Chapter Text
“Oh, Aaron! What are you doing here? Didn’t Patel assign you to the maternity ward today?” the women--a nurse maybe?--paused, looking the man up and down. “And why are you out of your scrubs?”
Andrew, used to being mistaken for his twin despite obvious difference-- ie. Andrew’s much longer hair, Aaron’s pathetic attempt at a beard, the definition of Andrew’s muscles and Aaron’s complete lack thereof--and deeming the correction not worth his effort, merely shrugged in response and headed toward where signs indicated the maternity ward would be. The nurse seemed baffled for a total of ten seconds before shaking her head and walking in the opposite direction.
Honestly, Andrew should probably be grateful towards the woman. He didn’t have time for explanations and maneuvering through bureaucrats and hospital social hierarchy to find a way to be allowed into areas, more than likely, prohibited to the general public. All he knew was that Aaron had texted him saying it was an emergency and, their rocky relationship notwithstanding, Andrew wasn’t in the business in abandoning his twin in such states.
It didn’t take him long to find the maternity ward or his distressed brother--eidetic memory, an extensive hospital floor plan, and the sound of a pacing man in panic were good guides. Aaron’s relief upon Andrew’s arrival was so intensely apparent that Andrew could nearly feel it himself. He thought to himself, amused, that it wasn’t a reaction he often elicited with his presence.
“Andrew, thank god,” Aaron breathed, running his hands through his already disheveled hair. “I need you to pretend to be me for like, an hour, maybe two.”
Andrew blinked slowly at the response, hoping to convey nonverbally how absolutely imbecilic this plan was. Aaron, however, interpreted the action as a prompt to continue the detailing of his moronic plan, apparently having deluded himself into thinking this was something they could actually pull off.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it’ll work-- I need it to. Katelyn has endometriosis and has been in a lot of pain the last week. She’s been trying to push through, but she just collapsed from it all and can’t even walk, let alone drive herself home,” he was back to pacing, his words coming out frantic and desperate. “I need to get her back to our place and settled into bed, but you know how far out of the city we live-- there’s no way I can just pop out and back in without being noticed and I’ve already taken off enough time as is trying to take of her.”
Andrew cocked a brow and folded his arms over his chest. While the sob story angle was all well and good, that didn’t change the fact that Andrew could no way in hell pass himself off as a studious, dedicated, medical intern for five minutes-- let alone one to two hours.
He expressed this, not even trying to keep the condescension from his tone. Evidently, Aaron was so distressed that he was able to let this roll off easily and continue pleading; any other time they’d be at the start of a verbal sparring match.
“Look, I fucking know that, but I got lucky and was assigned something so easy even you could do it without anyone noticing you play stickball for a living and not as a medical professional,” Andrew barely managed to stifle an eye roll at the term. “ I’ve been assigned today is to sit with a newborn currently in detox. All you have to do is hold her and soothe her and call for one of the attending or resident doctors if something seems seriously wrong. Nurse Patty and Tyrone will be with you, too. Simple, right?”
“Shouldn’t the, I don’t know, mother or father be the one caring for the child they poisoned?” Andrew asked, still skeptical and resistant to Aaron’s hairbrained scheme.
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Even in an ideal world where said parents gave a damn and didn’t fuck off as soon as they were able like this one’s mom did, average ass parents aren’t equipped with the knowledge to care for an infant in withdrawal or in the mental or physical capacity to do so.” he huffed and mirrored his brother’s position, arms over his chest. “Are you going to help me or what? Katelyn is waiting and in a lot of fucking pain I might add.”
Any other time, Andrew probably would have told Aaron to suck it up and get one of Katelyn’s friends to take care of her or just tell his boss he was whipped and needed more time off. But, something in his chest twinged at the idea of this child had been abandoned, doped up and suffering without anyone but hospital employees--who would ultimately abandon her, too-- on her side. The thought that this child would likely end up in the system, bouncing from home to home, some good, some bad, some horrific, just like he had… he just couldn’t say no. He couldn’t be yet another person who abandoned her.
“Ok,” Andrew said after a long, tense, silence. “What do I need to do.”
Hysterical disbelief, relief, and gratitude flit across Aaron’s face in mere seconds before he was back to business, leading Andrew away from the maternity ward at a frantic pace, talking a mile a minute.
“Ok, so, we’re going to swap clothes out in the locker rooms and then you’ll head back to the pediatric ICU where Patty and Tyrone will tell you what to do. You’ll have a hair cover on, maybe a mask and gloves, too, so they shouldn’t be able to tell the difference between us,” they were in the locker room now, methodically and efficiently trading outfits as Aaron spoke. “As long as you do as they say, don’t make your lack of medical experience obvious, or be an asshole, it should go smoothly until I get back. When I do, I’ll send Diane-- intern friend of mine and Kate’s-- to get you and we’ll change out again and it’ll be like you were never there.”
As soon as Andrew was fully dressed-- hair cover and all-- and had nodded his understanding, Aaron was practically sprinting from the room, not giving Andrew a second glance. He sighed. This was going to end badly, he just knew it.
“Aaron, there you are,” a short, large, dark-skinned woman greeted him upon his entrance to the infant ICU--Patty, Andrew guessed. “We’ve been waiting ages for you to come back from your break.”
Andrew shrugged. “Katelyn had an emergency,” he gestured to his pelvic area, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain himself. He didn’t really know what endometriosis all entailed.
Thankfully, this nurse Patty seemed to be familiar with Katelyn’s condition and gave him a sympathetic smile. “Poor thing. Good thing she has such an attentive hubby, huh?”
Andrew gave her a smile he hoped didn’t look too forced. Apparently he’d been convincing because next thing he knew he was being ushered across the room to where a tall, built man with wildly curly hair and a floral sleeve peeking out of scrubs was holding a tiny, wrinkled baby against the skin of his chest, swaddling her in the cloth of his shirt beneath his scrubs. He rocked back and forth, cooing softly down at the infant, gentle and attentive.
Andrew was instantly seized with both rage and heartbreak at the sight of the baby girl. Her skin was a sickly paled version of what should have been a rich olive, tinged blue and with dry patches on her cheeks. Her eyes were closed tight, her nose scrunched and forehead wrinkled in obvious discomfort. Her surprisingly thick, black curls were sweat-damp and matted. She was visibly shaking and her breathing labored.
If I ever find who did this to her, Andrew swore, I will kill them on sight.
“You’ll be taking over for Tyrone here with little sweetheart,” Patty explained, her expression both endeared and pained. “I’ll be right across the room if you need something and you have Dr. Nancy’s number if I’m unavailable. Tyrone is off shift now so you’ll likely be here for the rest of yours.”
Andrew affirmed his understanding wordlessly, slowly and cautiously allowing Tyrone to transfer the baby from his arms to Andrew’s once he was seated. He tucked her into his shirt and against his chest like he’d seen Tyrone do, rage shooting through him once more as he felt how cold the baby’s skin was and her tremors vibrating against him. His hold on her took on a ferocity that he would never have fathomed he could feel towards a child of any age.
Patty smiled, evidently seeing Andrew’s protective shift in his demeanor.
“That’s it-- she really needs that skin to skin contact right now. We’ve had her off machines for a week now and we think another month or two of observation, treatment, contact, and care she should be able to move on from our care and to someone else’s. Hopefully better than her biological folks,” Patty smiled again, leaning forward to run a tentative finger over the baby’s hair. “This one’s a fighter.”
“What will happen after she’s better?” Andrew asked, surprised at how rough his voice was.
“She’ll be sent to crisis foster family until her social worker can find a family willing to take her on more long-term,” Patty explained. “Hopefully a family willing to adopt, but with cases like sweetie’s it’s unlikely. Most folks aren’t willing or prepared to take on a child with neonatal abstinence syndrome. She’ll have physical and mental health instabilities likely the rest of her like and few foster parents are willing to accept that kind of hardship and responsibility.”
Andrew turned his gaze to the tiny child cradled to his chest, anguished by the thought of her suffering any more than she already was. He grabbed his shirt and wrapped it more tightly around her, pressing her gently further into his skin. A particularly violent tremor wracked her body; Andrew hadn’t felt this desperate and useless since Baltimore.
“What’s her name?” he asked, his gaze steady on her pinched face.
Patty sighed. “Her mother left before she gave her one. Was out of her cot and the hospital before any of us noticed, definitely before she was in any stable state to be running off at all. We’ve just been calling her sweetie for the time being.”
“She deserves to rot in hell,” Andrew hissed, unable to hold his rage back.
“You’re preaching to the choir, baby,” Patty agreed. “I need to head back to my primie over there, but remember you can holler any time if you need me.”
Andrew nodded, barely registering her words or her departure. All his focus was the shaking infant in his arms. He was rocking steadily in his seat, murmuring unintelligible words that he hoped would put her at least a little bit at peace. She sneezed-- a tiny little squeak and twist of her button nose-- and Andrew felt that same twinge in his chest from before when he’d first learned of her existence.
Tentatively, he reached a single finger forward and stroked a slow line down the slope of her nose, resting it against her balled fists.
“You deserve better,” he told her. “You deserve better than your piece of shit mom. You got that?”
He got braver and ran three fingers through her damp curls, the tough feather light, barely skimming her scalp. The baby’s breathing seemed to steady at the touch, so Andrew continued his gentle stroking as he rocked back and forth.
“And you deserve a name,” he said. “You’re not a sweetie. You’re a fighter. You’re a survivor.” he held her tighter, running his fingertips over her tiny knuckles. “We both are.”
As if understanding his words, his declaration of solidarity, the little girl slowly unclenched her fist and wrapped her hand around his index finger. Andrew’s breath hitched.
“I won’t call you sweetie,” he murmured. “Persephone-- Persey. That’s what I’ll call you.”
It felt like a promise. And Andrew never went back on a promise.
“Dragged through hell; creating life despite it all.”
~~~~~
Andrew jumped to his feet as soon as he heard the door to the apartment open. He’d been waiting on the couch for the past three hours, unable to focus on anything but Persey and Neil’s arrival home.
“Andrew,” Neil huffed, surprised by his boyfriend’s sudden appearance. “Hi. Everything ok? You look… not ok.”
“I want to get married,” Andrew said in response, Neil nearly toppling over where he was taking off his boots. “And I want a baby.”
Neil did topple over at this, falling flat on his ass and looking up at Andrew in absolute shock.
“What?”
Andrew crouched down in front of him, placing one hand on the back of his neck.
“I want a baby. And she needs us.”