Chapter Text

Chapter One:

All Saints Hospital — Morning

The floor was a battleground. Stretchers lined the walls like forgotten soldiers, the sounds of pain and urgency echoing off the sterile tile. Patients moaned, their voices swallowed by the shrill wail of monitors. Nurses and doctors were like automatons, moving in synchrony, their commands and movements fueled by nothing but caffeine, adrenaline, and the sinking knowledge that the chaos could swallow them whole at any moment.

Eleanor O’Hara didn’t even glance toward the locker room. She threw her bag behind the front desk with the kind of carelessness that only years of experience could afford. Her white coat slipped over her shoulders, and her heels clicked sharply against the floor, a rhythm so familiar it was as much a part of the hospital as the sterile smell of antiseptic.

“Vitals?” Eleanor barked at Zoey, who was halfway down the hall, the chart she was carrying tucked under her arm like a shield.

Zoey twisted around, clearly frazzled, her eyes wide. “Stable-ish, but Mrs. Klein just spiked a fever and there’s a code blue in three.” She barely took a breath before rushing on. “Oh — and, um — have you seen Jackie?”

Eleanor froze, the words sinking into her like a stone in water. Jackie. The absence of her name tasted wrong on Zoey’s lips, like a sour aftertaste in the middle of an already bitter morning.

"No," Eleanor replied, the word falling from her mouth like a punch. Her gaze flickered to the nurses' station, half-expecting to see that familiar blonde head bent over a chart, or hear Jackie’s dry, impatient voice cutting through the noise. But there was nothing.

The air felt wrong. Hollow. Too quiet.

Before Eleanor could push the thought away, the ER doors swung open with a force that barely made a sound over the noise. Gloria stormed through, her sleeves rolled up and hands already reaching to steady the gurney wheeled in by two paramedics.

"Seizure, postictal," one paramedic shouted, his voice raw with panic.

“Room five!” Gloria barked, taking charge without missing a beat. She locked eyes with Zoey as she passed, and something flickered in that brief exchange. A shadow. A weight.

Eleanor caught up to her, her heels clicking sharply as she moved, urgency coiling in her gut. "Gloria — have you seen Jackie?"

Gloria hesitated. Just for a moment. A breath. But in that breath, Eleanor knew. Knew that something terrible had happened.

“She’s gone,” Gloria said, her voice dropping like a hammer. “Quit. Left a badge and a letter on my desk this morning.”

The words hit Eleanor like a gut punch. The floor beneath her seemed to tremble, her heart skidding off its track. Zoey stopped dead, eyes wide, mouth open but no words coming. Thor, pushing a supply cart nearby, swore under his breath, the cart screeching to a halt. Coop, who’d been flirting with a nurse, froze, his flirtation dying in an instant.

Eleanor didn’t move. She didn’t need to move. Her body was already telling her everything.

Jackie was gone.

No warning. No goodbye. Just a crumpled letter on Gloria’s desk, and a hole where her best friend used to be.

The noise of the ER blurred into a dull roar. Phones rang. Machines beeped. Voices called out, each sound pressing down on her chest like a vise. She moved without thinking, brushing past nurses and patients, her steps unsteady, her mind rushing to fill the gap Jackie had left behind. Zoey’s voice, distant, calling after her, but Eleanor didn’t hear it. Didn’t want to.

She just needed air. Space. Answers.

Her office door slammed open with a force that startled her. The lights above buzzed, an irritating hum in the otherwise muted room. The clutter on her desk was familiar, patient charts, test results, the daily avalanche of paperwork. But sitting squarely on top of it all was an envelope.

Her name — Eleanor — scrawled in Jackie’s messy, familiar handwriting.

Eleanor’s breath caught. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the letter, like it might burn her, or vanish into thin air before she could touch it. She felt its weight in her palm, heavy with the things unsaid, and she slowly tore it open, her thumb shaking. The scent of Jackie’s perfume — lavender, antiseptic, and something else, sharp and stubborn — hit her like a gut punch.

Jackie.

She unfolded the pages, her hands trembling as if she were touching something fragile. Something sacred.

El,

If you’re reading this, I’m already gone.

I didn’t know how to say this to your face. Hell, we’ve established that I’m a coward. But I couldn’t stand there and watch you look at me like that — like I broke something between us, because I did. You’re right, I’m a druggy, I… I need help, and I don’t know what to do about it. My entire world has fallen in the dumpster and set on fire. I’ve lost everything, and it was probably only a matter of time before I lost my job, too.

I haven’t been open with you about things with Kevin. You know that. We were already on thin ice, and I didn’t want to make it worse. The divorce is final. Judge ruled that Kevin gets full custody. I’m not allowed to see Grace or Fiona until I can prove two years of sobriety. Two years. Two years without seeing my babies, without hearing their voices. They hate me, you know. Said so themselves. Yelled at me to get out of their lives, that I ruined everything. I wanted to apologize, to explain… but I don’t think I have the words for that.

Not that it matters. They’ll be better off without me anyway. You all will be better off without me around to fuck things up, to destroy. Because that’s the one thing I’m good at — destroying.

I lost them. I lost you. I lose everything good eventually. That’s what I do — I break things. I ruin the people I love.

And I love you, El. You were the best part of my life, outside my girls. You deserved better than me. So I’m leaving before I hurt you worse. Maybe if I’m gone, maybe if I’m just a memory, it’ll stop bleeding.

Take care of yourself. Take care of them — Zoey, Thor, even Coop. You always were the strong one.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be.

Love you always,
Jackie.

Eleanor’s hands trembled as she set the letter down, the paper crinkling under her touch. Her vision blurred, but no tears fell. She bent over in her chair, her breath escaping in a hollow rush. The air felt thin, suffocating.

Gone. She was gone.

No warning. No goodbye. Just a shattered letter and the absence of someone she didn’t know how to live without.

The words, the weight of them, sank in slowly. The quiet was deafening.

Her heart ached, a raw, physical pain that spread across her chest. She brought her hand to her mouth, swallowing the scream that clawed its way up her throat. The hospital outside her office continued on — the beeping machines, the frantic nurses, the unrelenting chaos.

Eleanor couldn’t move.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Bloody hell, Jackie,” she whispered, her voice barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of everything she hadn’t said. “What have you done?”

…

All Saints Hospital — One Week Later

The ER had changed.
It wasn’t loud anymore, not the way it used to be. It was busy, sure — it was always busy — but there was a heaviness now, a weight no one dared to name. Nurses and doctors spoke in hushed voices. Laughter was gone. Smiles were brittle.

But the sharpest change of all was in Dr. O’Hara.

She swept through the corridors like a ghost of herself — tailored, polished, untouchable. But her words were knives now, cold and brutal, slicing through anyone who dared to step wrong. No jokes. No sarcastic smiles. No heart. Just steel.

Zoey could barely stand it.
And today — today she’d been handed a fresh stack of patient files to bring up to O’Hara’s office. She clutched them like armor as she approached the door, heart hammering against her ribs.

She knocked. No answer.

The door creaked open under the gentlest push, just enough for Zoey to peek in — and what she saw made the breath choke in her throat.

Dr. O’Hara was crumpled on the floor behind her desk, knees drawn up to her chest, one hand fisted in her blouse, the other clawing weakly at the air as she struggled to breathe. Panic. Raw, animal panic.

Zoey didn’t think. She rushed in, shutting the door behind her to guard the woman’s dignity.

“Dr. O’Hara— Eleanor— it’s okay, it’s okay,” Zoey whispered, dropping to her knees beside her.

Eleanor’s wild, tear-soaked eyes locked onto hers. For a terrifying heartbeat, it was like she didn’t recognize her — but then something shattered in those blue-green depths.

“She’s gone,” Eleanor whispered, voice cracked and hollow. “She left me. She’s gone.”

Her body shook with the effort of breathing, like every word dragged her deeper into the pit.

“I should have— I should have done more,” Eleanor gasped, the last of her composure crumbling. “I should have been there—”

And then she broke.

Sobs tore out of her — ugly, heart-wrenching sobs, full of years of love and guilt and loss. She folded forward helplessly, forehead pressing into Zoey’s shoulder as she wept.

Zoey held her, tears blurring her own vision. Held her like Eleanor might fall apart into pieces otherwise.

“It’s not your fault,” Zoey whispered, voice shaking. “It’s not. You loved her. She knew that. She knew.”

But Eleanor couldn’t hear her through the storm. All she could do was cry for everything she had lost.

Zoey just held her tighter, wishing she could somehow gather up the broken pieces and put them back together.

The sobs slowed, thinning out into hollow breaths. Eleanor sat hunched on the floor, every inch of her screaming discomfort — not because Zoey was there, but because she knew she deserved to be seen like this. Broken. Small.

Zoey stayed beside her, silent now, hand still lightly resting on Eleanor’s arm.

When Eleanor finally spoke, it was hoarse, like it hurt to push the words out.

“I left her,” she said.

Zoey blinked, confused. “No, you didn’t—”

“I did.” Sharper this time. Harder. Eleanor turned her head, fixing Zoey with a look that cut straight through her.

“I pulled away,” she said, voice low and brutal. “I thought... I thought if I couldn’t enable her, it would be better. That she’d have no choice but to fix herself.” She broke off, dragging a trembling hand over her face. “I pulled away. Left her alone.”

Zoey’s chest twisted painfully.

“I thought I was...” Eleanor gave a weak, bitter laugh. “Protecting her. But all I did was add to her spiral.”

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to wipe away tears that wouldn’t stop.

“I didn’t see how bad it was,” she whispered. “Didn’t see she was about to lose everything. Kevin tore her children away from her... and her children— gods, telling her they hated her. I— I can’t imagine how that must have hurt her. She loves those girls with all her heart.”

Zoey shook her head, her voice thick. “You couldn’t have known.”

Eleanor dropped her hands. There was no fire in her now. Just devastation.

“I was trying to save myself,” she said. “I got so tired of being scared for her. So tired of the bloody lies. The disappearances. The bloody half-truths.” She bit her lip so hard Zoey thought she might draw blood.

“I thought if I stepped back... she’d realize what she was losing. That it would scare her straight.”

Eleanor’s shoulders curled inward, as if she could make herself disappear into the floor.

“But she lost everything anyway,” she whispered. “And I wasn’t there.”

Zoey couldn’t stop the tears slipping free. It hurt — seeing O’Hara like this. Fierce, untouchable Eleanor, unraveling piece by piece.

“You loved her,” Zoey said thickly. “You love her.”

Eleanor gave a watery, humorless smile.

“She was my best friend. My heart. And I let her fall. I should’ve bloody fought for her, and now she’s gone, who knows where. She could be— she could be— oh gods, she could be dead of an overdose somewhere for all I know.”

The sobs broke anew, and all Eleanor had the strength to do was let Zoey pull her close again — allow herself to be held as she cried into the younger woman’s shoulder, her body shaking as guilt and grief swallowed her whole.