hands, put your empty hands in mine

—

Author's Note: I don't know how to describe what truly spawned this piece without explaining what led up to its conception. This piece started to take shape in my head because of two reasons, actually three. The first was the stellar acting by everyone during the hospital scenes. The second was the narrative without those scenes that made me angry to the point to where my imagination ran to the point to where this idea would not leave me alone. It angered me that Jack & Victoria – the two people, I believe, truly love Billy in a way that keeps it real, but will never enable him because they will not let him go back to that self-destructive part of himself when he has potential to do better and be better – were painted as the bad guys and ultimately blamed. Third and final reason: Phyllis ultimately placing Billy's blood on Jack and Victoria's hands. I truly HAD it. I didn't like that Jack just stood there and let Phyllis plow him with such an accusation, and I hated it even more than Victoria was not allowed to be angry, rage and defend herself more from it.

That was when I put fingers to keyboard and could not stop until I was finished with this. I gave Jack and Victoria voices. I gave them agency this show would not. I have never written Jack this heavily, but I tried here and hope I got his characterization right. I'm a tad nervous there. Jack has an addiction while Victoria is the daughter of an alcoholic so it made sense to me that these two would interact based on that – and the love they had for Billy. They love Billy, but they will NOT enable him and love him to death. Point blank. That is what I believe. There are only so many perspectives the show can give in one hour, so I did my best to open up two of those perspectives a bit. Hopefully, people understand.

I have rambled enough so in closing, I have just a few simple disclaimers and warnings. The title is a song lyric from Rachel Platten's Stand By You. Most times this song is used for romance, but it worked for a situation like this to. Not mine. The Serenity Prayer? Nope. Not mine. The characters of Jack Abbott and Victoria Newman as well as any other characters familiar to you are not mine.

If you do not like Jack or Victoria, then this is not the story for you. For the ones that still venture into this and want to read on, thank you.

Finally, Jack always refers to Baby Katherine, as Kate here. That is not a typo. That is a nickname he has for her in my mind. He did it one scene whether it was improvised by Peter Bergman or not, and I just found it so cute.

As always, any feedback would be appreciated. I always feel a tad rusty but there's always room for improvement.

Cheers,

Erika

—

Summary: Somewhere in the comfortable silence, Jack's hand found Victoria's smaller one. / Or, in which Jack saves Victoria from drowning, again. JackVictoria friendship, JackPhyllis, BillyVictoria undertones.

—

Victoria wished that for once, in her life, she were reckless. Addiction had to be hereditary for once, and maybe, she wanted to know what it felt like to have a truly lethal, all encompassing abyss for herself.

Not the kind of reckless Billy was at full throttle or the way he dived head first into a rabbit hole that caused his life in dangle in limbo. She wished for the normative kind of recklessness that would stop her hands from trembling and her brain from spitting out different scenarios of the would haves, should haves, could have, maybes and even the should haves dones spinning like a tornado.

If she sat still enough, Victoria swore she could feel him. She swore she could the beating of his heart in between the sound of the ventilator that breathed for him. Victoria never had a cigarette in her whole life. She never saw the appeal behind it, or why people did smoke. Until now.

If Victoria picked up a cigarette and put it between her fingers, she'd commit to it. She'd breathe in and take the deepest drag of her life and be the best at it like smoking actually had a method. She'd let the smoke filled with every cancer-inducing chemical in it, fill her lungs and the nicotine saturate her brain. She would blacken her lungs and damage her brain with all of the cancer inducing chemicals (read: carcinogens) involved with finesse and purpose.

Cigarettes would have been her kind of addiction. At least, it would be methodical and her choice. Under her control. Instead, Victoria couldn't stand the smell of cigarette smoke and was too much of a health nut to consider starting it. However, it was a necessary evil in contrast to the thought of Billy not ever being in her life or her children's lives, causing her feel breathless with this vice like grip of both lungs. She had checked on the kids – they were both with Traci, being shielded from the reality of the heartbreak and the gravity of the situation.

She sat here in this holy place, regardless of it being hospital chapel, as Billy fought for his life under surgical lights and she stood as the weight of blame felt heavy on her shoulders. Blue eyes watched the little flames of several lit candles dance in front of them. She wondered how many prayers, and wishes were whispered in this place. How many loved ones came here holding on to hope? How many families muttered imperfect yet perfect prayers until they were answered?

There were words and phrases like ventilator, life support, severe spine damage and brain swelling being thrown at her before she could digest them all. She didn't want to. She didn't want to. Billy wasn't going to die.

He wasn't allowed to hurt her so deeply, rip her to pieces, and put her to together only to check out of this life…out of her hers and their children's lives. She combed a hand through her hair, realizing that her hands were shaking.

She looked upwards at the golden cross and the red candles with the flames that flickered with the hope of strangers that blurred together until she sobbed alone. At first they were small, locked in her throat and then they became loud and her prayers were a jumbled mess Victoria hoped God would answer.

—

Jack rubbed his hands over his tired face. He wasn't sure he know what sleep was anymore and debated if it was needed. Billy was a man who lived big and that included his heart, at his best. But at his worst, Jack knew his brother would self-destruct and take everyone with him. Maybe Jack should have given Billy the money. Maybe he was right in his resolve in not handing over 2.2 million dollars, even with no business plan and Billy's life bottoming out from under him before his eyes.

The mental tug of war made his head hurt and his heart worse. Jack could hear a small, still and sure voice that always sounded like his father. Be like Houdini, Jackie. Be like Houdini. Jack was supposed to be strong, reliable and protect the Abbott family. Protect Jabot and keep his father's legacy alive. But how could he magically turn this fear off? How could he let the possibility of Billy dying enter the edges of his thoughts without feeling sick himself?

But it did and left Jack with the feeling of wanting to jump out of his skin. He didn't want any more coffee, even though it tasted like black sludge. However, it was better than wanting a drink and little white pills so strong, it just blurred the line between what was here and what could be. Jill was in with Billy now and all this waiting caused Jack started to pace.

"Stop."

"What?"

Phyllis uncrossed her arm to place a hand on his, "Pacing. You're going to wear a hole in the floor and then I don't want to sit at your bedside when you spread yourself too thin," she added, resolutely. "Billy is going to be fine. He's young. He's strong. He's healthy and he'd be appalled to go out like this. Not enough flash for him. There's no blaze of glory here."

Jack sighed, a flash of the heartbreak in Victoria's eyes in his mind, because he understood how she was feeling. "Yeah," he replied, and pressed a kiss to her lips. He separated and hugged his wife, sighing into her flame coloured hair. "He'll beat this. He has to. This family needs him. Johnny and Kate need him," and then Jack added, as if another hole had been made in an already deflating balloon and he felt it shrink in his grasp. "Victoria needs him. You're right. I need to stop pacing. I'm gonna go take a walk. I'm gonna go find Victoria and make sure she's okay."

"Okay. Let's go. You could use a walk anyway. You'll have to pry Jill from that room."

Phyllis went to go grab her purse, and then stopped.

"I have to find her alone."

"Oh."

Jack only said, "Victoria is Victor Newman's daughter, but she's family, Red."

"I understand," Phyllis replied, with a sigh of her own, light smile, and went back to crossing her arms. She always did this when more words lay behind her teeth, but kept them pushed back for later. "She's the mother of Billy's children, I get it. I wasn't blaming her for this, but I'm not sorry I said it."

Jack stared at his wife and then allowed his eyes to look past Phyllis' shoulder down the hallway where Victoria had silently excused herself. He watched Victoria harden and steel herself – because that's what she always did with her pain, he knew her too well – and wiped at her eyes and walked down that hallway until she disappeared. Then somewhere in the deep recesses of the past, his mind conjured the picture of a little girl, floating face down in the pool on the Newman ranch.

He suddenly felt incredibly heavy as if the weight of Billy's situation was going to crush and kill him instead.

"I wasn't expecting you to."

A small voice whispered in the recesses of his brain, wrapping itself in his subconscious. She was always blaming you. Go find Victoria, Jack. Misery loves company. A louder one in his head won out, however, won. There's no blame, Jack. Just hope and uncertainties. Still, go find Victoria.

Phyllis added, nodding her head in the direction of a hallway. "Go check on her. I'll stay with Jill."

Jack kissed Phyllis on the cheek, his heart skipping its regular beat at the realization that they had almost lost each other. But here they were, and that almost wasn't a reality. But it could be for his little brother. Billy being physically lost was something that could be a reality and a lump in his throat so large formed, it almost physically pained him.

John taught him to persevere when things got tough, to believe when things got unbearable and to pray when things got downright impossible. He started down the same hallway Victoria took, thinking of his father, his siblings, Jill, and Victoria.

Jack thought of Johnny and Kate most.

—

Miami. 2012. Doctors with smiles, looking like ghosts in white jackets. Overly nice nurses who looked at her if they were facing a feral animal, movements slow and deliberate. A hospital that smelled clean with the dirt of death and injury simmering the surface. She wanted to be home in her house, in her four walls, watching her son sleep and video chatting with Reed. The hospital gown was starchy and made her skin itchy, the curtains made her claustrophobic and God, she couldn't breathe.

She managed a smile, "Thank you. I love you."

"Love you too. I'll be right outside, Vick if you need anything," Nick promised and dropped a kiss to her head. She held his hand and gently squeezed it, partly because when she held her brother's hand, it felt like home and nostalgia – the kind of idyllic nostalgia of home. It was like that until the complications of adulthood came in like a monster and destroyed it all. Then she let go of his hand, slowly, because the doctor arrived and here she was, alone.

The doctor was a woman, mocha skin, dark hair, short and a brilliant smile she kept reserved and professional. Victoria listened to her prattle off a bunch of medical terms, medical results, and all the things doctors would say to placate a person. All she really wanted was to go home.

Victoria crossed her arms and sighed, using a hand to rub her eyes, "I don't… My brother and husband insisted I come here. I was too tired and overwrought to argue," she added, more to herself than the doctor as if the hospital melted around her like paint off a canvas. "I still am tired."

She was tired and alone, even with Nick and Billy outside. She knew that she was safe with doctors and nurses that were trained to hep her. Make sure she was physically healthy, as Victoria prayed that she wouldn't mentally splinter. So while kidnapped, she taught herself a new trick. Victoria taught herself a way to settle her mind, breathe evenly and concrete on listening to her own heartbeat.

So, that's what she did as the doctor said all the placating things a doctor says to a patient. She listened to her heartbeat. Fast. Erratic, so she concentrated and gave herself the task of controlling and counting them. Dr. Garcia's voice seemed so far away as she told Victoria that she had to have a kit performed on her. Not a kit that made her blood stayed in her veins, a heart keep beating, her lungs kept inhaling the safety and exhaling the terror she felt when Victoria begged for something simple like sunlight on her skin. It was the kit done on sexual assault victims, murder victims or kidnapping ones to just name a few, just to make sure. Procedure, Dr. Garcia assured. Formalities, she added as a young, bubbly nurse entered and spoke to her like she was a wild eyed caged animal too, about to run. Run past Nick. Run past Billy, and run to nowhere until everything bled and blended together. Victoria wanted to summon enough energy to fix the nurse prepping with that icy Newman glare to stop patronizing her, but even that was hard.

Maybe, if she was lucky enough, she'd run to her boys. Reed. Heartbeat. Johnny. Another heartbeat. In another heartbeat, Victoria would run until she saw the rooftop of her house and that ivory coloured door. Then she should seal herself inside as tightly as she could. Bury herself and that sexual kit where nobody could reach it, not even her. Nick's anger reminded her of an angry bull, horns bared and ready to gore Billy. Billy was guilty as it was. She just wanted to forget. So, Victoria closed her eyes, leaned back against hospital room pillows that looked deceptively soft, and starting counting.

Here again, in the most different of circumstances, Victoria opened her eyes, wiped at her eyes and felt her cheeks, clammy and fresh wet with more hot tears. She was still in the hospital chapel and still, those candles burned on.

It was silent here too, so she started counting her heartbeat.

One heartbeat. Live, Billy.

Two heartbeats. Come back, Billy.

Three heartbeats. You promised you wouldn't die, Billy.

Four heartbeats. Johnny and Katherine need you, Billy.

Five heartbeats. I need you.

Six heartbeats. I love you.

While counting in the hospital chapel, Victoria hoped she'd hear Billy's heartbeat somehow in between the silences of hers.

—

If someone asked Jack about his relationship with God, he would not know how to define it. Maybe he could have checked in more, and maybe he wanted to handle things on his own. Find a way to make things stronger on his own. His family. His company. But none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things. Still his father's voice rang in his head, Be Houdini, Jackie. Jack found a way to escape death and summoning a bit of resolve, he was going to find his own way to escape this too, so Billy did not have to face it and leave them behind. But perhaps, he needed a little divine help have the way shown to him.

Jack found his way to the hospital chapel, and as a force of habit and acknowledging something sacred, he went on one knee quickly, crossed himself and rose again. He found Victoria, a small form so tired and but so still, as if disembodied from herself. Jack took careful steps among the wooden brown pews as he noted her profile from the side, as if in the silence, she was willing Billy awake and well. God, how he tried that despite the thread of hope as thin as the string of a spider web.

Victoria was so many things to him, depending on time and space – stepdaughter, friend, a formidable, sharp businesswoman who worked with him and against him, sister-in-law, but always family especially now. Even in war, when the Abbotts and Newmans stabbed backs, cut throats and everyone was bloodstained, Victoria was family to him. The definition didn't have to be clear cut where she was concerned. Frankly, Jack didn't want it to be.

He touched a gentle hand to her shoulder, and Victoria jumped, startled.

"Sorry I startled you."

"Oh! Jack!" she gasped, and then in her eyes, sparked recognition and then worry and anticipation – maybe, hope, "Did something change with Billy?"

"No," he answered, sliding in beside her. He touched her hand. "No. No change."

She sighed, tousling her hair before she forced herself to smile.

"No change is good," she intoned, evenly, as if in a business negotiation and weighing the benefits and the risks of stagnancy. Pros and cons. Jack could see the wheels of rationalization rotate in Victoria's head and then he saw them screech to a grinding halt. She rubbed her ring finger and turned angry blue eyes on him. "I don't understand anything, Jack. Why are we the bad guys here? Billy's not perfect but he made all these stupid choices. He's in there fighting for his life when it didn't have to happen! Why am I wrong for pointing that out when people like your wife like to point out that I place all these impossibly high standards on him? I don't! I don't need him to prove anything to me. I just needed him to be there, be present, actually try and not reach for a damn shortcut! We need him here!" Jack watched Victoria exhale and her eyes glittered, with tears, tone lower. "I need him. I haven't let myself go there. I don't need him to lasso the moon for me, even though he'd be crazy enough to try. If he did, I'd tell him to put it back."

Jack turned to look at her. "Sounds like my little brother. He loves you."

Victoria sniffled, played with a ring on her middle finger and then asked, looking directly at him, "How are you, Jack?"

Jack paused, pondering his answer and let it hang in the air. Truthfully, how was he? His brain told Victoria to tell he was fine, and so would Billy because he had a way of beating the odds. His head wanted to tell her that Johnny looked so much like Billy, in looks and behaviour. A goofball. Boisterous for a three year old and had them all laughing at something silly he said or did. Kate was beautiful, and so bright eyed and God, was she ever stubborn and determined to master the art of walking. He was amused when he held her, because it appeared his niece had a fascination with his ties.

It was nice, having the little children in the house again. Jack must have said it out loud because Victoria chuckled, and smiled at him.

"I tell them about their grandfather. John. Katherine is too little. I think she understands in her way though but Johnny knows. He thinks it's cool that he's named John too, like his grandfather and uncle. It's the cutest thing. I'll show him a picture of John and he'll say 'Mommy, look! Grand-dad!' So, whenever we go to your house, in his mind, he's going to Grand-dad's house to play."

Jack laughed, a visual of John playing with Johnny and bouncing Kate on his knee in his mind.

"Dad would have loved them." He said this more to himself, than her.

"I know," Victoria answered, voice wistful. "They would have loved him, too."

Victoria's smile remained, but had sad undertones. Jack still heard the faint threads of Victoria's question. How are you, Jack? And his heart grabbed it. His heart said he wasn't sure how he was – if he wanted to be angry and punch a wall until he felt physical pain in his knuckles. He would rather do that than the stabbing one in his heart. Or, at least come here and bargain with a higher power Jack was sure was reasonable.

Jack understood. Jack knew Billy's struggle with addiction because it was his struggle too. It was always there, the dark selfish part that always kicked, screamed and scratched to be free. Addiction was the struggle of carrying your flaws on your shoulders while trying to be sane and stand tall. It was a tattoo that Jack, a man used to seeing a put-together reflection staring back at him in the mirror, had to see branded into his skin.

At first, the word addict was hard to hear, even more difficult to comprehend with someone like him. It wasn't him. Not him as a Harvard alumni and someone who served in Vietnam. Not someone from a respectable, well-known family like the Abbotts. Not John Abbott's son. It was just pain, and the pills were relief. The two syllables hit Jack and rattled him so intensely he barely resisted the urge to yell out, No, I'm not! But now, the rattling was a dull thrumming in his chest now and Jack was standing a lot straighter and taller. Yes, Jack Abbott was an addict and he would never have a brandy again, but it didn't define him.

Jack visualized his addiction not as a physical entity but as a door. It was a beautiful door, made of oak. The doorknob was gold and cool to his touch. Could he do this? Could Jack do this just for today? Just one pill. Just one drink. Just one night to float away from his body and separate from this reality too hard to face. Could Jack really open this door and close it just as quickly?

He chose to leave it closed, because Phyllis would threaten to cut his hand off. He also knew that life was worth more than succumbing to a short term high than brought him crashing down. Jack could pad lock it shut because right here, right now, he had what he mattered to him.

He loved Billy and wished it were he in that bed.

But Billy was more fatalistic than him, but truthfully, it scared Jack. Terrified him.

Jack felt the painful lump in his throat again, nearly strangling him the way he wished he could strangle The Black Knight until he crumbled to dust. Instead, Jack focused on his brother and his children. He glanced over at Victoria, who looked like she could break as strong as she was. She was one of the strongest women he knew. Somewhere in the comfortable silence, Jack's hand found Victoria's smaller one.

They just held hands just as two people intertwined in many different ways and contexts. As two people who loved the same person in very different ways. As two people holding on to the same threads of hope until their hands became raw but the pain was worth it.

Billy was worth it.

"I'm…hopeful, Victoria. I'm holding onto to hope," Jack finally answered, cracking the silence. The craving for one pill thrummed lightly in his chest, still. He was human, after all. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, And the wisdom to know the difference.

Victoria's fingers curved over his and he gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. Jack realized he had tears in his eyes, and so did he. He held her gaze, when her cheeks flushed red and she used a free hand to comb a hand through her hair. She was frustrated. So was he. But still, Jack did not let go of Victoria's hand.

Jack watched Victoria break in front of him. It wasn't fast nor was it quick. It was like the plucking of a thread that caused several stitches to fall apart until nothing could be stitched together afterwards.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as Victoria spoke, blue eyes wide. A solitary tear escaped it and Jack watched it roll down, curve around the apple of her cheek.

"Hope," Victoria repeated, after him and then closed her eyes as her shoulders shook with fresh sobs. She exhaled, but Victoria's steady voice caught on another sob. "I can't hope right now, Jack. I can't… I've prayed… I've been here trying to understand. If he…" she paused, looking at him hopefully as if Jack had all the answers when he was searching for them himself. Really, how the hell did it come to this? "If Billy dies, Jack… Johnny and Katherine need him. What do my children and I do? I can't do this… I can't…"

Jack pulled Victoria into his arms, as she sobbed.

"I know," Jack replied, a tremor in his voice. "I know…"

Still Jack heard the calming, wise timbre of John's voice, in his mind. Houdini, Jackie. Escape doubt. Escape fear. Conjure up hope where it can't be found.

Jack hoped that he was doing enough – dear God, let it be enough.

—

Victoria felt light. She felt as if she could float on air and everything could settle within herself eventually. She felt like one of Johnny's wind-up toys that lay still after buzzing around. Her nerves were still frayed and taut. She felt like running onto the hospital rooftop, cold settling in her bones and her breath coming up in plumes like smoke. Victoria still felt like as if she screamed loud enough, Billy would hear it and wake up. But this release was…good. For now, it was good. All Victoria wanted to do was to see her children, hug them and kiss them. She wanted to laugh until she couldn't breathe at Billy's dress shirt hanging over Johnny's body like a sheet complete with a tie – all done in his underpants. She wanted to read Johnny a story, let him charm her into cookies and juice will into the night as morning was arriving. Victoria wanted to still sing her four-year-old son to sleep.

She longed to feel the weight of Katherine in her arms, and enjoy the sound of her laugh as Victoria tickled the bottom of her feet during a diaper change and listen to her babble, the world already opening up to her. She wanted to press kisses on the apples of her daughter's rosy cheeks. Victoria wanted to watch Katherine crawl around the house as Victoria chased after her and Katherine pulled herself up on her little feet with support and stood before sitting down again, smiling as if to say, I'll try again, Mommy. Victoria wanted to hold her daughter and gaze into those blue eyes with the Abbott twinkle in them, getting heavy with sleep.

She stood up from the pew, and she walked down the aisle with Jack out of the chapel at an easy pace. Victoria touched Jack's arm at the entrance.

"Thank you," she said, sincerely, "and I'm sorry I broke down like that."

"We're all a little raw right now," Jack answered, surveying her with concern. "If you ever need anything, you have an army of Abbotts that will help."

"I know. I'll call you. And I'm grateful," Victoria crossed her arms around her body like a shield, rebuilding the emotional dam she'd tore down. She would cry tomorrow and the day after that. Hell, seeing Johnny and Katherine would probably shatter her again because the vacancy left by Billy would be felt more strongly. "I just… wanna see the kids," she laughed a little at the thought of Johnny building a tower in the middle of the Abbott living floor, and Katherine observant at first, but comfortable with her aunt Traci later and exploring her grandfather's house with her crawling and developing curiosity. "I'm gonna say goodnight to Billy and relieve Traci," she added, ghost of a smile of her lips. "I know Billy would want me to be with them. He'll be awake and make Katherine giggle with laughter and do all the silly voices when reading Johnny a story."

"He will," her former brother-in-law assured, confident. "He's got too much to fight for. Billy will fight."

She looked around for a minute. A nurse in scrubs scuttling away with another patient's file in hand. A doctor who looked worn out, exiting another hospital room and headed down another pristine white maze littered with broken and bruised people. Everything ran on like clockwork and yet so many lives here were either hanging on, or had been let go. These hospital halls looked so empty, and in theory, they were. But in a way, Victoria realized they were full too. Could Billy be walking in some spiritual traffic jam, trying to reach out as he physically lay here? The thought made the hairs on Victoria's neck stand up, her skin break out in gooseflesh and Victoria's heart jump – not with fear, but with a tiny bit of hope that was enough for her to bear at the most. Too little hope would make her numb while too much would break her. So, Victoria rationalized it and found a measure of faith that struck a happy balance.

"Yeah," she nodded. Victoria tucked another lock of hair behind an ear. This time, her right one, the ear studded with silver heart shaped earrings Billy gave to her for Christmas this year. Victoria reached up and gave a hug, one filled with gratitude and because he looked worn too.

She separated and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Take care, Victoria."

"Goodnight, Jack."

"Give my niece and nephew a hug and kiss from me."

She smiled, fully now and it reached her eyes, "Of course, I will. Come back with me? I'm sure Phyllis could use you."

"I could use her. You go ahead. I'm fine," Jack answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh, just need a minute."

"Okay."

Victoria straightened her spine, and strode down the hallway to Billy's room.

She was Victoria Newman. She was going to be okay. Billy was also going to be okay because she was a woman of facts. The fact was, Victoria rationalized steadying her heart and counting her heartbeat again, because it truly was Victoria Newman and Billy Abbott forever and ever. Jim and Margaret Anderson. Fire and ice. Amen.

—

Still, Victoria felt Jack's supportive hand in hers.

—

Fin.