Chapter Text
Six A.M. was entirely too early in the morning to bother anyone. It was a consistent thought that came in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his Gamma’s to remind him of his manners as his hand itched for the phone. After all, there were rules about that. An etiquette that had been drilled into him since birth, alongside a dozen others. And the fact that many in the world were willing to ignore those rules was no excuse for him to do so. In a way he envied that about them.
Those people wouldn’t content themselves to sitting in the corner of an increasingly crowded coffee shop watching people from the hospital down the street pop in for something to ease the start of their day. Or keep them awake long enough to make the drive home safely after a long evening on the night shift. But, lifting his wrist to check the time, John held his desire to talk to someone at bay. No matter how badly he craved someone—anyone—to distract him from the paranoia and uncertainty that had plagued him long before he left for his trip.
At the sound of the door’s chime, John looked up just to relax back into his seat. The group of three wasn’t his reason for being there. Too young and excited, he decided as he watched them make their way to the counter. Chatting loudly just like his daughters did the second they arrived home.
Caving to his impulses, he pulled out his phone, only to force himself to look through his emails. Administrative issues that he was CC’d on as a matter of being kept abreast even if his managing director was more than capable of handling them. Updates on the annual toy drive as well as finalization for the distribution party for the kids. A catering issue regarding the Foundation’s New Year’s event that he’d have to call about later. Honestly, it was always something.
Slouching further into seat, he sipped at the praline coffee he regretted ordering and decided to change tactics. Opening his texts, John stared at the names. Peter. Susan. Gloria. Kem. Smiling against the rim of his cup, he put the cup down to hold his phone in both hands as he tapped his wife’s name. Her ‘Call me after’ sat just below an ‘I love you. Be safe’ and a complaint about their spaniel, Rudyard, and his endless quest to violently destroy every pillow in the house, complete with video. Chuckling to himself, he moved to press play when a different message notification came through at the top.
The ‘Can’t do coffee’ came as an expected gut punch given the name attached to the message, but it still hurt. And maybe that was good—that he still held out hope his family might actually make time for him. Maybe he was an idiot for still trying at his age. Either way, John grit his teeth as he looked up toward the ceiling in search of some kind of divine guidance. A way to swallow down his frustration and type out that it was fine. Extend an offer for dinner that would be ignored or denied.
But as he clicked over to his brother’s message, the appearance of another blue bubble caught him off guard.
i can meet u @ the park for a bit.
The ‘yes’ was typed before he could think it through. Throwing on his beanie as he stood up, he hurriedly put on his coat and scarf back before grabbing his coffee as he rushed out of the shop. The familiar bite of winter greeted him like a slap to a the face after the warmth of inside, but he didn’t care. John shoved his empty hand into the pocket of his coat and held his arms close as he made his way to the park across from the hospital. It wasn’t a far walk—five minutes by the Google Map’s standards—though with the thick slush of the evening’s snow and the glossy sheen of ice, John put certain degree of caution before speed.
Yet as he walked into the snow covered expanse of the park, eyes darting around for an all too familiar silhouette, the only thing to greet him was solitude. Not a person or even animal in sight. Just the occasional shifting of trees in the morning breeze. His sigh steamed up in the cold air. There and gone, not unlike his chances of meeting up with his brother it would seem. Taking a sip of his coffee—still terrible, but refreshingly warm—John pulled out his phone with his free hand to make sure he hadn’t gotten it wrong.
Only to nearly jump out of his skin when a painfully familiar voice said, “Hey. John. Uh… Sorry about this.”
Putting his phone away as he turned toward him, John forced a smile he’d been practicing for the past forty or so years as he caught sight of his twin. One he knew was a little too bright and too happy in an effort to make up for the shock of seeing his own face standing before him. Or, something close to it, since John couldn’t remember the last time he, himself, had grown a beard.
But that had always been Michael; a shock that John didn’t know what to do with, but embraced with a forced ease he desperately wanted to be real.
“Honestly, Michael, I’m just happy you were free to meet up,” he laughed, holding out a friendly hand. Michael wasn’t much of a hugger, but certainly a handshake would be fine.
From the way he looked down at his outstretched hand, his own fist unwilling to relinquish his hold on the strap of his backpack, John half worried that he had manage to get that wrong too. Still, he didn’t waver. Didn’t retract his hand or allow his smile to turn awkward. And, after a beat, Michael shifted his grip on his bag, to shake his hand in a firm, business like fashion. As if the Carter handshake was less a learned skilled and more a genetic defect.
Something their father and even grandfather would be proud of.
“Yeah. Actually, it’s Robby. Only person to call me Michael these days is…” Rubbing at the back of his neck, flashed a pointed grin at him.
“Right,” John nodded; his smile wavering at the slight shock. Clearing his throat, he nodded again, though with more certainty—an acceptance. “Uh… Robby. Yeah. OK. Robby.”
“Yep.”
They both nodded in time, brief and mechanical. Snow fell lightly either from the sky or the trees as they stood there. Awkward and unsure. The same old lull in yet another new setting. John couldn’t imagine a meeting with his brother that didn’t follow that pattern. Looking at Michael as his gaze shifted from him—judging his coat and scarf as if it was a poor choice when he stood there in an old jacket with a hoodie underneath—to the hospital behind him. John hid his grimace behind another sip of his coffee.
“Right. So, how have you been? It’s been—”John blew out a breath as he tried to recall the last time they had spoken.
Not the emails he sent into the void of Michael’s inbox to keep him abreast of how things were with his family. Or the family Christmas cards he and Kem forced the kids into each year. But really talking to each other. Brows furrowing slightly, the best he could come up with were the zoom calls back in 2020. Back when the concerning news of COVID had spurred him into reach out. Michael had answered those calls when he could. Then not at all by time fall came around. Or any time after that, really.
He didn’t dare try to remember the last time they had shared the same physical space. That, that was just a study in hurting his own feelings.
John grimaced playfully to Michael’s complete lack of amusement. “God, I think it had to be about five years now?”
His brother hummed in softly as he watched someone else over his shoulder. “Yeah. More or less. So you in town with the family or—”
“No. Winter break isn’t for another few weeks, so the kids are back home with Kem. I’m just in town for a few meetings with some friends from Penn before heading to Chicago.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he gestured to the hospital nervously. “Like, Gloria. You—you know Gloria.”
“Yeah. I know Gloria, alright,” Michael scoffed, smiling for all the wrong reasons.
Or, his own reasons, John reminded himself as he fought the urge to question it. From everything he’d heard from Gloria, his brother had a habit of butting heads with administration about everything. Nurses. Security. Changes to his ED. Things that John understood from his own time in Emergency Medicine. Things that felt like petty grievances for the sake of petty grievances. The words ‘excellent doctor’ and ‘childish jackass’ usually finding their way into his conversations with Gloria. It was just hard to not defend someone he’d known since college against someone who knew her in a drastically different capacity.
So he sipped at his coffee, somewhat relieved to come up empty.
“We’re actually doing lunch tomorrow. You’re probably busy, but maybe you can join us for dinner later this week? Gloria and I are having a sit down with some other physicians and Trent, from, well, here,” he chuckled nervously as he gestured over his shoulder.
“You mean, Norris? The hospital’s CEO?” Cheeks puffing out as he exhaled, Michael shook his head. “You know, as fun as that business dinner sounds, I think I’ll pass. Thanks for thinking of me though.”
“It’s not a business meeting. More like a French salon,” he said, ignoring the roll of Michael’s eyes. “Pittsburgh Trauma has achieved a lot of impressive outcomes and I’m excited to learn from them. See what might be replicable in the center. Just like Gloria wants me to talk with Trent about our efforts to improve trust within the community without exceeding our budget. These are important conversation and I would genuinely love your insight. I mean, look at what you guys did with that MCI a couple of months ago. Six deaths out of a hundred people?”
“One hundred and twelve,” Michael corrected carefully. Each word enunciated to not be confused or lost in the morning breeze. “We saw a hundred and twelve patients that day. And we failed to save six of them.”
“See, those numbers are incredible though. That’s fewer than six percent of the patients brought to this hospital died. Do you get how amazing that is?”
“No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t amazing that six people died on top of the three other patients that I couldn’t help that day. It was—” Michael stopped himself with a sharp inhale. In it’s place was a smile that was bitter and full of rage. Holding up his hands, he shook his head. “When are you leaving town, John?”
Gasping at the gut punch the sudden shift in conversation took, he floundered for an answer. Eyes blinking owlishly under Michael’s intense stare. “Uh… Thursday. But I was hoping we could—”
“Great. It’s—” Michael looked at his watch. “Yeah, I need to get into work as I’m the attending on shift. I will try and call before then, but if not… Nice seeing you? Tell your family I say hi.”
It might’ve meant nothing, really. After all, that was how Michael ended their meetings or conversations. Awkward. Brusque to the point of being rude. But John’s mind latched onto those words and couldn’t let go. His family. As if everything about John’s life was somehow wholly his own. Like they were strangers who just happened to share the same face and build and fluke birth.
Michael probably didn’t even realize he said it.
Yet, staring at his shoes, he could feel his lips spread into a perfect imitation of that vicious smile Michael shot him moment ago. The careful nod as those two word bounced around his head. “My family. My wife. My kids. Never your nieces and nephew. Or your sister-in-law. Or, fuck man. Your sister since you do have a sister. And a father that’s still alive, by the way. But yeah, it’s all my family”
And the way Michael visibly recoiled at the mere mention of their father should’ve been satisfying. Should’ve gave him something, but there was no shame behind it. Merely shock that morphed into some kind of sick, dark revulsion at the mention of their father. Had he just assumed that the man was dead? Like it could be willed into existence if he wanted badly enough.
Even worst was the way it vanished. Gone as soon as it came. Wiped away by the careful neutrality John might expect from an inconvenience stranger on the L while he could feel the heat in his own cheeks. The sting of decades of rage burning at his eyes while his own mirror image stepped back.
It was all so perfectly Michael.
Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, Michael finally looked at John. Stared him in the eyes with a bone deep exhaustion that had everything to do with that moment, and the half dozen other meetings shared over the past forty years, and he shrugged. He shrugged and shook his head dismissively before saying, “Enjoy your trip, John.”
Then, he left. Shoulders brushing at John refused to move an inch for him as he passed. John glared at him, but he kept his head down—as focused on getting to work as he had been from the moment they met up. No comment or looking back. He simply carried on like it was nothing. Like John was nothing.
Gritting his teeth, John muttered to himself. What a fucking mistake it was to even try with him. One he couldn’t seem to stop himself from making like something might change. A bitter hope that one day his own twin might look at him with something like excitement or just happiness. He couldn’t stop himself pushing for something Michael had proven he wanted nothing to do with. If he had he’d be the one reach out, even once. To make some sort of effort.
But then, that was always the difference between them. John knew all too well what it felt like to lose a brother. To have ghosts and memories replace the blood and presence of a person. And maybe it was a selfish—maybe he was the problem—but he couldn’t bring himself to go through that again.
Running a hand over his face, John sighed before he turned to try and fix things. Speeding after him before he could cross the street to slip into the hospital.
“Wait. Michael! Michael, will you just wait for a—”
The patch of ice underfoot might’ve went unseen, but John felt it. Too late as he fought a brief fight to keep his balance against the lack of traction. A fight he lost as a shock of pain shot up from his ass to his as it cracked against the pavement. Dizzy despite the way he kept his eyes squeezed shut, John groaned miserably.
“You need help?!” Michael surprised him by calling back.
Slowly opening one eye, John looked toward Michael’s voice. Blinked a few times before the dark shape became the odd reflection that was his brother. Standing there, uncertainly, but concerned.
It was… something.
“I’m fine. I just slipped.” Rolling over to his side, John took a deep breath before bracing his hands against the ground just crumple at the electric shock that raced up his arm. “Fuck!”
Cradling his arm to his chest, John squeezed eyes shut as he rolled back onto his back. His attempts to breathe through the pain punctuated by soft whimpers and the crunch of snow as Micahel hurried back to him.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. I just…” He winced as he tried to force himself upright. Thankfully Michael’s steadying hands on him—and when had he made his way back anyway—provided the extra assistance he needed to both sit up and maintain the protective grip he had on his arm. Squinting at his twin, John nodded him off. “I probably just fractured my wrist. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
“That might fly in Chicago, but here a fractured anything is generally considered ‘not fine’.” Michael took a knee in front of him, his hands instantly at John’s neck, holding him steady as he looked him over. “Any dizziness? Nausea? You know today’s date?”
“I don’t have a concussion, Michael. Just—” He smacked at the finger Michael held up in front of him irritably. “Go to work. I can take care of myself.”
“John, you’re literally bleeding.”
John rolled his eyes. But, ignoring his brother’s hiss of pain to brush his fingers down the back of his head, Michael then held up his blood stained fingers with a look of smug satisfaction. And if John looked like that when he was right, he could see why so many people hated it. If not for how much it hurt to concentrate, he might’ve shoved him away for that alone. Especially when there was no arguing with such damning facts.
Michael cleaned his hand with the nearby snow then positioned himself at his side. One hand immediately around his waist while his other hovered above the good one John guarded his injured wrist with. “Come on. Let’s get you up. The sooner we get you looked at the sooner you can go back to your hotel and rest.”
John looked at him, his lips pressed into a thin line and brows knit together, and shook his head. “Thanks but I’ll—I’ll get an uber to another hospital.”
“Yeah. No. That’s not happening. The Pitt is right across the street and—”
“Michael, no. I—I’ll take care of it myself. Somewhere… Somewhere it’s not going to be an issue.”
“I’m more than sure you can afford the bill, but if it is an issue I’m sure Gloria can pull some strings. Hell, I’ll pay for it, if need be.”
“They’re going to know,” John muttered.
Four words that did more to loosen Michael’s hold on him than any reassurance than he was fine. He glanced over at him as his brother looked off at the hospital with a new found reluctance and smiled ruefully to at a look he knew all too well. The furrowed brows. Pinched expression. That quiet debate he knew solely from every time he, himself, had made that exact face.
“Honestly, Michael… Robby, it’s fine. I can—”
“You wanted to spend time together? Well, unfortunately for you, you get your wish.” John blinked in surprise as Michael readjusted his grip on him. “Letting you go anywhere else when there’s a hospital across the street is irresponsible and reckless. Besides, weren’t you just talking about our amazing outcomes?
“I fell. I wasn’t shot.”
“Great. So you have more than a five point three chance of survival. Depending on how quickly we can get this bleed dealt with. Now ready to get up?”
John managed a singular nod before squeezing his eyes shut as his body alerted him to what a stupid idea that was. Waving it—an any concern his brother may have had—off, John gripped at Michael’s shoulder to steady himself before leaning into him as they managed to find their footing once again. His head didn’t exactly like that either, but he managed to keep his feet under him.
Loosening his hold on him, Michael cautiously stepped back; eyeing him to make sure he was capable of remaining upright. When John didn’t immediately fall back on his ass, he leaned to the side, frowning at the cut that may have still been bleeding.
“Alright. Just, slow and steady. Try not to step on any more ice.”
John rolled his eyes. “Yeah I— Wait.”
Michael didn’t bother trying to hide his frustrated groan. “What now?”
Digging into his pocket, John pulled out the soft respirator mask he always made sure to slip into his pocket any time he went out. Worked it around his hand until he could slip his fingers through the loop of the straps and then place that over his ear before pressing it over his mouth and repeating the process of securing it over his other ear. When it was straightened and properly fitted over his face, he looked to Michael, hands on his hips and irritation growing.
“Seriously?” He asked in disbelief. “The odds of you catching something in my emergency department—”
“Is higher for me because I’m immunocompromised.” And judging by his look of surprise, something Michael hadn’t been aware of. John carefully headed off in the direction of the hospital. Offered up a tired smile Michael could really see as he joked, “Don’t worry, it’s not genetic. Not unless you got my shitty luck in life too.”
Only Michael didn’t laugh. Staring at him—looking him over for the answer John wasn’t giving—he stood there for a long moment before snapping out of it. Hurrying up to keep pace with John. Lingering too close, just in case he fell again. Shoulders brushing as they reached the cross walk, he sighed.
“Wouldn’t doubt it. We are twins after all.”