The overnight on-call board glared at you like a cruel joke.

Your name. Right next to Jackson Avery’s.

He looked up from the chart he was reading, eyebrows lifting. “Well… looks like you’re stuck with me all night.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great. Twelve hours of Avery commentary.”

He grinned. “Oh, please. You love my commentary.”

Hour 1 — The Vending Machine Crisis

The night began with a code blue, a sprint down two hallways, and a patient stabilized by teamwork and sheer adrenaline.

Then came the real disaster.

The vending machine ate Jackson’s dollar.

He stood there staring at the glass, arms folded like he was facing a mortal enemy.

“This is a crime,” he announced. “That bag of chips was my lifeline.”

“It’s a vending machine, not a demon.”

“You don’t know that.”

You snorted. “If I get you the chips, will you stop sulking?”

He brightened instantly. “You’d do that for me?”

You selected the exact snack he wanted, tapped the machine, and watched it drop.

Jackson placed a hand over his heart. “You’re my hero.”

Hour 4 — The Quiet Moment

Between consults, the ER finally went quiet. You were sitting on the edge of an empty exam bed when Jackson walked in, two cups of terrible hospital coffee in his hands.

He offered one to you silently.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

He didn’t joke this time. Didn’t tease. He sat beside you, the kind of close that felt natural after the night you’d had.

“You doing okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, though your shoulders sagged. “Long night.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you’re handling it better than most. Better than me half the time.”

You laughed weakly. “You? The Avery? Struggling?”

He nudged your knee lightly. “Don’t tell anyone.”

His voice softened even more. “I’m glad it’s you here with me.”

Something in your chest flipped.

Hour 7 — The Laughing fit

At 3:17 a.m., delirium hit.

You and Jackson found yourselves laughing over absolutely nothing in the supply closet—literally nothing. You picked up a sponge and said, “This is my child now.”

Jackson leaned against the shelves, laughing so hard he almost dropped a box of gloves.

“Okay—okay, wait,” he gasped. “If that sponge is your child, does that make me spongebob's dad?