It's a girl (1/3)
(Jack Abbot x fem!FBI!reader x Michael Robinavitch)
Soulmate au
Note: this is set in season 2, but as of right now we are still waiting on episode 8 to air, so i have no idea how season 2 ends yet or how anything is gonna go after episode 7- i am just letting my imagination run wild here. With a criminal minds crossover (borrowing the BAU for this, hope you guys don't mind.) You don't have to know anything about criminal minds to read this. Thank you.
Warnings: no medical accuracy whatsoever. no idea how the fbi works. poly soulmate au. reader doesn't have a name but it's hinted that her name is a boy's name / not common for girls - no name is mentioned. 5-7 years age gap. swearing. jealous robby. jealous jack.
wc◇3.3k
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Robby doesn’t remember when the name carved itself onto his ribs. There was no lightning strike, no dramatic swell of music, no sharp inhale where the world shifted on its axis. It must have happened quietly, the way most irreversible things do. One day his skin was only skin, and then one day it wasn’t.
Unlike Jack’s name, he remembers a time where Yn’s wasn’t there. He has proof of it, actually; sun-faded pictures from beach trips, his chest bare and golden under the light, smooth and untouched, a blank stretch of skin that would one day become a promise, a canvas waiting for her to paint it. Back then it was just his body, sunburnt and shared with only one person.
He didn’t even know it was a her.
There was always a possibility, of course, a quiet, almost embarrassing thought tucked into the back of his mind. But as he got older and met people with the same first name- people with the same first name, loud and ordinary and undeniably male- he folded that possibility up and shoved it out the nearest window. It was easier that way, easier to believe the universe was predictable and easier to focus on whatever felt urgent at the time- school, friends, scraped knees, growing pains. (He can’t even remember what had seemed so important back then. God, maybe old age really is catching up.)
But hey. At least he met one of his soulmates.
Jack, on the other hand, remembers everything.
He was five, small hands, untied shoelaces, knees permanently dusted in dirt, but he remembers it like a scene paused on a screen. The sun was too bright and the pavement too rough. The training wheels had just come off his bike, and then it happened.
He swears he felt it before he saw it. A strange warmth blooming along the inside of his forearm, like ink sinking into paper. He looked down just in time to watch the letters etch themselves into his skin, slow and deliberate, as if the universe itself had careful handwriting.
He crashed immediately after.
He can still remember the sting of gravel and the way his mother screamed his name, but not because he’d fallen, because she’d seen it too.
There’s a video somewhere in a box at his house, burried deep in the closet, with shaky footage. His father’s voice going sharp with disbelief. His mother crying and laughing at the same time and his five-year-old self holding up his arm like he’s just discovered fire.
Having two soulmates wasn’t unheard of, it wasn’t even rare, but he was the first in his family. The first to carry more than one name and that made it monumental. It was something that split his life into before and after.
He can recall that moment second by second , the heat, the letters, the fall. Because in a way, that’s when everything began.
Robby stared at the CEO of the hospital like the man had just announced that the sky was green.
Disbelief sat heavy in his chest. He looked around at his staff- the people who had survived night shifts, code blues, and whatever brand of chaos the Pitt decided to serve that week- and found their faces mirroring his own shock. His eyes caught Jack’s for half a second.
God. They are so fucked.
“Now,” the CEO continued, smoothing down his white patterned shirt as if that might smooth down the situation, “with the possibility of whoever it is that’s responsible for the attack wanting a ransom, we have contacted the FBI. They will be sending a unit here.”
FBI?
Holy shit.
The word moved through the department like a match dropped into a dry forest. The crackle of panic spreading through the wildfire. An FBI unit coming here wasn’t common. Not even with the mayhem the Pitt regularly unleashed. Not even on their worst days.
“Wait, why the FBI? Does Westbridge have FBI with them as well?”
That quieted the department real quick, it was the kind of silence that feels forced and fragile.
“Yes,” the man answered. “There might be someone with the terrorist organisation in the hospital.”
And just like that, the silence shattered.
Interns began muttering to each other in tight, anxious clusters. Residents and nurses turned, almost instinctively, toward Robby. Looking for answers. For reassurance. For leadership. And Robby? Robby was glaring at the CEO and at the woman he had met not even seven hours ago. Even if Dr. Al-Hashimi looked genuinely surprised, his glare didn’t waver.
“I’m pretty sure we said not to disclose any information until we get here.”
The voice cut through everything. It wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be.
Tailored suit, badge clipped neatly onto the breast pocket of his blazer, tie perfectly in place, like he had stepped into a press conference instead of a crisis. His expression was controlled to the point of frightening, sharp eyes, faint frown, authority radiating off him in quiet, suffocating waves. He gestured to the younger man and woman following him, and they set their bags on the floor without a word.
“Hello, everyone,” he said, voice gruff and steady. His gaze swept across the room, cataloguing faces, reactions and fear. “My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am the Unit Chief of the BAU, also known as the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Now that Mr. Norris has decided to let you all know why we’re here, you are safe. Special Agent Morgan and Special Agent Jareau are going to secure the department first and then search everyone-”
The murmurs began again. Louder this time. They were offended. And afraid.
“- Now, I need to speak to the head of this department.”
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
Robby glanced at his fellow attending, irritation slipping into his voice before he could stop it. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“This is your last shift, Dr. Robby. I will be-”
“So this is your first shift?” Agent Hotchner asked, cutting in smoothly as he turned his attention to the shorter female doctor.
“Yes, but I am-”
“Well, Doctor…” He let the word trail off, waiting.
“Dr. Al-Hashimi,” she replied, spine straightening. “Chief attending of this trauma center, who will be taking over when Dr. Robinavitch leaves.”
Aaron looked at the older man standing in front of him. For a split second something flickered across his face, a barely there expression- recognition. And then it was gone, smoothed over by years of FBI training.
“Well, no offense, Dr. Al-Hashimi. I’m sure you’re a great doctor and a great chief attending. But I need someone who has been here long enough to know the ins and outs of this department.”
His smile was professional. Polite and final.
Then he turned.
“Now, Dr. Robinavitch-”
“Robby, please.”
A pause. A shift almost too small to notice.
“Dr. Robby,” he corrected evenly, “would you mind telling Agents Morgan and Jareau every entrance and exit here? Along with any unused rooms or places that staff might take breaks in.”
The weight of it settled on Robby’s shoulders, responsibility layered over frustration, layered over the creeping realization that this day was not going to end quietly.
“Of course.”
As Robby walked the younger agents through corridors and back stairwells, pointing out exits and supply closets and the door no one used because it jammed in winter, Aaron stayed behind.
He answered questions, as many as he could anyway. Carefully measured and professionally vague where he had to be. He tried, and only half succeeded, in calming down the room.
“Agent Garcia, our Technical Analyst, is currently at Westbridge with two other agents,” he said, voice stead and controlled. “She’ll be working from there to get your system back as soon as possible.”
The words technical analyst and system back did little to soothe the tension.
James Ogilvie stepped forward, jaw tight. “If whoever did this is here, isn’t what you’re saying potentially helping them?”
“You worry about your job, I'll worry about mine.” Aaron replied evenly, not raising his voice, not blinking and not even looking at the med student's direction.
And that was that. The conversation ended not with resolution, but with silence- a thick, suffocating silence that seemed to soak into the shiny white floors and hum beneath the fluorescent lights. Everyone stood there, absorbing the reality of it all. FBI. Search. Possible insider. It was all too much. Too fast.
Robby turned, exhaling slowly, and made his way back toward Jack just as the two agents he’d been guiding finished strapping on their Kevlar vests, the sound tearing through the quiet. They checked their firearms with practiced ease before splitting off in opposite directions.
“Look who the cat dragged in.”
Agent Morgan’s voice boomed through the department, warm and amused and entirely too loud for the fragile atmosphere. Every head turned toward the entrance.
She walked in like she belonged there. Like she owned the space she stepped into. Duffel bag slung over her shoulder, face focused yet unbothered.
“Agent YN LN,” Morgan continued with a grin, “couldn’t even take a twelve hours off, huh?”
The world stopped. For Robby and for Jack, their world stopped. YN LN. Their soulmate. YN LN is a woman. Female. Despite the name, despite the years of doubt and despite every boy Robby had met and every assumption he had forced himself to accept.
And all they could do was stare.
She offered a tired smile, saying something to Morgan that neither of them could hear over the sudden thunder of their own heartbeats. She moved forward and pulled Agent Jareau into a brief hug, easy and familiar.
They took in every detail like they were afraid she might disappear if they blinked. Black half-sleeve shirt, tucked neatly into dark blue jeans along with black combat boots, worn but polished. Her badge clipped to the waistband, swaying slightly with each step. She looked steady. She looked real. She was real. Right in front of them.
“Morgan.” Agent Hotchner’s voice cut in, sharp enough to rein him back. He fixed his subordinate with a look before his gaze shifted to her, immediately softening. “Sorry to call you in. I know you’re tired, but we need you here.”
“It’s fine,” she said.
And God. Her voice. Steady with confidence, yet soft and kind. Controlled in a way that suggested she’d seen worse than this and survived it.
“Rossi filled me up to speed on the phone.”
She moved toward the two duffel bags already placed on the floor, adding hers to the small pile before crouching down, efficient and focused. She pulled out a Kevlar vest and secured it around herself without hesitation, hands practiced and precise.
“Everyone,” Aaron announced, drawing the room’s attention once more, “this is Agent YN LN. She will be searching everyone here, making sure that there are no weapons- that includes patients as well.”
And Robby could only stand there, pulse roaring in his ears, staring at the name he had carried on his ribs for years finally given a face.
The room started moving again.
Charts were picked up. Gurneys rolled past. Nurses resumed arguing over the location of manual charts in hushed, tense voices. If you squinted- if you deliberately ignored the two figures moving methodically from person to person- you could almost pretend this was a normal day at the Pitt. A normal day without a system.
Screw that. This was a mess.
The bold yellow FBI letters stamped across the back of Kevlar stood out too much, too sharp and too foreign. Not like Jack’s vest, the one they were used to seeing, the one that blended into the controlled chaos of trauma medicine. These were different. Federal and intrusive.
“Don’t worry.”
Yn’s voice cut cleanly through the small cluster of Dana, Robby, Jack, Santos, and Whitaker. Calm and gentle, entirely at odds with the tension curling through the department.
“It’s just procedure. I know none of the doctors or nurses have a weapon, but I have to follow protocol.”
Her tone softened further as she directed it toward Mel, who stood rigid with wide eyes and restless hands. Mel’s gaze darted instinctively toward her senior attendings and her charge nurse, silently asking if this was really happening.
“It’s okay, hon'.” Dana offered a reassuring smile.
Robby and Jack nodded in sync.
Yn offered Mel the faintest smile before moving on, efficient but careful, respectful in the way she patted down the younger girl's scrubs, understanding how violating it could feel.
“Doctor Robby.”
Aaron’s voice sliced through again, the sharpness of it made the young blonde tense where she stood.
“Can I have a word in private?”
It was shaped like a question but it wasn’t. He was already moving before Robby could answer, posture straight, steps purposeful, not bothering to look back. The expectation of compliance hung in the air.
“What’s this about?”
Jack stepped forward without thinking. He didn’t like the way Agent Hotchner expected Robby to simply follow. Didn’t like the implication of secrecy, and whatever this was, whatever could possibly require privacy, would reach his ears in ten minutes anyway.
Jack Abbot didn’t scare easy. Not before the military, not after, and certainly not when it concerned his soulmate.
“It’s something that concerns me and Doctor Robby,” Aaron replied evenly. “So, Doctor, if you would please cooperate with Agent YLN, it would be appreciated.”
Robby had caught it then. The flicker- the brief look that had crossed Aaron’s face earlier when he heard his government last name. The name that sat on her skin. The one that connected them on paper and on body alike.
“It’s fine.” Robby turned to Jack, offering a steady look. He was a big guy. He could handle himself. And an FBI agent wasn’t what had his pulse racing right now. At least not this FBI agent.
“He should join.” The finality in Robby’s voice was enough to make Aaron pause.
“You’d want him to join,” Robby added.
The break room door shut with a muted click. Robby moved automatically toward the coffee machine, muscle memory guiding him as Jack leaned back against the door, arms crossed, stance protective.
“I’m going to assume your name is Jack Abbot.” Aaron’s gaze settled on the war veteran.
“Yeah,” Jack replied flatly. “Now wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”
The reply was directed at Aaron but the question was directed at Robby, who still had his back turned, focused on pouring coffee into a paper cup.
“He wants to talk about Yn,” Robby said calmly, handing one cup to Jack before finally turning toward the third man. “Black?”
“No, thank you.”
Aaron exhaled slowly, composure still firmly in place.
“I do,” he confirmed. “And I’m sorry, but as long as this is an active case and Yn is here as part of the BAU, she cannot know that you two are her soulmates.”
Silence.
“The hell-”
“She wears her soul ring,” Aaron continued evenly. “She can’t focus on protecting everyone else if she’s too busy thinking about you two.”
Soul rings, an unspoken language. Not government-mandated, not institutionalized. Just something people had done for centuries, a quiet declaration to the world. A simple band, no designs and no stones- gold or black- worn on the left hand, any finger, it didn’t matter which. It meant one thing; I’m waiting, I'm not settling down without you. And when you meet your soulmate, wedding bands stack on top of it. A visible timeline of devotion, patience and hope.
The image hits them both at once.
Yn- tactical, composed, FBI agent Yn Ln- wearing a plain band because she’s waiting. For them. Only them.
Heat crawls up Robby’s neck before he can stop it. His fingers instinctively curl around the black band hanging from the chain beneath his scrubs. And across from him, his soulmate wasn't doing much better. Jack’s ears turn an unmistakable shade of pink as he twists the black band already sitting on his finger. God. They feel like teenagers, hormonal and ridiculous. And yet, Aaron’s words don’t sit right with them.
“No.” Jack shakes his head firmly. “We want to let her know now.”
“I can’t allow that.” Aaron’s tone hardens, expression sharpening into something immovable. “You’d be putting everyone at risk. Yn is here as a favor. She took down a serial killer on her own less than ten hours ago and still showed up. If she ever knows that you’re within a ten-mile radius of this hospital, let alone inside it, whatever energy and focus she has left will fracture.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“That would put you at risk. It would put her at risk. And I can’t afford that.”
The firmness in his voice isn’t cold, it’s protective. And Robby and Jack both notice it, the familiarity in the way he says her name. Not possessive. Not intimate. But deeply accustomed, the kind that comes from years of partnership. The only thing that settles the storm inside is the black band wrapped around Aaron’s wedding finger, topped neatly with a silver wedding ring; he’s not waiting. He already found his, and right now he’s making sure Yn survives long enough to meet hers.
Back at the central station, Yn had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to wrap Mel in blankets and sit her down with warm tea. She looked like deer in headlights, wide-eyed and frozen. Trying very hard to look calm while the world tilted just slightly off balance. Yn had already moved on to Santos, offering a quiet apology as she repeated the same procedure she’d done a dozen times in the last ten minutes.
“It’s okay,” Santos shrugged, straightening up yet acting like this was mildly inconvenient at worst. She looked bored, or maybe exhausted. Hard to tell in an ER. “Not my first time being patted down by a hot lady.”
The two new interns choked.
“Ohhh,” Yn chuckled, glancing up from where she was crouching down, checking Santos’s pant legs. “Careful, kid. I could be your mum.”
“Please,” Dana scoffed from beside them, handing a stack of files to a nurse who’d already been cleared. “You’re like, what - thirty? Thirty-five?”
Yn laughed. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t restrained. It was full-bodied and warm and entirely too genuine for a department currently under FBI rules. The sound turned heads.
“Thank you,” she said, straightening up. “But I am way older than that.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re good, Doctor,” Yn said lightly, stepping back and giving Santos a nod before turning toward Dana. “Try forty-five.”
“Shut up.” No one in the ER had ever seen Trinity Santos this stunned. “I wish I look like that when I’m old.”
Yn opened her mouth to reply, but before she could Robby’s voice carried across the floor, gruff and tired. Commanding in a way that didn’t need to shout to be heard.
“Okay, everyone, here’s how it’s going to work-”
Yn’s spine straightened automatically at the sound. She didn’t mean to tune him out. But she did. Because the moment his voice settled into explanation mode, calm, methodical, leading his people through crisis like he’d done a hundred times before, something in her chest shifted. She moved toward the left side of the station, focusing on unfamiliar faces. Doctors she didn’t recognize. A tech she hadn’t cleared yet.
“Excuse me,” she said softly, stepping in front of Jack.
God. That voice. Jack could fall asleep to it. Could let it pull him under into something warm and steady and entirely free of the nightmares that still woke him in the middle of his sleep.
“I’m gonna-”
“He’s clear.”
The interruption came sharp and immediate. Aaron Hotchner. Jack had never hated a man more in his life, not even the one who’d blown his leg off.
“Him and Doctor Robby are clear,” Hotchner added, already scanning the room for the next body to move toward.
Yn paused. Her gaze flickered between them.
“Um, sure.” She offered Jack a small, almost an apologetic smile before stepping back.
The distance felt wrong, too much yet not enough. She moved away, Jack watched her go and Robby kept talking. The department adjusted and the case continued.
next
