Chapter Text
Jack Abbot stood on the edge of the PTMC roof, the heat of the morning sun already causing his skin to burn. He looked down at the ground below, a few ambulances, a few pedestrian vehicles, a single motorcycle, pavement underneath it all that would make a great landing pad. He tilted his head up, closed his eyes, and embraced the heat as he imagined the come down. The cool air – and the weight of gravity – carrying him to nothingness.
He heard the door to the roof slam shut and his eyes snapped open, he turned his head enough over his shoulder to confirm it was who he thought it was, then looked out into the world again. “What are you doing here?”
“I'm working,” Robby replied casually as he walked up to the railing that Abbot stood just ahead of. “And you?”
“I've watched a lot of people die in this hospital,” he kept his eyes on a specific tree in the park across the street. “I've watched a lot of people die outside of it, too.”
There was silence from Robby, he was listening, giving his best friend the chance to speak, hoping that if he does - he'll reconsider jumping off the roof. The only problem, the reason he was on the roof to begin with… he wasn't Robby’s best friend.
The real Jack Abbot shot himself in the head five years ago in the bathroom of his home. The house wasn’t isolated, it was in a very close community, but the walls were thick so none of the neighbors heard. He probably wouldn’t have heard it had he not already been five seconds from breaking a window in the backyard.
It was the right place at the right time.
Maybe not for Jack Abbot… but for Andrew “Pope” Cody.
***
At first, he wanted to turn around. It was an obvious gunshot and he didn't think getting involved with something that could need police investigation was a good idea. But curiosity got the better of him so he picked the lock instead and let himself inside. The home was quiet, calm. It didn’t carry the same heaviness that a place did when someone died there. He thought for a second that maybe he imagined the gunshot, maybe it was an auditory hallucination – he hadn’t had any meds. But then he found him. On the bathroom floor with a gun loose in his hand. He didn’t see any resemblance until he looked at the pictures on the walls and the eerily similar features. This guy smiled more in photos but the freckles were the same, they had the same smile lines, same eye color, Jack’s hair was grey but so was his at this point with all the traveling he had done – additionally Pope had a light grey beard growing on his jawline that this guy seemed to keep trimmed. They lost the same leg. However, something stood out in the photos; he had a wife.
Shit. He looked around the home, no one was coming to the rescue, no other bodies laying around the house. There wasn’t any movement except for a clock ticking from the living room. Maybe she left him.
He knew it was wrong, felt guilty from the moment the thought entered his mind, but what other option did he have? He knelt down, dug through the pockets of the deceased man on the ground and collected all forms of identification – a wallet, a work badge, his phone – then stole the ring off his right finger and slid it on his own before he switched his focus and looked around the house for keys.
It was 2:15 AM when he managed to wrap the body in a sheet and finally load it into the trunk of the car parked in the driveway. It was more effort than he had been expecting, turns out moving bodies are easier when you haven't had life-altering surgery in a shitty makeshift hospital by the border. They're also a lot easier to move when you have help. He was 0/2 but he managed, tried to make the least amount of noise while he dragged the man who could be his mirror through the front door and out to the car.
Once that was done, he locked the car and went back inside to clean up in case anyone came by while he was gone. Luckily, he arrived right when it happened and he found bleach under the kitchen sink. Another twenty minutes scrubbing cracks on the floor tile, wiping the mirror down with glass cleaner, spraying disinfectant on the counter tops and the sink, the bathroom looked good as new – or… as new as he could imagine it being. He rummaged through the messily folded dresser and the unorganized closet for a new outfit, he found a cream button up and black pants and that was the nicest thing in this man's wardrobe. He opted for one of the many black shirts and a pair of sweatpants that was a slightly different shade of black… or maybe they were a deep navy? He'd have to organize all of it by color when he got back.
He pulled the picture of himself, Smurf, and Julia out of his own pocket and stuffed it in a dresser drawer to deal with later, then went back outside. He tossed his clothes in the trunk with the body and set off.
Where? No idea. Far enough out of the city that no one could make the connection to Jack Abbot. Isolated enough that it would make sense for Pope Cody to be hiding out there. He'd drive until he felt like the body in the back was rotting then he would be far enough.
It took about ten hours. He drove west the entire time, ended up somewhere in some state outside of some city, it looked familiar, he had crossed through this particular section of the map a few weeks ago. He didn't know when exactly, every move he made felt like it was done with a blindfold, but it would be worth it when he made it back to the house that was now sitting empty, waiting for him. He parked on the side of the road on the side of a hill surrounded by trees and got to work.
He lifted the real Jack Abbot out of the trunk and propped him on the backside of a tree just off the road, positioned the gun back into his hand, not worrying about fingerprints, then threw the sheet back into the trunk to be disposed of somewhere else. He knew faking his own death would hurt his brothers, he knew they'd see the headline cross their news feeds and they'd be heartbroken. But it was for the best. They would be better off. Once the police found and confirmed that Andrew Cody was dead – Craig and Deran would be free. J set them all up but all the police ever wanted was him. Now they could have what they wanted.
It was a strange feeling, faking your own death. He'd tried numerous times to take his own life before everything turned to shit, he didn't know why living now mattered so much to him. He could've turned himself in, purposely lost a shootout with the cops, he could've taken the car he has access to now and wrapped it around a tree at any point, he had access to a gun that had already taken one life and had the bullets to take another, but he didn't and he wouldn't.
Maybe it was fear. Maybe he wasn't ready to face whatever was waiting for him on the other side or maybe he was scared he'd face nothing at all. He was worried about his brothers. Faking death was one thing, he was still alive and could still keep tabs on them, but if he died – truly died – they'd be on their own. He was worried about J and what Deran and Craig might do to him if they found him. J was the one who took him to the hospital after everything. He let him go, assumed the next thing that happened would be death but J surprised him. Maybe it was punishment for how his mom had to keep going with living but not a life. Maybe he wanted Pope to make the decision to end it.
He considered it. But there he was, alive, standing over someone who wasn’t. He knelt down again, taking one last look at Jack Abbot, dried blood on the side of his temple. He looked peaceful at least.
Pope stood up, fidgeted with the ring he didn't know why he wore, and walked back to the car. It had been raining, the ground was wet, he made sure he didn't leave any tracks before he got back in the car and drove into the city. Everything after that moved quickly. He pulled up to a technology store, bought a pre-paid phone with limited minutes with cash he found in Jack Abbot's wallet, and called in a tip to the America's Most Wanted ad for Andrew “Pope” Cody. After he answered the various, unimportant questions that the unenthusiastic woman had asked him, he threw the phone and the sheet in a dumpster outside of someone's house, ready for trash pickup, and started his drive back to Pittsburgh.
About halfway there, he turned the phone he took from Jack back on. For about five minutes the notifications wouldn't stop rolling in. It made his chest tighten. For a man so at peace when ending his life, he apparently had a lot of people who cared about him. It made him think about Craig and Deran again. They were gonna hate him when they found out. He wouldn't let them grieve for long, he was going to save up some money, break whatever ties Jack Abbot had in Pittsburgh, and then he would keep his promise – he was going to find them.
There was a long stretch of road, Pope looked at the interior of the car. It had a Bluetooth screen connected to his phone. He started hitting play on some of the texts to keep his mind occupied on the otherwise quiet drive. If he was going to play a part for a month, he needed to study the characters. The texts were all pretty basic. John wanted to know about coffee orders, Frank L wanted to know if he could work a double and get Friday off – apparently Robby said it was okay but only if he needed the night help. Then a string of texts like “Call me.” and “Answer the phone.” He moved on to voicemails. The car filled with sound again but this time it was actual voices instead of the generic, robotic, one reading off the text.
The first message was from Robby, nervousness in his tone but otherwise he seemed fine. “Hey, man, you wanna take the night - that's fine. But you can't leave us hanging like this, okay? Dana's starting to worry. Text her back.”
Another voicemail, still Robby, his voice increasingly concerned this time. “Alright, you had your fun, brother. Answer your phone.”
One from Dana, she sounded upset. “Your phone's off, I know that, but you're not home and your neighbors haven't seen you, stop playing around and call somebody back.”
More from Robby, his tone getting more frustrated than upset. “You got the whole fuckin’ hospital worried, man. You hate this attention but you won't answer your fuckin’ phone. Dana's got me running around asking if anyone's seen you like a missing dog poster. Six hours of radio silence – fine. You need to sleep. It's been a day. Call. Me.”
That was a message from right before he turned the phone back on. He considered sending a text but didn't want anyone calling immediately after to confirm it was Jack Abbot and not a killer who stole his phone. Another notification popped up, Robby was calling again, he quickly declined, waited for the voicemail, then hit play.
“You turn your phone back on just to fucking ignore me?” There was a pause, a breathy laugh, he thought that might've been the end of it. “Listen, man. We love you, okay? Whatever the fuck is happening in your fucked up head, whatever space you need, whatever the voices are telling you – we love you. Come home.”
The voicemail ended and he felt sick. What could have happened to Jack that was so bad he'd leave behind all these people who loved him? He pulled the work badge out of his pocket, glancing back and forth from the road to the badge every few seconds. Jack Abbot, MD - Attending Physician. Guess he had a bad night at work, he tossed the badge to the side and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He tightened his grip until his fingers hurt, until the vibrations from the bumpy road made his arms numb, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again to the same stretch of road. No cars ahead, behind, or on the opposite side coming at him. He was alone.
But… He was free.
***
“I'm not gonna jump,” he looked over his shoulder enough to see Robby's face – full of fear, a pending sadness behind his eyes.
“You wanna come on this side of the railing and tell me that?” He took a step back from the railing, giving Jack the room to dive underneath it and stand beside him on the safer side – which he did. He swung his leg over the bottom rail, dipped underneath the top one, then pulled up his other leg from the gap once he was on the other side.
“I wouldn't do that to you,” he looked in Robby's eyes when he said it because even though he wasn't Robby's best friend, Robby was his. He'd grown fond of him in the last five years and he felt a connection. He shrugged one shoulder, and with a hint of humor in his voice: “I'd at least wait for your day off.”
It was a joke. Neither of them laughed. But it was something they said to each other.
“It is my day off,” he sighed, leading the way back to the door that brought them inside.
The two of them took the elevator back down to the ED, a group of med students were wandering around, Jack immediately walked over to the hub and made himself look busy on one of the computers while Robby introduced himself to the group.
“-And that's Dr. Jack Abbot, he's grouchy in the mornings but he'll drive you crazy when he comes back tonight.”
He turned his head towards Robby, a deadpan glare in his eye, he looked over the students before he turned to the monitor again. He didn't bother memorizing any of their faces, he didn't bother listening to their names. He could tell by the look of them that they wouldn't make it.
“He's sleepy,” Robby continued, he tuned him out. Dr. Collins and Dr. Langdon came up on the other side, also engaged in conversation.
The roof is the only place anyone can get five fucking minutes of quiet.
“And Slow-Mo?” Langdon asked, sitting an empty chart board on the hub counter.
“Don't call her that,” he muttered under his breath, he was still leaning over a chair, staring at the monitor.
“She's finishing up with a patient so she should be done in… three hours,” Heather responded, taking Langdon's empty chart and stacking it with hers before placing them both down in front of Abbot.
“She's smarter than all of us,” he said louder, finally lifting his head to look at the both of them. “She's got the highest patient-satisfaction scores.”
“She also has the lowest patient numbers,” Heather pointed out. “She's good, but she's not fast enough for emergency medicine.”
“Fast is dangerous. Slow is smooth, smooth is safe,” he closed out of the browser tab he was randomly clicking through then took both empty charts and shoved them into metal slots they belonged in. “How many times has the board called her up for a lawsuit involving malpractice?”
Heather rolled her eyes then walked off. He was being more of an asshole today. But he was tired, the night was long, it was his birthday, he wanted a coffee, and Dr. Mohan was the only competent person he had met aside from Dana and Robby but she also smiled a lot which gave her a leg up in the competition. Langdon…had too much energy. Also reminded him too much of his past. He tried to avoid Langdon.
“That was brutal,” Langdon leaned on the hub counter, reached over for the open can of Red Bull sitting next to the monitor, then held onto it in front of his face.
“You should be supporting each other, not tearing each other down.” He stood up straight, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked Langdon in the eye. “Support her.”
He raised his free hand in the air in surrender, then walked off with his can. After he walked away, Jack turned again to look at Robby. “You really working today?”
“I'm here, aren't I?”
He shook his head, disapproving of the answer, but dropped his hands with a sigh not long after. “I'm out, then.” He started moving towards the lockers, Robby followed behind him.
“You gonna be okay driving home?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
He stopped, they were halfway through the wall, the lockers were just within reach and with them - his way home, but he stopped and turned to look at Robby anyway. “I'm gonna be fine. I needed some air. I'm good.” He put his hands on Robby's shoulders and looked in his eyes, nodded once, then continued towards the lockers.
The rest of the morning felt like a blur. He took his stuff out of the locker, drove home, and sat in silence until he eventually went to sleep, ignoring the photos on the walls and on the ends of shelves or on tabletops and dressers, ignored the way the ring was fully formed onto his finger and if he removed it he'd feel the absence but would never know the emotional significance it held, ignored the look in Robby's eyes every time he said something slightly out of character, tried not to think about the look in Dana's when he was caught prescribing himself anti-psychotics not too long after making it to the hospital. This was his every day life for five years now, love it or hate it, this was home.
He might wish he were with his brothers some days but this was better than being in prison.
Or dead.