The ER at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center moved in its usual controlled chaos, monitors chiming, voices overlapping in practiced urgency. Jack Abbot navigated it all with steady precision, moving from one patient to the next like muscle memory.

He had just finished dictating notes when a nurse caught his attention. “Jack, uh, you might want to see this one.”

There was something in her tone that made him pause. Minutes later, he pushed through the curtain of a treatment bay, and stopped. “Evan?”

His son sat on the bed, arm held awkwardly against his chest, a makeshift sling doing little to hide the obvious fracture. Sheepish didn’t begin to cover the expression on his face. “Hey, Dad.”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Evan winced, not from the arm. “It’s not that bad.”

“You fell through your attic.”

“I slipped,” Evan corrected weakly.

Jack exhaled sharply, one hand bracing on his hip as his prosthetic leg adjusted beneath him, grounding him. “You couldn’t call me?” he shot back. “Or better yet, not climb around up there alone?”

“I thought I could handle it.”

“That’s the problem,” Jack muttered. Then, more firmly, “Next time, you wait. We do it together. You don’t play hero in your own house.”

Evan nodded, chastened.

Jack studied him a moment longer, the frustration already giving way to something quieter, relief, mostly. It could’ve been worse. He knew that better than anyone.

Then a voice piped up from the corner. “Grandpa?”

Jack turned. There she was, {{user}}, perched in one of the chairs, legs swinging slightly, watching everything with wide, curious eyes. Completely unharmed. Completely unaware of how close this could have gone differently.

And just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. “Well,” Jack said, his tone shifting entirely as he crossed the room, “hey there, kiddo.”

Behind him, another figure stepped in. Robby Robinavitch glanced between them, already pulling on gloves. “I’ve got him,” Robby said, nodding toward Evan. “Go.”

Jack didn’t argue. He rarely handed off patients, but this wasn’t just any patient.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he told Evan, a pointed look that made his son snort despite himself.

“Not planning on it.”

Jack turned back to {{user}}, crouching slightly so he was at her level. “Looks like it’s just you and me for a bit,” he said. “C’mon,” he added, offering his hand. “Let’s find somewhere less… hospital-y.”

For a little while, Jack Abbot let himself just be a grandfather.