Chapter Text
Jamie Tartt was alone in bed when he woke.
He groaned, reaching blindly to shut his alarm when the beeping became more insistent. He opened his eyes, then winced. Why was his room so bright? Where was his phone? Why did his alarm sound different? As his eyes adjusted to the light, that was when he realised.
Jamie Tartt was alone in bed, but he wasn't alone in the room.
And he wasn't in his bed at all.
He was in a hospital bed.
Jamie had never been so happy not to wake up in his own bed.
"Babe? Can you hear me?" Keeley's face loomed closer into view.
"Jamie?" Roy asked, his face appearing on the other side of the bed.
"Is it–" Jamie coughed, and Keeley shoved a straw into his mouth, Jamie drinking greedily from it before she pulled it away as he coughed some more and tried to find his breath. "Is it tomorrow?"
Keeley and Roy exchanged looks.
"I should call the doctor," Roy said.
"Is it tomorrow?" Jamie repeated.
"Well, babe, it's today," she said apologetically. "It – it can't really be tomorrow if it's today."
"No, no," Jamie shook his head and winced, immediately regretting it as pain spiked through it as he thought about Phoebe's riddle. "Is it the 26th?"
A doctor appeared before Keeley could answer, looking pleasantly surprised to see him awake.
"Good morning, you gave us all quite the scare, son," the older man said, and Jamie tried not to grimace at the son. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Jamie Tartt," he answered easily, trying to push himself to sit up further, ignoring the pain through his hand and side. "What day is it?"
"I was about to ask you that," the doctor chuckled, though Jamie had no idea what was funny.
"It was the 25th. But if I'm here, if I'm not home, that means it's the 26th? Right? Right?"
His voice was rising, and with it the increased beeping of what was likely the heart rate monitor. Keeley and Roy exchanged looks, but the doctor didn't seem phased.
"Yes, exactly. Do you remember what happened?"
"Terry," Jamie coughed. "He ran after the dog."
"Good, yes. Your memory seems to be intact, which is a good sign. I'll let you rest, but we'd like to keep you one more night. You've got a moderate concussion. Other than a sprained wrist and some bumps and bruises, you should be clear to be discharged tomorrow," the doctor said, and Jamie felt a bigger wave of relief. "If you have any questions, let our staff know."
He nodded to Roy and Keeley and left.
"Babe, you okay?" Keeley asked, sitting down on the bed carefully and taking his hand into hers.
"Yeah," Jamie answered honestly. "I think I am."
"Good, because that would've been a waste of a really nice fucking moment," Roy said, gingerly sitting on the opposite side of the bed, resting his hand on Jamie's thigh, careful of his braced wrist.
They barely fit, and Jamie had no doubt Roy was hanging off the edge, but it felt like they were three missing puzzle pieces finally slotting together.
And in that moment, as time ticked on through a day Jamie didn't think he would see, everything he ever wanted and never thought he would have, was pressed against him, safe and whole and most importantly, his.
Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.