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APARTMENT SEVENTEEN — Pt. 10 [ FINALE ]

SUMMARY: Jack Abbot was a creature of habit. Structure and routine were infused within the very makings of him, written in bloodwork and DNA if anyone looked close enough. But that was before he met you and Phoebe. Before he fell hopelessly and irrevocably in love with the chaotic girls in apartment seventeen.

WARNINGS: lots to get through; mentions of Tom x Kirsty and abusive and narcissistic tendencies, Phoebe feeling confused and lost in her head and heart, Jack being promoted to Uncle Jack, heavy discussion of readers late fiance and Jack's late wife, talks about parent abandonment, disgusting fluff, minor child injury, inaccurate medical terminology (lol), the pitt teasing Jack, swearing, flirting, kissing, mentions of smut, this is truly quite angsty so may I recommend having some tissues for the final part, just in case.

A/N: I would just like to take a moment to thank every single one of my lovely readers for giving this story a chance and sticking with it to the very end. I am so incredibly sad that this series is now complete and I cannot thank you all enough for the love and support you've given me and this story!! There is a lot to unpack in this final chapter, a very big deep conversation that may make you feel some type of way so just be prepared! I also highly recommend listening to Wait by M83 on repeat when you get to the balcony scene!

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader

WORD COUNT: 13.4k

PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Maybe Jack is a little out of his element, but he tries not to let it show.

Tries to ignore the blatant ogling of moms on the playground and the whispered names of yours and his that pass through gossiping lips.

Jack reminds himself that this was his idea, that you didn’t exactly force school pick up upon him. Still, this feels entirely more daunting than a shift at PTMC, which he really needs to be getting ready for soon.

It isn’t the first time he’s offered to pick Pheebs up from her school, but it is the first time he’s done it alone.

Over the past two months, his presence at the school doors has become much more consistent. In the mornings—if he hasn’t just got back from a night shift—Jack will join you for drop-off before taking you out for breakfast and coffee. And in the afternoons, no matter if Jack has work in a few hours or not, he’s made a habit of joining you on pick-up, too.

The addition of his presence in both the playground and Phoebe’s life has been profoundly noticed by everyone. So much so, that his name has been added to Pheebs’ authorized pick-up list and he’s been invited to speak with her class about what it’s like to be a doctor next Tuesday.

The doors to Phoebe’s class open before Jack can be subjected to any unwarranted approaches, and it barely takes a moment for him to spot Pheebs in the line of kids. It takes her even less time to spot him, to tug on Ms. Melia’s hand and point to where he stands.

He offers a small wave and Ms. Melia doesn’t wait to send Pheebs off to him.

She races over faster than he’s ever seen her move, riddled with unkept excitement and rambling at the speed of light about her day. She mentions about twelve times that she’s sad Florence was sick and couldn't come in before he even gets her to the car.

It’s only when Pheebs is strapped into her seat and Jack’s phone is connecting to the CarPlay that she seems to realize that she’s missing a parent, and her recap of the day's events comes to a halt.

“Where’s Mommy?” Jack’s gaze meets hers through the rearview mirror.

It was entirely unexpected when Kirsty had arrived at your apartment just an hour before Pheebs was due to be picked up from school. You and Jack were in the middle of some very exciting bedroom activities when the persistent ringing of your doorbell cut through the moment, and you found Kirsty sobbing at your front door.

How she found your address, neither of you are quite sure. But you ushered her inside with a steaming mug of tea and listened when she sobbed and poured her heart out about Tom and the irrevocable damage he’s done to her mental and emotional health.

Ten minutes before pick-up time, she was still crying on the couch and Jack did not have the heart to interrupt her. He also did not have the stomach to sit and listen to all the cruel things Tom has said and done to the young woman. It hit too close to home, made him wonder if they’re the same things he said and did to you.

So Jack had kissed your temple and told you he’d pick Pheebs up when you went into the kitchen to refill her tea. You didn’t argue with the offer. Just kissed him fiercely and promised to pick up where you left off when he’s back from work in the morning.

He turns in his seat to get a look at her in the back. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed and ominous stains on the front of her shirt that you always somehow manage to get out.

“Mommy was needed for something super important, so I thought I’d pick you up. That okay?”

She nods with a grin. “Can we get ice cream?”

Jack’s smile mirrors hers, something cheeky and mischievous. “Can we get ice cream? We can get burgers and then bring ice cream home for Mom after.”

Her excited squeal is music to his ears when he turns forward in his seat and brings up your contact in his text messages.

Jack: Acquired the goods, taking her for early dinner. How’s Kirsty?

You: not good, tom tends to have that affect on women… she said he up and left last week for dubai after promising he would take her with him. shock.

You: i’ll call you when she's gone

Jack: Don’t rush, I can always take Diva back to mine to grab Sally and we’ll bring you back ice cream and burgers

You: you’re getting the sloppiest head tomorrow morning

Jack: Yeah? I’m holding you to that

You: ;)

Jack: ❤️ u gorgeous girl

You: ❤️ u baby

Jack locks his phone with a grin and stuffs it into the cup holder, pulling out of the parking lot and following the route from his mind to the best burger joint in the city.

He sings along with Phoebe to whatever songs she allows him to listen to. Keeps his mouth shut when she screams Hey Siri, skip! to the CarPlay when she gets sick of something that comes on.

He does well at keeping his focus on the road and not the final texts you shared. The only time that sentiment has been communicated between the two of you, but it’s still become almost an every day occurrence as of recently.

Much like Jack’s presence at your apartment. It’s rare he’s ever at his own place for more than two nights in a row. And somewhere four weeks ago, Sally had made the move, too. A shared sort of custody, if it can be considered as that.

She’s at your apartment more than she’s at Jack’s. Taken it upon herself to snuggle at the foot of Phoebe’s bed every night. It’s a fight Jack’s glad he gave up on, when you were persistent about having the cat so she wasn’t alone when he worked.

The reasoning of Sally pissing everywhere was weak, and still something you like to rub in his face, seeing as she’s only piddled twice in the last four weeks.

She’s also become your writing companion, often purring away beside your laptop when Jack’s sleeping and Pheebs is at school while you wrap up the final installment of your trilogy. Something that Jack is incredibly proud of you for.

Your literal blood, sweat and tears have gone into this final book. Sleepless nights and mental breakdowns where you’ve reconsidered every choice you’ve ever made for your career. It doesn’t help that you’ve been so on edge since Tom walked out at Phoebe’s field day, like you’re just waiting for him to try and pop back into Diva’s life.

Jack hasn’t exactly been much better.

He’s tried his hardest to support you in the ways that he can. Staying consistent with the both of you, taking Pheebs out to the park or for food, helping her rearrange her bedroom just so you have some peace to write when inspiration does strike.

He’s cooked and cleaned, taken Phoebe to bed almost every night for the past six weeks. He’s practically moved into your apartment without fully taking that step. Half of his clothes have made their way into your empty drawers and a spare key to your place has wound its way around his keychain.

And over the past month, his usual strict routine has been completely thrown out the window. Night shifts have remained the same, but Jack now only goes to the gym whenever he can squeeze an hour in. His shifts with SWAT have slowly been dwindling, but it’s not something he’s mad about.

For almost three months now, Jack’s been purposely picking up less shifts with the team. Partly because his time has been better placed with you and Pheebs, but mostly because he no longer feels like there’s a void that needs to be filled with adrenaline and near-misses.

Neither of you have really sat back and considered how and when these changes started to occur. How that key ended up on Jack’s chain, why it feels so natural to eat every meal as a family, how dates are no longer squeezed into your schedules but slot seamlessly into everyday life.

How you can sleep just fine when Jack’s working a night shift, but can’t sleep at all if he’s staying at his own apartment. How even Phoebe can tell the difference between it, too.

Jack’s grown used to spending his night shift sharing texts and random ninety second FaceTime calls with you. He’ll tell you the craziest patient of the night and you’ll share a snippet of a scene you’ve written (which is usually smut and him promising to try it out with you in the morning).

Everything between you has intensified and blossomed into the most domestic, honest and real thing he’s ever experienced. Nothing feels rushed or forced, nothing feels out of place or uneasy. And it’s the first time in Jack’s life that he hasn’t felt like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.

The only non-issue that has been on his mind is Tom.

Though, he is something that David has been very vocal about on the odd occasion he and Jack have seen one another one-on-one, and it’s been reassuring to see just how frustrated it makes your father. It hasn’t been nice to see the stress it’s caused you, though.

Neither of you realized how much things needed to change. From removing Tom from Pheebs’ pick up list to removing him as her emergency contact (where Jack offered to be put as the replacement because “baby, if they see a doctor on there, she’ll take priority of anything ever happens,”), and all the paperwork in between, it’s been a lot.

“Jack, I need to pee.” Phoebe’s strained voice from the backseat brings him back to the present and Jack casts a glance at her through the rearview mirror.

“We’re almost there, slugger. Can you hold it for five minutes?”

She’s shaking her head quickly, face pink and lips curled in, knees bouncing in her child seat as she stuffs her hands between her legs. “I really gotta go!”

Jack feels the internal panic begin to sneak up on him. He’s dealt with tearful falls and tumbles, scraped knees and an almost broken leg when it’s been just the two of them. But Phoebe potentially peeing her pants is not something he’s prepared for.

He has no spare clothes for her, she’s too big for a potty to be kept in the back of the car…it only really leaves one other option as he pulls up a dirt trail, out of the way of the road.

Jack turns to her, keeps the engine on and finds himself mirroring her expression.

“Honey, if you can’t hold it…you’re gonna have to pee in a bush.”

Her eyes widen, lips part. The shaking of her head becomes quicker. “I’m not peeing in a bush, there’s spiders in there!”

Jack blinks at Phoebe, rolling his lips between his teeth as he sighs. “I promise the spiders won’t go anywhere near you.”

She shakes her head again, lifting her chin. “I can hold it, I’ll hold it.”

“Are you sure?”

Her head continues to bob. “Come on!”

He doesn’t argue at her desperate shout of a plea. And he just hopes she doesn’t tell you that he sped a little too fast to get her to the burger joint before she saturated the carseat.

Phoebe has unbuckled herself before Jack even kills the engine, and the moment he rounds the car and opens her door, she’s jumping out of the vehicle and running with quick, desperate steps to the diner’s entrance.

Jack barely manages to lock the car and catch up with her in time, holding open the women’s restroom and sighing in relief when he finds it empty. Phoebe shoves him against the basin as she rushes into a cubicle—kicking the door closed, but not locking it—and a dramatic sigh of relief sounds from her when she finally relieves herself.

Jack struggles to hide his amusement, takes a moment to check his phone for any more texts from you. There are none, but he still admires the lockscreen photo of the three of you at your parents barbeque last weekend.

The door to the restroom swings open, soft footsteps halting as Jack looks up from his screen to come face-to-face with a cautious woman and child. His fingers immediately point to the stool that Phoebe’s occupying.

“My daughter…I didn’t wanna take her into the mens.”

My daughter? Jack’s heart lurches when he catches what he’s said, when he realizes that Phoebe is only six feet away with half a door separating them.

“Okay, I’m done, Dad!” She calls out as Jack pockets his phone and swallows down his heart.

The woman watches with a gentle smile, one much more relaxed as she ushers her own child into a stool and Jack has to take a moment to try and regulate his breathing.

Phoebe just fucking called him Dad.

“Good job, kid. Do you need help with your pants?” His voice is more wrecked than he anticipated when he lowly calls back to her, when he blinks back tears that brim in his eyes and struggles to breathe through the tightening of his throat.

“I’m four, not stupid!” Oh, right. Of course. Because she didn’t get the hump three days ago when she couldn't button up her jeans and Jack had to spend fifteen minutes showing her again how to do the zipper and button.

Her snarky remark gets a huff of laughter from the cubicle beside Phoebe’s but Jack can’t seem to reign himself in. His head is spiralling in worry for how you’ll react when he tells you what’s happened, his heart is bursting at the fact that Pheebs has likely only said that because he called her his daughter first.

“Watch that attitude of yours, young lady.” His tone holds no authority or threat. The words come out too breathlessly, like he’s struggling to fill his lungs deep enough.

But he’s the picture of composure when Phoebe flushes the toilet and swings open the door to reach for the sink. It’s second nature for Jack to lift her beneath her armpits so she can reach; lathering her hands and fingers in soap and muttering a song under her breath.

He lets Phoebe take the lead and guide him out of the restroom and toward a table by the front of the diner. Allows her to be the one to order for them both when the waitress comes over, only chiming in to add another burger onto the order that he can bring home for you.

Phoebe watches Jack through it all, notices how he begins to grow quiet and puts his attention into the cartoon sheet they’re coloring together. It makes her tummy tilt, makes worry begin to bubble in a feeling that usually causes her to seek him and you out for comfort.

“Jack?” Her voice is small, much smaller than he’s ever heard and his head snaps up to look at her. She chews on her inner cheek, head tilted as she averts her gaze to the pink crayon she holds. “Are you upset at me?”

Jack’s brows pinch together tightly, his chest aching as it tightens. “No, Diva. Why would I be upset with you?” His tone is gentle, soft. But his heart is cracking that she could ever think he’d ever feel anything but happiness and exhaustion when he’s with her.

“Because I called you Dad,” she whispers, still not daring to look at him.

Jack’s movements still, gently dropping the crayon and reaching out to poke at her hand to grab her attention. He swallows down the lump in his throat, silently scolds himself for getting too caught in his head over it that he’s caused this timid, quiet version of Phoebe to arise.

“Kid, you could never upset me. Especially not by calling me that. It just…suprised me.”

She frowns. “You called me your daughter first.”

Jack swallows. Is that what this is? Has she just been waiting to feel like it’s okay to call him Dad? Like she’s been holding out for some form of permission? How long has this new title been brewing? How long has she been stopping it from slipping?

Jack feels like he might pass out.

“I—yeah, I guess—I guess I did.”

A silence sits between them. Not awkward, but…heavy. They’re both aware of the weight of it, of the titles they’ve called one another. Uncharted territory for both parties, neither knowing what’s quite acceptable without you being present.

He can tell she wants to say more but he doesn’t push. If there’s one thing about parenting that Jack has learnt from you, it’s to create a safe space where Diva feels comfortable enough to come to you when she’s ready.

She doesn't say anything else while waiting for the burgers, doesn’t say anything when she begins to eat. It’s only after Jack asks her to say cheese at the camera so he can send a photo of her to you, and when she steals the phone to take a photo of him, that she finally finds her voice on the topic again.

“Would I be…allowed…to call you that, sometimes?”

Her voice is so quiet and meek, Jack almost has to ask her to repeat it. It takes a few moments for the request to fully register, to understand if he’s heard her correctly.

Because Phoebe is an incredibly intelligent kid. She’s far too aware of her surroundings and people’s intentions. It’s not been lost on you and Jack how in the past two months, she’s only asked about Tom twice. Both times were if she would be seeing him again.

You didn’t lie to Phoebe, you never do. You told her simply that no, she wouldn’t be seeing him again. Pheebs never asked for an explanation so you never gave one. She took the answer and left it at that, like the child was content with that being all.

But Jack knows that Phoebe knows the significance of calling someone Dad. To begin with, she no longer wanted to refer to Tom as that. And now, she’s asking for permission to give Jack that label instead, trying to soften the blow by proposing it to be just occasionally.

“Pheebs,” he calls her name softly. “I am honored that you want to call me that. You can call me whatever you want to call me…but I think it’s something you should talk to Mommy about first.”

“Yeah, okay.” She sighs, stuffing a mouthful of fries into her mouth and chomping down like having to speak to you about it is an inconvenience to her.

At least she still has an appetite, Jack’s completely lost his. He can feel his mind spiralling into every direction, trying to figure out where he’s overstepped recently for her to want to call him Dad, but he falls short.

Because it’s all been so natural and felt so right. You’ve had no issue with Jack taking Pheebs to bed almost every night at her request. You’ve had no problem with holding hands or cuddling each other in her presence. You’ve included him in every family event like it’s a given that he should be there.

That he is a part of you and Pheebs.

Jack’s phone vibrates from beside him on the table, the scream lighting up with smiling faces and your contact with a text preview.

You: god i love those beautiful faces!!

You: kirsty has left so hurry up and come home, someone else has come to see us

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

During the short drive home, Jack and Phoebe played a guessing game of who might be waiting at the apartment for them. Of course, not the best idea to play with a four-year-old. She’s somehow convinced herself that both Harry Styles and Peter Parker are waiting for her in her bedroom.

But when they do manage to make it inside the apartment, Phoebe tripping over her feet to get to her room and Jack struggling to hold all the leftover boxes and Phoebe’s bookbag, they stop short with wide eyes.

Karis sits on the couch beside Ricky, glowing and grinning and looking absolutely exhausted. But Jack cannot take his eyes away from you.

Slightly bent over with your hands tucking beneath small arms, cooing with watering eyes as you lift their little baby boy out of the carseat and into your arms. The newborn scrunch and the sight of you holding a baby short-circuits Jack’s brain and he thinks he’s having the most overwhelming day of his life.

“Baby Jude!” Phoebe gushes in excitement, slowly easing closer like he’s a frightened little mouse.

Karis scoops her up and peppers kisses across her cheeks and head as Jack gently closes the door behind him and places the styrofoam boxes on the coffee table when he inches closer.

It takes effort to drag his gaze off you and meet the eyes of your friends. He leans down to offer a warm hug to Karis, a kiss to her cheek and a shake of Ricky’s hand as he congratulates them.

You and Jack have FaceTimed them at least once a week for the past two months since Jude was born, when complications had arisen and they were stuck in the hospital for six weeks after his birth. But now they’re here, in your apartment and you’re snuggling that baby like you don’t plan on giving him back.

Jack’s heart fucking aches.

“He still has that newborn baby smell.” You whisper tearfully, inhaling the smell that reminds you of when Diva was just a little bubba and didn’t answer back to everything you said.

She beams up at you, shoulders raised and hands clasped together by her mouth. She looks like an excited old granny and you can’t deny giving her cuddles with her baby cousin. Karis settles Pheebs on the couch between her and Ricky, watches as you coo at Jude before leaning down to gently place him in her lap.

Jack’s by your side when you pull away to stand straight, and your vision is immediately distorted. Phoebe is so gentle with him, eyes wide and sparkling at the little life in her hands as she strokes the slope of his nose.

It’s a heartbreaking glimpse of what she could be like with her own sibling, with yours and Jack’s baby. A sobering thought that you catch yourself on, but you don’t for a single second tell yourself it’s wrong to imagine.

“She’s so gentle with him.” His low voice is comforting in your ear, a hand on your lower back and a kiss to your temple as a late greeting.

You hum, sink slightly into his side as you both watch her giggle when Jude begins to stretch and fuss. It’s ridiculous to feel so emotional over something as little as her holding a baby. But you find yourself sniffling and blinking back tears, anyway.

Jack’s just better at hiding it when he feels his eyes begin to sting. Not just at the sight of Pheebs, but at the memory of you holding Jude that’s now ingrained to the very wrinkles of his brain. Is that what you looked like when Phoebe was a baby? Only more fresh-eyed and inexperienced?

He’s not sure what it is other than something primal and overwhelming, has him conjuring up what you’d look like with a swollen belly again.

“Mommy, I need to pee.” Phoebe whispers, cautious not to wake the sleeping baby in her lap.

Ricky gently takes him from her and she waits until her lap is clear and Jude is secure in his father’s hold until she hops down from the couch and makes her way to the bathroom.

“You gonna have a hold, Uncle Jack?”

He blinks at Karis’ words, a little stunned at the honorable title he’s unsure he’s worthy of. But he nods, untangles his arm from around you and Ricky stands to reach across the distance and hands his baby boy over.

Jack has held many babies throughout his profession, but none have ever felt quite so meaningful as this. Uncle Jack. His nephew squirms slightly in his hold, eyes still shut and lips puckering, a tiny tongue peeking out before his mouth stretches into a yawn.

You watch the way Jack’s eyes sparkle down at Jude, the natural way he coddles him to his chest. Your ovaries are exploding at the sight, your heart aching profusely at the ridiculous play-pretend notion that this is your child, Jack’s child.

“He has so much hair,” Jack breathes a chuckle, risking a featherlight hand over the baby’s head to smooth the thick hair down. He dares a glance up at Karis and Ricky for barely a second before he’s captivated by Jude again. “He’s beautiful.”

Karis beams, in both pride and happiness for you and Phoebe.

“Thank you, for answering all my stupid questions when it came to his health. And for the gift baskets.”

Jack waves a hand to dismiss the gratitude that is not needed. He knew how anxious she had been while in the hospital and when she got home. While you only FaceTimed once or twice a week, Karis and Ricky would text Jack at least once a day, just needing reassurance that Jude was still recovering well from his surgery, checking what was normal and what wasn’t.

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to your child’s health.”

He spends a few more moments with Jude in his arms before finally relenting and handing him back over to his parents at the same time that Phoebe waddles back into the living room, a wicca basket in hand that Sally lounges in.

“She’s getting too fat!”

Jack cocks a brow, both arms bending to rest his hands on his hips. “That’s ‘cause you carry her everywhere.”

Phoebe pokes her tongue out at him as she passes, her excitement for Jude worn off as she opens Sally’s toy box instead. Your gaze meets Jack, something crossing his eyes as watches Pheebs get settled on the rug.

When he finally averts his gaze to meet yours, you cock your head slightly toward the kitchen in silent invitation, muttering out to Karis and Ricky that you’ll make some tea as Jack grabs the takeout boxes and follows you.

The moment the kettle flicks on and Ricky turns on the sports channel, you turn to Jack and wrap your arms around his waist. “Was Diva okay when she came out of school?”

He hums, leans down to steal a kiss. “Yeah, how was Kirsty?”

You sigh, leaning forward to crash your head against his chest. Your heart still feels heavy for the girl, the conversation having brought up all the trauma Tom had also put you through. You pull away to look at him and Jack only now sees how much it has drained you.

“She’ll be okay.”

He watches you in the same way you’re watching him; with slightly furrowed brows and concern prickling at your eyes.

“Jack, are you sure you’re okay?”

All he can do is make a humming sound, something that is not entirely convincing but you won’t push him. Not here, not now.

“I’ve gotta get ready for work soon. Debrief tomorrow night?”

Your frown grows deeper. “Tomorrow night? You got somewhere to be in the morning?”

A grin curls on his mouth at your playfully teasing tone and he leans down to press a ghost of a kiss to your pouting lips. “I gotta meet up with my SWAT guys.”

You kiss him again, just a gentle movement of lips. “You finally picking up a shift? Been a while since I’ve seen you in uniform.”

“No,” he whispers raspily against your mouth. “I’m leaving.”

He feels your body still before you pull away and he doesn’t have time to stop himself from smoothing out the elevens between your brows with the pad of his thumb. “Stop frowning.”

“Why are you leaving?”

Jack pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, considers the weight of the reason behind his decision to be a bit too much to divulge when you’ve got company. But he doesn’t want to leave you entirely in the dark. He knows your mind, your soul—knows you’ll worry yourself sick with overthinking the worst possible scenarios.

His hands leave your waist to cup your jaw, to force your gaze to not just look into his eyes but deeper. “I don’t need it anymore. Coming home safe to you and Pheebs is more important to me.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

By the time Karis and Ricky left with Jude, Jack was having to leave for work. With a smattering of kisses to Phoebe’s cheeks and your lips, he sauntered out the door just before six, always wanting to start a bit earlier to get a feel for what the night would look like.

You got Pheebs into the bath the moment he left, let her splash around the tub and draw with water crayons on the porcelain. Surprisingly, she let you wash her hair tonight without putting up much of a fuss, and didn't argue when you told her it was time to get out.

She dressed herself with minimal help, letting you brush the knots from her hair with lips pressed into a firm line. You’re not stupid when it comes to your daughter. You know there’s something on her mind, whether it be a concern or a request.

She’s always far too compliant when she’s thinking.

Usually, you don’t push. You allow her to come to you when she’s filtered through a muddy mind and knows what she wants to say. But it’s harder to do that tonight when it’s clear there’s something on Jack’s mind, too.

“Alright,” you sigh as she settles into her stool at the kitchen island. You lean on your forearms, head dipping slightly between your shoulders to meet her gaze. “What’s going on in that crazy little head of yours, hm?”

Phoebe shrugs. “Nothing.”

You roll your lips between your teeth. “Did something happen today? At school? With…with Jack?”

She shakes her head, still not wanting to meet your line of sight. It's a struggle not to ask for more, but you don’t want to push her away. You have to remind yourself that you trust Jack. That if something had happened, if Pheebs had told him something concerning, he’d have told you.

“Alright, well let's have dessert and finish our movie before bed then, sound good?”

She hums, half committed. “I’ll get Sally a treat.”

You turn to the fridge when the words tumble out of her, followed by a screech and an awkward sounding thud. You whirl around at the sound of Phoebe’s sob, round the island to find her laying on the ground and clutching her foot.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. Where did you hurt, your foot?”

You’re kneeling down to her, trying desperately to keep your cool and not let her shrill cries pierce through your heart. Phoebe doesn’t let you get too close; face bright red and cheeks soaked with tears, pulling away every time you try to reach for her foot.

“Baby, you need to let me have a look.”

She pulls away again when you inch closer, her knuckles white around her lower calf, eyes squeezed shut.

“I can’t, Mama, it hurts!” She hiccups through the cries, catching Sally’s attention who curls into her side in a form of comfort.

You feel sick, heart in your throat as you desperately try to calm her down without touching her. You’ve never heard Phoebe cry so loudly, and you’re unsure if it’s the shock of the fall or if she’s really hurt herself. She doesn’t let you take a look, doesn’t let you put ice on it or keep it elevated above a pillow.

“I want Jack.” She speaks on a shaky inhale of breath, her pyjama shirt soaked from tears. Her desperate request makes your fingertips ache.

“Alright, okay. I’ll take you to Jack. Come on, up you get.”

It’s only then that Phoebe allows you to touch her. Not her leg or her ankle, but she lets you hold her arm to help her stand. The moment she tries to put pressure on her right leg, her knee gives way and she bursts into another fit of tearful whimpers.

Worry and panic begins to course through you, thoughts that she’s broken her fucking ankle being the only thing you can really think about. It’s enough to have you gently hoisting her into your arms as gently as possible and grabbing your keys off the hook on your way out of the apartment.

You can only really offer gentle coos of reassurance to her as your flip flops snap against your feet with every step. You didn’t even think to grab your phone or purse, just Pheebs and the keys as you get her down to the car and buckle her in.

She cries the entire ten minute drive to PTMC, declining any music or chit-chat to try and keep her mind off things. Her sobs have calmed to whimpers by the time you somehow manage to find a parking space at the ED, feet bare from not allowing you to put shoes on her, so you carry her from the car to the main entrance.

The last time you were here was at 3 a.m., over nine months ago. It was much quieter then. Tonight, the waiting room is packed with no spaces to sit and a long line at the check-in desk. Phoebe wraps her arms tighter around your neck as you hold her to your front, and get to the back of the line.

You rock her gently, swaying slightly from side to side as you take in the amount of people waiting to be seen. She hides into the crook of your neck, the noise and bright lights and people squished in too-close proximity a bit too much for her to handle.

The sight of the chaos makes your skin crawl. You’ve always been acutely aware of the tension and pressure of Jack’s job, but seeing the waiting room—or Chairs, as he calls it—so packed and desperate, it makes you want to dote on him for the rest of your life and never let him lift a finger at home.

The line crawls forward at a snail's pace, many people kicking up a fuss when it’s their turn to check in, complaining about wait times or demanding that their issue is more important than the rest. By the time you get to the check-in counter, your neck is soaked from Phoebe’s snot and tears.

“What’s your name and problem, hon?” It’s the same face and voice that greets you as the last time you were in here for your little pelvic issue.

You smile tightly at Lupe, shifting your hold on Diva to shuffle her to your other hip. She grips you tighter, like she’s worried you’re about to put her down.

“Phoebe Y/L/N. I’m her mother. She fell off the island stool and landed on her ankle, she can’t put any pressure on it, won’t let me look—I don’t know if it’s just a sprain or maybe a fracture.”

She hums at your words, typing at her computer and sliding a form through the gap at the bottom of the clear screen. Lupe catches Phoebe’s eye as she shifts in your hold, a sympathetic pout forming on the older woman's mouth.

“Take a seat, hon. Someone will be with you shortly.”

You don’t mention that there are no seats left to take, it’s not her problem. So you thank her with a smile, take the paperwork and carry Pheebs through the throes of people. You mentally prepare yourself for such a long night, to put those pilates classes you’ve been taking to good use with there being no seats available.

But within three and a half minutes of standing against the wall and gently rocking Diva from side to side, there are fast footsteps approaching until Jack is standing before you with wide eyes assessing the back of Phoebe’s body.

“Is she okay? What happened?”

Jack feels sick to his stomach with worry at the sight of her clinging to you. He didn’t even read over her notes or ask Lupe what happened when he was paged about your arrival. Seeing her now, he wishes he had some notion of an idea to be at least a little more prepared.

He’s never seen Pheebs so tearful and whiney. Not when she has her usual tumbles and not when she awakes crying for you both in the middle of the night after a nightmare.

The moment she hears his voice, she’s uncurling herself from around you to leap into Jack’s arms. He catches her with ease, lets her wrap herself around him and cries softly into his neck. You appreciate the reprieve and shake your arms out at your sides.

“She fell off the stool, landed on her ankle. Says she can’t walk on it—what…how did you know we were here?”

Jack rubs a comforting hand up and down the expanse of Phoebe’s back, craning his neck the best he can to try and get a look at her bare feet that dangle from his waist. He sighs when he turns back to you, reaching a hand around your waist to press his lips to your forehead.

“I’m on her emergency contact list, remember? Lupe paged me the moment you checked her in.”

You barely have any time to process the fact before Jack is guiding you through the doors of triage with a hand on the small of your back and an arm carrying Phoebe against his chest. You follow him through to a small cornered off section, just a few down from where you were, where Jack tenderly lays Pheebs on the bed.

You take the place at her side, let her reach for you and grip your hand as Jack slips his fingers into a pair of blue gloves. He sits on the small swivel stool, walks his feet across the ground to drag himself closer to the edge of the bed.

“Dr. Abbot, would you like me to take this one?”

Your head turns at the sound of a soft voice, a petite nurse standing at the curtain with fresh gloves already slipped onto her fingers. He whirls to look at her, like he’s catching himself on a line he’s crossing.

Because as an attending, he has no reason at all to be treating a sprained ankle in triage. He should be on the main floor, tending to whatever chaos gets sent to him or comes barreling through the ambulance bay.

So, he nods, moving away on the small stool to make room for the nurse to take his place instead.

“Alright, Diva. You gonna let Nurse Dean take a look?”

She shakes her head, pleasing eyes glued on Jack as she scoops her legs into her arms with her knees pinned to her chest. Nurse Dean looks at Jack with pursed lips and soft eyes, a silent way of saying she understands and won’t push.

He smiles apologetically, resuming his previous position when Dean slips back through the curtain to tend to patience that will let her care for them. Despite the guilt, you can’t help but huff out an air of laughter over Phoebe’s stubborn preferences.

If it’s not Jack, she isn’t interested.

Phoebe doesn’t argue with the gentle tone of Jack's voice when he coaxes her to show him her foot. She offers her ankle to him willingly with one hand still squeezing your fingers. Her tears have dried, her face now blotchy from the hyperventilating.

You watch Jack closely, the concentrated set in his brow, the firm line of his lips when he examines Phoebe’s ankle with more tender care than you think he gives his other patients. It’s also not lost on you that any nurse or triage doctor could be doing this instead of him. That he could have encouraged Pheebs to have Nurse Dean take a look.

“You said she couldn’t walk?” He asks, lips barely moving and the words almost strung together when he very carefully twists and moves her ankle.

You hum, sitting on the side of the bed next to Pheebs, one arm around her shoulders as she curls into your side. You press a kiss to the top of her head, your anxiety significantly easing now you’re with Jack and she’s under his care.

If you’re being completely, selfishly honest, you’re more than pleased that Jack’s taken it upon himself. Not that the rest of the doctors here aren’t competent, but getting to watch Jack in his element and feel so listened to and genuinely cared for…yeah, he’s definitely your preference.

“Yeah, she couldn’t put pressure on it after it happened. Wouldn’t let me look or put it on ice…she just kept crying that she wanted you.”

He pats her calf with a grin, snapping off the gloves and tugging the leg of her pyjamas pants back down. There’s a swell of pure pride and relief in his chest when he realizes there’s nothing seriously wrong and that all she wanted for comfort was him.

“The good news is it’s not broken. The bad news is that you’re gonna have to rest it and I’m going to have to prescribe you one rub of chocolate ice cream.”

Phoebe sniffles, and it’s not the reaction that Jack was hoping for.

“So, I don’t need a new leg like you?” Her voice is meek, unsure, and slightly disappointed.

It causes a frown to pull between your brows, between Jack’s. You dare a glance over at him but your attention is stolen by two figures standing by the open curtain, instead. It’s the slurping through a straw that then catches Jack’s attention and his head whirls to the two culprits.

John Shen stands with his lips wrapped around a plastic Dunkin straw, Ellis Parker stood close beside him with arms crossed over her chest. Shen’s brows are raised teasingly, Parker’s eyes gleaming in taunting mischief.

“Well, who is this Diva?” Dr. Parker croons playfully as she steps into the partition, eyes flickering between the three of you as Dr. Shen follows close behind him.

“I hurt my ankle,” Phoebe sighs.

Jack heaves in a heavy breath, catching your eye from across the bed as his two coworkers approach the foot of it.

“Baby, this is John Shen and Ellis Parker, guys this is—”

“Oh, we know who you are.” Parker grins something a bit too feline for Jack’s liking and you can’t help but laugh.

“I knew who you guys were the moment I saw the Dunkin cup.” Shen nods in what appears to be approval at your words, but as quickly as they give you their attention, it’s quickly given to Pheebs instead.

She’s always been a social butterfly, so it’s not much of a surprise when she begins to introduce herself to them—beaming at the attention and prospect of two new friends. A laugh bubbles out of you when Parker hands her one of the ER stuffies; a little brown bear that’s likely from the dollar store.

Your gaze flits to Jack to gauge his reaction and he tilts his head slightly to the curtain, a silent invitation to step away and talk. You step out silently with Jack and he pulls part of the curtain across to shield you both from prying ears.

“You okay?” His quiet voice asks into the small space between you and it feels like you can finally take a breath.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I’m sorry. She couldn’t walk on it, it must've just been a bit of shock…she just wanted you.”

Jack shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize. You did the right thing to bring her in, even if just to be safe.”

You hum, leaning against a pillar. “You know, you could’ve insisted that Nurse Dean took a look at her.”

He frowns at that, almost like he’s insulted. “No chance. I asked you to put me down as an emergency contact for a reason. Do you know how worried I was when Lupe paged me that you brought her in? You two could’ve been waiting out in Chairs for hours.”

You know he’s right. That despite Pheebs being young, her problem doesn’t exactly warrant her to be seen over the more critical and emergent cases. But Jack’s shoulders are still tense, and you’re unsure if it’s due to whatever's been bothering him or the fact that he’s coming down from his worry.

You regard him for a few moments, waiting to see if he’ll snap himself out of it. But his eyes slowly dart around triage instead of looking at you. You’ve got a sneaky suspicion that this behavior of his has nothing to do with the chaos of work.

“Jack, did something happen today?” Your question is quiet, voice careful.

It’s enough to have him finally looking at you again, and you can see the war in his eyes as he fights if it’s something he really wants to bring up right here and right now.

His lips are moving before he can think better of it. “She called me Dad.”

You blink, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. Your neck cranes slightly closer to him, head tilting like you might pick up another whisper of what he’s just said. Your chest suddenly feels very tight.

“What?” You breathe.

He starts to ramble, hands moving animatedly as he explains, “I called her my daughter first. There was this restroom incident, with this—this mom and daughter and it just came out of me, and Pheebs—she—”

“She called you Dad?” Your voice is quiet, cracking slightly as you cut him off.

His shoulders drop, eyes a quiet kind of frantic as they flick between yours, searching for any hint of anger or upset. He finds none. Only a glassy look that passes your iris’ like you're overwhelmed and struggling to process what this means.

“Yeah,” Jack whispers. “Are you…are you okay with that?”

A disbelieving sound escapes you on a breath. “Are you okay with that?”

His head nods in a very small movement, tongue darting out to tug his bottom lip between his teeth. This is not the conversation he wants to be having at the start of his shift in the middle of triage, where his coworkers and subordinates are passing by with curious glances.

Still, he doesn't leave you in the dark.

“Yeah, I am. But I—I told Diva it’s something she should talk to you about first.”

You feel like you could cry and throw up. Anxiety bubbles beneath your skin, unease and concern when you consider what Phoebe’s little mind must look like right now. The mess of her father walking out, the confusion of having Jack so close and her assuming he’s now to be the figure she’s missing.

It’s too much to sit and unpack on the spot. Jack’s made it so clear to you how deeply he cares for Phoebe, that even if things don’t work between the two of you, he’d still fight to be in her life in whatever capacity you’d allow.

But to hear him admit that he referred to Pheebs as his daughter—despite the rushed reasoning he gave—and for her to call him Dad in return…you can feel yourself spiraling down that rabbit hole again. The one that Tom weaved and spun where you’re forced to put your walls up and shut down.

Because if Tom can leave, what’s stopping Jack from one day doing the same?

It’s ridiculous, you know it is. Because the difference between Tom and Jack is that Jack loves Phoebe. He holds her best interest at heart at all times, considers her in every decision he makes and has never once let her down.

It is something you need to speak with Phoebe about first. Something you’re not prepared to brazenly sign off on. You’re not ready for her to call him that.

You swallow as you look at Jack, the patience and understanding in his eyes despite you not saying a word. From the peripheral of your vision, a tall figure approaches; walks past you both before slowly backing up with arms crossing over a broad chest.

You peek a glance when Jack sighs, scratching at his jaw.

“Honey, this is Robby. Robby, this is—”

“The woman that Jack does not stop talking about,” Robby interrupts him, untangling his arms to clasp your hand in a friendly shake. His skin is softer than Jack’s, less firm and calloused.

A laugh slips from your lips when he releases your hand. “It’s nice to meet you and put a face to the name.”

Robby grins, eyes shining as he looks between you and Jack in something you can only describe to be pure happiness for his friend. “I’d say the same but I feel like I’ve known you for years at this point.”

Your laughter grows at the playful tease to Jack, who is too busy staring holes into Robby’s face. It feels like you’ve got a slight whiplash, your mind and emotions all over the place while trying to hold a polite conversation.

“You brought Phoebe in?” Robby asks, voice low as if he likes to keep his conversations private and away from prying ears.

Something you appreciate, if you’re honest.

“Yeah, Jack checked her over. Sprained ankle.” Robby hums at your explanation, arms still across his chest as he cranes his neck to peer past the curtain. “Mind if I say hello?”

“Go for it.”

He offers a warm smile before dipping behind the curtain, the soft rumble of his voice heard through the fabric as he introduces himself to Phoebe. You turn to Jack with a small smirk, still very much overwhelmed but amused enough to break through it for at least a few moments.

“So you talk about me at work, huh?”

“Shut it.” Jack’s eyes roll fondly as he reaches out for your hip in a playful pinch.

But it doesn’t matter how hard you try to push the new information to the back of your head, to wait until later—because you just can’t.

You reach for him, fingers toying with the hem of his scrubs at the same time as him reaching a hand up to brush strands of hair from your face. He can sense the shift in your mood, the concern you’re trying to bury.

“Hey, I know you’re okay with her calling you that, but I—”

“No, it’s okay,” Jack interrupts with a coo and a shake of his head. “I understand. It’s a huge thing, and she’s probably confused now that Tom’s not around.”

Your grip on his scrubs tightens, a deep furrow forming between your brows and Jack hates the look of guilt and unease that’s plastered all over your face.

“I just—I don’t want anything like that rushed, or expected of her.”

“Baby, you do not need to explain. I told you before that I’m happy to be in her life in whatever capacity you’re comfortable with.”

He hates this, hates every fucking moment of you doubting him, of you worrying about Phoebe. It’s all warranted, of course it is. Phoebe’s biological father walks out on her, and then she calls her mom’s boyfriend Dad only two months later.

When Jack looks at it that way, it breaks his heart a little. He’s left wondering if his presence recently has been more confusing than helpful to the kid. He doesn’t bother to remind you that nothing is ever expected from Phoebe, that Jack will take whatever the both of you are kind enough to offer.

Because he knows you know that. That he would never expect or force anything.

You nod with a shaky breath, loosening your hold on his now slightly creased scrubs and doing your best to smooth them out with your fingers. An act that’s futile but still appreciated by Jack nonetheless.

“We can talk about this properly tomorrow, yeah?”

Another nod follows from you as Jack leans down to press his lips to the crown of your head. With a palm on the small of your back, he guides you back behind the curtain to Phoebe, and it’s only then that you realize how full the little partition has grown.

Diva remains lounging on the bed, ankle wrapped in a bandage with squiggles of different colored ink decorating it, as if it’s broken. Shen sits on the swivel chair at her side, talking in a ridiculously high-pitched voice as he pretends the dollar store teddy is drinking his precious coffee. Parker and Robby stand off to the side listening intently to Phoebe’s dramatic recollection of her fall.

And Mateo grins at the scene before him.

Wait.

“Mateo?” He turns at the sound of his name falling from your lips breathlessly, the easy grin dropping into something sober and slightly grave.

Jack does not like the shift in the air, the way you whispered his name like a lost lover, how Diaz now looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost. And then he’s whispering your name back like it’s a sacred prayer, inching closer to get a better look at you.

“What—what are you doing here?”

You want to ask him the same thing, but his scrubs and ID badge say enough. He’s a fucking nurse. The last time you’d seen him was almost ten years ago, when he was as babyfaced as you and unsure what the world had in store for him.

You blink, pointing at Diva. “Pheebs—I, I’m her mom.”

His eyes widen further, doe-like and familiar in the way he was when you were both kids. God, he looks so much like his brother now that he’s older. A stubble and long hair, tan skin and welcoming features. The more you look at him, the more you feel your heart twisting in your chest.

His gaze flicks behind you as he repeats your own words, landing on Jack who is doing nothing to hide his frown and distaste for the exchange.

There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he watches Mateo look at you again, something like longing and heartache in his eyes. Jack can’t handle the idea of Diaz being an ex of yours. Just when he thought this day couldn’t make his head spin anymore.

“Wait, you’re the pelvic chick?”

You frown at the odd nickname, and it takes a moment or two for your drowning mind to catch up with what he’s called you and why you’re being referred to as it. You whirl around to Jack with raised brows.

“I’ve got a nickname around here?”

His hand squeezes your hip reassuringly. “You can thank Dr McKay for that one.”

A flurry of snickers and giggles slip from Shen and Parker, a smirk curling at the corners of Robby’s mouth, too. Jack thinks he’s absolutely had enough of today. If he wasn’t overwhelmed enough already, he’s now drowning in unwarranted jealousy and budding a blooming distaste toward Mateo.

“Alright,” Jack calls, clapping his hands. “Don’t you all have patients to see? I think Phoebe would like to go home to bed now.”

“I’m happy to stay!” She pipes up.

Jack points a stern but playful finger in her direction. “It is way past your bedtime, kid. And you are a beautiful distraction to my doctors. Mom’s gonna take you home now.”

Phoebe pouts animatedly about it but knows better than to argue. She instead says goodbye to her three newfound friends and takes a sheet of stickers from Mateo’s hands when he goes to leave.

He does stop short just in front of you when he reaches the curtain. “I can’t believe you’re a mom now. She’s a cool kid. And you look great.”

You smile tearfully, a watery chuckle slipping past your mouth as your head tilts. “Yeah, you too.”

Mateo chews on the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never reached out after—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt with a shake of your head. “I didn’t reach out either. It’s not on you. Your parents were just—”

“Yeah, I know.” The sadness in his voice hurts more than you’d like to admit. After nine years, you thought you’d moved on from what happened. But seeing Mateo now, after all this time…you can’t help but wonder if it’s breaking him as much as it is you.

“We uh, we should grab a coffee sometime.”

The frown of your mouth curls up into a trembling smile and you can feel your eyes stinging with salty tears. “Yeah,” your voice cracks when you speak. “I’d really like that, Teo.”

Jack watches the interaction with a tightness in his throat and chest. Barely registers what Phoebe is saying to him as she plasters stickers all over his scrubs and arms. He can’t tear his eyes away from you, can’t stop his mind from starting the cycle of self-sabotage.

Despite it all, despite the concern and worry and doubt and insecurity, when you approach with tearful eyes and pursed lips, he still reaches out to comfort you.

“Look, Mommy! I can move it again.” Phoebe calls to you despite there being barely any distance, lifts her leg to move her ankle in the air.

You plaster on your most encouraging smile, toying with the keys in your hands. Jack notices the nervous fiddling, the anxiety that’s sitting heavy on your shoulders and the way you’re starting to drown in your own head.

He brushes Phoebe’s hair from her face and keeps his tone soft and quiet. “You can go home with Mommy now, and I’ll see you after school tomorrow, okay?”

“M’kay.” You watch as Phoebe nods, when she dips her chin in silent request of a kiss that Jack happily pressed to her head.

He helps her stand on the bed where she then opens her arms wide to be carried by you. Bare feet and one bandanged ankle swing by your thighs when you hold her and return to Jack with tired eyes.

Despite the foreign feelings brewing in the pit of Jack’s stomach, he still moves closer to press his mouth against yours, to squeeze your waist and kiss you one more time.

“Text me when you get home.”

You agree to the request with a hum, when a Nurse Dean pops her head into the curtain and offers to escort you out. Jack follows you out of the partition and the moment you begin to walk away, Phoebe waves at him as she looks over your shoulder.

“Love ya, Jack!”

He beams at the way she shouts across the space, like she’s desperate for her message to reach his ears.

“Love ya, Diva!” He calls back just as you both reach the door. When you cast one last glance back at him, Jack offers a dip of his chin and a wink, basking in the way that his stomach leaps when you grin back at him until you’re both out of sight.

He feels Robby’s presence shift behind him, a looming frame filled with questions and silent observations. He watches with Jack as you disappear back into Chairs to go home.

“You told her yet?” Robby asks, the words drifting from his mouth and into Jack’s ear.

His gaze is still focussed on the door. “Told her what?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

Robby’s observation echoes in Jack’s mind. Worms its way into every memory and thought he cherishes of you, of Phoebe. There’s no longer that all-consuming sensation of guilt when he thinks about it now, there hasn’t been for a little while.

At first, it was something Jack didn’t want to acknowledge. Wasn't ready to acknowledge. But somewhere along the past nine months, he’s stopped holding onto his need and love for structure and routine. He’s found himself basking in the chaos of love, the spontaneity and freedom of it if you look in the right places.

He’s found his home to be nothing but a shell of one. A blank canvas that was posed as a fresh start six years ago. One that he never broke in with memories and laughter, where he never scuffed up the floors or chipped the paint off the walls.

Somewhere along the past nine months, the weight of his wife no longer haunts him like a bad dream. She rests in his heart, deep and protected in her place of permanent residence. But the space she occupies no longer spans across the entirety of him.

She’s made room for you, for Phoebe. Allowed her space to be taken by a love that breathes, not one that haunts. It happened slowly, organically. Like this is the way it was always supposed to be.

Jack swallows around the realization.

“No, not yet.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You barely slept all night.

Whether it was tossing and turning because of the events of yesterday, or Phoebe waking you up every hour because she swears her foot is about to fall out, you barely got any sleep.

FaceTiming Jack at three in the morning instead when Pheebs sobbed because she was adamant she needed to go back to see him at the hospital. Sitting on her bedroom floor and reading stories until she fell asleep, only to wake up again forty-five minutes later.

The pair of you were like zombies when you left for the school run this morning. Hair not up to its usual standards and outfits more than a little skewiff. By the time you got back to the apartment, you were swooped up into Zoom meetings with your editors and publishers, the deadline pushing closer for the final installment.

Jack didn’t get back until noon, after finishing his shift and meeting with his SWAT buddies to let them know he was officially stepping away. The two of you have been like passing ships all day. When he got home, you were leaving to do a grocery run. When you got back, he was fast asleep. When Jack woke up, you were already picking Phoebe up from school.

It wasn't until you returned home that he finally scooped you into his arms and peppered your face with kisses. Phoebe’s laughter at the attack had echoed through the apartment and bounced off the walls when Jack lunged for her and blew an onslaught of raspberries onto her stomach.

The three of you cooked dinner together, ate and spoke about your days. Phoebe did most of the talking, like usual. And Jack cleaned the kitchen when you bathed her an hour later. You don’t get a chance to speak throughout it, attention occupied by Diva until she’s requesting that Jack puts her to bed with a very specific rendition of Paranoid by Black Sabbath as her lullaby.

She does let you squeeze her in your arms, pepper kisses to the top of her head as you bid her a goodnight. But as quickly as she crashes into your arms, she’s wiggling out of them in search of her new bedtime companion, Sally.

“Alright, slugger. Let’s get you to bed.” Jack calls out to her, pressing a kiss to your cheek before following Phoebe on his crutches.

The heaviness in your chest hasn’t disappeared. It’s eased just enough to feel like you can breathe this evening, but even Jack’s presence alone isn’t enough to completely keep it at bay. You’re overly aware that you both need to have a big conversation about yesterday and you’re not quite prepared for it.

Feeling hot beneath your skin at the thought, you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine from the fridge that you carry in two hands out to the balcony. The evening air is crisper than it was through the day, a slight breeze that does little to cool your skin but enough to help the rise and fall of your chest.

The sun is starting to set, long summer nights falling behind you as the sky is painted in something beautifully golden. Hints of pinks and oranges peek beneath the clouds, a promise of sunshine for the morning and a sleep full of sweet dreams.

You fill both the glasses halfway as you sit on the rattan couch, a crocheted blanket draping across your lap as you take a sip. Only a moment for you to try and gain your bearings, to sort through the whirlwind that has been the last two days.

You’ve drained half your glass of wine by the time Jack finds you, an easy but tired grin stretching on the corners of his mouth when he pops his head out into the balcony. His brows raise playfully when he clocks the almost empty glass in your hand and the freshly poured one on the small table.

He doesn’t say anything as he joins you, a little too caught up in his head. The last time he drank out on the balcony with you was when it all started. The night of Diva’s birthday party. The night he first kissed you and felt his soul slowly beginning to tangle with yours.

“She settled okay?” He hums as he comes closer, resting the crutches against the wall and sitting beside you with a tired sigh.

“Out like a light.” Jack pinches the blanket, drapes some of it across his thighs. He reaches for his wine but doesn’t drink it. Holds it in his lap while his other arm lifts to rest against the back of the seat; fingers gently tracing the skin of your shoulder.

He feels the heaviness, too. The plethora of topics that need to be addressed, discussed. It’s because of that, that he finally takes a long gulp of his wine before turning to admire you.

“So…Kirsty, huh?”

A non-committal hum escapes you, eyes far off in the distance but when Jack follows your line of sight, he sees your gaze is settled on his balcony across the way.

“She okay?”

A loaded question, really. One that takes you a moment to consider and answer. “No, he’s really done a number on her.”

Jack swallows, doesn’t like the hollowness of your voice. Like your reminiscing on your own experience with Tom. He squeezes your shoulder.

“What happened?” He only heard snippets when Kirsty had shown up unannounced. Jack was a little preoccupied with hiding a raging boner, getting dressed and reattaching his prosthetic. By the time he did join you both in the kitchen, he put himself to good use by making tea.

He didn’t want to make Kirsty uncomfortable.

Jack feels you shrug beneath his palm. “His usual shit.”

It’s not something you want to get into. Not yesterday in a quick explanation, and not now when you have the time. Mostly because it’s not your story to share, but also because it’s the same things that Tom put you through. The lies, the abuse, the manipulation.

You got out of the woods. You escaped the claws he had in your mind and you’re free now. Happy. Your mind is no longer held in a prison. It’s watered and cherished, cared for and set free to bloom.

“He’s really gone, though,” you find yourself clarifying anyway. “She said he’s been given a house and position at some finance company in Dubai. Living his dream.”

Jack scoffs, wine sloshing in the glass on his lap from the movement of his body. “Yeah, well…he made his bed, now he can lie in it.”

That heavy silence settles over you both again as you gaze out across the sunset. It’s lowering more with every passing minute, darkness slowly creeping over the tops of the sky. You don’t want to spend the evening tiptoeing around things that need to be discussed. Jack’s got four nights off now and you’re not willing to start them off with anything unsaid.

“So, we’ve debriefed about Kirsty. Next up…you’re leaving SWAT?”

Jack heaves a heavy sigh and rolls his head in a lull of a nod. “Met them this morning after my shift. Told ‘em it’s not for me anymore.”

You frown at him, his gaze locked on the stem of the wine glass pinched between his fingers.

“Why? I thought you enjoyed it?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“What changed?”

He turns to you then, eyes slightly glassy and lips scrunched slightly to the side. It’s an expression you’ve learnt that usually means he’s trying to suppress his emotions, or at least keep the full extent of them off his face.

“I didn’t have anyone waiting for me at home when I joined SWAT. We both know what it’s like to lose a partner. I’m not prepared to put you through that again, to put Pheebs through that.”

His gentle explanation—like it’s the most simplest decision in the world—almost crushes your chest. Your lungs seize at the consideration, at the pure reverence in his tone. You don’t mean to, but your fingers instinctively move to your chest, to reach for the chain you haven’t worn for months and months now.

The one that sits in a box in your nightstand. Like Jack’s sits in a box in his.

The fact that you and Phoebe continue to make such a profound effect on him, the way that he so loudly respects and considers you both…how he so happily changes his lifestyle to fit healthily around you both…

“Jack, that’s a big decision to make.”

“No, it’s not.” It’s not an argument, he counters you like it’s a fact. Unbothered and undeterred in his decision. “Besides, Robby’s been trying to get me to quit that shit for years.”

An unintentional laugh barks through you at that, the thought of his dear friend chiding him for such a reckless hobby—which, if you’re honest, you’d have to agree with. Despite how sexy the uniform is…how much fun you’ve had with it in the past.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about Robby since you met him last night. Kind eyes, teasing lilt to his deep voice. Secure, competent. Attractive, if you’re allowed to think as much.

“Robby’s single, right?”

Jack’s brows raise comically high at the sudden question. He’s a bit ashamed to admit the wall of jealousy and discontent that slams into him, the way his shoulders stiffen. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’ve written threesome stories with that very vivid imagination of yours…Jack can’t help but silently begin to panic that you’re about to ask for Robby to be a third.

“Why?” He asks carefully, voice tight and deep.

You shrug, take a long sip of your wine. “He’s responsible, older…I think he and Bella would look pretty good together.”

Jack blinks at you for a moment, lungs seizing as he finally releases an exasperated exhale. Relief slams into him like a freight train and he’s met with the embarrassing realization that he desperately needs to get his emotions in check.

First he’s ready to blow a gasket over your far too friendly interactions with Mateo, and now he’s here fretting over the possibility of you wanting Robby?

Jesus fucking Christ, Jack. Get a grip!

“You wanna set up Robby and Bella?” He busies his hands with topping up both of your glasses as he asks the question, his newfound and deeprooted insecurity needing a bit of reassurance. “Do you forget how mentally unstable Robby is?”

You frown. “I thought you said he was better after his sabbatical?"

“Well, yeah, but he’s not magically cured, baby.”

You take the wine from him with a hum, peering up at him over the rim of the glass when you take a sip. That heaviness between you both has slowly started to ease into something more comfortable, more familiar. And the glint in your eye promises Jack is about to have his ass handed to him.

“Your team is nice. They seem to know a lot about me.”

“Yeah. You seem to know a lot about Mateo.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jack! What the fuck is wrong with you!?

His eyes widen at his own retort, shoulders stiffen at the sight of your entire body freezing for a split second. Panic surges through him, and Jack feels sick to his fucking stomach for saying something so stupid in such an accusing tone.

Dread curdles in the pit of his stomach when your lashes flutter droopily, when you lean over to place your drink back on the table. When you turn back to him, Jack gets the sense that he has royally fucked up.

“I was engaged to Mateo’s brother.”

The admittance slips past your lips in a quiet confession, one that’s laced with dormant pain and an ache that time will never quite heal completely. Jack blinks at you, heart in his throat and he’s never fucking hated himself as much as he does in this moment.

“My mom used to call us the three musketeers. Anywhere we went, Mateo always tagged along with us. The night that Sammy… the night of the accident, I had taken Teo to the theatre, some new Avengers movie that had come out…”

“Baby, you don’t have to do this,” Jack’s voice is wrecked when he reaches for your hand. You grip his fingers, knuckles turning white but you ignore him and continue anyway.

“Sammy was supposed to meet us there—” Your voice breaks as tears begin to slip past your eyes. Years since it happened and whenever you think about it, it feels like it was only yesterday.

It’s killing Jack to listen, to watch. To see the pain in your eyes and the hurt in your voice. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. He should never have fed into those stupid thoughts, should have never said anything about it.

“We called him, Teo was telling him to hurry up, that he’d be so mad if he missed a single second of the movie. Sammy was speeding…we—fuck, we heard the car ram into a pole—”

Jack catches you before you can collapse into him. Coddles you straight into his chest as he wraps himself around you in the only way he can think to protect you right now. Your body shakes as sobs tear through you, tears soaking into his shirt while his own slip past bloodshot eyes.

He holds you like that until the cries soften to sniffles. Until you’re able to pull away and keep yourself up right. But the pain is still there, still so fresh and prominent in the very centre of your chest.

“His parents blamed me. Said I got him killed. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral, wasn’t allowed to see Mateo anymore. I never got to say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Baby, I shouldn’t have assumed, I shouldn’t have said—”

“No,” you cut him off with a sniffle. “No, it’s okay. I get it. And you deserve to know about him—about Sammy.”

He just wants to hold you close again, to tuck you under his skin to shield you away from everything horrible in this world. Jack reaches for you, a tender hand caressing your jaw as his thumb smoothes away the remnants of silver tears.

He dips his head to meet your gaze. “If he could see you now. See the brilliant woman you’ve become, the incredible mother that you are…”

“You always say this,” you interrupt through a sniffled laugh.

“Because it’s true. My mom walked out on me when I was a kid, left my dad to raise me alone. You are everything to Phoebe that I wish my mother had been to me. And Sammy…he would be so proud of you, if he could see you now.”

You stare at him through bleary vision, unable to steady the ache in your sternum at the mention of Jack’s mother. The only time he’s ever mentioned her. You find yourself nuzzling into his palm, seeking out his comfort and offering yours in return.

“Mary would be proud of you, too.”

Jack blinks, eyes reddening as his lips roll into a thin line. It’s not heavy with guilt like before. Not haunted by pain, but like he’s accepting the fact as a truth.

“Yeah, she would.” He sniffles.

There’s a moment of pure clarity that seems to wash over Jack, like the final weight of something unspoken has been shifted off his shoulders. He can’t seem to take his eyes off yours, can’t help but be whisked away by your soul.

He has never found someone so beautiful before. Every part of you, every imperfection that makes you you. It feels like his heart has burst open in his chest, given way to a field of fresh grass and blooming tulips as this thing begins to glow from the inside out.

He can't hold it in anymore.

“I need to tell you something.” Jack whispers.

“When I lost my wife, when there was nothing else we could do and she passed…I never thought I would find happiness again, never find love. But you—you and Phoebe…you’ve changed me. I’m not the same man I was when we first met. You’ve reminded me of what it feels like to live, to love. And I know that neither of us expected this, that Phoebe calling me Dad is never something we anticipated but…”

“But what?” You’re breathless, bottom lip trembling and fresh silver lines your eyes again. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, can feel that familiar tingle in your fingertips as your gaze desperately searches his.

“Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you, the way I feel about Diva. And I know—I know—I’m not her dad, but she’s become my daughter.”

“Jack…” Your voice is unsteady and you can’t catch your breath.

He rests his forehead against yours, both hands cupping your face now and wiping the tears as quickly as they fall. You’re not given a moment to comprehend his words, to filter through them. The tip of his nose traces the slope of yours when he speaks again.

“I am so, irrevocably in love with you—it’s not even…it’s not funny—why are you laughing?”

But Jack’s laughing, too. Watery and broken as your hands come up to wrap around his wrists, as you blubber and press your tear-soaked lips to his.

Months of uncertainty and pain and guilt and anguish have led up to this. Trials and tribulations, hurdles and heartache. All of it has led to this right now. To Jack’s heart calling out to yours.

“Because I'm happy! Because I'm in love with you, too.”

“Yeah?” His voice cracks, chasing your mouth to kiss you again when another bubble of laughter tumbles from the back of your throat.

While you’re both caught up in one another, in the happiness and love and devotion that’s finally flourishing so freely on the balcony of apartment seventeen, further into the home is where Phoebe sneaks awake.

Her feet are kicked up behind her, belly to the ground with pieces of paper with practiced letters and colored pens scattered around her. In one hand is a black sharpie, the other her bright pink diamonte purse.

And just beside her sits Jack’s SWAT card that she pinched from his wallet five days ago. For the last few nights, she’s been practicing in sneaky sessions, feigning sleep until either of you leave the room so she can continue her mission at hand.

Days of messy handwriting, backward lettering and something just not looking quite right. But tonight is the night. No more trials, no more fresh sheets of paper.

She grins at Sally, who pads over on tubby paws and nuzzles into the crook of Diva’s neck, the whiskers tickling her skin and she struggles to keep her giggles at bay.

And it’s like the furry friend understands the significance of this moment. Because when Phoebe looks down at her work on the wallet, Sally does, too.

PROPERTY OF DIVA PHOEBE Y/L/N ABBOT

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You have officially reached the very end of Apartment Seventeen. I am feeling a lot of emotions right now tbh, this story is one of my favourite things I've ever written and I am truly so incredibly sad to see it end. I cannot thank you all enough for the overwhelming amount of love and feedback and support you guys have shown me and this series, it truly means so so much!!

I do have plans to check in on them again in the future, along with a potential big bonus chapter later down the line, too. But in the mean time, I am excited to start some new projects and I hope you'll stick around to see them too!!

Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!

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