Mom said. She reached the infrared thermometer on the counter and swept it across his forehead mid-ramble. “You can’t even stand up straight.”

Jack tried to bat her hand away. “Sparky, I’m telling you, I feel—”

Beep-beep.

“Try again.” She held up the screen. “101.6. Goodnight.”

“That thing’s broken.”

“Funny. Seemed to work just fine an hour ago when you took mine, Doctor Abbot.”

Oh my god, what time was it? How much did I miss? She glanced over at the clock on the oven. Ten? Oh good. It was still fairly early then.

Abby shuffled toward the counter with a snort and started poking around at the boxes of day time meds. “Yeah, you’re right. We’re all hallucinating your corpse-pallor and serial killer sweat level.”

“I’m not sweating.”

“Yeah, and I’m the picture of health. See? Now we’re both lying.”

“Alright, you two,” Mom sighed, but Abby caught the little smile she was hiding behind her mug. She reached up and started picking stray dog hairs off Jack’s hoodie. “It’s my turn to play bossy doctor, so you can either go lie down on the couch, or head upstairs. Your choice.”

Jack made a face. “Couch,” he said. “Stairs are a death sentence right now.”

Moose thudded down next to him and immediately started chewing on his leg like a chew toy. Jack nudged him half-heartedly with his foot. 

“Give it a rest, would ya? We’ve talked about this, buddy,” He turned to Mom with a sniff and a wheeze, “I should head home and grab his meds.” 

Abby turned so fast, she nearly dropped the box of Mucinex she was holding. “Oh my god. Is he dying?”

It came out fast, and a little louder than she meant, but she needed answers. If anything happened to a single hair on that dog’s head, she would literally riot. Not really. But she would be devastated. She looked down at him to see if she could physically assess his ailment. Moose’s tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth and his eyes weren’t quite focused. He started chewing on his leg again.

Jack shook his head and immediately started coughing again, the kind of cough that sounded deep and awful and not at all like someone who should be vertical.

“No,” he rasped. “He scratched his leg at the park last week. Wouldn’t leave it alone. Got infected. He’s finishing a round of antibiotics.”

Abby dropped her eyes to Moose’s leg, trying to spot it. “Infected-infected? Like… the gross kind? Is it spreading? Ew, I let him sleep in my bed. Should I wash my sheets?”

“He’s fine,” Jack said, reaching for the coffee mug Mom had left unattended on the counter, only for Mom to gently intercept his hand and take it again. He shot her a look, but didn’t fight it when she slid his glass of water back in front of him. “Just itchy.”

Abby didn’t feel all that reassured. She crouched down and rubbed Moose’s ear. Moose paused mid-gnaw to look at Abby, tongue lolling out, totally unbothered.

“Gross,” Abby declared, stepping around him to refill her water.

Mom rubbed Jack’s back gently while he coughed. “Give me your keys,” she said softly. “I’ll go get them. You need to rest.”

“You’re still sick too. You shouldn’t be out,” Jack rasped, stubborn even with one foot in the grave. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be gone an—.”

Moose chose that moment to stand and shake his whole body, sending a fresh cloud of fur into the air. Jack wheezed and gave up the fight. 

Abby rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck that way. She tried not to physically gag at the domestic display unfolding by the stove. “Okay, I can go. I’ve got to pick up my Sephora order before they cancel it anyway.”

Mom shot her a look over the rim of her mug. “What did you order?”

Oops.

“That’s not important,” Abby said way too fast. 

A lot. The answer was a lot.

“Abby…”

She held out her hand. “Keys?”

Jack hesitated, visibly torn between wanting to be right and also realizing he had the structural integrity of a Jenga tower right now.

“You literally cannot stand up straight,” Abby said. “Let me play drug mule. I just finished Narcos. I’ll be really good at it.”

He sighed and handed her the keys. “It’s on the kitchen counter. Red cap. You remember how to get there?”

“Yeah. Alternator Adventure, remember?” she said, and gave him a weak salute.

Jack gave a half-smile, which quickly dissolved into another round of coughing. Abby winced but didn’t say anything. Mom rubbed his back and gave him a soft push. “Go lie down. I’ll make you some tea.”

Jack groaned, straightened with a wince, and muttered like someone twice his age, “That couch is gonna ruin me.”

“You could go home,” Mom said gently, but it wasn’t a suggestion so much as a test balloon; just letting it float there to see if he’d take it.

He didn’t. Jack stopped in the archway, scratched Moose behind the ear. “Do you want me to?”

Mom didn’t answer right away. She looked at him like he was something she wasn’t sure she had the right to keep wanting. Then she gave a little shrug, tried for casual, and totally missed. 

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t.”

Jack didn’t smile, but something around his eyes softened. He knocked his fingers against the doorframe softly. “Then I won’t.”

Abby made a face like she might throw up. “Oh my god, you two are the worst.”

Neither of them acknowledged her. Rude.

But, okay. Fine. Whatever. Something about the way her mom smiled just then made Abby shut up. Not because she was embarrassed (even though, like… a little), but because there was this flicker across her mom’s face; this little glow that made her look weirdly young. Abby had only ever seen that look in old pictures, the ones where Mom was laughing in high school or holding her as a baby. She wasn’t used to seeing it in real life.

Jack collapsed dramatically onto the couch, exhaling like a football player in a movie post-game changing injury. Moose wasted no time leaping directly onto his chest, and Atlas followed, a split second behind, like this was WWE and Jack was the ring mat.

“Jesus, guys—personal space?” Jack muttered, but he was smiling as he scratched behind Atty’s ears. 

Mom stood at the edge of the kitchen, hands folded around her mug, watching like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hold her breath. Abby leaned against the doorframe. She looked at Mom, really looked—and there it was: that edge of nerves just beneath her calm. Like her whole body was holding still on purpose.

She looked scared. And happy. And absolutely, heart-wrenchingly terrified. Like she was holding something good in her hands, something fragile and long-awaited, and she didn’t quite trust herself not to drop it. And for some reason, that hit Abby harder than she expected. Maybe because it was so rare to see her mom want something that badly. Or maybe because, for the first time, she didn’t look like a mom at all. She just looked like a person… hopeful and human and trying not to get hurt again.

God, Jack… please don’t screw this up…

Abby gave a small smile and signed, He stayed the night?

Mom’s expression flickered, caught like a deer in headlights. She nodded once and chewed on the inside of her cheek. He fell asleep on the couch. She bit her lip, fingers still hovered like she had more to say, then finally signed, Is it alright with you? That he stayed?

Abby blinked. That… wasn’t the question she was expecting. She looked over at Jack again, currently being mauled by affection incarnate and pretending to hate it. The dogs adored him. Her mom clearly adored him. And if Abby was being completely honest… she kind of did too.

She smiled and nodded. He’s our Luke, she signed back. Remember?

Mom exhaled, quiet and full of something unnameable. Relief, maybe? Maybe more than that. She nodded once and blinked fast, like she didn’t want to risk her voice cracking if she spoke. Mom gave her a smile that was way too soft for this early in the morning, then crossed the kitchen and wrapped her up in a hug. Abby let it happen—because, fine, it was kind of nice—and Mom kissed her cheek the way she used to before school drop-offs.

“I love you,” she said quietly. “You sure you want to go? You still sound kinda rough.”

Abby started to roll her eyes, but Mom immediately launched into a cough that sounded like it came from the depths of hell, and Abby just stared at her.

“Okay, you sound like a haunted vacuum cleaner,” Abby said, pulling back. “I’m practically thriving in comparison.”

Mom shook her head but didn’t argue, just reached for her mug with that little smirk she got when she knew she’d lost a round.

“I’ve been horizontal on the couch for, like, forty-eight hours. I need to stand upright in a Sephora or I’ll lose my will to live.”

Mom chuckled under her breath. “Maybe stop at a pharmacy too. Get something for the dramatics.”

“I’m afraid that’s genetic,” Abby said, stretching her arms overhead. “And incurable.”

Mom gave her a long, unimpressed look over the rim of her mug. “Don’t I know it,” she muttered. Then, after a sip and a sigh, “Miss Dana texted me this morning. I left my watch at work.”

“Your watch? Again? How do you keep doing that?”

Mom just nodded, clearly annoyed at herself. “Yeah. Must’ve taken it off during a trauma the other night and forgot to put it back on. It’s probably still in the staff lounge. Do you think you could swing by and grab it for me?”

“Yeah, of course.” Abby was already reaching for her phone. “Anything else? Coffee from the breakroom? Soul of a med student?”

Mom gave a tired chuckle, then coughed into her sleeve. “No detours,” she said firmly. “In and out. Wear a mask, don’t touch anything, and sanitize before and after.”

“Should I Lysol myself when I get home, too?"

“Abigail...”

“Oh my god, Mom,” Abby groaned. “I was raised by a doctor during a global pandemic. I know.”

Mom sighed and looked at her for a moment, equal parts love, exhaustion, and annoyance, before turning back toward her coffee. “Good. Then act like it. That place is a Petri dish.”

“Relax. I’ll be in full hazmat. Like a very glamorous CDC intern.”

Mom didn’t even look up. “Take your hand sanitizer. Not the perfumey spray one. The good one, please.”

“The bottom-shelf vodka-scented one?” Abby sighed. “Already in my bag.”

“That’s my girl,” Mom smiled faintly. “Go quick, I don’t want you out long.”

Abby was halfway up the stairs, already plotting how to scrape that gross sick fuzz off her teeth, when she caught the soft murmur from downstairs. 

Mom had plopped down next to Jack on the couch, speaking all quiet and gentle, fingers running through his hair like he was some precious thing. Jack’s hand slipped into hers, fingers lacing together before he kissed the back of her hand.

Abby rolled her eyes hard and muttered, “Ew.” 

Because yeah, gross, so extra, so public display of affection. But then, not gonna lie, it hit her in a weird spot. Seeing Mom like that—soft, real, like maybe she wasn’t carrying the weight of the world for once—was kind of… nice? 

So, mostly ew. But maybe a tiny bit, also, aw?

Abby smiled as she slipped into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. Okay, check; finding someone to look after Mom while she was off at school was basically handled. Sort of. Maybe now she could finally start sending out applications to colleges that weren’t just a quick drive away. Like, really far away.

Maybe.

She knew Mom might have a full-on mental breakdown at the thought of her moving that far, but hey, at least Jack would be around to keep an eye on her.

Good god, were emergency rooms ever not absolute hellscapes?

It was eleven in the morning. Eleven. And already the waiting room looked like a scene from a disaster movie. A guy with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand. A kid wailing into his mom’s neck. A woman dry-heaving into a trash can like she was trying to exercise a demon. Abby tightened her mask and tried not to breathe through her nose. Honestly, she kind of wanted to pull her hoodie up and cinch it around her face like a monk in a biohazard monastery.

Where did all these people even come from? 

Thankfully, Miss Lupe at the front desk had been kind enough to get her signed in as a visitor, scribbling her name on a badge when she asked, “She left it in the lounge again, huh?”

Apparently this was a pattern.

But before she could even respond, some old guy at the counter exploded.

God. Boomers, man.

“I’ve been sitting here for five damn hours! You people don’t know how to run a hospital!”

Lupe didn’t flinch, didn’t even stop typing. “Sir, I’m getting this young lady signed in, and I’ll be right with you.”

“No,” he snapped. “You’ll be with me now! I came in five hours ago with this cough, and no one has seen me since that nurse, and that was three hours ago! What the hell are you people doing back there?”

Abby had already turned around, brows lifted. She can’t yell at you, but I can. We don’t verbally abuse healthcare workers, weirdo. Jesus Christ…

“You sat here for five hours with that cough and did stop to think maybe that’s on you?” she asked, her tone a brutal mix of judgment and disbelief. “That’s actually embarrassing. People are literally dying, dude.”

The guy blinked at her. “Who even—?”

Abby didn’t give him a chance to finish. “I don’t know, maybe go to urgent care next time? Or better yet, a CVS MinuteClinic. This is the emergency room. For emergencies. Be so for real right now.”

His jaw opened, closed, opened again. Then he turned a violent shade of tomato, grumbled something unintelligible about ‘kids these days’, and stomped off to sit down like a scolded toddler. Abby turned back to the desk, where Miss Lupe was fighting a smile as she reached for a visitor badge.

“You need volunteer hours for school?” she asked, handing it over.

Abby shrugged and smoothed the sticker onto her hoodie. “I do, actually.”

“Come anytime. We’ve got plenty of that guy,” Miss Lupe waved her back toward the doors. “Doctor Abbot and crew would snatch you up in a heartbeat.”

Abby smirked under her mask. Oh, Miss Lupe, if you only knew…

Miss Lupe clicked the button to unlock the doors and without missing a beat, she turned to the next person in line and called, “Next!” like it was a battle cry.

As soon as Abby stepped past the doors, she was hit with round two of the ER circus—people shouting over each other, gurneys half-parked in hallways, nurses moving at a dead sprint. It was a different kind of gross in here; less sneezing toddlers, more blood and controlled chaos.

Jesus. No wonder Mom and Jack called it The Pitt. Capital T, capital P. Fitting. 

She slowed at the edge of the hallway, took it all in. Beeping monitors. Cracked jokes from overcaffeinated nurses. Someone yelling “Where’s his chart?” like it was a magic spell. The sharp chemical bite of antiseptic and burnt coffee. Abby stepped aside to let a gurney roll past and immediately got elbowed by a med student looking lost and panicked. 

Which, to Whitaker’s defense, he kind of always did. Which was kind of sweet, in a weirdly enduring way. He muttered a quick, “Hey, Abby,” and gave her a small wave as he passed. Too bad he was so old; he was kind of cute in a pathetic, shelter dog kind of way. But Baker girls didn’t exactly have a stellar track record with older men. Tragic.

Two nurses passed, wrangling a guy who looked like he’d face-planted into a curb and absolutely had at least one picture of himself holding a dead fish in his Hinge profile. His forehead was bandaged, but blood was still leaking around the edges. He reeked of whiskey and body spray, and he was way too confident for someone missing a shoe. Then he spotted Abby. Unfortunately. 

“Well, goddamn, baby,” he slurred, shooting her a lopsided grin. “What’s a baddie like you doin’ in a place like—”

One of the nurses groaned audibly. The other, in a navy hijab, gave Abby an apologetic glance and opened her mouth like she was about to scold him.

“Nope,” Abby cut in immediately, eyes flat. “Don’t finish that sentence. You’re, like, messy drunk at eleven in the morning and missing teeth. And I’m literally seventeen. Are you trying to speedrun rock bottom? Because you’re there.”

Abby didn’t move. The guy blinked at her like it clearly didn’t compute. That one little brain cell was obviously working overtime while trying to swim through all of the alcohol. She gave him a slow once-over. Blood on his shirt, eyes glassy, a faint aura of Natty Light and regret wafting off him like heat from a car hood. He gestured at her vaguely, like he might still try to flirt his way out of being an absolute walking disaster. 

“Seriously,” she added. “I’d rather be slowly eaten alive by ants. Feel better.”

The nurse in the hijab snorted, then quickly covered it with a fake cough as she yanked his arm. “Alright, Casanova. Let’s get you stitched before she finishes you off.”

He shuffled away, still confused and mumbling something about “no sense of humor,” while Abby turned back down the hall without another glance. God, where did men keep all of the audacity? Ugh, Taylor Swift was right. Fuck the patriarchy.

The Pitt, she thought. Yep. Checks out.

She was nearly to the nurses station when a voice called out behind her.

“Abby!”

She turned to see Miss Dana stepping out of a room, her scrubs wrinkled and her claw clip barely hanging on. She waved Abby over with a smile like she hadn’t just come from wrangling some kind of medical emergency.

“You’re up and moving,” Dana said as Abby reached the counter, bracing herself on the edge. “I heard you and your mama got knocked flat. How you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been exorcised,” Abby said. “We’ve both been laid out on the couch for two days. It’s been a NyQuil-and-crackers lifestyle. Mom coughed so hard last night the dog left the room.”

Dana barked a laugh. “Well, shit. Must have been some bug to put your mom out.”

“Yeah, she’s been real dramatic about it,” Abby said, rolling her eyes. “Like, ma’am, you’ve been elbow-deep in trauma bays and you’re getting taken out by a glorified cold? Embarrassing.”

“Well, tell her we miss her. The ER hasn’t been half as loud without her here giving everyone shit.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Abby said, leaning against the counter across from her. “She’ll be back tomorrow. Can’t say at her best, but definitely not her worst, I guess.”

“Oh good. We’ll throw a party,” Dana grinned, pulling open drawers like a raccoon with a badge. “Too bad she’s on nights this week. I feel like I’m losing my damn mind without her. I’ve got half a mind to call Abbot and ask him to give her back.”

Abby smirked and leaned against her elbows, watching Dana sort through the drawers. Yeah. I don’t think you’re getting her back, Miss Dana.

Dana barely had time to close the drawer before someone shouted her name from down the hall.

She groaned, head tipping back as she muttered, “Goddamn it, what now,” then caught herself and sighed, “Sorry, honey. Give me just a second, okay? This place has been a damn zoo all morning.”

Someone called again and Dana turned toward the med students hovering near the nurses’ station. 

“Santos!” she barked. One of them—a dark haired girl with a serious case of resting bitch face—lifted her head. “Come take this chart and go check in with 11. Vitals and a med recon, okay?”

She nodded, jogging over to take the folder from her hand. “On it.”

Dana turned back to Abby, exhaling sharply. “This is Abby, by the way. Doctor Baker’s daughter.”

Santos perked up, eyes flicking to Abby with smirk. “Oh, you’re the one who lit up the old guy in the waiting room.”

Abby snorted. “That got around already?”

“It’s the Pitt,” Dana said, already moving. “Gossip travels faster than trauma codes.”

“Cool,” Abby muttered, and Dana shot her a wink over her shoulder.

Dana barely made it around the counter before she spotted Hoodie Guy approaching, talking low into his phone as he walked.

“Alright, brother,” he said. “Get some rest. Yeah. Take it easy.” He hung up and immediately muttered, “God damn it,” like the call had done the exact opposite of what he wanted it to.

Dana sighed. “Oh, here we go,” she muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough for Abby to catch. She slowed her step just as Hoodie Guy reached the nurses’ station. He offered her a smile that seemed just a little too eager, and Abby gave him a polite little nod. 

Game over, dude. My mom is taken. Kind of. Maybe. Don’t date my mom.

“What now?” Dana muttered, yanking open one last drawer like it had personally offended her. She let out a small victorious, “Ha!” and pulled out Mom’s watch, slapping it gently into her palm with a look that said men are dramatic and I’m so tired. Abby snorted and unzipped her bag. 

“Abbot just called out sick,” he said, slapping his phone down on the counter and rubbing the back of his neck with both hands like that would help hold in the scream. “So now we’re down both him and Baker tonight.”

Dana turned slowly to look at Abby. “You hear that?” she mumbled. “That’s the sound of despair.”

Then she looked back to Hoodie Guy, glancing down the hallway where she’d been called earlier. Whatever had needed her must’ve resolved itself. She gave someone a nod over Hoodie Guy’s shoulder and crossed her arms, leaning against the counter.

“So ask Mohan to work a double,” she said. “You know she’ll do it.”

And that’s when Abby fucked up.

Like. Big time.

Witness Protection Program bad.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking. And maybe that was the problem; she wasn’t. Her brain just… shut off. While she tucked Mom’s watch into her bag, already halfway to Jack’s apartment in her mind, her mouth went rogue.

“Oh yeah, he and Mom are super sick,” she said, casual as could be. “Like, she had to beg him to stay home this morning. He sounded like shit.”

She didn’t notice Miss Dana and Robby’s necks snap toward her until it was too late. Or Santos’s… or Whitaker’s… or the girl standing with him… or the two nurses standing nearby…

Nope. She just kept talking like Jack’s yapping had been contagious.

“I think she was going to literally drag him up to bed if he kept arguing with her about it…” she trailed off as she looked up, noticing the eyes that had fixed themselves on her like she was bleeding out of her ears.

“What?” Hoodie Guy managed, eyes wide. 

Miss Dana should’ve called a trauma code, because Abby felt her stomach fall straight through her ass.

Oh no.

They didn’t know.

Why would they know?

Oh my god, why didn’t they know?

Oh no no no no.

“I’ve said too much,” Abby blurted, eyes wide, voice two octaves higher than normal. She took a step back. “I must go.”

She spun on her heel like she could outrun her own stupidity, but Miss Dana caught the back of her sweatshirt with the ease of someone used to snatching toddlers mid-tantrum.

“Nope,” Dana said, giving her a gentle tug that stopped her mid-flight. “You’re staying right here, kid.”

Fuck fuck fuck. This is karma. This is instant karma for yelling at mediocre white guys. Oh my god, why can’t I mind my own business? Why was I cursed to be a menace first and a girl second?

Abby’s heart was galloping. Her brain was foggy and loud at the same time. Every nerve in her body lighting up like she’d just admitted to treason. She was so grounded. Even if her mom never found out, she was spiritually grounded. Eternally grounded. Her ancestors were disappointed. She could already hear her mom’s voice in her head; “Abigail, I swear to God…”

“Wait,” Santos said slowly, piecing it together with the same level of astonishment as someone watching a squirrel ride a tricycle. “Abbot is sleeping with Doctor MILF?”

Oh. My. God.

“Please don’t call my mom a MILF,” she whispered, frozen in place by her own terror.

Hoodie Guy groaned so hard it sounded like it physically hurt him. Abby turned slowly, like she might pass out and didn’t want to do it dramatically. She caught Hoodie Guy’s expression. He looked like he’d aged forty years in the span of thirty seconds. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples like he was trying to physically push the words out of his skull.

“I told you to stop calling her that,” he muttered, like it was the thousandth time.

“And I told you that I wasn’t going to,” Santos replied cheerfully, hands in her pockets like she was the least scandalized person in the world.

Abby was ninety percent sure she had just triggered a workplace HR event. Maybe a lawsuit. This is how dynasties fall, she thought. This is how reputations are ruined. This is how I die. Oh my god. Mom and Jack are going to lose their jobs. We’ll lose the house. We’ll have to move in with Grandma and Grandpa, and Mom and Grandma will literally kill each other. 

God, this was so bad…

Dana gave her a slow once-over, like she was assessing whether Abby was about to bolt again, and then crossed her arms. “Start talking,” she said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. When?”

Abby stared at her. “I… What if I just die instead?”

No one laughed.

Cool. Cool cool cool. This was going well.

Fuck, I’m gonna shit my pants.

“I—I shouldn’t have said anything,” Abby blurted. “It’s not even my information to share.”

“Yet here we are,” Dana replied dryly, crossing her arms like she’d been waiting her whole shift for this level of drama. Someone down the hallway yelled for Dana, but she waved them off. She wasn’t missing this. Not for triage, not for fire, not even if the ghost of Florence Nightingale showed up herself.

“Wait—who’s sleeping with Baker?” asked the nurse in the hijab Abby had seen earlier, suddenly gliding in next to Santos at the counter like she’d just sensed mess in the air.

“No…” Abby tried, holding out a hand like she could physically rewind time.

“Abbot!” Santos declared gleefully, as if announcing the winner of a raffle.

The nurse gasped so hard she clutched her chest and immediately reached back to snag another nurse who’d just rounded the corner. She whispered something rapid-fire in what Abby thought might be Tagalog, and the other woman let out a full-body gasp like she’d just heard a celebrity had been admitted to the ER. They both clapped their hands over their mouths and leaned in like this was a juicy twist in a soap opera, whispering and snickering with delighted disbelief.

Abby felt her soul leaving her body.

This was a medical facility. People were dying in rooms down the hall. And yet here she was, being socially eviscerated under fluorescent lighting with a stuffy nose.

Santos, not to be left out, chimed in confidently with her own commentary, mixing in a few words of Tagalog that made both nurses laugh louder. Abby wasn’t fluent, but she knew enough from listening to Mia’s parents that she was pretty sure she caught words that roughly translated to “finally” and “oh my God, it is him.”

And Abby stood there thinking, Cool, I’m living in a nightmare. Maybe if I hold really still, I’ll wake up in bed. Or a coma. A coma would be nice.

Hoodie Guy—poor, poor Hoodie Guy—dragged a hand over his face like he was physically trying not to crash out. His other hand gripped the counter like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. Oh fuck. Isn’t he their boss? Oh my god, I told my mom’s boss. I’m gonna throw up.

“I…okay, but listen,” Abby stammered, already sweating. “That could’ve been a joke. You don’t know. Maybe I was being sarcastic. Maybe I’m just naturally hilarious and you all missed the tone.”

No one blinked. Dana raised one unimpressed eyebrow. Hoodie Guy looked like he was counting to ten. Santos looked delighted.

Abby cleared her throat. “What I meant was… he might have been at our house last, and he might have, like, gone to the store and taken care of Mom and stayed the night or whatever, but that doesn’t mean anything! Friends do that! Coworkers! Sick coworkers! It’s flu season, for God’s sake! You guys take care of random strangers all day and no one thinks you’re sleeping with them! Right?”

Santos opened her mouth like she was absolutely going to answer that, but Dana held up a finger without looking at her.

“Do not,” she warned.

“I just think it’s suspiciously specific,” Santos mumbled, but wisely shut up.

“I mean,” Abby went on, flailing, “people crash on couches all the time! Maybe he had a fever! Maybe Mom took his keys! Maybe he’s… he’s dating someone else entirely! Maybe my mom has a boyfriend! Did you ever think about that? Of course you haven’t! Not that any of you care! Maybe he was just too sick to drive, and my mom is just, like… good at caretaking! Not in, like, a sexy way! Stop looking at me like that! I said it wasn’t! It’s just—just the Hippocratic Oath kind, like—”

“Abby,” Hoodie Guy said, his voice quiet, face still in his hands. A mercy. “You can stop.”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, sagging against the counter.

He stared at her.

She straightened. This was Mom’s boss. She had to fix this. “Unless you want me to keep digging.”

“Nope. Don’t.”

“Okay.”

A younger girl—Abby swore she looked like she’d just finished driver’s ed despite the badge that read ‘student doctor’—shook her head from her spot behind the counter with an anxious frown. 

“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” she said nervously, eyes darting between Abby and the Tagalog-speaking nurses like she wanted no part of the firing squad. “It’s really not our business.”

Bless you, small child. 

“Relax, Crash,” Santos told her with a lazy grin. “It’s already out. We’re just processing it together. As a family.”

Please stop.

Crash looked like she was going to be sick. Abby was right there with her.

One of the Tagalog-speaking nurses—short, tough, and wearing glittery compression socks—shrugged like she’d just called this weeks ago. “Figures,” she said. “I thought they were gonna go over the table at each other at Haggerty’s. They were giving each other serious ‘fuck me’ eyes all night. Did no one else notice that?”

Abby let out a long, despairing groan and buried her face in her hands. She wanted to run. She wanted to time travel. She wanted to crawl inside the vending machine and become one with the stale Pop-Tarts.

“Ew,” she mumbled into her palms.

She was going to die here. In this hallway. Someone would find her body weeks later, mummified by shame, and her tombstone would just say: Tried To Pick Up A Watch. Died Anyway.

The murmuring in Tagalog picked up again; more animated now, full of laughter and disbelief and one distinct “Teka lang, teka lang!” Abby didn’t know the words, but the tone was universal: “Girl, what?!”

“Wait,” said another nurse, appearing from around the corner holding a chart. “Doctor Baker?”

“Yup,” said Santos, way too pleased with herself.

“Abbot?” He asked.

Santos nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

Abby made a low, strangled sound in her throat. She knew she should’ve just waved and left. Just picked up the stupid watch and left. But nooo. She had opened her big mouth. Volunteered intel. Let herself get Dana’d.

Whitaker scratched the back of his neck. “Well, it makes sense, right? Doctor B is really nice, smart… and, uh, pretty.”

Abby’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god, Ratatouille wants to bone my mom.”

He blurted out, stumbling over his words, “I—I don’t want to…I don’t want to bone your mom! I just think she’s a great—.”

Abby recoiled like she’d been slapped. “Ew! You can’t say that to me! I’m a child! That’s my mom, dude!”

Whitaker looked like he wanted to disappear right then and there. Now they both were having a bad time. Abby watched in horror as everyone started talking over each other like a badly scripted reality show. No. Oh no. This was so bad. 

One nurse whispered, “But seriously, do they even talk? Like, I haven’t seen them together much.”

Another chimed in, “Yeah, it’s weird. They barely exchange more than a ‘hi’ in the halls.”

Abby flailed, because obviously no one was going to let this slide quietly. “It’s not like some random hookup or anything! They dated in high school! Like the whole time!”

Hoodie Guy’s head shot up, eyes even wider.

Why the fuck did I say that?!

Cue the chorus of confused and scandalized “What?!”s.

Oh my god, why did I just say that? Abby thought, wishing she had a mute button for her mouth. Stop. Talking. Abigail. Stop. Talking.

“Wait…” one of the nurses blinked, pointing between Abby and the rapidly deteriorating Hoodie Guy. “Abbot’s the German boyfriend?”

Another voice piped up, higher pitched and clearly shaken. “She’s the sheriff’s daughter?”

What the fuck is happening right now?

She turned slowly in place like maybe there was a hidden camera somewhere. Maybe this was an elaborate prank show. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she’d fallen down the stairs on her way in and this was all a brain bleed.

Meanwhile, Hoodie Guy just muttered something under his breath and dragged his hands down his face like he was physically trying to peel it off. Then he spun around and walked away, already pulling his phone from the counter.

“I need to make a call,” he muttered.

Abby watched him disappear through the stairwell doors.

“…Oops,” she whispered, immediately burying her face in her hands again.

“Okay, hang on,” said one of the nurses. “Let’s back up. What German boyfriend? What sheriff?”

“That’s right, you didn’t go out with us that night! Oh my god, they were telling these stories…”

“Does that mean he lied about not knowing her?” another added, nearly giddy.

“Oh my god,” Abby groaned, voice muffled by her palms. “Can we all just pretend I had a stroke and nothing I said counts?”

“Absolutely not,” Santos said, way too pleased. “This is the best thing that’s happened here in weeks.”

Someone gasped. Someone else cursed. A nurse looked at Abby like she had answers. She did not. She had regrets.

“Wait, if they dated in high school… how old is she?”

Old!

“Oh, Mohan’s going to be so disappointed when she finds out. Who wants to tell her?” 

Who the fuck is that?!

“I thought Baker was dating Robby!”

She isn’t! Don’t encourage him!

This was fine. Everything was fine. Surely no one would think less of her for dragging her mother into the ER gossip mill like a body in a sack.

“Can I go home now?” she whispered to Miss Dana, who had been watching it all with the quiet amusement of someone who’d seen three decades’ worth of drama in break rooms and decided this was the best of it.

“Yes, you may,” Dana said without missing a beat. She caught Abby’s arm before she could actually sprint for the door, leaning in with a grin as she whispered, “And tell your mom it’s about damn time.”

Abby didn’t walk. She launched. She moved as quickly as PT would allow. She only slowed down once the double doors hissed shut behind her. 

Oh god. She was so fucked.

She was so unbelievably screwed.

She was so grounded. Like family-legend grounded. Like, new-tier-of-grounded screwed. Historical event screwed. Like where-were-you-when-Abby-got-Mom’s-love-life-leaked-in-a-hospital grounded.

Why hadn’t she just stayed in bed? Why had she thought she could just sneak in, grab the watch, and sneak out without incident? Why had she opened her mouth?

She should’ve known better. She did know better.

And now Hoodie Guy was probably calling Jack to tell him what happened. Or worse. Mom.

She was going to be grounded for… until college. Maybe longer. Maybe she’d never know freedom again. And she still had to get Moose’s stupid leg pills. This was his fault, honestly. No, she couldn’t put that on him. He’s never done anything wrong in his entire life.

And now everyone knew about her mom and Jack.

Her mom was going to kill her.

Fuck.

[lpmurphy]

happy salt air and the rust on your door month to those who celebrate

[lpmurphy]

I just binged your story on ao3. I love it and these characters. I do have one safety concern though. In the chapter "Girl Dad" Abby gets ready to use her keys as a weapon. And I understand the logic people take to get there however I have to recommend you never actually do that. First rule of using a weapon is that you expect to lose it. Either it becomes evidence or your attacker takes it. Your keys are your escape. Never bring those closer to someone who wants to harm you. The other reason is that you are not Wolverine. Im sorry but keys between your knuckles will damage the webbing of your hands. You will likely only get one chance to hit them and if you've never thrown a punch thats not enough.

Sorry for bringing the mood down. I just see it recommended to young women all the time and it's not viable. If you absolutely need to use a weapon use something disposable that can create distance. An umbrella can be replaced. Your keys are needed now.

Hi!

Thank you so much for reading—and binging! I’m so happy to hear that you’re enjoying the story and connecting with the characters. It really means a lot that you took the time to not only read but also to reach out!

And thank you sincerely for the note about safety. You’re absolutely right; this is advice a lot of young women (myself included!) have heard and internalized over the years and taken at face value, so I really appreciate you taking the time to explain why it’s not actually effective or safe. That kind of real-world insight is invaluable, and I’m grateful you felt comfortable pointing it out.

Thanks again for the kind words and thoughtful feedback! I’m always grateful for the opportunity to learn! 💕

[lpmurphy]

🥺🥺 Chris was just a little kid who lost his big brother and then he had to watch his sister deal with that awful Russell ahhhh my heart can’t take anymore

He was just a little guy 😭 and fuckkkk Russell. We’ll def get more of the story with him in upcoming chapters, and I’m SO excited for y’all to see Russell and Jack interact.

[lpmurphy]

When Abby changes her last name to baker I feel like she is gonna hyphenate and surprise everyone with baker abbot

[lpmurphy]

Oh my gosh YES. Adorable 🥹🥰

Can you draw the master chief picking a violet flower and handing it to cortana? Bonus points if she blushes and says something really scientific abt it?? I ADORE how you draw that spartans

[lpmurphy]

i love this beth lore! I know shes a nerd but a star wars nerd haha that's funny. What's even funnier is Jack putting up with it and knowing while Beth had this semi-popular girl next door reputation in high school-behind it she was a massive nerd who loved Han Solo. We know how Abby got her name but how did the other girls get their names?

I love how you put Abbot with that military voice detail, I could imagine him forming a behavior game where they 'played' drill sargent aka had to do everything daddy said, walk in a single file line. Considering the Abbot brood and just how...much they are, I wonder what their dynamic is in the Pitt, on the off chance they have to come in for some reason or another. Like why can I imagine Piper stealthly taking Robby's stethascope. Or them teasing Whittaker, or even sassing Santos

And that bit about Abby going to college...jail right now... ya can't just do fluff can ya ? 😂😂😂

Elizabeth Baker is a complete DORK and I stand by that. Jack didn’t know that at first. He saw the cheerleader ponytail, the honor roll transcripts, the polite smile she gave strangers, and figured she was the type who maybe thought Star Wars was “that movie with the robots.” And then she went off. Full rant. Something about how the original trilogy was a masterclass in practical effects, how “every ship you’re seeing was an actual model, Jack. ILM had to design brand new camera rigs just to capture these shots. If you look at a—No, stop—look. Get off of me. You missed it. I’m rewinding. This scene? Inspired by real WWII aerial footage—.” And Jack’s just sitting there blinking like, oh no. She’s weird. I need her to have my children.

The longer they’re together, the more painfully clear it becomes that Elizabeth Baker is a giant nerd. Everyone else sees the polished, straight-A cheerleader with perfect handwriting and color-coded planners. Jack knows the truth. He’s dating the girl who’s worn out three VHS tapes of The Empire Strikes Back and once explained the entire Solo-Skywalker family tree from the Legends novels complete with hand-drawn timelines. He just nods along like, “Yeah, babe. I love it when you talk about fictional political dynasties. Can we make out now?”

As far as the kids’ names go, Abby was obviously named after her dad. Harrison’s name was the result of a carefully negotiated compromise; something strong, classic, and just nerdy enough without veering into full-blown sci-fi territory. But the twins’ names were harder. Nothing felt right. Every name they tossed around got ruled out—too trendy, too cutesy, too much like that one patient one of them had.

Then, on the drive home from an ultrasound, Jack pitched two names almost out of nowhere: Piper and Marley. Jack hadn’t planned on suggesting them. He’d carried those names with him for years; too heavy to say out loud, too sacred to give away casually. He didn’t explain them at first, just said them softly, like he was still trying to figure out how they sounded outside his own head. And Beth didn’t hesitate. She reached across the center console, slipped her hand into his, and said, “Yeah. That’s them. Those are our girls.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. She already knew. Piper and Marley were the last names of the two men Jack lost on his final tour in Afghanistan.

I love the idea of Jack having some kind of Simon-Says-meets-drill-sergeant game he played with the girls growing up. 🥹 They probably just thought it was this silly, fun thing they did with Daddy, totally unaware it was actually his last-ditch effort to impose some kind of order so he could get things done without them tearing the house (or each other) apart. 😂

“Much” is absolutely the right word to describe the Abbot gang—and it’s probably the exact word most of the Pitt uses whenever all four kids show up at once. 😂 Day Shift is terrified of those children. One kid is manageable. Then the second one rolls in and they’re like, “Haha, that’s fine 🙂.” The third arrives and it’s, “…Okay. They probably won’t be here long.” And then the fourth walks in and it’s straight panic. “Get Whitaker on standby. I don’t know how, but I know there’s going to be a rat in here somehow. I just know it.”

The girls absolutely clown on Robby. That man made Jack work one (1) Saturday and miss Abby’s volleyball game, and Abby has since decided she doesn’t need peace, she needs to break that man’s spirit (which, unbeknownst to her, life has already done for her). Piper regularly pickpockets him, hides his things around the ER like she’s building a scavenger hunt no one asked for, and occasionally lifts cash from his wallet, which Beth inevitably makes her return in some deeply uncomfortable reverse heist. He’s 75% sure Marley put her up to it, because she’s always lurking in the background like a tiny Bond villain. But she never says anything. Just watches.

Abby started calling Whitaker Ratatouille on his first day of rotations, right after she brought Beth coffee before morning cheer practice. It’s a real kick in the gut when you’ve already changed your scrubs four times, are knee-deep in an MCE, and then realize the girl you accidentally flirted with is a) a minor, b) the night attending’s daughter, who was very quick to remind him of point a, and c) mean—and she has now decided you look like a cartoon rat.

Santos is obsessed with all of them and has asked Beth no less than three times if she can be legally adopted into the family. Mel and Marley operate on some telepathic twin wavelength that has everyone else mildly alarmed. Harrison once took five minutes to dissect Robby’s fantasy football lineup and then told him, “You should probably just give my dad your money now since you’re going to lose like last year.”

No one really knows why all the kids are there. There’s never an explanation. They just appear, and every single person in that ER would very much like them to go home.

But Night Shift? Oh, Night Shift adores those kids. Night Shift is chaos. The Abbots are chaos. It’s a match made in fluorescent-lit heaven.

The girls have declared Shen their spirit animal. No one entirely understands what that means, but John fist-bumped them and said, “Damn right I am,” so that’s settled.

Walsh heard Abby sass Robby one time and immediately decided she’s her dream resident. She’s now personally invested in her becoming a surgeon just so they can both make it their mission to drive her dad insane.

Harrison has fan-favorite status with every nurse on the floor. Everyone remembering him as a sweet little newborn has earned him snacks from the breakroom fridge and stickers and pretty nurses kissing him on the cheek and telling him how handsome he is. The kid’s basically on payroll.

No one has seen Piper. That’s fine. Everyone just assumes something is missing from their locker and moves on. If that bothers you, then grow up. They think it’s funny.

Ellis keeps a whole folder on her phone titled “For Marley”; just a curated collection of the weirdest injuries she’s seen, which she whips out any time Marley shows up with Abby to drop off something Jack forgot. Marley rates them on a ten-point scale and takes notes.

Those kids are so weird and Night Shift loves it so much.

One thing about me… if I see the emotional low blow, I’m GONNA take it. Sorry bestie. 😚

[lpmurphy]

Not sure about anyone else but I re-read all my favourite AO3 comments when I’ve had a rough day so if you’ve ever taken the time to write a deep, funny, or just kind comment, thank-you.

[lpmurphy]

I do wonder how Jack leaving affected her little brother. Because I am the youngest (about 9 year age gap) in my family and when my older brother's long term girlfriend ghosted him it messed me up for a while. And Jack was going camping with her family. He wasn't just some guy to that kid. Did Chris get ever get mad at Beth because of that absence? Did she have to comfort him? Are we going to see him meeting Jack again?

Ooo, such a great question!

I’m so sorry that happened to you...how heartbreaking and confusing that must have been for both you and your brother. I hope you’ve both found some healing. 💞

You’re absolutely right though. Chris was ten when Jack left, which means he was just six when Jack started coming around. He was a little guy whose big sister suddenly had this boy in her life who was kind to him, included him, and treated him like the little brother he’d always wanted. And it wasn’t just that Jack showed up now and then; he was there. The Bakers welcomed him in with open arms, loved him like family, and Jack loved them right back. He was there for dinner most nights, for holidays, vacations, camping trips—on the lake every Saturday with Papa Baker and Chris during fishing season. Jack wasn’t just Beth’s boyfriend. He was Jack. He was the closest thing to a big brother Chris ever had, and he absolutely adored him.

For four years, Chris was Jack’s shadow from the moment he walked in the door to the moment he left, and not once did Jack treat him like the annoying little brother he definitely was at times.

So when Jack was suddenly gone, it hit Chris hard too. Just like it was jarring for Beth, it was heartbreaking for him; but he didn’t have the language or tools to process all of those big feelings, especially while watching his parents focus on trying to hold Beth together in the aftermath. He was hurting. He is hurting. From his perspective, he lost his big brother, and no one seems to be acknowledging that. Instead, everyone’s acting like Beth is the only one who's devastated, even though, through his fifth-grade lens, she’s the reason Jack left. And he’s angry about that. Because in his mind, if she had just been a better girlfriend, maybe Jack wouldn’t have gone. And now, in just a few weeks, Beth is heading off to school… and who will he have?

So the silent treatment starts. The acting out begins in the ways only a sad, angry ten-year-old knows how. And now Tom and Leanne are left trying to navigate not just their own grief and anger, but a daughter who’s been shattered… and a son who’s quietly breaking, too.

By this point, Tom is ready to drive down to Georgia (again), fuming with fists clenched on the steering wheel before he's even left the driveway. Last time, Leanne talked him down from a payphone when he hit South Carolina and made him turn around. This time, he’s not so sure she could stop him if she tried. Because it’s not just Beth who lost someone—they did too. Jack wasn’t just their daughter’s boyfriend. He was family. He loved that boy. And now he’s gone, and his little girl is falling apart.

Leanne’s holding it together the only way she knows how; snapping into charge nurse mode, delegating, controlling what she can. But underneath it, she’s unraveling. She knows how to treat wounds, how to keep people alive, how to bring order to chaos, but not this. Not when the patients are her children. Not when the damage is something she can’t stitch or splint or soothe.

Beth has all but disappeared. She barely eats, barely speaks, won’t get out of bed unless Becca shows up and physically pulls her from it; and when Leanne’s exhausted every other option, that’s exactly who she calls.

And Chris... Chris won’t even look at his sister. Won’t sit at the same table, won’t speak to her, because in his ten-year-old mind, she’s the one who ruined everything. She's the one who broke Jack’s heart. The one who made him leave.

Those few weeks in the Baker house are nothing short of agonizing. Grief sits in every room like a shadow no one knows how to get rid of. And no one knows what to do with it.

Then, one night—after Chris has stayed in his room all day and Leanne has finally stopped trying because Tom’s on duty and she just can’t carry it all alone—he gets up to use the bathroom. The house is quiet. Everyone thinks he’s asleep. On his way back, he passes Beth’s room. The door is half open (Mom won’t let her close it, though he’s never been told why) and something makes him stop. He doesn’t know why. He just looks.

Beth’s back is to the door. She’s curled up in bed, wrapped in one of Jack’s old hoodies he’d left behind. Her hair is a mess, her shoulders pulled in tight. And then he hears it; her breathing, rough and uneven. He tells himself she’s just asleep. That she’s not crying. She can’t be crying.

He nearly convinces himself. But as he turns to go back to his room, the floor creaks beneath his foot.

Beth rolls over, and for a moment, she just looks at him.

Chris has never seen her like this. His sister has always been bossy, loud, opinionated—the kind of big sister who either picks on him or mothers him, who laughs too hard, talks too much, and wears way too much lip gloss. She’s always been bright, but the girl lying in that bed doesn’t look like Beth. She looks like someone turned the light off inside her.

Her eyes are red and puffy, dark underneath like she hasn’t slept in days. Her skin looks pale, almost sick. And she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t scold. She just looks at him, quiet and still.

And suddenly, Chris doesn’t feel angry anymore. He just feels sad.

And he misses her.

He lost his big brother, but he lost his big sister, too. And somehow, that hurts the most.

Chris doesn’t know why, exactly, but he pushes open Beth’s door and steps inside. It’s tentative, almost like an experiment, that first small step across the threshold. Usually, she’d be yelling at him to get out by now, and he’d be darting around the room, touching everything on her desk just to annoy her before sprinting away. But tonight, she doesn’t say a word as he takes another step. And then another. And another, until he’s standing beside her bed in his Ninja Turtle pajamas, staring down at a version of his first best friend he barely recognizes.

Beth scoots over like she used to do when he was little and scared during thunderstorms, and her room was closer than Mom and Dad’s. He climbs in beside her, small and uncertain. When she finally wraps her arms around him, when she finally speaks for the first time in days, her voice is rough and small, barely more than a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Chrissy."

He doesn’t tell her it’s okay. Doesn’t say he forgives her. Because he doesn’t; not exactly. Not because he’s still angry. But because he doesn’t even understand what she’s apologizing for. He’s not mad at her. Not really.

It’s just been easier to blame her than face the truth; that looking at Beth means seeing just how badly the boy he looked up to hurt her.

So he just hugs her back.

He’s watched his big sister pick up the pieces not once, but twice now after another jackass who never deserved her left her heart in ruins. Not that he ever liked Russell. Even at twenty-one, he knew the too-polished, too-smiley forty-five-year-old surgeon dating his twenty-eight-year-old sister was a creep. Something about him always felt off. And when Russell inevitably proved him right, Chris didn’t feel vindicated; just tired. That time, when the light went out in Beth, it didn’t really come back on.

Then it was Tom’s turn to talk someone down halfway through a cross-country drive, because this time, it wasn’t just Beth he was angry for. It was a little girl with wide blue eyes who called him “Uncle Grease” because her “Ch” sounds didn’t come in until kindergarten. It wasn’t just his sister he was worried about. It was his niece, too.

Now he’s forty. Three decades have passed, and the boy in Ninja Turtle pajamas has become a man. A husband. A father. An uncle. He wears the same badge his father once did, carrying the weight of the legacy Tom left behind when he hung it up. And he’s raising his boys with the same quiet principles that shaped him: be a man of your word. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. And if you ever fall short, have the guts to face it; look someone in the eye and tell them the truth. Because broken promises don’t just disappoint people. They leave damage.

So when his father calls him back into the den after Sunday dinner, on an unseasonably warm evening in late September, after he and Leanne made a surprise trip to Pittsburgh, the last thing Chris expects to hear is, “That Abbot boy is back.”

Always that Abbot boy. Never Jack. Hasn’t been Jack since ’94.

Chris is nearly halfway down the hall, already reaching for the front door, before Tom calls him back and tells him to sit his ass down.

He does… reluctantly. His jaw tight, his foot bouncing.

“Is she alright?” he asks. “She told his ass to go pound sand, right?”

The way his father hesitates before saying, “Bethie has to do this her own way,” tells Chris everything he needs to hear. “She always has.”

He barely sleeps that night; too angry, too wound up, too haunted by the image of his sister in that bed thirty years ago every time he closes his eyes. Jess tries to talk to him—she knows the story well enough to understand why he’s checking traffic between Coldwater and Pittsburgh every ten minutes.

But Chris trusts Beth. He’ll follow her lead, even if he doesn’t know where it’s headed, even if a part of him still feels like that ten-year-old in Ninja Turtle pajamas.

November rolls around, and it’s Beth’s year to host Thanksgiving. Chris is loading the car with Jess and the kids, grumbling under his breath about how Beth on the phone call the other night kept saying “we”. She’d said, “We’re so excited to have everyone at our house this year,” while he listened to him shout up the stairs for Abby to come get her homework off the table so they can eat, and to his niece respond to him like she’s known him her entire life. Chris still can’t wrap his head around what he’s supposed to say to the boy—the man—who shattered their family all those years ago, and is now trying to become part of it again.

Jess leans over, half-smirking, half-serious. “You can’t just walk in there and kick his ass, you know.”

Chris laughs, but it’s tight. Because part of him wants to. Part of him is scared he might… that is, until he gets a very stern warning from his mother in the driveway of Beth’s home… and from Beth… and a rather halfhearted one from his father that feels more like permission than a warning, in a very confusing way.

So in short, yes, Chris will see Jack again. It will be a rather awkward few days at the Baker household, but I promise that everyone will get some much needed closure. 💕

[lpmurphy]

Loved your Robby OFC one shot! Any recommendations for others you’ve read and enjoyed?

Thank you so much!! Not oneshots, but I absolutely adore both of @antithetical-bolter’s Robby/OFC fics! 💕