Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were so incredibly, indisputably, and entirely screwed.

That was the first thing that came to mind upon waking up in the emergency room. The last thing you remembered was setting up your classroom. Being the week before school started back up, you had of course been super tied up in the new teacher trainings and meetings. You had put off decorating your entire classroom until the day before school started. Drawers were set up in a flurry, the desk chair was finally assembled, and the rug was unrolled. The last thing was putting up borders above the chalkboard. You stood up from the floor to grab the stapler.

And then promptly passed out, apparently, according to the doctor who was charting on the computer beside the bed when you woke up. He was blond and looked about your age, leaving you wondering if he was even old enough to be a doctor. Evidently he was a student.

“I don’t remember the ride here, is that like, is that okay?” You worried your lip between your teeth.

He nodded, settling into the stool by the bed. “Yeah, memory lapses like that can sometimes happen with fainting. Do you remember the fall?”

The blush that took over your face spoke for itself. “Enough to be embarrassed. Seems like a pretty stupid way to end up in the emergency room. And a terrible way to meet my new boss, my first impression is going to go down in the history books.”

Your new principal had decided to stop by at that very moment to greet you before the first day. He watched the whole thing go down, and had been the person to call the ambulance.

“He works in a middle school. I’m sure it’s not even in the top fifteen weirdest things he’s ever seen.” Whitaker joked.

You laughed outright at that, wincing when the motion jostled your arm where it laid beside the bed.

“Is it broken?” It was your dominant hand that you used to break your fall. Which was going to really, really suck, not being able to write. How was grading going to work? How was teaching going to work, period?

Whitaker shrugged. “If it is, it’s not a bad break. But you’re going to need an X-ray to be sure. I’m really sorry in advance, but the wait is kind of long. After my attending comes over and talks with you, we’ll put a splint on and then we have to send you back to the waiting room until a machine is available.”

“It’s all good, wait’s not your fault. The pain meds are kicking in and I have my headphones and a good playlist. I’ll make it work.” You shrugged, honestly too tired to care if this pain med induced nap happened in a bed or a waiting room chair.

Whitaker seemed surprised by your lack of pushback, standing up and presumably going to find the attending. You noticed as he left that he had a soul mark, a black T adorning his left wrist. He had a platonic soulmate, and they’d already met.

Everyone was born with the first initial of their soulmate on their wrist. The mark was light gray, easily covered by makeup or ignored. If you had one on the right, you had a romantic soulmate. If you had one on the left, you had a platonic one. When someone met their soulmate, the initial would burn and go from gray to black, inking destiny into your skin. It was rare to have a platonic and a romantic soulmate. Even more rare to have two of either.

You had two light gray letters on your left wrist.

A few minutes went by without the return of Whitaker and his attending, and you tiredly wrestled one handed to get your headphones out and plug them into your phone. You pressed play on the playlist, and the tiredness of a busy week started catching up to you. Having always been an anxious person, moving to a new place and starting a new job all at once really messed up your sleep schedule. It had been weeks since you’d slept more than a few uninterrupted hours, and relying on caffeine and anxiety to keep you going had caught up to you. Even with all the buzz of the ER around, you ended up drifting off.

When you woke up, it was to pain in your right arm and burning on your left wrist. Your headphones were lying beside your head, music still playing softly.

“Hi, if you wouldn’t mind just waking up for me,” the voice, smooth and kind, called. “I’m Dr. Robinavitch, you can call me Dr. Robby, and I– oh, fuck .”

You sat bolt upright, the burning in your left arm taking over all of your senses. In front of you, a middle aged man in a zip up hoodie and scrubs stared at you with wide, kind eyes. His hand brushed yours. The attending. Dr. Robby. Your soulmate. Well, one of them.

You couldn’t do anything but laugh. “What does the M stand for?”

He stared for a long moment before laughing too, his nose scrunching, elbows on his knees with his hands in his beard.

“Michael. But I prefer Robby.” He gestured to his own wrist, initial covered by a watch and his hoodie sleeve. “You?”

You told him and watched his mind process it, putting a name to an initial he’d had on his wrist for twenty odd years.

He repeated it back to you. “Well, kid, it’s a good thing we’re paired up like this, since Whitaker tells me you’re quite the klutz.”

You blushed, half remembering slurring something about your track record of clumsiness to an EMT during the two minute long ambulance ride here.

“I told the EMT that in confidence,” you rolled your eyes dramatically and joked, “that’s like, definitely HIPAA.”

Dr. Robby snorted. “I’m your doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah,”

For a moment, you considered asking about the other soulmate. Did Robby know them? Was it just the two of you for now? For years you’d imagined this exact moment, assuming that the two came as a package deal at the same time. Wouldn’t that make sense? You were just about to ask him when a nurse came in, the wonderful woman who had done your bloodwork on arrival and managed to stick you on the first try even with the dehydrated veins. Perlah, you remembered.

“Hi,” she greeted the room. “Going to probably be an hour or two before X-rays, sorry. Whitaker, can you help the patient get settled out there? And Dr. Robby, incoming MVA, ETA six minutes.”

Robby nodded. He reached out and took your left hand in his, squeezing it tightly. You tried not to jump at the feeling.

“Well, I think we’ll have Whitaker here take you to the break room instead of making you sit out in the waiting room. Perks of me being here. My shift ends in two hours, I’ll come find you and we’ll talk.” He said, meeting your gaze with a smile that wrinkled the edges of his eyes.

You nodded and squeezed his hand back. “See you later.”

You noticed Perlah squint at your interlocked hands before her face schooled back to the calm and collected look she’d been wearing before. Her and Robby left in a hurry. You turned to Whitaker and saw a man who looked nothing short of bamboozled while he splinted your arm.

“First time seeing a soulmate match?” You asked.

He shrugged. “Uh, yeah, but I’ve also been here for months and that’s like only the second thing I have learned about Dr. Robby’s personal life.”

So he was the type to keep his cards close to his chest. Keep work at work and life at home. The topic of soulmates wasn’t usually taboo conversation. Just some people preferred it to be a private thing. Robby was probably a private guy. That, or he just didn’t have the time to disclose all his things when he was pulled in so many directions at once here. Either way, it didn’t bother you. This thing was between the two of you. And that third, still undiscovered person.

The staff lounge was just down the hallway from your room and around the corner. No one was in the room at the moment, which was surprising. Whitaker helped you settle into a couch on the far end of the room across from the fridge and counters.

“Oh, I forgot a pillow and blankets. Sorry, I’m just going to go grab that—”

You cut him off. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s freezing in here, and I don’t make a habit of sleeping on random hospital couches, but I honestly could not care less about that right now. I could fall asleep standing up like a horse.”

He smiled. “My first horse used to fall asleep like that in the middle of getting groomed.”

“You have horses? No fucking way.”

“I had them back home. Grew up in Nebraska.” He said, looking around the room for something. He found what he wanted draped across a chair, and helped you into the zip up hoodie. “Here, you can use Robby’s jacket.”

It smelled like coffee, antiseptic, and something you couldn’t quite place. Maybe his home, maybe his cologne. You mumbled a thanks to Whitaker, and just like that you were out again.

——

Being roused from sleep was much less disconcerting this time. Perlah walked you to the X-ray machine, which confirmed a stable fracture in your forearm. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for the cast to be put on. They even let you pick the color. They had the ugliest tie dye wrap you had ever seen, and you just couldn’t say no to it. The discharge process was easy, papers signed in shaky left handed scrawl.

Robby caught you at the desk, signing the last of the papers. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder, clearly ready to leave with you. You finished signing the papers, took your insurance from the nurse, and thanked them before following Robby out of the doors to the left.

“Hey, kid. Cute cast. Whitaker gave me the updates. How are you feeling?” He asked, matching your pace.

You shrugged and gave a grin. “Been better, been worse. Weird day all around.”

“You could say that,” he snorted a laugh, “I don’t want to pressure you especially after the day you’ve had, but I’d love to feed you dinner and get to know you. We’re walking toward my house, and my husband is probably starting dinner right now.”

“I, uh, I don’t know. Could we maybe do tomorrow? I’m all kinds of gross and not exactly great houseguest material at the moment.” You nervously suggested, a pang of panic about meeting his husband shooting through you.

Robby had a whole life, a husband, a career, friends, a routine. The last thing he needed was some kid in their early twenties to watch over. Was this going to be a disaster? Maybe. Did it matter? Not really, since you were pretty much locked in for life.

“Of course we can, how about lunch? Jack and I are both off tomorrow.” His hand took yours while you walked, not even interrupting your rhythm. His thumb stroked the back of your palm, calming the jitters you felt. You nodded, meeting his eyes. They were already on you, studying you. He grinned reassuredly, squeezing your hand. You squeezed back and the two of you kept walking.

He slowed to a stop on the familiar street. You discovered just then that your townhouse was across the street from Robby’s. Because of course it was. The universe was laughable sometimes. Your grandfather passed two months ago, right after your graduation, leaving you the house. It was why you’d chosen to look for work in Pittsburg.

That, and getting the hell away from your parents. You’d had to stay at home during college, not able to afford tuition plus an apartment or dorm. It was a hard few years, your parents falling further and further down the conservative conspiracy theorist, anti-vax rabbit hole. They’d always been rough, but that had been the cherry on the top of what you could handle. Your grandfather, a lifelong bachelor and your biggest supporter had left the townhouse to you in his will after passing away happily of old age.

“Tomorrow, noon. I can’t wait to meet you properly.” His hand found your shoulder, a grounding weight. Bringing you back to this moment. You nodded again.

“Come’ere, honey.” He took you into a hug, your head nestling into the crook between his neck and shoulder. His necklace was a cool touch against your heated face. His heartbeat was steady against your forehead. You hugged back as best you could with one arm, breathing in the unplaceable smell from his hoodie, his unique scent. “You alright?”

Your breath hitched, holding back tears that had appeared suddenly. “Long day,” you said, “Thank you for walking me home.”

“Home? You mean,” You felt Robby’s amused snort on your hair. “You’re the new neighbor. Of course you are.”

Chapter Text

Your best friend was going to kill you for the amount of texts you sent on a Saturday morning.

Are jeans and a cute top a good brunch outfit for meeting your soulmate? Oh also call me later I met one of my soulmates. Do doctors like cookies? Do doctors like flowers, I could get flowers at the farmers market if I hurried?

In the end, you’d chosen the jeans and a cute but comfortable top. It was weirdly windy and cooler than normal for a late August morning. You did also bake a batch of panic cookies, chocolate chip. They were your best friend's insanely good recipe, so hopefully that homage would be enough for them to forgive you for the text wall sent hours ago.

At noon exactly, you stood on Robby’s brick stoop clutching the tupperware of cookies and were poised to knock the door. God, this was scary. You tried for a minute to calm yourself with box breathing and were abandoning that in favor of naming five things you could see when the door opened suddenly on its own.

The man that answered the door had curly gray hair closely cropped to his head, dark eyes, and strong features. His right arm rested on the door, a dark M on his wrist. Soulmates with Robby. He was tall and broad. Would’ve been scary if he hadn’t been smiling. As it was, he had an undeniably good energy to him.

“You gonna come in, or are you planning to spend brunch on the porch?” He stepped aside to let you in, and you followed his lead.

You noticed then that two prosthetics sat propped up on the sofa across from the front windows. Not Robby’s, you knew. Jack’s. A story there, one for later.

The living room was peppered with other signs of life here and there, a book on the coffee table left upside down to keep the page, sets of shoes on the rack against the wall in front of the stairs. You could smell food in the kitchen, which must be further down the hallway in front of you. It was neat, but it was lived in.

“I’m Jack,” he introduced himself and stuck his hand out for you, “Robby’s husband. Robby’s just upstairs deciding between two shirts that look exactly the same to me.”

You gave him your name and reached to return the handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, thank you for having me—”

Oh, shit.

“Oh, it is really nice to meet you now.” Jack laughed incredulously.

You couldn’t help it. Dropping the cookies on the floor, you went right for a hug. His arms were strong around you, caging you in. He breathed in once, twice, and you were desperately trying to get your breathing in line with his. Years of waiting were over. The big question was answered. You had your soulmates now.

“Hey, kiddo.” Jack squeezed his arms, pressure helping regulate you and get you back down to earth. “I’m so happy to see you. I am so happy to finally see you.”

Something settled in you. Your whole life, there had been this persistent underscoring of restlessness. The idea of the future had always been clouded with question marks, with the knowledge that at any point the other shoe would drop. You would meet these two people, and life would be irreversibly different. Irreversibly better. Not much was promised, but that was.

You had it now. Something all your own, something solely there to make your life better.

Jack pulled back just enough to see you. You got the distinct feeling that you were being committed to memory. He looked at you with wide, analytic eyes, and grinned.

"Is that a tie-dye cast?"

"Isn't it so ugly? I had to have it." You brought it to the space between the two of you.

"It's terrible," Jack laughed, "I love it."

Robby came down then, in jeans and a plain navy blue shirt. You couldn’t imagine what the other one could have possibly looked like. You heard his feet speed up when he saw the scene in front of him.

“Robby, that thing we spent all night talking about. It just happened.” Jack swayed the two of you so Robby could see your face.

“I fucking told you so, man.” Robby’s smile stretched wide, crossing his arms in satisfaction.

You wanted to burn this moment into your mind forever. The pressure of Jack’s arms around you, the way the side of Robby’s mouth twitched up with something unsaid. The way Jack’s breath moved his chest. Your heartbeat hammered, anything you wanted to say stuck in your throat. What could only be described as a squeak of disbelief is what came out. Robby and Jack made eye contact over your shoulder and burst out laughing. It was everything.

Robby approached the two of you, and Jack let go of the hug so Robby could swoop in. His bear hug was less gentle than Jack’s, squeezing extra tight before letting go gradually. He pulled back and brushed his hands across your face and hair, assessing.

“Morning, honey.” He said. “You look good, a lot better than yesterday. Let's go get some food. How was your night?”

“It was okay. Weird dreams.” You said, discreetly checking out the photos that lined the hallway. Jack and Robby in suits outside the courthouse. A selfie of the two of them at pride. Robby and a teenage boy smiling. Jack, a medal around his neck at the finish line of a race. Other people featured in photos that looked to be taken in backyards or bars.

The kitchen was beautiful and you were pleasantly surprised to see it was more modest than you had expected for two doctors. Brightly lit and painted a welcoming shade of light green, the room’s adjacent hallway led into the dining area. There, the food sat in serving dishes in the center of a circular table, three place settings already laid out.

“Pain meds will do that,” Robby pulled out your chair, the one between him and Jack. “You did eat with those this morning, right?”

You froze. “Uh, no? I didn’t take any.”

“Why?” Robby narrowed his eyes at you and leaned in, and you tried hard not to lean back. To put distance between you and his quizzical gaze. He wasn’t looking at you in any type of way, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had done the wrong thing.

“Just didn’t feel like I needed any.” You said.

“No pain?” Robby asked.

“Only the normal amount.” You responded, which was true. It was a dull ache, and the pain spiked with movement or being jostled. But you had a fractured bone, pain was expected. Just had to muscle through it for now. The feeling was nowhere near as bad as yesterday.

“The normal amount is zero.” He said, angling his knees towards you. “There’s no reason to be in pain unnecessarily, no extra medal for sticking it out.”

And, woah. Yeah. No one had ever said that to you before. You’d never thought of it like that. Pain medicine, or any medicine, was hard to come by as a child. Your mom swore by natural remedies and ‘trusting your body’, your father droned on and on about big pharma and this and that being a sham. You were sick a lot as a kid, in pain a lot. Headaches, fevers, that one sprained ankle you got playing soccer with the neighbor kids. Learned to embrace the pain as a part of living your life. But no, you didn’t have to.

“I’m just, I’m gonna go get my meds, they’re in my bag,” you tried to get up, but it was Jack’s hand that found yours and stopped you.

“Eat first.” He said simply.

Jack stole your plate, serving you a little of everything they’d made. A fried egg joined fruit, toast, and some kind of fancy looking salad. It was simple, but clearly made well and with nice ingredients. You grew up on white bread and jelly for breakfast, and now you didn’t eat in the mornings. This was new.

Jack set your plate down in front of you. “Robby said you’re a teacher?”

You were beyond grateful for the change in topic. No more spiralling about your less than great upbringing. Way too early to get into all that. This you could talk about.

“Yeah! Yeah, middle school English. I start next week.” You said, running your thumb over the texture of the cast.

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Middle school? Voluntarily?”

You laughed. “Middle schoolers are refreshingly honest.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jack said, breaking your eye contact in favor of looking to Robby.

Jack tipped his head to one side, just barely. No words were said but in that brief moment a conversation seemed to happen. You felt, not saw, when Robby relaxed back into his chair. A truce for now, but it was clear from even the brief moments you shared that Robby was not the type to give up on something easily. He had no way of knowing that it was deeper than just not taking the meds.

Ever since you moved out of that house, it seemed like there were endless little moments where you were undoing the way you were raised. One thing at a time. It was like picking at loose threads in a sweater. One day you’d pull too hard on the wrong string and the thing would unravel. One day you’d have to talk about how you grew up.

One day. Not today.

“What do you do?” You asked Jack.

“Same as Robby, ER attending. I just work nights.” He said. “You from Pittsburgh?”

You shook your head. “Upstate New York. Pittsburgh is a recent development. I graduated college in May, same week my grandfather died. He left me the house.”

“I’m so sorry, kid.” Robby said, sighing a heavy breath.

Again, you shook your head. “Don’t be. He died old and happy, in his sleep. How he wanted to go. He was ready. Always said heaven was probably just gonna be the same as here, only no mortgage.”

“One can only hope,” Robby smiled, but it was tight. “You have siblings?”

“None that I know of,” you joked, relieved to see the tightness leave Robby’s face.

“Well look at us, a crew of only children.” Jack tapped your foot under the table.

You tapped his foot back. “Look at us.”

—

The rest of the brunch was lighter. Robby and Abbot told you about friends and their families. The people of the Pitt. The crew of interns and students they’d adopted over the past year. Abbot grew up outside Allentown, Robby was born and raised in Squirrel Hill here in Pittsburgh. Neither was close with any family that was still alive. Same as you.

“If you ever need anything,” Robby had said while you talked about the joys of moving. “Let us know.”

It meant more to you than he probably realized. It was weird to think about having someone to go to after all the years you had spent without that. Especially someone right across the street. It had been years since you thought of your parents as anything other than bad roommates. Robby and Jack were quick to smile, you noticed. Looked at you when you talked. Paid attention.

They seemed connected to each other in a way you’d never seen before. Spoke in glances, moved like a team without uttering a word. Your parents weren’t soulmates. If you didn’t know better, you might have said you were the baby born to fix the rift that fact left in their marriage. No, you weren’t planned. And you’d grown up knowing that.

But Robby and Jack, they cared for you. After brunch, Robby insisted on getting up to grab your purse himself. He came back with it, plus the container of cookies and an amused look on his face. The container and the three of you had ended up in the living room. Music played from Robby’s record player. Because of course he had one.

Robby waited for you to settle into the armchair caddy-corner to the sofa before he opened the pill bottle and handed you a dose. It could’ve been insulting. But the way he did it, the way his eyes were soft and his shoulders relaxed when you took the pill, you knew it was just him being a mother hen.

You hadn’t meant to, but you started blinking heavier as the conversation went on. The terrible sleep debt you were currently accumulating caught up to you, and you drifted off sitting up in the chair.

Chapter Text

On days where Jack was off and Robby worked, there was a routine. Those days were takeout days. Of the two of them, Robby was the cook. Jack could make the basics, but in truth he was pretty hopeless when it came to cooking. Didn’t really care for it either. Had spent so long looking at food as a way to get fuel that he’d kind of lost interest in cooking as an activity.

Robby closed the door quietly, only putting his bag down and taking off his shoes only after he saw a light turn on in her house.

Jack’s truck wasn’t in the parking spot outside. He was still out getting dinner. Which gave Robby time to shower, get ready, and figure out how he was going to break this news.

And how he would keep Jack from running to her door.

Twenty minutes, one shower, and a change of clothes later Robby was ambling around in the kitchen, waiting. He heard the rumble of Jack’s truck when it pulled in, that ridiculous big thing he’d told Jack wouldn’t make sense to buy and drive in a city. But like always, Jack had his heart set on it and made it work. The time between that noise and Jack’s arrival in the kitchen could have been three seconds or three hours.

He frowned at Robby, setting the bag of Chinese food down on the counter. “What happened, brother?”

“Nothing bad,” Robby started, worrying his necklace between his fingers. “I met her.”

Jack’s countenance faltered, eyebrows raising. “Her, huh?”

“Jack, she’s perfect,” And it all came out then, standing in the kitchen with the food getting cold. The broken arm, the moment of realization, the walk home, his nerves, her nerves. Jack took it all in, holding Robby’s hand in his and just letting him talk.

“We need to go to the grocery store,” is the first thing out of Jack’s mouth when Robby’s words finally skid to a stop. “Can’t feed the kid scraps.”

The incredulous laugh that bubbles out of Robby propels him into Jack’s embrace. “I fucking love you. So much.”

Dinner is a quiet affair after that. Lukewarm beef and broccoli and soggy egg rolls had never tasted so good. Robby catches the way Jack’s eyes flicker to the front window every once in a while, looking toward her house.

When they leave for the store, Robby catches Jack’s gait falter. He’s looking to the living room window of her house, where the shade is drawn but a light is still on. She’s unpacking, by the looks of her silhouette. Jack swings open the driver’s side door and gets in the car. Robby takes his spot in the passenger seat of the truck. Jack’s jaw is clenched and Robby can hear the deliberate slow and measured breathing indicative that Jack is trying not to panic.

“Give me a minute,” he grits out. “Trying not to knock on the door and get this over with.”

Robby knows what he means without him having to say it. It was a fear Jack had shared offhandedly about a year ago, when this actually happening felt like some sort of hazy pipe dream. Sure, Jack and Robby were soulmates. But that didn’t mean they shared the same platonic soulmate. The matching initials on their wrists were pretty damning evidence, sure, but they were science minded people. Correlation did not in fact equal causation. Was she both of their soulmates? Time would tell.

Something in Robby, something deep, unexplainable, felt like he knew. Felt like it just made sense. Like it was right. It was all he could think about since the moment he had touched her arm to check on her I.V. The domestic things, dinner together, helping her fix something in her house. Him and Jack visiting her classroom. Jack showing her their record collection that he was stupidly proud of. It made sense.

“Soulmate or not she’s going to love you. Has to, fate and everything. The rule of the universe, you know.” Robby reassured.

“The rule being that I’m impossible to dislike because I’m too good looking and incredible at everything?” Jack finally cracked a smile.

Robby snorted. “Whatever, Abbot. Drive before we’re those assholes who come in ten minutes to closing.”

—

Jack watched with baited breath as she drifted off.

“How old is she?” He asked. He’d have bothered to whisper, except she’d fallen asleep while him and Robby talked at full volume ten feet away. Exhausted.

Robby threw an arm on the back of the sofa, fiddling with the collar of Jack’s polo. Moving fabric through his index finger and thumb. It was a thing he’d picked up years ago. Robby, he noticed, always liked something to do with his hands. On shift, they were always in his pockets, messing with whatever he’d collected that day. Paper clips, wrappers, a pen. Robby was rarely still. Jack considered it a genuine talent of his.

“Her file said twenty-one. She’ll be twenty-two October fifth.” Robby said.

Jack felt like he was going to throw up. He knew he’d done the math right, but had to ask. “October of ‘01?”

Robby knew what that meant. Jack and his wife were married in August of that year, and her one and only pregnancy ended in a miscarriage that September. Too early for them to tell the gender. His wife hadn’t wanted kids. Jack knew, but married her anyway. Had loved her so much the baby thing didn’t matter to him. But then, she was pregnant and wanted to keep the baby. Jack got excited, she got excited. And then, it hadn’t happened. In the end, they decided against trying to have kids. Discovered infertility on his end.

They considered fertility treatments. It was just the logistics of Jack being deployed, the financial situation, the timing, it just didn’t make sense. But Jack thought about that baby all the time. About what life would have been. Why the universe had chosen a different path. He got it now.

“I always wanted a girl. Knew I obviously couldn’t pick, but a girl always felt right.” Jack sucked in a breath. He took in the sight of the sleeping kid across from him. Hardly a kid, technically, but at his forty-nine Jack understood that her life was only just getting started. Messy hair and features relaxed, face pillowed into the chair in a way that left her neck at an angle that looked terribly uncomfortable. That gaudy rainbow cast. She was just a kid. Theirs?

He thought about the way she’d looked at the table when Robby confronted her about the medication. The flicker of something in her eyes, some realization. There was something there, but what, he couldn’t be sure. She was still a mystery.

Looking her up late last night had yielded very little, but just enough to piece together a story. Two parents with interesting social media presences, her own private social medias, her name the “Our Staff” page for the middle school, a PDF of her graduation ceremony’s program. Jack had found himself incredibly proud reading you’d received honors and a departmental award.

“Did you ever think about being a dad?” Jack asked, settling further into Robby’s side.

Robby’s breath hitched. “All the time. Is that what we are now?”

Maybe? “Fuck, man. I guess she gets to decide that one.”

“I guess that’s fair.” Robby chuckled.

Jack felt Robby’s breath moving his chest up and down. He watched her breathing, the huffs of air moving pieces of hair out and in.

“I love you,” Robby muttered, arm tightening around Jack.

“I love you, Robby. We’ve got this.”

Chapter Text

Your home was never quiet. Silence was off the table, too eerie and anxiety inducing to come home to after a day out or an outing. Your bluetooth speaker was never far from you, always playing some music. You often favored more mellow easy listening, but today the playlist was full of energy. Upbeat after a perfect first week of teaching. It was going to be a good year, you just felt it in our bones. They were good kids. Well, you were of the opinion that all kids were good kids, really, but still. There was something about this class. Beginner's luck, maybe.

The day had ended about an hour ago, but you were just now getting home and settled. Work bag tossed onto a kitchen stool, shoes haphazardly set by the door. Snack plate in one hand, water bottle held in the crook of your elbow, you were about to head to the living room to have a snack and doom scroll a little. Then, the music cut out and the phone rang.

Your mom was calling.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, thumb twitching over the answer button. If you let it go to voicemail, she would just call back later. Which would be worse. The waiting would kill you. This was a call you’d dreaded. Texting, you could do. But over the phone and in person, it was harder to mask your feelings. The relationship you had with your parents had been rocky for a long time. Years of being fundamentally at odds. Parenting choices that left you yearning to be heard, to be embraced. Teenage arguments that shattered the childish love you had for them beyond repair.

You pressed the answer button. You had to.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to call us first every once in a while,” your mom said as soon as you answered. Her tone was light, trying for a mask of humor, but you knew it hid annoyance.

“I know, I’m sorry. Just a busy first week.” You responded, pacing the hallway. “Busier than I expected.”

Your mom made an affirmative noise into the phone. Sharp, insincere. “Sure. Well I’d like to find a week where you can fit us in. Your father and I want to come and visit, see the neighborhood. He and I would like to know our only daughter is safe, living alone in that city the way you are.”

Your jaw twitched. It was just the type of underhanded thing she loved to say. Implying you couldn’t be trusted to keep yourself safe. That you needed them for that.

“I’m safe, mom.” You said, holding back a sigh.

“Fine, fine. God forbid a mother worry for her daughter’s safety in a city like that.”

“Like what, mom?” You snapped before you thought better of it.

Because of course you knew what she meant. You wouldn’t soon forget the conversation that occurred that night in May, the week after your grandfather’s funeral. The will reading had been a few days prior, and the tension that blanketed the house was thick and heavy. He was your paternal grandfather. Being his only child, your father had assumed the reading was a formality, had griped about it all of the morning prior.

And then to everyone’s surprise, especially your own, you’d been left half his money and his house. The town house in Pittsburg; the beautiful, colorful, warm home you’d grown up visiting on holidays and over long weekends. Telling your parents that you’d be moving in there and taking a teaching job at the middle school, it was like you’d told them something world shattering and terrible. How unsafe it was in cities, how ridiculous to bet it all on a career as a teacher. You’d better be sure you’re not part of that indoctrination going on in schools. And how could you leave them alone here, were you going to come back when they needed care?

It was awful. The things they said were terrible, wrong. You supposed you’d always known how bad it had gotten, how much your parents had fallen for. But to see it directed at you with such intensity again, about something you knew was right for you, it hurt. It was the moment you knew you had to get out. To not look back.

How you lasted three more months there in that house, you didn’t know.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You just can’t say anything these days.” She groaned.

In the silence, you heard your dad coughing from the other room. Less of a cough, more of a hacking noise. Sick again.

“Is dad okay?” You asked, pacing up and down the hallway again.

Across the way, you saw the curtains open in Jack and Robby’s living room. Jack was up, then, probably. You wondered what he was doing to get ready for his shift tonight. How his work had been.

Your mother interrupted your thoughts. “Just a cold. He’s recovering, letting his body do what it needs to do.”

Translation: he didn’t go to the doctor and wasn’t planning to. Typical. You didn’t bother arguing the point. They weren’t going to change. To them, doctors were crooks making money off of insurance payouts. The body didn’t need help doing what it was designed to do.

“Speaking of, how’s that broken arm?” Your mom asked, changing the topic. Thank god.

“Better. No pain anymore, just a waiting game to get this cast off. Itches like hell.” You said.

There hadn’t been as many problems with it as you’d expected. The walk to work was a little on the long side but the weather was nice enough for it. You’d discovered that your students absolutely loved writing on the board for you, fighting over the coveted scribe position at the beginning of each class.

Robby and Jack asked about it when they texted you. It ached to think about them, about the secret you’d been keeping from your parents. It would come out eventually. Sooner rather than later, if they intended to visit.

Was it better to rip the bandaid off?

“I bet,” Your mom laughed, the first real one you’d heard this call. “What else is going on with you, anything exciting?”

You hesitated. “No,”

“You know I raised you, right? I can hear a lie over the phone.” She said.

“Mom, I met them. My soulmates.”

The silence over the phone stretched long.

“Oh.”

“They’re both doctors at the hospital I went to after I broke my arm,” You started, hearing her shuffling over the phone. It sounded like she was sitting down. Your dad coughed, closer this time. She was sitting with him. Probably had you on speaker.

No response.

You kept going. “Him and his husband live just across the street. They invited me to brunch,”

Your father barked a mean laugh, one that morphed into a cough.

“What?”

“Just funny,” he gruffly answered. You could see the face he was making like it was inked into your memory. An eye roll, pursed lips. “You would be soulmates with a couple of those kinds of guys. And I mean, how old are they? Little weird that they’re destined for you.”

He was mocking you. For how you’d fought back against the homophobia he’d touted your whole childhood. Mocking Robby and Jack. Mocking soulmates. He had always been bitter about never meeting his. Privately you thought it was better that way. Save that poor person the trouble. He projected that anger everywhere he could. You were done with it. Done with the projection, the disgusting implications he was making.

“You know what,” You started. “That’s disgusting. You won’t talk about them that way. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you really believe in all that crap?” He asked. You couldn’t even be sure what ‘crap’ he was referring to. It didn’t matter.

Your anger was hot. You’d spent a lifetime being spoken down to, defending yourself and imaginary people against the onslaught of offensive comments your father had thrown out. But you were not interested in that anymore. You weren’t under their roof. You were under your own.

“I do, and I am not sorry.” You wanted to throw your phone when both of your parents sighed into it heavily. Like you were a little kid.

“We just want what’s best for you, you have to understand that.” Your mother interjected, her tone patronizing.

No. No, you didn’t understand.

Emboldened by the distance, you snapped back. “I don’t think you do. I don’t think you have ever once done what’s best for me. This isn’t right. This isn’t how parents treat their children.”

Your mother scoffed. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to lecture us about parenting.”

“I think it’s perfectly appropriate, actually.”

Your father’s laugh was low, mean. Subdued. “I see what’s going on. You get one week of attention from those guys and now you think we’re just the garbage under your shoe. They aren’t your parents, you know.”

“I–” You started to say no, started to argue, but you couldn’t. “I didn’t want to turn this into an argument.”

“What do you want me to say about this?” Your father scoffed.

“Congratulations would be nice.” You swallowed, the lump in your throat rising. Tears were hot against your eyes, threatening to spill.

The long silence after you spoke told you everything you needed to know.

“Okay.” You said, and you hung up the phone.

The cheery, high energy music you’d been listening to un-paused when the phone call ended. It felt wrong now. So, you paused it. But the silence hung heavy. Felt worse. Discomfort crawled below your skin, the leftover anxiety itching to get out. Your tears finally fell in defeated slow lines, not fully crying. Just letting the moment go.

You got the feeling that you had crossed a point of no return, and there wasn’t really any relief in that. Just emptiness. You didn’t regret it. Not for a second. Robby and Jack were worth defending.

But your father’s words were persistent in your head.

They aren’t your parents.

Did they want to be? Or were you just this new piece of the puzzle they had to put in, a new neighbor they’d have brunch with every few weeks. They had both been texting you all week, you’d been getting to know each other. Be friendly. Was that all they wanted? They had each other already. One soulmate pairing. Did they need to put that much energy into their second one?

Agitated by the sunny weather, you drew your curtains and went upstairs to change and wash your face. Throwing your outfit into the hamper, you grabbed shorts and a big t-shirt. Downstairs again, the snack plate looked entirely unappetizing. You set it in the fridge for later and headed for the couch, speaker in hand. Sleep sounded really good right now. Getting the hell out of your own head. You fell asleep to the quiet acoustic playlist, curled up into the corner of the couch.

——

When you woke up, it was to knocking at your door. Still half asleep, you untangled yourself from the throw blanket and stumbled to check the peephole. Robby was there, a container of something in his hand. He had a puzzled look on his face, tapping his foot while he waited. He had totally heard you get up, and your car was out front. You definitely had to open the door. Running your hands over your hair to fix it, you adjusted your outfit to look a little less like you had literally just woken up.

The wrinkles by his eyes smoothed out when you opened the door, but they came back when you met his eyes. He looked more relaxed tonight than you’d seen yet, in a faded gray New Orleans shirt and sweats. You glanced at the clock in your living room. 8:16. He’d gotten home from his shift a little while ago. And came to see you.

“Hey, kid.” He raised the container. “Brought dinner, if you’re not busy?”

He knew very well you were not.

“No, not busy.” You said, moving to the side to let him in and lead him to the kitchen. “Just, probably not the best conversationalist right now.”

Robby set down the container on the kitchen island and turned to face you. “Are you in any pain? Feeling sick? Here, let me—”

It was like you had flipped a switch. The shift pulled an actual laugh from you.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, making deliberate eye contact with the container and not Robby. It looked like some kind of pasta dish. “Really, I am.”

Robby looked unconvinced by you. You saw in his eyes the way he was searching for something. A facial expression, a diagnosis maybe. Maybe he would wait, let you have a while before he brought it up. It would be merciful. You busied yourself by refolding the dish towels hanging from the oven door.

“I don’t believe you.”

Okay, so no mercy then.

The energy in the kitchen went from wary to freezing. He probably didn’t want to play this game. You were going to have to give something away. But when you looked up from the silverware and met his eyes, he wasn’t mad. He was biting the inside of his cheek, arms crossed and one hand worrying with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’m not sick,” you offered. “Just not having the best day.”

Robby’s hand stopped fiddling with his sleeve. “No pain?”

“No pain.” You confirmed. Not in your arm anyway. “I’m just lousy company right now, I think. Don’t feel like you have to stay.”

Your eyes stung with old tears, your shoulders were sore from the way you’d slept, tensed up and twisted on the couch. Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, the ends of your breaths shuddered on their way in and out. He needed to leave before he saw you actually freak out.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Robby responded, moving from his place across the island to meet you where you were. “Do you want a hug?”

You hesitated. But he offered. He had to mean it. And you really fucking needed a hug. “Yeah.”

Robby didn’t wait. His arms were around you in a second. Warm, weighted. Your face was pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing rhythmic against your cheek. A hand came up to rest on your head, brushing your hair back. The tears came as no surprise, spilling out between quiet sobs you tried to keep in.

“Oh, kid,” Robby whispered. “What happened?”

What were he and Jack going to think of you when they found out? If you waited longer, they might think of you more as your own person. They would know you outside of being an extension of your parents. You understood that Jack and Robby had never and hopefully would never meet them, but you wondered what that might be like for them. For two doctors to be matched up with a child of anti-science, anti-medicine people. What that would feel like. Every nerve in your body was telling you to pull away, shut the topic down. But the part of our brain that said to stay, to confess; little as it was, it won out.

You craved a parental connection after so long without it. You’d had a taste of it now. You wanted the whole thing. Wanted it with Robby and Jack.

“I told my parents about meeting you. Both of you.”

Robby’s hand stilled over your hair. “Yeah?”

“They were,” you took a breath, trying to figure out how to say it. “Mean. They’re mean people.”

You felt Robby’s sigh, the way it concaved his chest and blew air against your hair. He pulled back to look at you. You looked back at the deep frown and earnest eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay.” He looked like he wanted to fight you on that, but you interrupted him before he could. “No, it is. I promise. I haven’t needed their approval in a long time, and I don’t want it anymore.”

You let yourself think about a life without them, and for the first time, it wasn’t terrifying. Or alone. It sounded free. Fun.

“Okay.” He nodded, stepping back. You missed the feeling as soon as he was gone. “You want to talk about it more, or eat?”

“Eat.” You said decisively, and Robby smiled. “I don’t, it’s a long story. I don’t want to get into it without Jack here.”

Robby took a spoon from the open utensil drawer and started to serve both of you. “No problem. Don’t be surprised if he calls tonight, he saw you close your blinds earlier and got a bad feeling about it. Texted me when I was on shift.”

That explains the unplanned visit on a Friday night. You joked, “He snitched?”

“Oh, he worries. Let him worry, it’s easier for all of us.” Robby handed you the pasta, still steaming.

“Noted.” You thanked him, and he accepted the water you handed him. Your house didn’t have a dining room like theirs, so you sat down together at the breakfast bar. Music filtered in from the living room to fill the silence between the two of you.

The pasta was either really fucking good or you’re really hungry. Probably both. You last ate around noon and it was barely a meal. A granola bar and a bag of grapes scarfed down before an IEP meeting you decided to schedule during your lunch period for some reason. So, that was your own fault. Forks clinking on the plate was the only sound that interrupted the companionable quiet until Robby spoke.

“Jack and I never talked about you before this.” He admitted, cringing as soon as he realized that it hadn’t come out the way he wanted.

“Okay?” You would have been offended if Robby wasn’t bright tomato red and visibly calculating what he could say to clarify his point. You let him take a second, no clue where he was headed with that.

“We didn’t want to speculate, to get an idea in our heads.” He turned his knees towards you, much the same way he had at brunch a week ago. Giving you his full attention. “I’m trying to say that we have no expectations for you. We’re happy to be whatever you need.”

Whatever you need. The thought was wildly overwhelming, and in theory you know what that means. But practically? The possibilities wrapped up in that statement are mind boggling. What do you say to that?

Turns out you don’t have to say anything. Robby’s phone rings from his pocket, interrupting the moment.

“That’ll be Jack,” he says, a soft smile coming to his face. “Knew he’d call the second rounds were over.”

Jack doesn’t wait to be greeted. His voice was steady over the phone, precise, determined. “Rob? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s okay.” Robby confirms. “You’re on speaker, brother.”

You hear his exhale over the phone, and his voice comes out softer. “Hey, rockstar. How’re we doing?”

“Doing good,” you respond simply. “How’s work?”

Because, really, despite the terrible afternoon and the definite implications of that phone call, you were okay. Not great, not awful. But you had people now. People who seemed to actually want to be there with you. For you. However you need.

Jack laughed into the phone. “Work’s fine. Did you have a good day?”

It was your turn to laugh. “Oh, it kind of sucked.”

“We thinking about elaborating?” Jack asked.

Robby leaned his elbows on the counter and looked to you, furrowing his brows.

“We are not.” You said, not willing to get into it with him being at work. He made an affirmative sound, but clearly no less concerned than when he first called. You offered a compromise. “Maybe tomorrow if you’re free? I’ve never been to a farmer’s market, we could go?”

“Of course we can, kid.” Jack agreed, voice less tight. Lighter. You looked to Robby, who nodded his agreement.

“Dr. Abbot?” You heard someone call through the phone.

Jack sighed, and you heard his footsteps echo as he headed toward the voice. “On my way, Shen. Bye, you two. Kid, watch out for Robby for me?”

“You got it,” You smiled.

“Oh, get back to work Dr. Abbot.” Robby teased.

“On it.” He hung up.

It was surely going to be a big conversation tomorrow. One that involved you getting into all the nitty-gritty details of how you were raised. What this thing between the three of you could be. It wouldn’t be easy. It would be okay. Had to be, you guessed, since fate wouldn’t have set up a soulmate match doomed to fail. Built in safety net. The conversation would probably really, really suck. But it could be done.

Robby threw an arm around your shoulders.

“No expectations.” He repeated. “You couldn’t scare us away if you tried.”

“No expectations.” You echoed, leaning into his side.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning found you packing a last minute tote bag for the farmer’s market trip. You were normally the type to always have a bag, but in the move you’d shoved your box of clothes-adjacent-things (accessories, hats, bags) into the closet for later you to figure out and you had totally forgotten about it. So this morning you’d dug through the box randomly for the first tote bag you could grab, thrown it down the stairs for later, and started to get ready. Which had taken a few extra minutes considering your best friend had finally gotten time to call you instead of trading insane texts, and it was hard to focus on picking an outfit with their excited screams invading your eardrums.

So, here you were finding and shoving everything into the bag: sunglasses, lip balm, your water, wallet, a hat, tissues, mints, lotion, and sunblock (you never know and you refuse to be sunburned). Scanning the bag, you decided that everything was there. The doorbell rang then. Checking the time, it was noon exactly. Right at the time Jack and Robby proposed for the outing. You threw the bag over your shoulder, tucked your phone your pocket, and slipped on shoes.

When you opened the door, Jack was there, looking mildly sheepish. He was dressed plainly, black shirt and beige cargos. Looking surprisingly well rested for a man you knew got back from work three hours ago.

“Hey.” Was all he said. He didn’t need to say anything more. Your heart ached in your chest. After talking on the phone last night, you hadn’t spoken but had woken up to a text sent in the middle of the night. Three twenty two. Likely at his break.

Robby told me about your day. I second him, no expectations. Don’t worry too much about that talk. Hope you don’t see this until the morning because you’re asleep. - Jack

He signed his texts. Because of course he did.

“Hey,” you said back, accepting the elbow he offered you and linking your arms.

Jack moved aside to give you space to come out, and you managed to close and lock your door behind you one handed. Feeling his eyes on you, you moved to head across the street to his truck. Jack had a bit of a staring problem, you were gathering. Probably best to get used to it. Robby leaned against the truck casually, in matching cargos but a light linen button up.

“Morning,” Robby greeted, opening the truck’s door for you.

“Pretty gentlemanly start to the morning, just for a trip to the farmer’s market.” You joked, getting into the car, adding, “Thank you.”

Jack snorted, getting into the driver’s seat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

And you were off. The radio played what could only be described as divorced dad rock, and Robby tapped along on the center console. Robby and Jack traded HIPAA compliant conversation about his shift, you listened. Watching Jack flawlessly parallel park the truck was an insane experience. You were no stranger to driving trucks, having learned to drive in your dad’s big red Ford. Experience alone told you how wildly impressive parallel parking one in one shot was.

The market was busy, vendors on both sides settled under pop up canopies lining the street. The three of you start to walk, perusing the stands. Here, it’s mostly produce. Up ahead it looks to turn into food, then things like art, trinkets, and clothes.

“Do you guys come here a lot?” You ask, looking at all the fruit in front of you.

Jack shakes his head. “Not enough. One of us is usually working Saturdays. Got lucky this week, Robby’s on Monday instead of today.”

You nodded. Labor Day. The school system had it off, but of course doctors didn’t get that luxury. Your eyes scanned the stall again and stopped on the biggest apple you had ever seen. Bright pink and thick skinned, it looked both really delicious and kind of hilarious. You had to have it.

“How many doctors do you think this thing can keep away?”

“That was terrible.” Jack rolled his eyes, badly hiding his amusement.

Robby pursed his lips to hide a grin. “At least two if you keep making corny jokes.”

“Works for me,” you responded, handing the vendor cash and thanking her. “One of my college friends taught me a recipe for apple cake that would be perfect for using this.”

Jack got an excited glint in his eye. “You bake a lot?”

“More of a stress baker,” you said. “Lucky for you, I’m pretty much always stressed.”

The trip continued much of the same way, easy conversation traded as you, Robby, and Jack walked. Mostly, the three of you window shopped. Robby bought a bag of fancy coffee beans that you happily stowed away in your bag. He owed the PTMC charge nurse Dana after losing a bet. Jack insisted on buying you and Robby a bar each of handmade soap he’d caught both of you looking at.

You took in Robby and Jack together as you walked. They had this push and pull, a banter with an undeniable undercurrent of love. Battle tested, it seemed, considering the wild stories about the Pitt you’d heard today alone. Neither was super outgoing or grand in their affection, brushing pinky fingers and trading little smiles that quirked up the side of their mouths. It was a clearly comfortable, settled into love. A far cry from the love you were used to seeing.

Robby had been regaling you with a story about the time Jack perfectly predicted the number of cooking related injuries that came in on the day weed was legalized in Pennsylvania, when he was interrupted by a shout of “Miss!” from several feet away. Running out from behind a booth came one of your students. As he got closer, you saw the messy hair and rounded glasses of one of your sixth graders. Racking your brain, you came up with the name.

“Danny, hi!” You greeted, leading him back over to the side of the street and closer to the booth he’d run from. Robby and Jack followed. “Where’s your grandma?”

He rolled his eyes and pointed to an older woman wearing colorful jewelry and a flowy dress talking to the stand’s vendor. “This is her friend’s booth. They have been talking forever.”

“Yeah, I used to hate when adults did that,” you commiserated. “Are you having a good weekend so far though?”

Danny nodded, hair bouncing every which direction. “My grandma made sure I finished the All Summer in a Day reading. Kind of hated it. No offense.”

“You know what, that’s okay. Maybe you’ll like the next one.” You cracked a smile. Robby and Jack laughed from behind you.

Danny’s attention was suddenly on the two of them, laser focusing. “Who are you guys?”

Loaded question, that was.

“Nice to meet you too, Danny.” Jack snorted, responding good naturedly.

“This is Jack and Robby.” You introduced. “My platonic soulmates. Jack and Robby, this is Danny, my student.”

“Oh, sick! Are they like, friends? They weren’t in your get to know me slideshow though.” Danny said, frowning.

“Well, we only met last week. I didn’t have time to fix the slideshow.” You explained, internally cringing. Friends. “You remember that lesson from last year about soulmates, right? Platonic soulmates can kind of decide for themselves what they get to be. We’re, well, we’re figuring that out.”

“Oh,” Danny nodded and stood up straighter, saddled up to Robby, and stuck his hand out. Robby took it in stride, his big hand dwarfing Danny’s in the handshake. Jack shook Danny’s hand as well. The two were barely holding back mirthful smiles. “You better be cool.”

You nodded, stepping back to be between Jack and Robby. “They’re super cool.”

Danny’s grandma called to him then, and you waved goodbye as he ran off and followed her the other direction.

When you looked back at Robby there was a fondness in his smile, his crows feet becoming pronounced. “Well,’

“Oh, we totally just got the shovel talk from a ten year old.” Jack smirked.

“He’s twelve and you should be glad he didn’t hear you say that,” you joked, bumping shoulders with him.

You continued your walk, enjoying the sun and the gentle breeze. Near the end of the market, a small booth was erected. Just a table and some clearly homemade flyers and a case of essential oils. You read the flyers as you passed, rolling your eyes. Typical pyramid scheme like marketing. Anti-medicine bullshit about the power of natural healing. The woman sitting behind it was close enough to hear your scoff. From the corner of your eye, you saw how Robby and Jack nodded in agreement.

“Ridiculous,” you muttered as you turned onto the small side street leading away from the market. “Sorry, just can’t stand those types of people. Heard way too much of it growing up.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.” Jack said, squinting to adjust to the sun.

It was brighter here, less coverage and this street faced the sun straight on. Robby slipped on his sunglasses, and you rattled around in your bag for a pair. They had to be in here, you’d thrown like three in while getting ready this morning.

Making decisions was never your forte.

“Oh, here!” You exclaimed, pulling out two of the sunglasses. One was a simple pair of aviators, a birthday gift from your best friend. The other, big black frames with little glitter dots. They were a little gaudy but ultimately your favorites. They’d been two dollars at the store, and were big enough that you didn’t have to worry about the sun still bothering your eyes.

You handed Jack the aviators.

“Hey, who said I wanted these?” He deadpanned. “Thanks, kid.”

“Do you normally carry a Mary Poppins bag everywhere?” Robby smiled, head gesturing to the tote you had basically ransacked in pursuit of the sunglasses.

You nodded. “Can never be too prepared. I apply that philosophy everywhere: tote bags, lesson plans, vaccines.”

“When did you get vaccinated?” Robby asked, turning the corner and leading you across the street. He and Jack had asked yesterday if you wanted to get takeout from a favorite place of theirs and eat at a park nearby. Jack had ordered it a little while ago, so it would be ready for pickup when you got there.

“Oh, I let them vaccinate me for anything and everything as soon as I was allowed to make that decision. I am religious about flu shots. I aspire to be so vaccinated that the germs are afraid of me.” You said.

Robby huffed a laugh. “We should all be so lucky.”

—

You had managed to hold off the bulk of your anxiety by distracting yourself with the business of the farmer’s market. But now, settling down to eat lunch, it was coming back with a vengeance. Sandwiches and salads from the restaurant Robby loved. It wasn’t like there were secrets you were hiding. Robby and Jack knew what the story was with your parents. Yeah, it might suck to go into it. But that wasn’t a huge deal.

Not compared to the other part of the conversation. Soulmate bonds were just the beginning. Fated connections. Connections that reflected what was missing in the other person’s life. It was up to the soulmates to figure out what that meant. More than that, what was wanted. What Robby and Jack wanted.

It burst out of you in the least sophisticated way possible. Fork still in hand, piece of lettuce still speared. Jack and Robby mid-bite.

“I’m never talking to my parents again. Not if I can help it.”

Jack and Robby froze.

Jack recovered first, setting his food down. He shifted, body facing you fully, shoulders open. “That a good or bad thing?”

In your heart, you knew the answer. The thing was, now that you opened the floodgates, it was all coming out. Except, you hadn’t planned what to say. Every time you thought about it, it freaked you out too much, and you shut out any idea of a plan for this conversation.

So, here you were, winging it.

“Good.” You decided. “But I don’t, you don’t have to be, to say that you might want to fill that role. I’m only saying that, I’m just saying I–”

The touch on your arm wasn’t feather light or delicate. It was firm in the way it grounded you, redirected your gaze from the grass by your feet to Jack’s face. To kind eyes, furrowed brows, and a knowing smile.

“Breathe, kid.” He waited, keeping his hand on your forearm. You took a breath, then another, the second one much less shaky than the first.

His hand came off, under it the two inky black initials still sat on your forearm. You were still so used to the murky gray color they had been for all your life. R. J. It was a wonder you’d never considered that the two of them would be doctors based on penmanship alone. The scrawled handwriting on your wrist was an indication that perhaps they were fated for their work in a similar way as you were all fated for each other.

One more deep breath. “I’m trying to say I don’t need parents.”

You noticed that Robby’s hand had made its way into Jack’s at some point. His thumb was fidgeting across the back of Jack’s. His linen shirt moved with his breath, light fabric fluttering over his chest. When you met his eyes, it was like that first time in the hospital. Like you were being seen, really seen, for the first time. He ran his other hand across his neck.

“But do you want them?”

“What?” You asked, short circuiting.

“Would you want that? With us?” Robby asked again, feather light.

If not for the little breeze sweeping over the park, you would have thought time stopped. It was one thing to perseverate on the idea of being wanted, to hope, to wish for something so hard. It was another to have it right in front of you. Within reach. The way he’d asked was so soft. So quiet. Trepidation. No force. But assured, he was sure of his ask. Confident.

You laughed. It bubbled out of you almost against your will, relief and joy and the insane realization that your life had changed in some unbelievable, priceless way. Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision before you wiped them away with the heels of your hands.

“Holy shit,” you said with a hitch of your breath.

Jack grinned back at you, a lopsided thing with glee behind it. “That a yes?”

“Yes,” you caught your breath.

It was like Robby had been waiting for the word. He was out of his seat and swiping you into a bear hug in a second. “Thank you, honey.”

“Don’t thank me.” You shook your head as best you could with your head tucked against his chest.

“Thank you, kid.” Jack said, laying a hand on your shoulder.

“You really don’t need to thank me,” you protested, turning to meet his gaze. “I’m pretty sure this is the coolest day of my life.”

“That makes three of us.”

Chapter Text

The first bang happened a little after eight.

“Are we serious?” You groaned, putting the last dish away from dinner. You’d had a relaxing day, doing a whole lot of nothing. Especially boring since Robby was working and Jack was likely sleeping, so you hadn’t texted either of them.

Fireworks. By the sound of it, they were coming from the park by the hospital. Now, you weren’t anti-celebration, but to you, fireworks were a distinctly Fourth of July activity. Another loud burst of fireworks went off, hopefully signaling it was getting close to the end. Between bursts, your phone went off. The sound of the ringtone echoed throughout the kitchen from the counter where you’d left your phone.

Robby. You picked up.

“Hey, how was work?” You asked. He’d be getting home right about now from his shift.

“Still there, big MVA on the highway came in right at seven.” He answered, sounding harried. You could hear his breathing over the phone, shallow, fast. “Listen, honey, I need your help. It’s Jack.”

“Yeah, of course,” you shot toward the door, already slipping on shoes.

“He sent a text a few minutes ago, and I think something’s wrong. Can you hear the fireworks from there?”

The fucking fireworks. Fireworks on Labor Day. Of course.

“What's happening? Is it a PTSD episode, a panic attack?” You asked, locking your door behind you.

You knew, of course, that Jack had served. It wasn’t hidden. There were a few photos on the walls of their home of people in uniform, he alluded to his service occasionally. But he didn’t seem to want to dwell on it. So you didn’t either. It was his story to tell however he chose. You assumed it was how he’d lost his leg, but didn’t know for sure.

“I can’t tell. He’s not answering my calls either.” Robby sighed. “Would you check on him? I can’t leave yet. I’m sorry to—”

You cut him off. “Don’t apologize. Please. I’m already at your door. Is it unlocked?”

“Should be.” Robby said. On the other end of the line there was an influx of movement and noise. Someone called for Robby. “Good luck, kid.”

“We’ll be fine, I promise. I’ve got fate, so that should help.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood. You'd yet to hear Robby worried like this.

You opened the unlocked door, scanning the first floor for any signs of Jack.

Robby huffed a dry laugh. “That was ridiculous. Call me if you need me, I'm leaving the ringer on.”

Then he hung up. And you were left in the silence of their home.

No sign of Jack on the first floor. As you climbed the stairs, you thought maybe sneaking up on a veteran who was panicking was not a bright idea.

“Jack?” You called, loud enough to be heard without being too sharp. The two bedrooms to the left were untouched and empty, as was the bathroom connecting the two. “Jack?”

You found him in the bedroom to the right of the stairs.

He sat on the made bed, rigid back leaned against the headboard. His sweatshirt has been thrown off, laying haphazardly on top of a set of crutches on the floor. He was in just a pair of athletic shorts and a cutoff shirt, prosthesis off. His chest was flushed red, rising up and down with labored breaths you could tell were forced. In and out. Intentionally rhythmic. You worried for a moment that he hadn't heard you coming, but when your gaze met his face, his eyes were wide open.

“Hi, Jack.” You greeted simply, heading to sit on the foot of the bed. Cross-legged so you could face him straight on.

He seemed to be looking right through you when he answered. “What are you doing here, kid?”

“Robby’s going to be late. MVA happened right before he was going to leave.”

Jack laughed, low and breathy, incredulous. “Ironic.”

Ironic? What did that mean? Your mind raced with all of the possibilities, connecting Robby’s reason for being late to the way Jack was presenting. And you didn’t like any of what you came up with.

Seeing him now, it occurred to you that Jack was something of a beautiful mystery. The way he walked through life, it seemed there was always something going on behind the scenes. Something he wasn’t saying, a feeling he wasn’t sharing. It wasn’t malicious, he wasn’t hiding anything. He was being careful. You knew Jack well enough now to say that you had met him, knew him. But this was another part of Jack, another version he was sharing.

Another firework went off outside of the window. Too loud not to be the end. Jack’s jaw twitched to the left, flinching with the noise. Your eyes trailed to the bedside table, drawer thrown open. A pair of noise cancelling headphones sat on piles of books and packets. Medical journals. You felt his eyes on you, tracing their path to the drawer.

“I tried them.” He frowns, hands clasped tight in his lap. “It sounds worse muffled. Too close to the real thing.”

The real thing?

Jack sighed, readjusting himself to lean back more comfortably. “Sit next to me before I start feeling like I’m getting deposed.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Jack, that’s your–” You tried to protest, getting cut off.

He gestured to the seat beside him at the head of the bed. So, you moved. Not going to argue with a man who clearly knew what he wanted. The way his arm landed decisively across your shoulders and pulled you into his side said a lot more than any words could.

Minutes passed with just the rhythmic sound of Jack’s breathing filling the space. His side was clammy against your arm, betraying even further what had happened before you showed up. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. You found yourself matching him. In. Pause. Out. Repeat.

“We were off base, in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even remember why. But the car starts making some weird noise. So we stop, I get out to look at it. And I got shot at, got me in the leg a few too many times and grazed my side. Some young guy hiding behind a bush. God,” He shook his head. “So young. So sure of himself.”

“It’s been thirty years. Can’t remember anything about that day or the whole month after, but I remember that kid.” Jack said.

The silence hung heavy after that for a while, just the two of you sitting in it. You didn’t say anything. It didn’t feel like anything you could say in words would be right. So, you leaned into the arm around you, laying your head against his shoulder. His hand tremored under yours when you reached for it. Flipping his hand over, he grabbed yours back. Held it delicately as tremors came and went.

Jack abruptly laughed. “Oh, my therapist is going to love this.”

“Yeah?”

“Been talking about this exact moment since I started seeing him.” Jack joked, “I think he was getting bored of hearing the same thing every week.”

It was an indescribable feeling, the knowledge that you’d lived in his head the same way him and Robby lived in yours. Some amorphous thing, pure anticipation and anxiety. You used to spend hours just laying in bed with headphones over your ears, music drowning out your parents voices and the sound of news anchors pouting propaganda; imagining all the ways you’d meet your soulmates. All the people they could be.

In some ways, your parents' story made it easier. You’d seen just how bad it was not to know your soulmates, to live without them. It never really mattered to you who they were. Just that one day you were determined to know them. And now you did.

“Thank you.” You finally said.

Jack leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. You felt him smile. “For what?”

“Telling me, letting me be here with you. Being you. I don’t even know.”

He held you against him tighter. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too,” You whispered, holding tight to his hand.

—

You woke to quiet voices and warmness around you, no idea how long you’d been out. Jack’s chest rumbled softly beneath you, speaking to someone. Robby, by the sound of it.

You kept your eyes closed anyway, not wanting to be faced with conversation just yet. You were much too comfortable, too tempted by the allure of another few minutes of sleep, to give up a few extra minutes of peace. It took a few minutes to fully wake up and orient yourself, figuring you can’t just sleep in their bed for the whole night.

“Maybe ortho could get her in?” you heard Jack ask Robby, feeling the back and forth motion of his hand against your upper arm.

“Get me in for what?” You asked, finally managing to wrench your heavy eyes open and face the bright lamp light in the room.

Robby sat on the edge of the bed by Jack’s knees. Out of his work clothes and in pajamas, glasses sat on his nose, he looked bone deep tired. And yet, he’d still perked up when you spoke.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Robby greeted when you sat up. “That cast will probably need to come off in a few weeks. Ortho owes me a favor, so they can probably get you in over lunch soon.”

“Thank god,” you nodded. That thing was becoming such an itchy nuisance. And as much as you truly loved the ugly ass tie-dye pattern, it really didn’t go with any outfit either.

You noticed the balloon then. Well, balloons, plural, actually. Behind Robby, a pink and gold bunch of balloons was nestled into the ceiling in the corner. Upon further inspection, the pink balloons had ‘It’s a girl!’ printed in bulky gold cursive.

You must have made more of a face than you thought, because Jack was already laughing before Robby could explain.

“Hospital gossip mill worked fast.” He said, pulling up a picture on his phone. “Got surprised by all this at the nurse’s station.”

The station was covered in gaudy pink and gold streamers, the balloons anchored to the counter with one of those shiny weights covered in plastic. There were cupcakes and coffees. You recognized a lot of the faces, people Jack and Robby talked about often. It felt good to know you were successfully putting names to faces, getting the hang of their lives. Robby stood off to the side, bright red, reluctantly allowing Trinity to put a bright pink party hat on him.

It was sweet. How excited everyone at the Pitt was for Robby. He’d waited a long time for his soulmates. He and Jack hadn’t met until Jack started at the Pitt eleven years ago. And now you.

“Did you keep the hat?”

“Took it off before my next patient. Wasn’t the right energy for a torn ACL.” He joked.

You shook your head. “That’s a shame, it looked perfect with your outfit.”

“I keep telling him, pink is his color.” Jack joined in.

“You two are trouble.” Robby rolled his eyes and laughed, crows feet becoming pronounced. He looked to you, “I’m guessing you want the matching shirts Princess insisted I take home?”

“Hell yes!”