Author's Note: I received a prompt so I couldn't help but fulfill this request! Especially since it's probably one of the most popular Jandy headcannons out there. What if Jack and Andy were an established couple and were already married when Pruitt told them he was going to die. This is likely to be a two parter so stay tuned! (Still taking requests!) :) Let me know if you like it :) As always, ignore the typos. I have a method, and self-editing is not part of it. LOL

What If We Were Married - somewhere in mid-season 3 - don't know the exact episode, too lazy to look it up. :P

"Captain - what - what did you tell her? Why did she just - what just happened!?"

Pruitt put a steadying hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, as though readying himself for something.

"I just told my daughter that I'm dying. Soon. Very soon."

Jack was brutally forced into silence. He couldn't speak, and not even if he'd wanted to. Pruitt can't be dying, just like that. There's no way. He was getting better. He was. He could have sworn it.

No wonder Andy was such a mess. He was barely holding it together himself. The ring he wore on his left hand has become a comfort of sorts and he moved it around and around his finger, saying nothing.

Pruitt reached out a hand, and it was in that moment, once again, that Jack thought no. No, can't die. Not yet. Not ever. He's too young. Too important. To her. To him. To everyone here. He stilled Jack's nervous movements, gripping his hand and squeezing. Hard. He nearly flinched.

"Look, son. That's the truth of it. I'm dying. Soon, I'll be dead. Gone. Not on this earth anymore and Andrea...she's going to miss me more than words...and she'll need you. Okay? My daughter is going to need somebody who is unapologetically on her side."

Again, Pruitt squeezed his hand, with so much force this time that he did flinch, and he tried to cover it up.

"She's going to need her husband. But Gibson you're not ready to go to her. Not yet."

Pruitt scrutinized the tears on his face, the sadness of his gaze, the furrow of his brows, the dryness of his lips.

"You need to get your crap together first. If she sees you like this, upset, in pieces like you are...she won't feel safe. She needs to feel safe. Like she can depend on you."

He put a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder and watched as he wiped pathetically at the tears on his face, then with a little more conviction, he moved his hair back from his forehead, breathed out deep. He needed to ignore this right now. He needed to ignore it, for Andy.

All of this would be for her. His every decision from here on, and even before, in the moment they'd promised themselves to each other, every single one, his every, single, breath, would be taken in her name.

Jack dried the last of his tears, smoothed out his anguished expression and Pruitt nodded softly at him in turn.

"I'm placing my faith in you, Jack. Take care of my little girl."

He sniffed and it was the only thing he could hear in the silence left behind by the insurmountable ask those words out him up against.

Of course he could take care of her - and he would, always - but he could never remedy the grief for her, never could he rob her of the experience she's about to go through, the same sort of one he did, and at such a young, impressionable, age.

It would bring them closer, but he could never take away the pain of it, not in the way Pruitt was expecting, and it didn't take too long for him to hate himself, for that.

"Okay. Okay, I will."

A dying man's last wish. One he couldn't possibly fulfill in the way he wanted, but one he would honour, honour until the day he died, himself. He hoped that would be enough.

Pruitt gave him a small shove in between his shoulder blades even as Jack wanted to turn around and wrap his arms around his father-in law in a hug. A tight and proper hug. One he hasn't given him since his and Andy's wedding a couple years ago now.

Physical touch was a rarity with Captain Pruitt Herrera, where anyone but his darling daughter was concerned, and Jack respected it, but that day - that day he needed a hug like that from Pruitt.

It was a day where, through the sacrament of marriage - even as Jack wasn't big on sacraments, he knew that the Herreras were, they became an intimately bonded family, matrimony an unbreakable tie.

He needed another hug like that. Now. He needed to gather the strength from it, take Pruitt's unshakable force of will and harness it himself. He needed to be there, for his wife. He needed to be strong for his wife. She deserved it. Andy deserved everything good in this world, good and miraculous, two things that her father's death was not.

None of this was fair. It's what she was screaming, screaming at the wall, at herself, at nothing, then at him; she was screaming at him and her body was reaching out to him even if her mind was still stuck on the words - it's not fair - none of this is fair - her body still longed for him, longed to be held, for him to hold her. To hold her like he does, so often until she falls asleep.

In a bid of cheesiness and romance, she swears she can no longer fall asleep without him, that somehow she just can't get comfortable physically, and that her body just refuses; it's sweet, and stupid, and sappy, and he absolutely loves the thought of it, of being needed, so intimately, by her.

Like now. This moment, it reminds him of that, of that neediness, that stripping sort of vulnerability that she shares with him, except the difference here is, now it's without a choice.
Emotions leave her to act on instinct and instinct alone, and it's often that instinct does not come along with choice.

It's obvious now. She feels like a child, he can see it, she feels like she can't stop it, and it's frustrating the hell out of her that all she wants right now is to be soothed; by his arms, his chest, his cologne, his lips, his heartbeat, him. It's all him. He is a comfort for her.

The one that works. Foolproof. Every time. But she hates it now, she hates the dependency, but right now she can see past it all, because all she wants is that feeling of descending calm that comes over her the second their bodies come close, then touch.

"Sh... Andy...baby you're okay...I'm here, okay? I'm here..."

"Jack…he's going to die. I can't believe that my Papi is going to die and he – he knew about it…this whole time…and he didn't tell me. And I just lost Ryan. How – how…"

"I know." Jack just held her. He held her close, and he held her tight, as tight as he possibly could. "I know that, baby. I know it hurts. Let it out…that's it…you're so strong…so strong."

That was all he could do. It was all he could possibly do right now as she broke down, broke down in a way that he's never seen her do before, in a way that he could swear she has, unless she prefers to be alone, but she can't be alone, not right now, not like this.

Her cries, her brutal, agonizing, animalistic cries of pain, of fear, of sadness, were making him feel sick, but not for himself, for her. He was sick with emotion, with an insane amount of sadness, despair, and pain, and on top of hers, he was feeling his own, too. There was just so much. Too much.

But he was proud of her; he was so, incredibly proud of her, for letting him see her this way, comfort her, love her, in all of her sudden, mounting, grief. It meant so much more to him than she would ever understand. It just did.

He couldn't explain why; there was just a certain, tragic, intimacy to the whole thing, a kind of intimacy that strikes more powerful than a kiss, more powerful then sex, more powerful than those three, little words, each stolen from every romance novel ever written; but this, this was different, and all it could do, even though she couldn't see it now, as she holds tightly onto his shirt and stains it with her tears, is bring them closer, closer as husband and wife.

"I don't – I don't want to be here anymore. What's – what's left? My mom's gone, Ryan, my dad, soon I don't I don't – "

"Andrea."

He laid his hand against her skull, carded his fingers through her hair, top to bottom, then down her back, repeatedly, until her breathing slowed from those heavy, heavy, sobs. They broke his heart when all he wanted was to work on putting hers back together. To take care of her. He made a promise.

"Stop. Andy, you have so much left here, in this world. You have me. Our children, one day, Maya, Vic, Dean, Travis. You have us all. And I know that we can't take their place, and they're gone, but we're still here. You – you are still here. You're not done yet, not here, on this earth. You have so much left to do, to aspire to."

She put a hand on his around her back, her nails indenting the flesh of his palm as she lifted it up. It wasn't out of anger, or anything like that, it was out of a sheer desire to put some sort of pain, any kind would do, onto another person, so that she herself didn't have to consciously bare it all; and even as this action seemed selfish, people tended to do unspeakable things in their grief, and this, what she was doing, was far from it. Jack would take her pain any time, any place, if it meant that she could live her life free of the hurt.

"I love you," she whispered softly to him, sniffling, and wiping weakly at her tears.

"Here, let me."

He smiled at her, an easy, approachable smile. It was comfortable. Safe. She needs to feel safe. Pruitt's words ran steadily through his head. He held her face in his hands, dried her tears with the pads of his thumbs, but still, they dropped from her eyes in big, fat, ovals, like a child who scraped their knee on the pavement, and so, when he leaned in to kiss her, and she reciprocated without having to think about it, he could taste the salt on her lips.

"I love you too," he said against her mouth as they fit together seamlessly, and it's something that just happens. He never gets tired of it, kissing her, and he doesn't think he ever will.

"Mija?" Pruitt knocked softly on the door. "Can we talk?"

She looked at him, then at the door, then back at him. "You can go," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "I'll be okay."

His hand was on her knee now and he kept it there. Firm. Clear in his intention. He was not leaving. No way, no how. She needed him. More than that maybe, was that he needed her.

"No. I'm going to stay here."

Andy was always the strong one, he wasn't worried about her, not now, she had her moment, as she would say, and it's over. She's good. She's fine. Still though, she's always there in his mind, especially now, with everything, with Ryan, her dad, and he can't leave her now. He won't. Not ever.

"If that's okay?"

"Of course," she said to him, tenderly, sweet.

Her gaze softened and it looked like she might just start crying again, but this time, out of a deep, undying appreciation for him. Or so he'd like to think. After all these years with her, together, with her, he still felt like there were days he couldn't quite get a good enough read on her to predict her thoughts. Her movements, oh yes, he was quite good at predicting those, quite good indeed, but sometimes, rarely now, but still, they could be a beast in their own right.

"Thank you, babe. I don't think I say it enough, not nearly enough, but I love you. I love you, Jack Gibson."

He gave her a half-watt smile. A beaming smile would feel insensitive, in the light of things, but he can't help but smile, still. Every time she says those three, little, words, every time she says them, and she means it, it gets him grinning like a fool.

"I love you too, Andy Herrera. So, so much."

After a little bit of fighting back on her part, she accepted the truth of her feelings and told him yes, yes, I will marry you – it was actually that night, two beers between them, at Joe's bar. After spinning around a few times on her barstool like a college freshman, she fixed her eyes on him, still one-hundred percent sober, not yet a drop to drink, and she just…said it. It was one of those memories that will live on with him forever, and he's glad for that.

She didn't take his name, and he didn't push her too. Her name was apart of her, her dad, her legacy, here, something that made her feel whole, like herself, and he wouldn't take that from her. Besides, the name Gibson itself – he didn't know enough about it, about his history, to have any sort of blind faith connection to it. They agreed though, that their kids would be hyphenated. They were not just one, but the other, their kids, were both of them. They wanted to reflect that in their given names.

And once again, he's thinking he's so glad everything has turned out the way it has.

"Andrea…Jack…I'm so, so, sorry you had to find out like this. The both of you. Sincerely, I am."

What he's not so glad for, is this, he thinks as Pruitt comes in, looking solemn, apologetic. As if the cancer returning is his fault, and his eventual death, coming sooner than anyone expected. Even the man himself. Pruitt is strong, like daughter, like father, and he knows that's not how the saying goes, but he doesn't care, because nobody, not even Pruitt Herrera should be faulted for not being strong enough to want to fight a deadly disease.

"Captain Herrera I – "

Jack started but was halted by the man raising his hand in the air, stopping him. "It's Pruitt, son." He smiled sagely at Jack, watched as Andy gripped his hand tighter in her own, as she intertwined their fingers. "Pruitt, please, alright?"

"Pruitt," Jack corrected himself, fearing for a moment that if he didn't, something might happen. It was irrational, but a thought nonetheless, one he couldn't get to quit. "Don't – don't be sorry, I mean, about your decision."

Pruitt looked at him with a sudden, mild, disdain, but he knew it was due to his word choice, and not to himself, though as it goes with his daughter, he didn't have the best track record starting out, so who's to say, really.

He liked to think, if he doesn't love him, that's fine, but that Pruitt likes him enough to allow him to marry his daughter. His only daughter, pride and joy, salt of the earth, angel from heaven and the list of stupid cliches for beautiful and breathtaking in all capacities, physical and emotional, could go on and on, where he was concerned.

He loves her so damn much, with every inch of his body, his soul, and he just hopes that her father knows just how much that really is. So he can go in peace, knowing that his daughter will be loved all of her days in the way that he could only dream a man would love her, one day; and Jack, he loved her even more. There were some days where his love for her, it nearly destroyed him. Pruitt could understand that, he knew, albeit in a very different sense, but still, it was in the way of loving Andy, that Jack felt most connected to Pruitt Herrera. Not as his captain, not as his son-in-law, but just in the sheer way Jack loved his daughter.

"What – what makes you say that like…like I just gave up?"

"Because you did, Papi, you did!" Andy practically shouted at him, and he was sure if the rest of the team wasn't listening at the door before, they certainly were now.

"Andy…" Jack said to her in a calm, even, voice. "That's not – "

"What?"

She turned on him in an instant, her eyes suddenly hard, glassy. She was going to cry again, if not now, then very soon, if the way her skin slowly has began to redden is any right indication. He wanted to hug her close to him but fought with the urge because ultimately it might spin her further out, so he stayed to himself but refusing to let go of her hand. No matter how hard she challenged it. Challenged him.

"It's not what, Jack? It's not fair of me to say!? You want me to say that I don't have a right to be really, really, angry that my father, the man who raised me, decided to first, not tell me that the cancer is back, and second, decide not to continue with treatment without talking to me about it first?"

"Mija, I didn't want to hurt you like this. I love you. I love you so much and – "

"Spare me the speech, Papi," Andy glared at her father and to him it felt like maybe she was asking for a standoff. "If you love me as much as you say you do, right now, you wouldn't be letting yourself go like this. Letting me go. Jack, all of Nineteen, you wouldn't let us go without a fight like you are."

Standoffs with Andy Herrera never end well, not especially though, where he was concerned, the whole team knew not to cross her at a certain point, but a standoff between two Herreras – he wasn't sure which one would outlast the other. It just depended how far Pruitt's will bends for his daughter. He imagined it bends to the ends of the earth, but he's not sure about this far. If it spans the heavens, or whatever it is that's up there, waiting for them all at their time of death.

Jack's not particularly a big believer, he doesn't know why, there's just something about religion to him, making him feel boxed in, rule abiding, to a certain extent, living his life in some way that is all for impressing some higher power so that, upon death, he can reap the rewards. He's attended – and will continue to attend Catholic masses with his wife, and her father, well, likely just his wife, now, and he's receptive to raising their kids in the church, if that's what will make her happy, but Jack himself is not entirely convinced of the whole thing.

In the same vein, he hopes Pruitt Herrera goes where all the good ones end up. He deserves to be there more than anybody that Jack knows, honestly and truly, he does.

"Andrea, listen to me. I am not giving up. The cancer is back. It's aggressive. I have a month, two, tops. I'm not letting you go, because I want to. I have to. It's terminal, whether I like it or not. There's no way around it. If the treatment were to prolong my life any, it would only be who knows how long, and I will lose myself to the chemo. To the disease. I'll fade away. Right now, I'm still me. I'm still Captain Pruitt Herrera."

Pruitt took a hold of Andy's hand in his, his palm overtop of her knuckles. He looked deeply into her eyes, holding her gaze, and forcing her to see him. To see past her anger and her sadness and her grief and just see him.

"I'm still your Papi, Andrea Carmen Herrera. I will always, always, be your Papi. No matter what. Death won't break us apart, okay?"

Jack watched her closely and saw her expression soften, and then begin to crumble again. Fast. There was no time for self-soothing, no time for words, or even a proper breath before she was crying; she was crying big, nasty, ugly sobs and he just watched as Pruitt took the reins on this one, comforting his daughter, his little girl, and possibly for the very last time.

It was honestly one of the most heart wrenching things he has ever witnessed, and as a first responder, that says a lot, doesn't it? He sighed, forcing himself to take in the moment, no matter how painful, because even the pain deserves to be remembered; it makes you stronger in the end.

It was that night – the night Andy learned that her father was going to pass on sometime in the imminent future, when they both had trouble falling asleep. They couldn't. Either of them. He felt that his sleep was eluding him due to the never-ending cycle of horrible thoughts through his mind, and he could bet that the same thing was causing her to be sleepless beside him.

What's going to happen? After Pruitt is gone – how will they all cope? Go on? Will their team dynamic change? After Maya becoming captain and the brief shift in dynamic that caused, especially between her and Andy, Jack wasn't sure they could all handle a big shift.

More than that, Pruitt isn't going to be there for the birth of his grandkids, whenever that may be, though he and Andy have discussed the prospect of children, sometime in the future, before all of this. He was truly hoping her feelings haven't changed on the subject, because of her dad, or whatever, even though he knew he was being irrational. Andy wants kids. She wants kids with him. That's the end of that.

He knows this, but he just can't stop thinking about it. About Pruitt dying. It hurts. It really, fucking, hurts; and if it's hurting him this, bad, he knows that, beside him, his wife is an utter and complete mess (again, he doesn't care if that's not how the saying goes. If it's even a saying at all, or just a thing that people say, which he recognizes is the same damn thing and English is a stupid language, anyhow).

"An?" He whispers softly against her hair, leaves a kiss at the base of her neck. "Baby talk to me. I know you can't sleep, either."

She needed to be held tonight, so he happily took on the role of big spoon, not that he'd ever be caught dead, as a man, as the little spoon. No way. (Okay, only sometimes).

"Jack, I don't want to talk."

He sighs. "Yes you do. I know you. I know when you want to talk, even if you don't."

She groans as she turns her body to face him. Rolls her eyes. The extra attitude comes with the big, bad, feelings. She's like a child that way. He knows that about her, too.

"What does that even mean?"

He smiles softly at her, runs the back of his hand tenderly along her cheek.

"It means you should talk to me, Andy. Please. Let it out. Lay it on me. That's what I'm here for."

"Funny." Surprising him, she cracks a small smile of her own, more of a half smile than anything, but he'll take it. He'll take what he can get. "I thought you were just here for the sex."

It's funny, funny in a different way, that now, right now, is when the memory comes to him. Begs to be attended to.

He remembers the moment he realized he couldn't live without her; he remembers it now like it was only yesterday. It's so vivid, so crisp, so clear in his mind that it scares him a little but then he remembers too that pain, it's the memories of the pain that make a man stronger. Not the act of pushing it to the side or swallowing it down. Living it, feeling it, when it comes. He did, and he does it, now.

It all started with those sisters, but it never ended with them. It's only grown from there. That's the magic of it, the sappy, gooey, romantic kind of magic. For a moment, it was tragedy, because death is almost always encased in tragedy, but then it wasn't. Jack held the other sister back, felt the weight of her body buckling against his forearm, and watched as the life never came back into the woman's skin, features lifeless, stagnant, dead.

It was obvious, and that was a very, very sad fact, but he watched intently as his team worked on her, never giving up until the last possible second, and he watched Andy, her concentration never breaking, her emotions sealed like a locked vault underneath the sweaty, ashy pallor of her skin, and he just thought to himself.

I can't do it. I can't possibly live without this woman by my side. Never will I do something to jeopardize our relationship, what we've built, because I won't be able to live with myself if she ever leaves me. I will do everything in my power to love and support her until I can't anymore, until our dying days – (hey, that's a good one, people use that bit for their vows yeah? I'm gonna use that).

And he did use that. And she'd smiled so big at him, so tender-hearted, so lovey and sappy and everything she swore she would never be on her wedding day months and months before it happened. She was every one of those things that day, and he fell in love with her all over again as if it were the first time (and not the thousandth time since he'd proposed to her. There was a lot of love there, so much love).

So now he smirked at her, all fun and games with the intent of concealing his sudden emotion, heavy and serious. It wasn't fair of him to put that on her right now, not in a moment when she's actively trying to make light of what she's feeling, all the heavy, serious, tense stuff.

It's her coping mechanism, reminds him starkly of somebody else he knows – himself, Dean, Travis, Vic, Maya, they all do it; humor is safe, humor masks the gravity of the situations they face everyday, the pain, both with the capability to crush them, both their spirit and their physical body, in one full swoop, if – and that's a big if, they let them.

And sometimes, when these situations hit too close to home and become too personal, they can't really help it, and so the crushing begins, sometimes slowly, over time, and sometimes not. Sometimes, it's instant.

So, he lets her joke, and he jokes along with her and for a few, tantalizing seconds, they just forget. And it's almost euphoric, reminds him of the bubble-living of their past, and so he lusts after the, almost reminiscent, banter, revels in it and leans in to kiss her hot and heavy, on the lips.

"Sex with you, the hot, naked, fiery, explosive sex, that's just an added bonus."

For a little while after, they just marinate in the sexiness, post-sex, together. Naked and sticky with a sweat that's slowly running cool, he holds her against his chest, cuddles her in the way he likes, and she likes it too, his heartbeat a soothing thing, and more than the bare intimacy of it, tonight especially, like it had been for weeks after the skyscraper, it's insurance that he's still alive.

He broached the subject carefully, for fear of spooking her, for fear of her possibly retreating backwards, emotionally, into herself. She needed to talk to him, but only when she was ready. It wasn't healthy of him to push. Too hard. He's guilt of pushing her some, though only when he's pretty sure she's teetering on the edge of readiness. Like she was now. Her breathing was still light, she wasn't on her way to any sort of sleep, not yet, not for awhile yet.

"Andy…what are you thinking about? Hm?"

He kisses her temple, burrows his lips into the side of her head, tasting the mild saltiness of her skin. She hums a little in response. It's not nothing, though he's not sure what kind of something it is. It could be an invitation, but just as easily, a rebuff. He rolls the dice with the first one.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking about. Pruitt. How he won't get to see his grandkids be born, see them grow, see us grow, as husband and wife, as firefighters, as people and I hate how much that sucks."

"Mm…" she murmured, and as she subtly shifted her position against his side, he could sense she was either going to say something now or drift off to sleep.

"I'm thinking about him too. I've been thinking about my dad since I – since we – found out. I can't stop, and that sucks. Sometimes it's our memories together, other times it's my future, alone, without him. And I hate it, too, Jack. Our kids deserve to get to know him as the man he is, not as the man he was. It's not fair."

He kissed her forehead this time. Closed his eyes as he listened to her breathing instantly become weighted; she was exhausted, and sated, after sex, and no matter what was going on in her mind right now, it would shut off because finally – finally, sleep was beginning to win out. And for the both of them.

They'd be revisiting this topic quite often, he could sense it, within the next few days, weeks, months, even years, as they decide to begin their family, their life together in that domesticated way she was so fearful of, before, but not now. They've had that conversation plenty of times, exhausted it, and come out the other side. Stronger, and better together.

Eventually, one day, this might be like that, or at least, it will be a dull ache in the background of daily life until something comes along to bring it back full force, and it will; it will fade, and return, in large, unpredictable, unprecedented waves, a crest and a trough, but they couldn't be afraid of that. Of grief. Of life. Grief is a part of life, and they can't spend their time on this earth being afraid of it, of being afraid to live. Life, as they both know it to be, is the most precious of things, the most precarious.

"I know, baby. It's not fair. I know."

The thing is, they are both so good at grabbing those moments wherever they can. Jack knew it was something they would live by now, him and Andy, and their kids, too. Grabbing moments. Living life. If not for themselves, then for Pruitt. He would want them to. Order them to. Jack smiled to himself at that, the image so clear, with a soft, firm, yet incredibly loving hand, Pruitt nurtured them, raised them, molded them into damn good firefighters, taught them to work together, to love, and to live, like a family. Station 19 is Pruitt Herrera's legacy, one that isn't a person, that isn't Jack's amazing, beautiful, charismatic wife, and they all vowed to respect that, always.

As for himself, Jack would hold up his end of the bargain and live in spirit of taking care of his daughter, of loving her, providing her with a family, a home, a stable, intimate, environment where she would be happy and content with how she's chosen to live out her life, with him. Even if Pruitt wasn't dying, Jack was committed to giving her all of that and more.

"Goodnight, Andy," Jack whispered into her ear. "I love you. So much. Always."

"Goodnight, Jack," she whispered back to him, snuggling in close. "I love you too. Always."

It was something that stuck with him, what she'd said once, after accepting his proposal. I love you. We're Jack and Andy. We're always going to be Jack and Andy. The always part, it just stuck, and it became a comforting habit for both of them.

He had this feeling they'd be leaning on that habit a lot more than usual in the coming months, and that was fine, it was more than fine, because he will do whatever it takes to nurture her through this. As her husband, but more than that, as her best friend (just nobody tell Maya).

Author's Note: So? Was it how you pictured it - person who requested it? :) I hope so! :) I wanted to end it cute and light, hence the last line there. :) I miss Jack/Andy so much this season. They barely interact now. What gives? Maybe they're afraid they'll give into that hot, hot chemistry? :P Nah, but a girl can dream.