Chapter Text
By the fourth day of sharing an ER with Beth Baker, Jack was seriously considering paying Shen to take his day shifts. Or retiring. Or walking into traffic. Whichever kept him from watching Robby flirt with her through another damn shift like a teenager with a crush. Jack watched it all with the sort of dead-eyed calm only achievable by a man restraining the urge to strangle someone. He was one more cup of coffee brought because ‘I was in the staff room. Noticed you could use a refill,’ or touch to her lower back in the name of ’squeezing by,’ away from filing an HR complaint or setting himself on fire.
He would have thought Robby learned his lesson about dating coworkers after Collins, but he’d been hounding Beth since she walked through the doors on Monday like a man who was ready to be hurt again. Not that he could blame the guy. Of course Robby found excuses to be wherever she was. Of course he’d lean over the counter while she charted, asking questions he already knew the answers to, just to see her roll her eyes and hide a smile.
Jack understood it. Every bit of it. A lifetime ago, he’d done the very same just for a moment in her orbit. She was sharp, quick-witted; brilliant in the same way that had baffled him when they were kids. And beautiful. God, she’d always been beautiful. But not the polished kind, not something you wrapped in a bow that faded over time. Beth had been all edge and heat and life. The kind of girl who made you feel everything too sharply. Like a wildfire. Untouchable. Brilliant. Mesmerizing. Capable of swallowing everything in her path, including the dumb, angry boy who didn’t know how to hold something that real. He’d chased that blaze until he swallowed too much smoke and ran.
Now, watching her move through the ER, he saw a different light. Not the fierce inferno of youth. Not something wild and consuming. She’d become something steadier. Warmer. Constant. Still capable of burning you if you got too close; but now it felt like an invitation, not a dare.
The fire hadn’t gone out. He saw it flicker when she took command of a trauma room, in the spark behind her eyes, in the steel threaded through her voice when the doctor he always knew she’d become stepped forward. But it wasn’t untamed anymore. It had grown up, settled deep. Contained. Controlled. But still no less captivating. Still just as powerful.
And maybe that was the thing that gutted him most. The world hadn’t hardened her. Time hadn’t dimmed her, but just made her more fierce. More determined. More Beth. Even whatever damage he’d done, walking away the way he had, hadn’t turned her cold. She hadn’t gone bitter or small. She’d just kept becoming. She didn’t need him to become that. She never had.
A wildfire to a hearth. Still just as warm. Still just as dangerous. And still drawing people in, same as always, even though Jack stood at the edges in the cold like he was afraid of being burned. Now, he mostly saw it pointed at everyone else, and Robby stepped right up to it like a man who hadn’t seen his share of full thickness burns.
Jack stood in front of the tracking board, eyes unfocused as he scanned over triage codes and room numbers. He wasn’t looking. Not really. His focus kept being pulled across the room to where Beth stood leaned against the wall in front of Robby with a patient chart between them, looking up at him with that gentle smile that Jack had once known from the locker beside his own. Just a consult that had lasted nearly fifteen minutes with laughter that was a little too loud over toxicology results.
He told himself it didn’t matter when the sound of that laugh twisted in his throat. He swallowed it down; that sound wasn’t his to miss. But there was something about watching her laugh like that, that made the breath catch in his chest.
She hadn’t even looked at him since Monday. Not for more than the hard glance that made him want to sink into the floor when she spotted him across the huddle, eyes sharp, unreadable. Hadn’t smiled. Hadn’t flinched. She just looked at him like he was a name she hadn’t thought about in years and didn’t want to remember now. And why would she? He’d made sure of that.
But that look hadn’t left him. It kept echoing every time she passed by and they both pretended not to see each other. She barely looked at him again that first day, not until the locker. And even then, it hadn’t lasted long. A glance. A guarded thank you. No questions. No warmth. Just silence. Which was fair. He’d earned the silence. He’d barely spoken to her since, save for a few short exchanges in the hall when absolutely necessary or an occasional glance when she passed by him with one of the student doctors on her heels like a baby duck.
Still, he kept watching. Call it old habits. Call it muscle memory. Call it whatever the hell it was that tightened his shoulders when someone else made her laugh. He hadn't expected her to still have that kind of power over him. Hadn’t expected to feel eighteen again every time he looked at her, equal parts wonder and regret, like the years between had folded in on themselves.
God, he needed back on the night shift. Maybe he should text Shen. There wasn’t a lot the guy wouldn’t do for two hundred bucks, and Jack was willing to bankrupt himself if necessary.
Jack ran a hand through his hair and stood up straighter, trying to shake it off while he scanned over the board again; a head injury in Five, a silent heart attack in Twelve, an assault victim in Nine with a broken jaw. Things that needed his focus. Not a thirty year old wound that never really healed right. They’d both lived entire lifetimes in the space between then and now. She had a kid, a life she built, and every right to be hit on relentlessly by his best friend. He had... well, enough ghosts to keep him company.
Still, he watched as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the corners of her mouth curved from that laugh, and thought, You used to do that for me.
And just for a second, just long enough to hurt, he let himself miss her. Not just her, but the version of himself that used to make her smile like that, who made her laugh so easily. To catch her smiling at him like it was a secret she didn’t mean to give away. Like he was hers, and she didn’t care who knew it.
There’d been nothing complicated about loving her back then. Not really. Not until he made it complicated. Not until the goodbye that he never truly gave her. Not until life kept going, and he didn’t.
Jack looked away when Beth touched Robby’s wrist, drawing his attention to something on the screen while she gestured, and he pretended to watch the screen and not her. Jack’s jaw clenched as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, fixing his eyes on the board. He wasn’t eighteen anymore. Wasn’t the kid who kept her picture on his dash and spent every waking minute finding new excuses to see her. He’d been a soldier. A medic. A husband. A mistake or two along the way. Life moved forward. Things changed.
She’d changed too. She’d built a whole life without him, and that was all he’d ever wanted for her; the big, beautiful life she used to dream about. The one she planned out in gel pen-covered notebooks, color-coded and hopeful, ready to tear it all up for a boy who could take her away from all of it with a few pieces of military paperwork. He’d pull her from everything she was supposed to be just to drag her across the country from one shitty base house to the next. Or worse, leave her alone in a town she didn’t want to wait while he was sent off to God-knows-where, wondering if he’d come back in a pine box and why she ever ripped out those pages in the first place. He’d seen what that did to his own mother. To his dad. He didn’t wish the same for her.
That was what stuck the most now: watching her laugh at someone else’s joke, brush someone else’s arm, build a life that didn’t need him in it. It never had. That’s why he let her go. She deserved that life. She always had. He didn’t deserve to take that from her then, or to take her time now. However, it didn’t stop him from wanting it. Even if it was fleeting. Even if it was only a few clipped, professional exchanges when they couldn’t avoid each other before he would fall silent and get the fuck out of there.
It wasn’t out of malice. He just… didn’t know what the hell to say to her. He hadn’t known what to say then, and still didn’t. Because what could he possibly say now that wouldn’t sound small? That wouldn’t sound like an excuse? That he’d been a coward? That he thought he was doing the right thing? That he told himself it’d be cleaner that way, that if he made it easy for her to hate him, she wouldn’t have to carry the weight of him for the rest of her life?
Didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.
Hell, maybe it worked. Maybe she did hate him. But she still said thank you when he held the door. Still smiled that same tight little smile that used to drive him nuts in high school when she was pretending not to be hurt and he would wish she’d just fucking say it, while everyone else got the one he sacrificed without knowing it was Jack’s first.
Across the hub, Beth pushed her glasses up into her hair and tucked the tablet under her arm before she said something under her breath that made Robby bark out a laugh. Jack didn’t hear the joke, and he didn’t need to. He caught the way Robby leaned into it, how he stood up a little straighter when she brushed past and gave his arm a light squeeze. She was already waving Javadi over, heading for Exam Three without breaking stride.
Robby watched her go, grinning to himself like he was still replaying whatever she’d said. He shook his head, almost fond, before finally turning away and making his way over to Jack, who stood still, arms folded, gaze trained on the board like it had something new to tell him.
Robby stepped up beside him, hands deep in his hoodie pockets. “You still on the guy in Two?”
Jack gave a short nod, his nails digging into his bicep when Robby stole one more glance down the hallway to where Beth stood outside the room with Javadi, reviewing lab results with her before they stepped into the room and out of view. “Yeah. He pulled out his IV again. Had to restrain him, which just pissed him off, but he’s responding to antibiotics at least.”
“He swing at anybody this time?”
“Just cursed us out. Progress, I guess.”
“Yeah? Learn any new ones?”
Jack shrugged noncommittally. “Called Whitaker a tit-zit. I think the kid was more confused by it than anything else.”
Robby huffed out a short laugh and shook his head. “Fuck, that poor kid can’t catch a break, can he? You hear a teenager told him he looked like a cartoon rat from a Disney movie last week?”
Jack smirked. He’d been in the room for that one. Abby was already pretty doped up by then. He’d looked it up after he left the room, and she wasn’t too far off, honestly.
“Yeah, no shit.” His laugh came out low and humorless. Robby glanced down the hall again, still grinning like a fucking idiot. The words slipped out before Jack could stop them, sharper than he intended. “You and the new girl seem to be hitting it off.”
“You think so?” Robby asked, still half-grinning like he didn’t already know the answer.
Jack didn’t bother looking at him. “You’ve been trailing behind her since the start of your shift like you’re her assigned intern, so yeah. I’d say so.”
Robby scoffed and raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to make sure she feels welcomed, is all.”
Jack arched a brow, finally glancing at him. “Is that what the kids are calling it now?”
Robby just grinned wider, unfazed by the jab. “What do you think about her? Baker.”
Jack hesitated. Not long, but long enough for Robby to take notice. His eyes stayed on the board, though the patient names and bed numbers had stopped registering. “She’s good,” he said flatly.
“Yeah,” Robby nodded, eyes drifting down the hall again. “She’s something else, man.”
Jack’s jaw flexed, just once.
Yeah, fucking tell me about it.
“Sure is,” he muttered.
They stood in comfortable enough silence, the low hum of the ER around them; monitors beeping, phones ringing, the occasional call for a gurney down trauma. Behind them, someone called out for a consult. Jack didn’t move. Neither did Robby. Instead, he glanced over at Jack, brow furrowed, and gave him a nudge.
“Hey,” Jack looked over at him, trying to ignore the concern etched in his features. “You good? You’ve been off all week.”
Jack didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch out, eyes drifting back to the board like it could somehow save him from this fucking conversation. Then he shrugged, voice dry. “Oh, just counting down the hours until I’m back on nights. My people aren’t usually up before noon.”
He knew Robby wasn’t buying it. He could feel it in the way his gaze held, quiet and stubborn, like he was waiting for something Jack didn’t have in him right now. The jackass would drag it out of him eventually, but today, Jack was ready to dig in until he gave up. Robby gave him a knowing look, but before he could press or offer some sage wisdom from one of the religions he collected like baseball cards, the same voice called for a consult again a little louder. Mohan, he assumed, from the way Robby closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.
Robby sighed and turned. “No rest for the wicked.”
“Better you than me.”
Jack offered him a mock salute as Robby started his trudge down the hall to where Mohan waited outside of a room, already talking to Robby before he even approached. Jack looked up at the board for a final time, though he wasn’t sure what he was searching it for anymore.
“You need something to do?” Dana called, pulling his eyes from the screen to where she stood, brows raised. “Because I’m sure I can find you something if you’re just standin’ around with your thumb up your ass.”
Jack rolled his eyes and smirked. Back to reality, Abbot. “Depends. Any of those options going to be any fun?”
“Are any of my options ever fun?” She shot back.
“Then keep them to yourself,” he smirked, ignoring the glare she shot his way while he stepped behind the counter.
She shook her head and turned back to Mateo, words passing between them in quick, low tones before he hustled off. Jack pulled an iPad from the charging deck and started to log in. Might as well round while he still could. The Pitt had fallen into a lull around them, which meant whatever fresh hell the day had planned was just lurking, waiting for them all to let their guard down long enough to believe, for one stupid second, that it might actually be an uneventful shift.
He knew better than to get too comfortable.
Jack tapped into the chart for the guy in Nine, scrolling through vitals on the screen and half-listening to Dana talk to someone behind him, when movement across the hall drew his eyes up again.
Beth stepped out of the room, frowning as she patted the front of her vest, mouth tugging to the side like she was mid-mental inventory. She reached up to feel at her collar, then checked her vest again, like she expected something to magically appear. When that didn’t turn anything up, she moved to her pockets, scrubs first, then vest again, clearly hunting for something. She started toward the station, probably about to turn the whole thing upside down looking for whatever she’d lost.
He watched her for a moment, quiet, and smirked before he could help himself, tablet forgotten in his hands.
She had that same furrow in her brow her mom used to get when she was running late and couldn’t find her damn glasses. He’d seen that scene play out a hundred times over those early mornings at the Baker house, sitting at the kitchen table before school, watching Leanne tear through the drawers, muttering about how she just had them, accusing the three of them of moving them, searching for a pair of readers that were, inevitably, already perched on her head. And every time, Sheriff Baker would walk in behind her without a word, pluck them gently from her hair, and hand them to her with a kiss to the cheek and the same five words that were spoken like a joke between the five of them.
He watched over the edge of the tablet while Beth scanned the counter with a huff, moving papers and patting around monitors. She muttered under her breath, talking herself through the last thirty minutes while she retraced her steps, completely unaware of the frames tucked in her hair. She moved to the terminal she’d been working at earlier with a hopeful look, only for it to drop when she came up empty.
She turned slightly, frustration mounting, and he said it before he even thought about it; gentle and easy, like muscle memory.
“They’re on your head, Leanne.”
She froze, one foot still mid-step, and shot him a look over her shoulder. Her hand went up again, finding the glasses exactly where he’d said, and she groaned. Pink crawled up her neck and she laughed under her breath. He smirked and glanced up at her, watching her turn to stand across from him. She didn’t hurry off, didn’t mutter something polite. Just laughed at the phrase they’d both heard hundreds of times over those four years.
“Jesus. You sound like Abby,” she said, half-laughing as she slid the glasses down onto her face. “She keeps telling me I’m turning into my mother. I’m not sure if it’s a compliment yet.”
Jack shrugged, still scrolling through the chart in front of him that he’d stopped looking at a while ago. “Worse people to turn into.”
That made her pause. She looked at him a moment longer, then smiled. Not the tight, polite thing he’d seen all week from the locker beside his own when they accidentally made eye contact, but the one he’d seen her flash everyone but him this week. The bite of her lip before it wrinkled her nose. Small, but real, and it rattled something loose. Her laugh this time was softer, a little warmer. “Guess so.”
She turned back down the hall, still half-smiling as she pulled the door open and disappeared back inside the room. Jack lingered on the screen a moment longer before swiping to the next chart. It was the most they’d spoken since she started; nothing special. But his chest felt a little less tight than it had that morning. He wasn’t about to question it.
Jack closed out of the chart. The guy in Nine was probably going to have his jaw wired shut for the next few months, but he assumed that was the natural consequence of getting piss drunk and picking a fight with a linebacker. Frat boys. Every August, they flooded in like clockwork, one Alpha Delta Dumbass after the next. Rush season had barely started and he was already ready for it to be over, lamenting the influx of alcohol poisonings, overdoses, and absolutely batshit injuries that were sure to roll in from Pitt’s Greek Row. He pushed off the counter, starting in the same direction Beth had gone towards Exam Three, ignoring the warm swell in his chest while the interaction played on a loop in the back of his mind.
He barely made it three steps from the hub when Dana’s voice rang sharp across the ER:
“Incoming trauma; male, early teens. Pulled from a house fire. Full-thickness burns to bilateral lower extremities, vitals unstable. Alert and agitated. ETA three minutes. Bringing him straight to Trauma Two.”
The whole department snapped to attention when pagers rang from various corners.
Trauma team peeled off toward the bay without hesitation, moving like gears in a well-oiled machine. Jack was already tugging on a gown, burn protocols racing through his mind in rhythm with his steps. Dana was at his side, rattling off the rest of the incoming report.
Beth reappeared just as Dana started talking, walking alongside Javadi down the main corridor. She looked lighter than before, mid-conversation, a smile still playing faintly at the corners of her mouth. She slowed as Dana’s voice cut across the ER, that little smile fading into something more focused.
“Patient’s Deaf,” Dana added. “EMTs said he didn’t have his phone, no family on scene. Remote system is down, so we’re waiting on the interpreter to finish up in cardiology. Could be a half hour.”
That stopped her. Beth’s head snapped towards him at that. Only for a breath, half a second, really. Her posture shifted, her weight catching unevenly on one foot as she pivoted. She thrust her tablet out to Javadi, and peeled away from her without another word. She headed toward Trauma Two, eyes sharp, expression unreadable now. Whatever softness had been on her face a moment ago was gone.
Jack cursed under his breath. “What’s the fucking use of having the system then?”
Dana gave him a dry look. “Whole hospital is falling apart, Jack. Not just us.”
He wasn’t listening. His mind had already jumped ahead, memory pulling faster than thought. He was scanning the Pitt before he realized why, looking for copper hair and quick, steady hands. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knew what he was looking for. Already knew who.
His eyes caught on Beth as she cut through the corridor, already reaching for gloves. She was moving with purpose, wordless.
“Do you still—?” She nodded before he could finish asking, like she’d already anticipated the question.
“I do,” she nodded, latex snapping as she turned to Dana without slowing her stride into the trauma bay. “Cancel the interpreter. I’m fluent. I’ve got it.”
Dana didn’t argue. She just gave a tight nod and turned out of the bay, already calling in the incoming labs and alerting the burn unit. Jack turned to the team, already going through protocol.
“Alright, gang,” he called, clapping once and rubbing his palms together while he assessed the room a final time. “We’ve got full-thickness burns and unstable vitals coming. EMS says airway’s clear for now, but we stay ready to intubate. Fluids were started en route; 500 mL LR wide open.”
Beth lingered just behind them while Jack continued, calling out meds to be prepped before the patient arrived and mentally calculating fluids, methodical as she finished tying off her gown and tucked her hair under a surgical cap. Jack glanced back once and caught her eye. She didn’t speak; just moved to help prep the burn cart and RSI meds without being asked. She met his gaze and gave him the smallest nod; serious, focused. She was here, fully. Whatever lived between them didn’t matter right now. She’d left it on the other side of the glass.
He held her gaze a moment longer than he meant to, then gave a sharp nod of his own and turned back to the room. If she could set it all aside, so could he. He swallowed hard and continued, flicking his head toward Beth.
“Patient is Deaf, so Doctor Baker will be in the room to interpret.” Through the glass, he saw the ambulance doors crash open, paramedics flanking a gurney already in motion. The boy strapped to it was thrashing, wide-eyed, soot-streaked, and heartbreakingly young. Jack addressed the team a final time. “Let’s move, people.”
The trauma bay doors burst open a heartbeat later. The paramedics rolled in hard and fast, already calling out, the boy on the stretcher thrashing against his restraints. His face was streaked with soot, lips cracked, chest heaving with panic. Blood and fluid clung to hastily applied bandages over blistered skin. His eyes were wide and wild, flicking to each unfamiliar face as though searching for some anchor he couldn’t find. His hands were restrained, fingers jerking and twitching. His chest hitched like he was choking on fear, though Jack knew it was likely smoke inhalation starting to close his airway.
“BP 86/52, HR 132 and thready, RR 30, O2 89 on non-rebreather! No visible head trauma. Burns to both legs, some blistering to the lower abdomen. Suspected inhalation. Combative on scene.”
Jack moved to the head of the bed, already assessing. The air around him reeked of scorched hair and burned fabric, the smell clinging like a second skin. Third-degree burns to both legs, left worse than right. Surface was pale and leathery; classic full-thickness. Likely no pain in the deepest parts, but judging by his panic, there was still plenty of peripheral damage. They needed fluid resuscitation. Pain control. Airway protection. Beth appeared at Jack’s side just as the gurney locked into place and he counted to transfer to the bed.
“Why the hell is he restrained?” she demanded, voice sharp. Jack turned his head just enough to see her eyes over her mask, wide and horrified.
One of the paramedics answered, defensive and out of breath. “He went wild in the back of the rig. Tried to swing at my partner and kept trying to pull his IV. We thought he was gonna hurt himself.”
Beth didn’t respond right away. She moved to the side of the gurney, watching the boy’s fingers move at his side. She stepped forward, calm, and crouched into his line of sight. Her hands moved while she murmured under her breath low enough that Jack almost didn’t register the words.
“I’m Doctor Baker,” she whispered. “You’re safe. We’re going to take care of you. What’s your name?”
His entire body stilled. Then his fingers started moving, frantic and grateful. A flood of relief broke over his soot-smudged face, his eyes brimming as he signed back. She reached for the first restraint without looking up.
The paramedic took a step forward. “Ma’am, I wouldn’t—”
“He’s terrified and you took away his only way to communicate,” Beth said flatly. Her eyes lifted to the paramedic, who shifted uncomfortably under the steely glare. “I’d try to hit you, too.”
She undid the second strap and kept signing. He was still breathing hard, wiry chest heaving, but the wildness had left his eyes.
“Baker,” Jack said, nodding toward the chart, “I need full name, allergies, meds.”
“Already asked,” she said, not missing a beat. “His name’s Micah Porter. Birth date 9/13/13. No known allergies. He’s on Keppra for seizures. His last dose was last night, but he missed this morning. He says he can’t move his left foot, and it feels ‘heavy’. He thinks he might’ve inhaled smoke; his throat hurts.”
“Copy that,” Jack gave a sharp nod, already motioning to the respiratory tech. “Get a neb with albuterol and Atrovent ready. High-flow O2 until we know how bad the inhalation is. Let’s start LR for fluid resuscitation, and get pain control on board; morphine, titrated. Two large-bore IVs, and watch for compartment syndrome in those legs. Cap refill and distal pulses every 15. If the pressure spikes, we may need to escharotomize. Estimated 20% TBSA; let’s start Parkland protocol.”
Beth touched Micah’s shoulder before signing again. “We’re giving you medication to help with the pain. It might make you sleepy. You’re going to feel a pinch in your arms.”
Micah’s hands fluttered again. Beth’s eyes softened and she guided Micah’s arms down so Jesse could start IVs.
“He was scared they were going to cut off his legs,” Beth translated, her voice thickening for a moment. “He wants to know if they’re going to be okay.”
Jack knelt beside the stretcher, catching the kid’s eye. He sure as hell knew that feeling. “We’re going to do everything we can,” he said, nodding at Beth to interpret. “We’ve got you, kid.”
Beth’s fingers moved and the boy nodded, eyes wet and terrified. She reached up and brushed tears away with a gloved thumb.
They worked quickly; misting his airway, starting fluids, applying clean dressings. Jack moved in rhythm with the team, calling out meds, checking the lines, listening for vitals. But he kept glancing toward Beth, who hadn’t stopped signing since the moment she’d stepped to the gurney. Beth stayed at Micah’s side through all of it, keeping herself in his line of sight and out of the way, translating questions and answers with quiet authority. Micah was responding just as fast, wide-eyed and still half-panicked, but locked in on her like she was the only thing in the room that made any sense.
Her hands didn’t falter, even when the boy’s did. And Jack, even as he moved through protocols and orders, felt the edges of something quieter tug at him.
He watched her calm a boy who had been wordless in his fear only moments ago. Watched the way her body softened when she signed. The way Micah's shoulders slowly eased despite the pain. He knew that gentleness. That quiet care that felt like devotion. Even over three decades, that hadn’t changed about her. Not one bit.
She’d always had that quiet steadiness. Back when they were kids, when his home had been fists and slammed doors, and he would show up at midnight with a split lip or worse, too angry to cry and too proud to talk. She never asked questions. Never pushed. Never woke up her dad and sent him to that fucking house like he begged her not to the first time he knocked on her window with a new bruise under his eye. She just pulled back the covers, let him slip in beside her, and wrapped herself around him like he wasn’t a mess of broken glass.
They’d lie like that for hours, her silence never demanding anything of him, just offering a kind of clean, whole silence that still made his throat close to think about. Her arms around him. Her feet tucked between his. Her lips brushing against hands that still shook while the house slept, holding him like she could keep him from falling apart. Salvation found in a twin bed with his head on her chest and her fingers combing through his hair in a quiet that felt like home.
That same gentleness radiated from her now from beside that bed, and the thing that twisted in his chest felt an awful lot like pride. For a moment, it vindicated the choice that scared boy made when he pulled away from the house he used to seek those same careful hands in. She became exactly what he knew she would be. But it didn’t dull the ache pulsing in his chest any less.
“Vitals still trending down,” someone said, hanging fluids.
“Let’s get him prepped for transfer to Burn Unit as soon as he’s stable,” Jack ordered, checking the lines, the monitors, the damage. “Labs sent?”
“CBC, CMP, lactate, carboxyhemoglobin. ABG pending.”
Beth kept signing, her hands sure and calm even when her voice was brisk. “He’s asking if he’s going to die,” she said quietly.
Jack’s throat tightened. “Tell him we’re doing everything we can to help him. He’s in good hands.”
“Already did,” she said softly. Micah’s gaze darted between them, wide and wet. His fingers fluttered again. Beth recoiled slightly like she was surprised, then laughed.
“He wants to know if the paramedics are going to give his shirt back,” she said after a moment, something like a smile in her tone. “It’s a Star Wars one; his grandma bought it for him at Disneyland. He’s a big fan.”
Beth looked down, a soft laugh catching in her throat.
“Those are my favorite movies,” she signed back and her face lit up in the kind of way Jack hadn’t seen in years. It pulled at something deep in him, something tender and stupid. They must have watched the originals a hundred times back then. A New Hope was her favorite. She used to mouth the lines before the characters could say them. It drove him nuts.
“A New Hope is my favorite,” she signed. “What about you? Prequels, sequels, or the classics?”
Micah signed something else, faster this time, and Beth snorted, loud and unfiltered, and grinned wide. God, that laugh. It had been so long since he heard it outside of a memory.
“What’d he say?” Jack asked, smirking despite himself.
Beth laughed again. “Revenge of the Sith. But now that he knows how Anakin felt on Mustafar, he’s changed his mind.”
Jack didn’t know what the fuck any of that meant, but Beth snorted out another laugh and signed back to him, earning a tired grin from the boy. Even in the chaos of the trauma bay, the moment carved out a breath of levity, just enough to let them all exhale. But he should have known better than to breathe too early.
The crash came quickly. Monitors began to scream; first in warning, then insistently. Jack’s head snapped toward the screen. Numbers dipped low, too low, and didn’t bounce back. “BP’s crashing. 72 over 38. Pulse ox falling.”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “We need to tube him before we lose the window,” he said, reaching for the sedative. “Baker, tell him.”
Beth was already leaning in, hands steady as her voice dropped into something soft. “We are going to give you some medicine to make you sleep, and put a tube in to help you breathe. We have to do this so your lungs can rest,” she signed. “I promise it won’t hurt. You’ll be asleep the whole time. Doctor Abbot will be gentle.”
Micah’s head rolled weakly side to side. His chin trembled, shaky breaths far more labored. Then his eyes lifted to hers, wide and wet, brimming with the kind of fear no kid should have to carry. His hands moved, trembling.
Beth’s eyes softened. She nodded. “He wants to know if anyone called his mom. He wants her.”
Jack’s jaw tightened and he felt something crack in her chest. They didn’t have time for it. Beth didn’t wait for him to speak. She bent a little closer, brushing hair gently from Micah’s forehead. Micah’s eyes locked on hers, unblinking. He shook his head once, feebly, lip wobbling. Tears welled again. Micah signed something half-formed, fear, confusion, pain all jumbled together. Beth’s entire face changed, crumpling, then softening into something more tender. She brushed her fingers along his jaw, catching tears.
“I know you do, sweet boy,” she murmured as she signed. “She’ll be here soon, okay? I promise.”
“Baker,” Jack warned, not unkindly. “We have to move.”
“She’ll be here when you wake up, kiddo. I’m so sorry, but we can’t wait for her,” she said quietly, not looking at him.
Another alarm shrieked. Jack checked the vitals again, jaw tight. “We don’t have time. Baker—”
“Jack,” she cut in, gaze still locked on the crying kid in front of her. The sound of his name leaving her lips made him stop. “Thirty seconds.”
Jack bit down the want to argue. Everything in him wanted to say no. Every instinct screamed that they were cutting it too close. But Beth looked up at him, blue eyes finding his own, devoid of any panic. Just something soft he’d never seen in them before. He gave a sharp nod and stepped back. He’d never won an argument with Beth Baker before. He doubted he’d start winning them now.
“Talk to him while we get ready to sedate.”
Beth leaned in, one hand resting against Micah’s cheek, dirt-smudged and tear-streaked. Her thumb brushed gently across the soot and grime while his hands moved.
“I have a little girl just a few years older than you,” Beth signed quickly. “When she gets scared, I tell her that she doesn’t have to be brave the whole time. Just ten seconds at a time. Then ten more. Then ten more. Then again and again, and before you know it, it’s over.”
Micah watched her with wide eyes, the noise of the trauma bay seeming to dull around the soft cadence of her voice. “Can you give me ten seconds of brave, sweetheart?” She asked. “Just ten. That’s all.”
Jack’s chest ached, sharp and sudden. He watched as Micah reached for Beth’s hand, watched her take it and wrap her fingers around his with the same quiet steadiness he remembered in the quiet of that bed. No fear, no second thoughts. Just grace under fire.
He recognized the sign the boy’s hands shaped. Okay.
Beth looked up, met Jack’s eyes, and gave the faintest nod.
“Push etomidate and sux. Let’s get ready,” Jack said, hoping that no one else noticed how his voice had gone rough.
“Count to ten with me,” Beth signed. “One… two…”
The boy’s fingers moved with hers until they went slack at four. Beth held onto Micah’s hand long after the sedation kicked in.
“Go. Bag him.”
The ventilator hissed to life. Jack set the tube, and the team moved like clockwork around them, but in the middle of it all, Beth’s hand stayed around the boy’s. Jack stood at the head of the bed, hands still, eyes on the vent readings. The kid’s vitals were stabilizing now, breathing tube secure, lines placed. It should’ve felt like a win. But all Jack could focus on was the way Beth’s thumb was brushing over the boy’s knuckles, slow and steady, even as his body relaxed into chemical stillness.
She didn’t move when they called time in the trauma bay. Didn’t flinch when someone asked who was calling his mother. She just grabbed a fresh piece of gauze, dampened it, and began gently wiping the soot and ash from the boy’s face.
They handed Micah off to the burn team with a full report and a clean face. The moment the bed rolled out, the tension in the bay bled out like a pressure valve slowly hissing open.
Beth started peeling off her gloves, then her gown. Jack stayed where he was, watching the way her movements had finally slowed. The way she became everything that scared kid from years ago always knew she could be. The way he still couldn’t find the words.
The hum of overhead lights filled the silence that followed. For the first time in what felt like hours, no one was shouting. No alarms. No beeping. Just the quiet sound of gloves snapping off and gowns rustling to the floor. The rush had faded, leaving a kind of echo in its place. Quiet. Heavy.
Exhausting.
Jack exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “Good work, everyone.”
A few hums of agreement cut through the quiet. A couple of nods. Someone sighed like they’d been holding their breath the entire time. Relief hung in the air; strange, sharp, bitter on the edges. But still there.
Jesse leaned back against the counter, rubbing his face. His eyes flicked to Beth. “Where’d you learn to sign like that?”
“High school,” she said, pulling her mask off and smoothing her hair back. “They started offering ASL my sophomore year. My boyfriend was supposed to take it with me,” She gave a crooked smile, glancing over at Jack for a half second like an offering. Jack’s mouth twitched; small, almost imperceptible, but there. “But he bailed and took German instead. I stuck with it, and ended up falling in love with it.”
Beth shrugged. “Did three years there, kept going in college. Still love it.”
Jesse nodded slowly. “Well… damn. Glad you did. Kid responded to you more than anyone.”
“Oh, you guys did all the heavy lifting,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just the messenger. Nice work, everyone. Really.”
The trauma bay emptied in slow motion, everyone moving like they were just now remembering how. Jack watched her a moment longer before peeling off the last of his PPE. The room was still settling, but she hadn’t stopped moving; helping with cleanup, taking charts from the team so they could get the hell out of there and catch their breath. He watched her focus on a monitor, the light reflected on the lenses of her glasses, and peeled off his gloves.
“Glad you stuck with it,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.
Beth looked up. Just for a second. Then nodded once and went back to her notes. “I’m glad you were never able to talk me into taking German with you.”
“It was incredibly useful.”
“Oh good,” she hummed. “You’re still telling yourself that.”
He huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. It barely counted as anything, but it still felt better than the silence they’d been wrapped in for days. He reached behind him, fingers tugging at the tie on his gown. It was stuck, knotted too tight in his rush to get it on. He fumbled with it and cursed under his breath, trying to yank it loose.
Beth didn’t say anything at first. Just glanced up from her keyboard, her hands still. She sighed, closed the chart, and turned in her chair.
“Turn around,” she said.
She stood and pulled a folding knife from her scrub pants. Jack raised a brow when she flicked it open with a practiced motion. She raised her own, then gestured for him to turn. He hesitated a moment before he obeyed and heard the soft rustle of her moving closer.
“Old habits?” he asked.
Beth shrugged, stepping close enough that he could feel the heat of her against his back. Close enough that he could smell her perfume; something sweet and warm. Not the shockingly pink bottle of strawberry-glitter-whatever that had been her go-to when they were kids, but still unmistakably Beth.
“Dad never went anywhere without one,” she said. “Guess it rubbed off.”
He felt the press of her fingers against his back as she pulled the tie away from him. Just a brush, but it crawled down his spine in a rush of heat that jolted him. Her fingers adjusted, and he heard a soft snick as she sliced through the fabric. She stepped back, taking the heat with her.
“Thanks,” he said, voice low, tugging off the gown and balling it in one hand.
“You got it,” she replied, slipping the knife shut and tucking it back into her pocket. She started to turn again, but Jack didn’t move.
“You did great work,” he said.
Beth waved it off with a small smile, already reaching for the keyboard again. “I just interpreted.”
“Really, Beth.” She looked up at him like she was caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For the first time that week, he looked at her. Really looked; met her eye instead of avoiding it, and she did too. Something about it made him want to drop his eyes. Still, he kept looking. “You were incredible.”
Her face softened, cheeks coloring. There was a shift, something familiar flickering behind the blue that he hadn’t seen since she started. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
He opened his mouth again to speak, though he wasn’t sure what. He still didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was time he finally started to figure that out.
He watched her move without looking at her directly. She bent down to scoop a discarded gown up off the floor and cross to the bin. She didn’t speak, didn’t look his way, and he didn’t blame her.
He tried to come up with something to say, anything, but the words lodged deep in his throat, stuck somewhere behind guilt and pride and all the things he hadn’t let himself feel in years. It was easier when there were patients between them. Easier when there was chaos and blood and a reason not to look too closely.
But now the silence pressed in, and he was running out of excuses. It didn’t change the fact that even at forty-eight, he didn’t know what to say to her, just like he hadn’t at eighteen. How do you start a conversation when you’re the reason there’s nothing left to say? When you’re the reason she had to erect the wall between them?
He shifted his weight, thumbed the edge of his sleeve. Took a breath like it might crack the seal inside him.
Ten seconds of brave, Abbot. You’ve done a lot longer.
Say something.
He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Swallowed.
“I’ve been meaning to—” he started, then stopped, the words stuttering in his throat. The breath he’d drawn to finish it hung there, suspended. Then he tried again. “Beth…”
She stilled, halfway to straightening up from picking up a pair of gloves. She turned to look at him and tossed the gloves into the bin. Her expression didn’t harden. It didn’t soften either. But her hands stilled just slightly, like maybe she was holding her breath. Like maybe she’d been waiting too.
Jack exhaled, slow. A little unsteady. Just say it, asshole.
But before the words could leave his mouth, Dana pushed into the bay, eyes already locked on Beth.
“Kid’s parents are here,” she said. “Mom’s hearing. Dad isn’t.”
“Got it,” Beth gave a short nod, already moving. “Thanks, D.”
Her shoulder brushed against his when she passed, stepping around him. Jack watched her go, then followed, unsure if he meant to catch up or just bear witness. He kept a few paces behind her, eyes locked on her back.
The parents stood just beyond the double doors. The dad was tall, nervous, holding his wife’s hand in both of his like he was trying to keep them both upright. He looked up at Beth’s approach, and the mother started to raise her hands to sign for her husband, but Beth was already moving, fingers fluid.
The mom blinked, startled. The dad flinched a little in surprise, then caught on. Beth didn’t pause. She signed and spoke at the same time, making sure neither of them had to wait to understand. Jack couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he caught the word stable from the cadence of her speech and the way both parents sagged just a little with relief.
“Can we see him? Where is he?” The mother asked, voice raw.
“Of course. He just went up to the Burn Unit. I can show you up if you’d like to follow me.” Beth turned, gesturing for them to follow, and they did, silent and still absorbing, clutching each other's hands tightly.
As Beth passed him, her hand brushed against his arm. She didn’t glance up at him or break her stride, but her fingers curled just slightly in a gentle squeeze; not quite firm, but deliberate. Familiar in a way that hit him deep in the ribs like he’d been punched.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched her keep walking, turning every few steps to keep signing for the father while speaking with the mother.
Dana appeared at his side, tracking the parents as they followed Beth down the hall.
“I told you; she’s good.” she said, bumping his shoulder.
Jack stared after her for a long second, still feeling the warmth of her touch like it had sunk through his skin and stayed there.
“Yeah,” he said. “She is.”
She always had been.