A real hospital is used, but this is a fictionalized version of it.

TWs: Character death (this was in the tags since Day 1 - it's nothing graphic, I promise), panic attack, and depression (not named, but symptoms are present).

Trent came home from work one night about a week before the baby's official due date, utterly exhausted. He and Thomas had been extra on their toes, as their lovely surrogate, Stacey, had a false alarm the week before. They had all raced to the hospital only for them to be told what Stacey was experiencing was Braxton Hicks contractions. Everything was fine, but there would be no baby that day.

After not seeing or hearing his husband as he put his bag in his office, Trent called out for Thomas. "Darling?" He was surprised to see Thomas walk out of the guest bedroom, as that had become their holding area for baby supplies. "What were you doing in there?"

Thomas smiled and held out a hand for Trent to come take. "I have a surprise for you!"

Trent allowed himself to be led into the guest bedroom and his mouth dropped open at the sight of three bicycles—two adult-sized ones and one perfect for a small child. "Thomas… I…"

"I never forgot your lessons, love," Thomas said. "Whenever you're ready, though I thought maybe it'd give us something to do for fun once the baby is here and we need a break. I'm a bit rusty myself, but it'll be fun. Yeah?"

"I love it," Trent said as he pulled Thomas in for a hug. "Thank you."

The day before Stacey's due date, Trent got a call from Thomas while he was still at the office.

"Stacey's husband just called. They're at the hospital and she's gone into labor," Thomas practically screamed into the phone. "It's happening, babe!"

Trent bolted from his chair, nearly knocking it over. "I'll be there as soon as I can!" Without even checking if he hung up, Trent shoved his phone in the pocket of his trousers and then knocked frantically on Claire's open office door.

When she saw his panicked face, she grinned. "Is it time?" He nodded quickly. "I've got things under control here. Go be with your family," she said. "Call me if you need anything, but I hope not to hear from you, do you hear me?" He nodded again and gave her an odd finger point before hurriedly walking toward the door of the office, only to double back to his desk and grab his car keys and bag.

It felt like it took forever to find a parking spot, but Trent finally got inside and checked in at the front desk. Trent, Thomas, Stacey, and the surrogacy specialist (Linda) had mapped out a birthing plan for Stacey, full-well knowing things might not necessarily go to plan on the day. It was decided Stacey's husband, Trent, and Thomas would all be in the delivery room for the birth. Thomas would cut the cord and hold the baby first and it was set up so that Trent and Thomas would stay overnight with the baby in a room next to Stacey's until the baby was cleared to go home. The two dads-to-be had grown close with Stacey over the course of her pregnancy and they all agreed that Stacey could keep in contact with them if she wanted to.

When Trent got to Stacey's room, he was surprised to see he had beat Thomas there. Stacey's husband was helping her with some breathing exercises while a doctor was telling them that it wouldn't be long now because of how much Stacey's cervix was dilated already. Just as Trent was about to pull out his phone to call Thomas, Stacey let out a moan and grabbed her husband's hand.

Everything seemed to happen quickly and slowly at once, and it wasn't at all like how you see a baby's birth on television or in the movies. Everyone in the room was talking over each other, with half the people assuring Stacey she was doing great and the other half dealing with what tools were needed to help deliver the girl who was apparently very eager to make her presence known.

Trent watched with horrified admiration as Stacey birthed a loudly wailing, seemingly slimy, pinkish-red baby with a thatch of deep brown hair and matching eyes. Ten fingers. Ten toes. He looked around the room for Thomas but instead found a doctor handing him a pair of umbilical scissors and guiding him toward the crying kid. After he cut the cord, someone took the scissors out of his hand and another person wrapped the baby in a towel and handed her to him. His arms automatically cradled her, supporting her head and holding the entire bundle close to his chest.

Time seemed to stop when he looked at her face and she almost immediately calmed down.

"Hi," Trent said to her in a shaky but gentle voice. "I'm your dad." A tear slid out of his eye and down his cheek as he smiled. "I'm so happy to meet you."

He looked up to see Stacey and her husband having their own moment, with him brushing sweaty hair off her forehead and talking low so only she could hear. They both looked a wreck, but happy. Trent was so good with words but knew there would never be a way to properly thank her for safely carrying this child to term for them.

Trent turned his attention back to the baby in his arms and whispered low. "I don't know where your papa is, but he's going to be thrilled to see you." He leaned in and kissed the top of the baby's head. "Just between you and me, I lied to your papa. I told him I didn't want to pick out your name until I saw you for the first time, but the truth is… all along I was going to name you after your Aunt Al and your papa Thomas. That was always my plan, my little Alice, because they're why you're here. I love you. I love you. I love you."

The next couple hours were a swirl of feeding the baby, having her checked over by a doctor for post-birth measurements and assessment, and given a little wrist band with Trent and Thomas's names on it. She got her vitamin K shot. Everything was turning up normal and it was relief after relief. Trent ultimately ended up sitting in a chair with his shirt unbuttoned, doing skin-to-skin contact with her. He could tell she was about ready to drift off after all the excitement of her first afternoon of being alive. A nurse came over and took the baby, putting her safely in a bassinet on a cart so she could be monitored.

Trent buttoned his shirt back up, thanked everyone in the room for their help, and then went to Stacey's room to check in on her. She was resting, but Trent spoke with her husband and gave him a hug, promising he'd check back in on Stacey after he tracked down his own husband.

Deciding he needed some air, Trent pulled out his phone as he headed for a nearby exit. When he turned it on, he thought it was odd there were no missed calls or texts from his Thomas. Before he could call his husband, Trent's phone rang in his hands from a number he didn't know.

"Hello?" Trent asked.

"Hello, is this Trent Crimm?"

"Yes. Who may I ask is calling?"

"Mr. Crimm, my name is Pamela Shandling from St. George's Hospital. I'm afraid there's been an accident."

"An accident? I just stepped outside to get some air. What's happened to Alice?!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know anything about an Alice. I'm calling about Thomas Nickleby."

"Thomas?" Trent repeated. "Where's Thomas? He was supposed to be here. Our daughter was just born and he missed it. You're saying he's here, though? Is he okay? What accident?"

"Mr. Crimm, I'm so sorry, but…"

Robbery at the pharmacy…

Gunshot wound to the chest…

The doctors did everything they could…

Allie found Trent sitting on the ground outside the hospital, hands buried in his hair and eyes redder than that time they got stoned together after her bachelorette party. He had called her sobbing and she pieced together enough to know he was completely broken and needed help.

She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him. "We need to get you inside, okay? I'm going to help you." He barely nodded, but at least it meant he heard her. Allie grabbed his phone and stuck it in her purse. She helped him up and guided him to the closest reception desk. When he couldn't get anything coherent out, she explained what she could and they were given directions to where Trent needed to go.

Trent didn't think his body could physically make any more tears, but a new flood came when a doctor told him what officially had happened. Thomas was buying flowers and was in the wrong pharmacy at the wrong time. He was never coming home.

Allie fill out paperwork for Trent while he watched, completely numb to the world, and then somehow he was back in Alice's room. How could the same hospital complex house the happiest and saddest moments of his adult life?

Everything was a blur from then on out. Talking to Thomas's parents. Making sure Stacey was okay and paying her for everything. Talking to his mom. Getting Alice home. Funeral arrangements. Take care of the baby. Calling Claire and asking for a leave of absence during the whole of the off-season. Take care of the baby. Funeral. Take care of the baby. Deal with Thomas's will. Take care of the baby. There's no way to fit another casserole into the fridge. Take care of the baby.

"You need to take care of yourself too," Allie gently reminded her brother as she shoved a bowl of porridge toward him. "Two bites at least."

Alice was sleeping soundly in her crib and Allie was trying to help get some things done around Trent's flat while she could. Laundry was in. Dishes were in the dishwasher. Her next goal after getting Trent to eat was to get him to shower. She was pretty sure he hadn't showered in several days—he certainly hadn't shaved or washed his hair since the funeral. He was dutifully on top of things when it came to Alice, but he was barely functioning otherwise. Probably because he wasn't sleeping.

Trent hadn't slept in his and Thomas's bedroom since he got home from the hospital with Alice. He also hadn't gone into his office/Thomas's photography studio. Allie tried to give him the guest room, but he declined. He would curl up in the rocking chair in Alice's room, but Allie knew he didn't get anything more than a nap in. Certainly not a restful one. She offered to take turns with him overnight to feed the baby, but he said no.

"I have to take care of her," he said. "Please."

One night, about a week or so into having Alice home, Trent was trying to rock her to sleep after feeding her. He didn't know what time it was, though it was likely closer to dawn than midnight. She was a good little eater so far, eagerly sucking on her bottle when she was supposed to. One less thing to worry about for the time being.

Trent stared at Alice while she was drifting off, wondering how he was supposed to explain to her someday that the papa who wanted her was never going to be present in her life. That she was stuck with the dad who had to be talked into having her in the first place. Tears welled up in his eyes and flowed freely down his face as his heart began to race. His chest felt tight and heavy, like his ribcage was being squeezed but also weighed down as if the gravity holding him in place was that of somewhere like Jupiter. He knew he was still breathing but it felt like a chore to do so.

He willed himself to get Alice back in her crib without waking her up and managed to accomplish his task. Getting out of her room was a struggle, but he somehow made it to the closest bathroom. The faint glow from a nightlight enabled him to make his way to the bathtub. He climbed inside and folded his knees up toward his chin, grabbing onto them with both arms. His mind raced and his head felt like it was vibrating. He hugged his knees tighter and started to sob.

Moments later, Allie came rushing into the bathroom. In the faint light she saw her brother curled in on himself in the bathtub and her heart broke. She shut the door behind her and sat down on the floor next to the tub, facing her brother. She reached out slowly and gently put a hand on Trent's shoulder. He flinched a bit, but she kept her hand there to keep the connection with him. She rubbed his upper back as his sobs eventually faded into stuttered breaths.

"Why didn't he just come straight to the hospital?" Trent muttered into his knees. "He's supposed to be here for her."

There wasn't anything Allie could say that could solve any of Trent's problems in that moment. It was going to take far more than her and the baby to pull Trent out of the rut he was starting to succumb to.

"You're here, little brother. And Alice is so lucky you are because she needs you right now. And you're doing so great with her. Okay? She's going to be fine because she has her dad. She has you."

"I'm a mess, Al," Trent whispered, ashamed. "I can't…" He shook his head. "It's all too much."

"That's okay," Allie said, still rubbing his back. "I know you're scared. And sad. And mad. And so full of love for Alice. Feeling all that at once…" She shook her head. "I'm so proud of you. And I know you're doing your best for Alice, but you're going to have to deal with your shit too, Trent. Not just hers. You need to eat. You need to sleep. And, for fuck's sake, you need a shower." Trent chuckled involuntarily. "I promise I will do everything I can to help you with Alice right now, but I can't put you back together. And you might not be able to either. But you can't slide deeper into this hole, Trent. I can help you get help, but you have to want to accept it."

Trent nodded, knowing she was right. "Can I sleep in your room with you tonight."

"Of course," Allie said. "After you shower."

She was grateful when he laughed first. It pained her to see her brother this way, but she was confident he would figure it out. He had to.

With Allies's help, Trent was able to find a bereavement counselor. Talking to her was hard, but she helped him start to process what happened and how to move forward without Thomas. Not having to deal with work helped and it allowed Trent to try and take care of himself better while he was focused on doing everything right for Alice.

Allie stayed with Trent for several weeks. Her sons and husband would swing by often to share a meal and get to know the latest addition to the family. Eliza Crimm stopped by at least once a week, helping with meals and doting on her granddaughter. Allie wasn't sure her mom completely understood how bad things were for Trent, but she didn't ask or offer up any details because she didn't want anything to get back to their dad. Gerald Crimm went to Thomas's funeral, but hadn't said anything to Trent at the service. No hug. Not even a handshake.

It took a few weeks, but Trent started eating and showering regularly. Alice cried after he shaved off his facial hair because she thought he was a stranger, but recognized his voice right away when he tried to calm her down. Sleep still didn't come easy for Trent even with the medication he was given for just that. He had been staying in the guest room ever since that night he had his panic attack. With his permission, Allie took his and Thomas's bedroom. Trent still wouldn't go in his office/the photography studio. Allie moved the bikes into that room and they remained untouched.

Around four months after the birth of his daughter and death of his husband, Trent came back to The Independent. He had heard from some of his colleagues in the interim, but Claire was the only person he kept in semi-regular contact with. He sat at his desk, overwhelmed by missed emails and calendar invites. The stares from people were unnerving as he walked to and from the break room to refill his coffee.

Claire waved him into her office at the end of his first day back and motioned for him to shut the door and have a seat. She had been his boss for 16 years at that point and they had an easy rapport. She could tell her wasn't well.

"How are you doing?" she asked. "Truthfully."

Trent shook his head and ran a hand through his unkempt curly hair. "I've been checking my phone all day expecting an emergency from the sitter. I feel guilty being at work, but also fucking relieved to be out of my flat and in the office because I've missed work. I missed having a purpose outside of my child. But I haven't written a damn thing in ages and I'm convinced I'll be binned and then replaced by whoever it was who was covering for me this summer."

Claire nodded, taking in what Trent confided in her. "Okay. Well…" She folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward, looking Trent in the eye. "Your job is safe because I say it is. Plus, the guy who was covering for you got moved over to the staff of The Sun. You might have seen that in the paper—the rich bloke who owns us bought that tabloid. You'd think that means all the gossipy shit we've been forced to slide into our section would go over there too. But no. I've already tried to stop it. I'll keep trying, but for now get ready to cover Richmond games and Richmond gossip. I doubt we'll be invited back to the SJAs any time soon."

"Bloody fucking fantastic," Trent said with a groan. "It's so good to see you, Claire."

"You too, Trent. Welcome back."

To everyone's surprise, Claire was sacked and replaced about a month into the new season. The new owner was not pleased with her repeated inquiries as to why The Independent had to include similar stories to what The Sun was running. She argued The Independent's readership would suffer from a dip in quality. He counter-argued that it wasn't the quality that mattered, but the quantity. Shorter deadlines. Faster turnarounds. Clicks, clicks, clicks. Trent wanted to leave with Claire but she told him to stay put and keep his head down for the time being. She knew he was a better journalist than what her replacement would know what to do with, but he couldn't lose his job this soon after coming back from months of leave. Not with a baby to support.

Trent obliged, crushed to see Claire go. The new editor, Eric, was at least 10 years younger than Trent and came from some web-only publication that Trent had never heard of. Eric didn't seem to care about getting to know Trent, which was fine. Trent's seniority helped, as did his ever-present scorn. He was exhausted all the time, which led to him looking this close to telling someone how he really felt, and that seemed to scare Eric. Smiles had never come easy to Trent at work anyway, so he used that to his advantage.

For the next couple seasons, Trent lost himself in work and fatherhood. He still worried about not being enough for Alice, but he did his best and poured everything he had into taking care of her. He clothed her, fed her, kept her clean. They played with blocks and dolls and puzzles. He read her stories every morning and evening, doing all the voices as he had done for his nephews. He would push her in her stroller around the park and take her to the zoo. Alice accompanied him to Sunday dinners at his parents' home. He was surprised how easily she became amused with her granddad and equally shocked that Gerald Crimm was more than fine with this little girl pulling at his cheeks and drooling on his shirt. Aunt Allie was Alice's favorite, though, which was fitting, as Allie was always Trent's favorite too.

It was the middle of the 2019-2020 season when Trent had finally had it with everything. In addition to the Greyhounds having another subpar season, the messy divorce of the team's owner and subsequent changing of ownership to his ex-wife was beyond ugly. Trent had long admired Rebecca Welton and wondered how she had stayed married to the utterly slimy Rupert Mannion as long as she had. His cheating was seemingly public knowledge (as had been long reported in The Sun) and he openly treated his wife like a dim-witted trophy instead of a whip-smart asset.

At least so he thought.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Trent groaned when he was sent a press release announcing Ms. Welton's firing of Greyhounds manager George Cartrick in favor of an American football coach (as in a coach who coached American football… not football-football). This American—a Ted Lasso from Kansas… whose most recent job was that of a college football coach… not even professional level—was hired without so much as an in-person interview to manage a Premier League football club.

It didn't make sense and seemed like it was done just to make headlines. Was nothing about this sport or this team—a team he had grown to genuinely love after covering them for so long—sacred?

He was annoyed as soon as he woke up the day he needed to be at Nelson Road for the new gaffer's first press conference. He stared at himself as he shaved that morning, trying to recognize the dour man in the mirror but failing spectacularly. He hadn't worn his wedding ring in a year at that point, but he still caught himself looking for it on his finger. That thin silver swirl among the dark curls from his 40th birthday had spread into an angry wide streak of white. His hair was so long now that it hit his shoulders with barely a wave to it. He looked unapproachable, which seemed fitting because he had pretty much avoided anyone outside of work or his family since he brought Alice home. His mouth fell into a natural frown—the lines on his face cut deep from merely surviving these past few years.

And that was his plan for that press conference, he realized. Just get through it. Write up an article. Post it online. Clicks, clicks, clicks. Then do it all again tomorrow.

Trent sighed and watched the man in the mirror sigh too. He missed being excited about work. He missed Thomas. He missed feeling like he had things figured out.