Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jack had missed it.

Robby had never been the same after Adamson, Jack knew that, but he hadn't thought it had gone this far. Far enough to find him on the roof, to hear whispers of a breakdown in Pedes, far enough for Robby to ask if therapy helped, when Jack had mentioned it often enough before and Robby had always politely skated right past.

Jack knew that Robby had never recovered from the nonstop nightmare that was the first year of covid, the same way none of them had recovered...and probably never would. A wound that would not heal. He knew that Robby felt it more keenly than most because of Adamson, that somewhere in Robby's mind, he was convinced he should've been able to save him. Jack even knew that Robby still felt unequal to taking Adamson's place, despite doing the job for years now. Jack knew all that, but he'd always thought that Robby had himself grounded enough to find his way through.

Boy, did he fucking miss that call.

And Jack couldn't help but blame himself for that. Not entirely, but enough. When Liz died, he'd lost himself; he could admit that. Thank god for Robby, who held him together that first year. But once Jack had moved into his new condo—almost a year ago now—he must have lost his read on Robby. Because Jack had no idea that he'd been struggling this much.

And that? That was not fucking on.

Jack let himself feel the failure of it as he sat on the bench and drank the rest of his beer, listening to the fountain behind him. The ambulances screaming by every few minutes were the perfect counterpoint—chaos crashing into what tiny measure of peace they'd claimed. He tried not think about what Robby had looked like as he disappeared into the night, eyes haunted and shoulders hunched under the accumulated weight of the world. Jack just sat there, surrounded by his colleagues, and let himself feel the stress and the worry and the cold prickle of fear down his spine.

And then he put it to bed. He failed. It happened.

It wouldn't happen again.

***

On the walk to Robby's, Jack ordered them protein scrambles, once again thankful for delivery apps, that beautiful technology that meant he could order anything and have it delivered basically immediately. Sometimes living in the future was great.

His timing was perfect; he arrived to Robby's building just as Marco hustled up, wearing a black rain jacket with lime green racing stripes, chunky orange headphones, his dark shaggy hair perpetually in his eyes. Kids these days.

"Yo, Marco," Jack called out, getting his attention.

Marco turned, pulling his headphones down, bobbing his head in greeting. "What's up, Doc?"

"You know, I find it comforting that the kids still know Bugs Bunny," he drawled, reaching for the bag of food.

"Because it reminds you of being bright and shiny and not a withered shell of your former self?" Marco shot back, relinquishing the bag.

"Easy," Jack protested. "It's way too early for that talk. You can't go there until at least 0200."

"Bro, I don't know what that is."

"Never mind, I'm back to despairing of youth. Shoo," he said, waving him off. "And thank you."

"You got it." He turned to go, then paused. "Hey, was there something going on at the hospital today?"

Jack looked at him blankly. "Really?"

"Yeah, there were cops all over my routes. It cost me, like, ten minutes a run."

"Man, turn on some local news. Hell, national news. Any kind of news-shaped anything."

Marco's eyes widened. "Bro, I don't do analog."

"I despair," Jack mourned, shaking his head at Marco.

Who grinned as he started away. "Yeah, but that's, like, your whole deal." He lifted his hand in a wave, then grabbed for his headphones. "Catch you next time, Doc." He promptly disappeared into the night.

Jack sighed as he turned to Robby's building. And now for the fun.

***

He let himself into the building, briefly considered knocking on Robby's door, then decided against that, too. Robby had given him a set of keys after Lizzie died and never asked for them back. If he didn't want a visit, well, that was the consequence of his own choices.

Jack found Robby exactly where he expected: on the couch, head in hands. He'd tossed his bag by the door, black New Balance shoes kicked off haphazardly, and he hadn't even showered. None of it a great sign. So Jack just dropped his pack next to Robby's and made his way over, plopping onto the couch. He set the bag on the coffee table and started pulling out the beige recyclable takeout boxes, already a little soggy from the food inside. He put Robby's scramble in front of him, stuck one of the recycled plastic forks in it, and said, "Eat."

Robby took a sharp breath, like he was coming out of something. He looked from the food to Jack, then away again. "Eggs?"

"Protein scramble," Jack corrected. "It's good for growing boys. Eat."

"Is that what I am," Robby snarked, but he grabbed the takeout box and settled it in his lap, promptly taking a bite.

And if Robby was talking back, that actually was a good sign. "Food, shower, bed," Jack said as he started on his own scramble—eggs, chicken, tomatoes, avocado, and herbs—delicious. This was why he loved big cities; he'd wanted a breakfast scramble at going on 2200 and there were half a dozen diners in a 3-mile radius happy to oblige. Plus Marco. The benefits of modern city living.

Robby grunted in response, which Jack chose to take as agreement, so he just stayed silent as they both inhaled the scrambles. It reminded Jack of the endless nights they'd done this, sitting here eating as they watched a game or a documentary, comfortable enough to be quiet together. To not have the awkward pressure to say something, anything, just to fill up the space. Jack had always loved that, the quiet understanding. Some things just didn't need to be said.

When Jack was mostly done, he levered himself up and grabbed waters from the fridge—mostly empty, he'd need to order some food for the man—then returned and handed one to Robby just as he finished.

He nodded in thanks, drank half the bottle, then seemed to kind of...pause. Like his strings had been cut.

"Shower, then bed," Jack repeated, putting a little command in it.

Robby shook himself. "Right." He pushed himself to standing and headed to his bedroom, his shoulders obviously hurting him, in addition to the twinge in his lower back. Jack wished he'd just go to his PT guy regularly, as he knew he needed to, but getting Robby to take care of himself was like trying to tame the tides; good fucking luck.

So Jack left him to it, collecting the dinner remains and trashing them, dimly hearing the shower starting. He went to the hall closet and grabbed the spare crutches he kept here, then proceeded to remove the prosthetic and check his leg—all good. He hadn't been on his feet all that long, considering.

After the shower stopped and the silence got suspicious, Jack headed into the bedroom. Robby hadn't even closed the door, so really, it was basically an invite.

Except crossing the threshold felt weird. Jack hadn't been in Robby's bedroom since he'd moved into his new condo and before that it was always just...friendly or purposeful, Jack following him in as they were shooting the shit or grabbing a book from his nightstand or a sweatshirt from his dresser. Except for his first few nights here, when Robby had held him close as he sobbed out a pain he didn't think he could bear, a loss that felt too great to comprehend, too unfair to be real.

But then, such was his life.

Jack swallowed all that down and powered through it. He found Robby sitting on the edge of the perfectly-made bed, head once again in his hands, now wearing plaid sleep pants and a threadbare gray shirt.

"C'mon, you gotta sleep," Jack said, moving there to kick him in the shin, urging him on.

Robby sucked in a breath. "I don't know if I want to," he admitted with a kind of thousand-yard stare, eyes still so haunted.

Instinctively, Jack wanted to pull him close, to offer the same comfort Robby had once extended to him. But he checked himself. Because he could see that Robby had put his walls back up, for all that he wasn't kicking Jack out. There was no welcome in him. He was just...hollow.

So Jack stayed where he was and pitched his voice into something soothing: "You'll feel better in the morning." Then he switched tracks: "Phone." He held out his hand, prompting.

Robby sighed in something like defeat and grabbed it from the nightstand. Jack could have taken it himself, but it was better if Robby was an active participant. He handed it over with a wry, "Don't get me in trouble."

"Brother, you got that handled all on your own. Anything I need to know?"

Robby's brow furrowed, in which Jack read a kind of where to even start. "Yeah, uhh. Langdon's done."

Jack felt his eyebrow rise. "Done for the week?"

Robby fully met his eyes then, a hardness there. Residual fury, Jack thought. "Done done. He's been calling."

Jack let out a low whistle, mind racing with questions, knowing that now was not the time. He'd get the story from Robby eventually; the anger there told Jack he'd want to talk about it. Just not quite yet. "Copy that. Anything else?"

Robby's expression softened into something more like hurt, the kind that made Jack want to wrap him up, keep him safe from whatever made him look like that. "I told Collins to turn her phone off. If she wants to take the day, that's fine."

Apparently their senior residents were dropping like flies. Thank god for Parker. "Got it. What time you up?"

"6. I'll set my alarm." He nodded to his old-school alarm clock, its numbers glowing a muted green, the kind that plugged into the wall but also had a battery backup. Because, like all lifers, Robby set himself two alarms, just in case.

Jack just nodded. "Did you take Advil for your back?"

And that got a glare, Robby's forehead crinkling in annoyance at being mothered. "How do you even know about that?"

Which was a no. "I like how you think you're subtle." Jack headed to his ensuite bathroom, collected the Advil from the medicine cabinet, then set it on the nightstand. Robby already had water, so he was good there. "Take the meds. Sleep," he said, putting firmness into it.

"Yeah," Robby said, voice suddenly rough. Exhausted. But then he seemed to rouse himself, meeting Jack's eyes directly. "Jack...thanks."

"Nothing you haven't done for me," he said, easy. Not even close, actually. "Grab me if you need me."

"Don't fall asleep on the couch," Robby called after him as he headed for the door, like a reminder. "Your bed's perfectly comfortable."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack drawled, smiling a little that Robby still called the guest room bed his. "Night." He hit the overheads and closed the door behind him, then made his way to that guest room. He kind of paused at the door, just taking it in. It was nothing extravagant—queen bed, nightstands on either side, dresser, a club chair in the corner, everything in browns with green accents, perfectly in keeping with the rest of Robby's place. It had also been Jack's home for almost a year, after Liz, when he refused to set foot in their house and instead just lived here, like that was something people did.

Jack shook himself out of those memories. No use getting maudlin; today had been enough of a shitshow. He grabbed some sleep clothes that he'd left in the dresser, then the portable shower chair from the closet, and went to the guest bathroom.

Washing off this day would be entirely welcome.

***

After that, Jack gratefully sank into his spot on the brown leather couch, propping his crutches nearby. He kicked his foot onto the coffee table, crossed his bum leg over it, and settled in with Robby's phone. After entering his passcode, it was instantly clear that Robby hadn't been keeping up with his messaging management at all. He had hundreds of emails and texts even though he hated getting underwater like that. He may not respond to everything instantly, but he usually kept some kind of order. This was just a disaster.

So Jack started going through them. He deleted dozens of PTMC text alerts—because Robby was on all the alert lists, even though he'd been in the middle of the actual melee—doing the same with news alerts and anything else that was automated and irrelevant. He checked Robby's text chain with Jake, but he still hadn't responded, the last message from Robby his frantic, U ok?

Jack left the Janey chain alone, figuring Robby could deal with that later.

Then he switched to emails, repeating the process, this time with the hospital's email alert system, news updates, and ads that the spam filter somehow didn't catch. He noticed Gloria had sent an email a little after 2200:

When you come up for air, we should talk about scheduling in the near term.

Jack felt a headache building. Right, because they had called in everybody, which nuked the previous schedule, and the ED had mandated monthly hour caps to prevent burnout, which needed to be accounted for. And now Langdon was done.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. This shit was the reason Jack had no interest in heading up the department. Naturally, it still landed in his lap. Wasn't that just the way of it.

But better him than Robby, so Jack set Robby's phone aside and went hunting for his laptop. He found it charging on a shelf, then brought it back to the couch. He typed in Robby's password, brought up his work email, and from there logged into the scheduling system.

He was figuring out the Tetris of it all—really hoping that Collins didn't need to take any more time off—when Robby's phone lit up:

Frank Langdon was calling. A little after 2300 the night of an MCI.

Fuck it.

Jack answered with a demand: "What'd you do, Langdon?"

"What—Abbot?" Langdon asked, seeming thrown. "Where's Robby?"

"Sleeping. And kid, I have never seen him this pissed. So I say again: what'd you do?"

Langdon huffed some kind of frustrated noise. "I'm telling you, man, it's all a misunderstanding. Robby thinks something that's not true and I just—I need to talk to him." His voice went reedy on that, half-desperate, like Langdon could see his whole life slipping away from him. Which probably wasn't far off.

Because the thing was, Robby couldn't just fire someone. That wasn't how anything worked in their hyper-litigious world. If it was a disciplinary issue, that went through HR, which documented the shit out of everything. Medical mistakes on individual cases had their own process. Personnel issues all had to run through layers of bureaucracy, so the hospital could cover its ass, and there was a whole process to firing someone. When that decision was made, it was handled by HR folks who had been trained in firing people, who had security present, plus a whole procedure for instantly terminating someone's access, both physically and digitally.

There were relatively few instances where Robby could unilaterally fire a doctor, only the most extreme situations. Violence in the workplace. Outright endangering patients. And Jack's guess here: stealing drugs. The other infractions would have been widely known to staff, but Jack hadn't heard anything about this. Which meant it was something big, but quiet. So: drugs. He wouldn't have thought Langdon would go there, but then addiction could look like anything. And Langdon had always been a bit of a cocky asshole.

Drugs would account for Robby's fury and his lack of elaboration. Because that was a fucking felony—acquiring a controlled substance by fraud—that the AG would charge. An ED doctor in Franklin County had been charged with exactly that earlier in the year. And if any of the stolen drugs were charged to Medicare or Medicaid, that was a whole added bucket of felony fraud. Not to mention the threat to his medical license. If Langdon had been stealing drugs meant for patients, he was in a world of trouble, above and beyond the addiction itself, and he was clearly still in the stage where he thought he could talk his way out of it.

Jack's silence must have gone on too long because Langdon tried again. "Look, man, you know me. I'd never put a patient at risk. Can you just—can you tell Robby that?"

"Sure, Frank. I'll put in a good word for you. If you tell me what happened," Jack challenged.

Langdon's silence said it all.

Jack sighed, trying to wrangle his own feelings. Because Jack had never much cared for Langdon, despite all Robby's praise. Jack had known way too many guys exactly like him—shiny LTs who'd rolled into Iraq or Afghanistan thinking they were god's gift, that they knew it all, that they didn't need to listen to those below them...right up until they dropped arty on their own fucking company and got good people killed. Something that had happened enough to convince Jack that cocky assholes with no humility should never be put in charge of people's lives...and that included Frank fucking Langdon.

But he was also sick. And maybe it was good that this happened before he actually killed somebody.

So Jack took a breath and tried to be reasonable. "I know this is hard, but you need to understand that this is happening. It's no longer just you and Robby. You're off the schedule. If you show up to the hospital, Ahmad will throw you out. You need help, Frank. You need to talk to Abby and probably a lawyer."

"Fuck," Langdon said, his voice hitching on it.

"Pretty much," Jack confirmed, a little sympathy creeping into his voice. "Stop calling Robby. It's just keeping him stewing in the anger. You know him. He's kinder than any of us deserves. Once he cools off, he'll probably reach out, but you gotta let him make that move. As for everything else, the hospital machine will take over, so I imagine you'll be hearing from them at some point."

"...yeah," Langdon said, subdued.

"Talk to Abby," Jack tried again. "This is the time to lean on the people who love you."

"Yeah. Thanks, Jack," he said, sounding a little more resigned.

"Take care of yourself," Jack said, soft. Then he hung up and stared off into space for long moments.

Fuck.

***

Figuring Langdon wouldn't want to go to Mercy, even though they had a great withdrawal management program, Jack checked up on the doctors he still knew at rehab joints nearby. Some had moved on, but there was one he could call at Greenbriar and another at Silver Pines, if out of town was better. He sent their names to Robby's personal email with the subject line: for when you stop being a dick about langdon.

Then he went back to reassembling some kind of schedule, noting that Robby had Tuesday through Friday off. On a hunch, he opened Robby's Gmail and found several emails about a cabin he'd rented in Linn Run State Park for those days. He clicked on the Airbnb link and looked through the pictures—a cute little one-bedroom cabin in the middle of the forest with an old-school kitchen, a grill, a firepit, and a hot tub. Nice. It was a good sign that Robby had already been thinking of getting away. After this day, it was downright necessary.

Jack clicked back to the schedule and noticed that he'd already been scheduled to be off Monday and Wednesday night. Excellent. So he picked up his own phone and shot a text to Shen:

calling in two of my infinite favors and putting you on Tuesday and Thursday night.

Shen was one of those millennials who treated their phone like another appendage, so he hit him right back: cool beans

Satisfied, Jack went back to the scheduling program.

***

He put together a passable schedule for the next two weeks and shot it off to Gloria a little before 0100. Surprisingly, she got right back to him:

Thanks, I'll review it asap. Get some rest.

Jack typed back a bland, You, too, and considered that handled. Then he went back to Robby's work email.

***

Around 0200, he checked in with both Shen and Parker, asking if they needed help, but they had it handled, so Jack left it. He'd rather be here for Robby. He did not take Robby's advice, instead just caught a couple hours' sleep on the couch, and was back up by 0530, in time to put on the coffee and order them breakfast burritos.

Jack collected both and set them out on the coffee table. Robby emerged a little after 0600 in a new scrub top and cargos, still looking drawn, but the lines around his eyes had eased, his shoulders no longer bunched up around his ears. Maybe he'd gotten some sleep. He could hope, anyway.

Robby took in Jack, ensconced on the couch with his phone—plus his laptop—and went resigned. "What's the damage?"

"Who's Tracy Morris and why does it seem like she wants to suck your dick?" Jack asked, deep into the nonessential emails.

Robby rubbed a hand over his face as he collapsed onto the couch, grabbing his coffee. "That name means nothing to me." He leaned back and tipped his head. "I wouldn't object to some dicksucking, though."

It shot a little frisson of heat through Jack, an instinctive part of him wanting to rise to that challenge, even though that was wildly inappropriate the day after a breakdown. Or ever, really.

So Jack ignored his own reaction and shot Robby a pointed look. "God knows you could use it." He gestured to his laptop. "She says she's so glad Gloria introduced you and she'd love to grab dinner after your shift sometime so she can discuss her proposal in more detail. And then, presumably, do depraved acts to your person."

"Oh, fuck. Her," Robby said in recognition. "She's the regional manager of ECQ America. She tried to bribe me with stock options," he said, disgust all over his voice.

"Brother, there are a few more options on offer here," Jack quipped, thinking that through. "The board trying to sell us off again?"

"When aren't they?" Robby drawled, sipping his coffee, nodding in thanks when he found it just the way he liked.

Jack tipped his head in acknowledgment. Then he went wicked: "She hot?"

Robby just glared. "Yes, and I would sooner fuck a cop."

Jack laughed. "I hear that."

"And if that's the worst my inbox has to offer, I got off easy," Robby said with a sigh.

Jack handed his laptop over. "I sent Gloria a schedule for the next two weeks. She got it, but hasn't signed off yet. I deleted all the stupid shit and sent thank yous to all the people who texted that you don't care about. Nothing from Jake. I left the texts from Janey and Collins for you to deal with. And Langdon called."

Robby made a frustrated noise and tipped his head back, looking to the ceiling. "He's fucking relentless."

"He'll back off now."

Robby instantly lifted his head. He looked at Jack in disbelief. "You talked to him?"

"We had words."

Robby waved his free hand at Jack, inviting. "Gonna need some more on that, man."

Jack shrugged. "He gave me his bullshit denial, I told him he was off the schedule, and that he needs to talk to Abby and a lawyer and to get help. I think he heard me, but you know. Up to him."

Robby stared at him for a long moment, his eyes like open wounds. "I wanted to keep you clear of it," he finally said, voice achingly soft. Which was Robby's version of an apology.

Jack waved an airy hand. "No one directly told me anything, but I can do the math. If I have to do some depos, so be it. It's fine." He tilted his head at Robby, seeing that he was more open to the conversation now. So he chanced it: "How'd you find out?"

A muscle clenched in Robby's jaw. "Fucking Santos brought it to me."

Jack whistled, impressed despite himself. "Intern on day one. Bold move."

Robby nodded, taking a fortifying sip of coffee. "He had Louie's Librium in his locker and the gall to tell me he's not high."

"Yeah, that tracks. Doctors make shitty patients."

"And how." Robby sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes, almost lost. "Thanks for taking that bullet."

"That wasn't taking a bullet; that was swatting a fly. Don't worry about it. I got a couple buddies at withdrawal management joints that I can call. I sent you their names for when your Jewish guilt kicks in."

"Fuck you," Robby scoffed, more stubborn than heated. "What do I have to be guilty about?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me," Jack shot right back.

"Dick."

"Yeah, love you, too, sweetheart." Jack grinned and took a douchey sip of coffee that he knew would make Robby shake his head at him, but smile anyway.

Which is exactly what happened, the lines around Robby's eyes crinkling, something fond there now. It warmed that place deep within Jack, the one that was reserved for Robby alone, so carefully guarded. But now was not the time for those thoughts.

Robby looked back down to the laptop, kind of nodding toward it. "Thanks for this."

Jack tipped his head. "Whatever you need, man. You've done a lot more for me." And so he had. Robby had arranged the sale of Jack's entire fucking house after Liz died, when Jack couldn't bear to go back, living here and burying himself in work. In the only thing that made sense, the only place where his life had meaning.

Jack had thought he could handle anything, after his leg. That he'd faced the hardest thing life could throw at him and soldiered through. But losing Liz...it was a hit he never saw coming. In the depths of his grief, Jack could finally see the appeal of religion, like it would make it better if there were a reason behind it all, some god punishing him or whatever. For arrogance, maybe.

But Jack had turned his back on his mother's religion when he was a teenager. He knew there was no rhyme or reason to anything, it was all just...chaos. He knew that losing Liz to some asshole drunk driver was a tragedy, but a mundane one. Jack saw it every single day.

He still didn't want to set foot in their fucking house. That Robby had handled everything...it was a gift Jack didn't deserve. One he'd never be able to repay. Made all the worse by all the feeling Jack had for him, had always had for him, beyond the simple friendship Robby had offered and despite Jack's marriage.

Robby went all soft at the reference, like he always did, those big brown eyes looking at Jack searchingly. "Still, I appreciate it. Yesterday was...a lot. After all that, I was just done."

"Anyone would be. I got you." He shot Robby a sympathetic look. "You gonna talk to Gloria about Langdon today?"

"This morning. Lucky me," he muttered as he read through something on his laptop. He frowned and looked at Jack. "Is it me or are you now off Monday through Thursday?"

"Yeah, I figure we can drive out Tuesday morning and come back in time for my shift Friday night."

Robby's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did someone invite you to the cabin I rented?" Jack tilted his head and just looked at Robby, silent and expectant. After a long moment, Robby huffed a resigned laugh, like he wondered why he even bothered protesting. "Jack, would you like to come hiking with me?"

"How kind of you to invite me, brother. Nothing I'd rather do."

***

After making sure Robby actually ate the breakfast burrito, Jack headed back to his place, Robby off to his shift. As he got home, the exhaustion started setting in, but Jack held off on crashing so he could hop on Instacart and order a shit ton of food. Tuesday through Friday meant four days of meals and he was sure Robby's plan had amounted to premade sandwiches, coffee, and protein bars. If he'd even thought that far ahead. Jack didn't roll that way, so. Instacart.

He added a bunch of veggies good for grilling, eggs and fruit for breakfast, cold cuts for sandwiches, trail mix and protein bars, all the usual snacks, then decided to make a Bolognese to take with, so he found all the ingredients for that. Jack could get fancy steaks from the butcher shop he liked, and could pick up bread from the bakery the day of—he made a mental note to order that—but needed one more dinner protein. So he texted Robby:

chicken or salmon?

The morning must not be slammed because he texted back relatively quickly:

oh, so this is your trip now

Jack snorted, picturing Robby's annoyed face, the way he pressed his lips together, his little dimples appearing. Adorable. He texted back:

you're welcome. chicken or salmon?

As before, Robby texted back quickly:

chicken

And then:

get me an IPA

Jack actually scoffed. Now Robby was outright antagonizing him:

fuck you. you'll drink what I give you and be grateful

But Jack did need to swing by Sal's to get beer, so he made a mental note to do that, too.

And then he remembered dessert. He added the chicken on Instacart and then all the ingredients for s'mores, plus oranges and chocolate cake mix for campfire orange cakes. That done, he scheduled the delivery and dragged himself to bed.

***

Jack crashed hard, getting a solid 6 hours of sleep before his brain woke him up with all the logistics. But he was buzzing with it, not even tired, mind spinning through everything they'd need. Even a four-day trip in a cushy cabin required lots of stuff and Jack was a do it now kind of guy, so he started gathering it all. He grabbed his Osprey daypack because it was lighter than his Army shit, his portable medkit, plus his full medical bag—the one that had everything from meds to scalpels and sterile dressings. He probably wouldn't need to do emergency surgery in the middle of the woods...but he could.

He started piling it all on his kitchen table—GPS, satphone, locator beacon, bedding for him, water bottles, food containers, a big cooler for the meat, just in case. And that was before the stuff he'd need because of his leg—portable shower chair, removable shower grab bars, collapsible crutches, trekking poles, extra socks, plus he'd need to swap out his regular prosthetic, built for time on his feet, for his high-performance one, a multi-axial model optimized for shock absorption.

They'd have to take his 4Runner, he realized, so he shot off a quick text to Robby:

I'm driving

As before, his reply didn't take long:

of course you are

Jack realized he needed to get going to make it to his shift on time, so he decided to ignore the snarky undertone to that.

He could be magnanimous in victory.

***

When Jack arrived, Robby had a cup of coffee in hand, but looked normal-tired, not existential-crisis-tired, and the board didn't look too bad, so he counted that a win. When Robby saw him, he pulled on his longsuffering expression. "I noticed I emailed a couple questions to my Airbnb host," he said, dry, because Jack had totally done that at going on 0200. He didn't know why Robby was looking at him like that. Email was asynchronous; they could respond whenever. It wasn't like he'd picked up the phone and actually called.

So he ignored Robby's look. "Oh, yeah, did they get back to you?"

"For the coffee, they only have an auto drip machine." Jack frowned at that—how boring—but Robby was continuing on: "And yes, the hot tub works and has been serviced. You're not actually planning to use it?"

"Fuck yeah, I am. Nothing better after a day of hiking."

In his peripheral, Jack clocked that Parker was already here, casting a sly glance between them as she studied the board.

Robby just looked at Jack obviously. "Bacteria."

"Chlorine," Jack shot back. "And that's why I asked. Don't look at me like that. Bring your trunks, Robinavitch. I don't want to look at you all sad and left out when you realize I'm right."

Parker's attention was still on them, a smile tugging at her lips, so Jack turned to her expectantly. "Are you going to share or just pretend to study the board some more?"

"Romantic getaway?" she instantly shot back because she'd lost her fear of Jack somewhere in the hour after meeting him during her intern year and she never did find it again.

Obviously Jack loved her desperately.

"If it was a romantic getaway, I'd be telling him not to bring the swim trunks," Jack corrected because duh.

Robby choked on his coffee.

An utterly wicked smile flashed across Parker's face—

And then she blanked it, going unimpressed in that way of hers. "I don't need to know what you get up to with your little fuckboys."

"Who started this conversation?" Jack challenged, clocking Robby coughing again, which did merit some concern. "Brother, you all right?"

Robby flapped a hand at him, face gone completely red as he tried to suck in air. "Wrong pipe," he choked out, clearing his throat some more.

"Man, you really do need a break. You can't even properly caffeinate yourself."

Parker just stared at the board and pressed her lips together in that way that meant she was mocking him in her head. And what was that about?

But Robby stole his focus, sucking down a bottle of water, the long line of his throat distracting Jack for a beat. But he shook himself and asked, "You ready to do this?" Because Jesus fuck, they were at work and had a handoff to get through and Jack should not be admiring Robby's anything. It'd been ten fucking years; he should have a handle on this.

And yet.

Robby waved an elegant hand, gesturing him on. "It's your show," he said, voice still thick and rough. Then he added, quieter: "As always."

***

After the handoff, Jack tilted his head toward the ambulance entrance. Robby got it, following him out, where they could talk without being overheard. "You talk to Gloria?" Jack asked, soft.

Robby's forehead creased, storm clouds gathering, going so impossibly sad. It actually made Jack angry at Langdon, for the first time, because how dare someone make Robby look like that.

Robby just nodded, slow. "Yeah. They're getting into it. Doing a pharmacy audit, the whole nine. Not gonna be pretty."

Jack swallowed his anger and dipped his head, finding Robby's eyes. "How you holding up?"

Robby smiled, one of those horrible, humorless ones. "I'm hanging in. Looking forward to getting away from this shit," he added, genuine on that, at least.

"Good." Then he lightened, going deliberately teasing. "Because I have plans."

The corners of Robby's lips curved up, his sadness receding, replaced by that fondness. "Do I get to bring anything to this party you're throwing?"

Jack waved a generous hand. "I will allow you to bring the coffee."

"How kind of you to let me be so involved in my own vacation," Robby said, but his brown eyes were sparkling now, more life there than he'd seen in days.

Relief swept through Jack. Robby was still in there. He just needed to come back to himself. "I'm considerate like that," he drawled, getting a snort from Robby. "But also, I will be judging your taste, so if the coffee sucks..."

A smile lingered at the corners of Robby's lips, his tired eyes glowing. "I guess I'll have to up my game."

"Looking forward to it."

***

It was Saturday night, so the shift was a shitshow—overdoses and bar fights and stupid sex injuries galore—but that was nothing new, so Jack rolled with it, the little logistics part of his brain going even as the patients cycled through.

During the usual 0200 lull, when he had time to catch his breath, he remembered the Parker thing from earlier. So he looked over at her when Lena was off in the bathroom and they were left to their own devices. "What were you smiling about at the start of shift, anyway?"

"You shacking up with Robby again."

"Interesting term for a vacation."

She tossed him a bitch, please sort of look. "While you're alone together out in the woods, do us all a favor and fuck it out, will you? Then you can stop being weird about each other."

Jack's whole body went hot. "I am not weird about him."

Parker leveled him with a look. "Is that what I said," she drawled, not a question.

Which gave Jack pause. Because no, she'd said they were weird about each other. Which—what?

"Wait, what?" he asked, not following.

But then Lena was back, looking between the two of them over her glasses, like she sensed something. "What'd I miss?"

"Two more discharged for me. Because I am fire," Parker crowed.

"Just ask her," Jack snarked automatically, but it was weak, his mind still back on weird about each other.

Because...what?

***

Even as that question lingered at the back of Jack's mind, the next couple days passed quickly, the usual rhythm of handoffs, practiced and easy. In his off hours, Jack dealt with the logistics of the trip—getting beer and water and firewood and propane, gathering the food and ingredients, cooking what he needed to, packing the 4Runner in stages to make the whole thing manageable, and on and on.

He swung by the bakery early Tuesday morning, so when he finally picked up Robby, his whole car smelled of fresh-baked bread, like a hazy memory of a home long lost. Robby shoved his two bags in back—a duffel and his daypack—and made a sort of yearning noise when he got in the passenger seat. "You got a Betty Crocker thing going on?"

"That's too far, even for me," Jack said, handing over a white pastry bag. "No, I used my doctor money to buy your love."

Robby hooted in delight when he saw the cinnamon roll inside, starting right in on it. "Spoiling me," he mumbled around his bite, frosting already in his beard, careless and charming.

"That's the idea," Jack said with a sly smile, pulling out onto the road. He felt Robby looking at him at that, no idea why.

So he ignored it.

***

The cabin was only about an hour and a half away, Jack navigating it with ease, having prepped the route the night before. Once they got out of the city, the drive was picturesque, a riot of ambers at war with the evergreens, thicker as they got into the wooded areas. They were getting lucky with the weather; the rain had passed the day after Pittfest and the skies looked clear for the rest of the week. About time something went right.

Robby finished his cinnamon roll and just watched the scenery passing by, seeming thoughtful, but not too heavy. Nothing like the night of Pittfest, thank fuck. That still worried him, the idea that Robby had fallen so low without him knowing; it hung at the back of his mind, a buzz overlaying everything. It was thankfully muted now, with Robby beside him in the car, safe and sound and close at hand. Jack was grateful for that.

Silence settled comfortably between them, an old friend, and Jack felt no need to break it. He planned to get a sense of where Robby's head was at over the course of the trip, but if he went hard at it too early Robby would just curl in on himself. Better to ease into it. And Jack could tell a lot just by observation. After ten years of friendship, a year of it spent in his guest room, Jack knew how to read Robby.

Which was why Pittfest nagged at him. It was a hit he hadn't seen coming. An outlier. A riddle he still couldn't solve.

But he had four days and a clear mission objective. He was on it.

Soon enough he was pulling into the cabin's tiny driveway and parking, already admiring the trees surrounding them. They were in the lead up to fall, so the trees still had most of their leaves, yellows and ambers darkening by the day, not like late fall when the leaves started going and it was all empty, spindly branches. This was Jack's favorite time of year, when the air got crisp but not too cold, the world aflame.

They got out, Jack stretching and taking in the cabin as Robby went around the side to find the lockbox and get the keys. It was one of those no-shit log cabins, small and tucked among the trees. One story, a couple old wooden rocking chairs sitting on a shallow porch, covered from the elements. The owners had strung up twinkle lights along the porch overhang, he noticed, as he headed there to meet Robby.

Robby unlocked the door with a wry, "Moment of truth."

"Shocking cynicism, Dr. Robinavitch," Jack drawled, amused. Whatever was inside, they'd be fine. Hell, they could comfortably camp with the stuff Jack had in the car, cabin be damned.

It turned out, there was no need to worry. The cabin was exactly as advertised—the front door opening onto the living area, which had a long dark brown L-shaped couch that was big enough for Jack to sleep on, facing a stone fireplace. The long edge of the couch separated the sitting area from the kitchen and eating area. The kitchen was small, old-style wood cabinets and a dark wood four-seater dining table sat in the corner, before two sets of windows that showed the forest outside. Opposite the kitchen were two interior doors, presumably to the bedroom and bathroom, plus an exterior door beyond, leading out to the back. The whole thing was done in warm light brown wood paneling, from floors to ceiling. Too much for Jack's taste, no variation to it, but whatever. He wasn't moving in.

Robby took it in with a satisfied sort of nod, heading deeper into the cabin, checking out the view outside the dining table windows. "I retract my cynicism."

Jack smiled as he moved to the interior doors, poking his head in. First, the bathroom—a clear glass standing shower with plain white tile the full length of the room, though it had no grab bars, so Jack would need to put in those. He looked in on the bedroom just out of curiosity—a king bed with a navy plaid comforter and navy decorative pillows, two wooden nightstands with small lamps, plus overheads, and a narrow wooden bench at the foot of the bed. It was still all that floor-to-ceiling warm wood paneling, though this room had a wide window above the bed, looking out onto the forest, which broke up the monotony of it.

"Lotta wood paneling," Jack said, moving away so Robby could duck his head in and check it out.

"I think they're going for rustic," he said as Jack headed to the far exterior door, opening it to take in the back.

Jack stepped out onto another porch, this one wider, the overhang covering a wrought iron meal table and chairs on one side and the gas grill on the other. Twinkle lights ran along the overhang here, too. A couple steps led down to the backyard, thick trees towering over the space, orange leaves dotting the ground. Just beyond the porch steps was a central stone firepit, surrounded on one side by a long wooden bench and the other by two wide wooden chairs, all weathered from the elements. Across from that was the hot tub under its own covered enclosure, sat on a mixed stone foundation. It was the kind where you had to step up to get in, currently encased in a custom hot tub cover. More twinkle lights were strung along the edges of the enclosure, which was open on all sides, showing the riot of trees beyond. Forest surrounded the space, enclosing it like a little haven, private and welcoming.

Jack heard Robby step up beside him on the porch and said, "Seems peaceful."

"That's the idea," Robby said, the smile in his voice. "C'mon. I'll help you unload the car."

"Fuck yeah, you will. Gotta earn your keep."

Robby's laugh preceded him back into the cabin.

***

"Did you really need all this gear?" Robby groused, dropping Jack's full medical bag by the couch, the last of it. They'd hauled the wood and propane out to the back porch, the food and beer and water to the kitchen, Robby's bags to his room, Jack's to the couch, so the place was looking a lot more lived in. Or chaotic, depending on your perspective.

"I got a tent and hammock and solar panels still in the car if you're looking for more," Jack offered because you never could be too prepared.

"I know where I'm going when the world ends," Robby shot back, collapsing onto the couch with a sigh.

Even though it was nothing, just a tossed-off remark, it still warmed Jack. If things went to shit, he'd want to be with Robby, in the end.

But that was a sentimental thought. And unrealistic, besides. They'd both end up in whatever remained of the hospital in that scenario, working to save everyone they could, no matter how futile. It was just how they were built.

So he pushed past it. "You hungry?" he asked, heading to the kitchen. It was going on 1300 and Jack's stomach was announcing it.

"I could eat," Robby said, interest in his voice that meant yes.

Jack smiled, ducking into the fridge and rummaging through. He'd been hasty in shoving everything in. He'd need to reorganize later.

He grabbed romaine and cucumbers and feta, figuring he could do an easy caprese salad thing. "Get over here, man, you're helping."

Robby pulled himself up from the couch, approaching the counter with a warning sort of look. "You know how I am in the kitchen." Jack did, from some disastrously hilarious attempts back when they were living together, Robby's helplessness truly a marvel. Jack wasn't any kind of chef or anything, but he knew how to feed himself, healthy enough to stay fit. Robby was just hopeless, depending on takeout and premade sandwiches and salads. Jack had ended up doing a lot of the cooking back then. It had been comforting, a thing he could do to make something—anything—better. Robby had seemed happy enough to let him.

Jack shot a fond look at Robby—who'd gone a little chagrined, no doubt thinking just what Jack was—and didn't let him off the hook. "I also know that you know your way around a blade. So here, slice these up for me," he said, plopping the veggies in front of him. He rummaged around for a cutting board and chef's knife—hardly medical grade, but Robby could figure it out—then found a big bowl for everything.

Robby smiled and got to it, making neat work of the lettuce, cucumbers, some Roma tomatoes, dumping everything in the bowl. "This looks way too healthy."

"Steak for dinner, you're fine. We won't have the light for much longer, so I figure we do the quick hike around here from Flat Rock to Adams Falls, then come back here for steak and hot tub and maybe a fire, if we're feeling it."

"Sounds good—hey, would you stop?" he groused as Jack added more things for him to chop—olives, feta, a red onion.

"Sous chefs get no say," Jack shot back. "Super thin on the red onion, only a little."

"Yeah, yeah," Robby said, clever hands slicing the kalamatas neatly, ever precise. Jack felt himself getting distracted by the skill of it, those long fingers working, so he focused on his dressing, whisking olive oil and balsamic with a fork, adding salt, pepper, oregano. He'd brought the basic spices to play with, might as well.

Then Robby was done, setting the knife and cutting board in the sink to wash later. Jack took his place, drizzling the dressing over the salad. "Find some serving spoons or something."

Robby came back with grilling tongs, snapping them in question. Jack shrugged. "Works for me." He tossed the salad quickly, divided it evenly between two plates, and nodded outside. "Eat on the porch?"

Robby grabbed waters from the fridge and nodded, following after Jack.

They ate quietly at the wrought iron table, the afternoon light filtering through the trees. The soundscape was so expected as to be a cliché—wind whispering through leaves, birds chirping, the vague noises of animals doing their thing, insects buzzing. It was all verdant and alive, an insane contrast to the sirens and honking and shouting of city life. Which, to be fair, Jack did love. But this was its own kind of wonder.

Jack took Robby in, finishing his salad thoughtfully, staring out at the trees. His shoulders were uncommonly relaxed, the lines in his face softer. But that little wrinkle was alive and well between his brows, Robby working something over in his mind. Jack wanted nothing more than to reach over and run his thumb there, smoothing it away—

But they didn't do that. So he ignored it.

Of course Robby caught him looking. He met Jack's eyes, an enigmatic little smile appearing. "What?"

Figuring the food was a safe topic, Jack gestured to their plates, prompting. "And?"

Robby looked down to his empty plate, obvious. "Horrible," he deadpanned. "How I suffered."

"Okay, I see how it is."

"You know I like your cooking," Robby mused, considering him. "You looking for praise here?"

Jack felt an unexpected twinge at that, a vague sort of happiness that said maybe he was. Or maybe he just wanted Robby's attention. He couldn't actually say that, though, so he turned it into a joke. "A boy likes to feel appreciated."

Robby affected something earnest. "My compliments to the chef," he intoned, overly formal.

"Dick," Jack shot right back, unable to help his smile. "And you're doing the dishes."

"All I'm good for, I'm afraid," Robby nodded, mournful.

Jack scoffed. "I can think of a few other things." Only after he said it did he realize it might sound suggestive.

Robby seemed equally aware because his focus snapped to Jack, eyebrows raised. "Oh, really," he murmured, dark eyes watching him, nothing in them Jack recognized.

He didn't know what that meant, so Jack clamped down on the instinctive yearning that flared within him, shooting Robby an unimpressed look. "Don't look at me like that, airway savant, you know you got skills."

Robby's expression shuttered as he dipped his head and looked away, offering a soft, "I do what I can." Because come hell or high water, the man never would take a damn compliment.

Jack would just keep at it until he learned to.

***

While Robby cleaned up after lunch, Jack changed into hiking shorts and boots, checking his pack, adjusting his trekking poles. Robby followed suit with his own clothes and gear and soon enough, they were off. The cabin wasn't far from Linn Run, so they could just make their way through the woods, over to the Flat Rock Trail along the river. Jack quickly reacclimated to the trekking poles, which took some of the weight off his legs, helping with the strain there and with balance. At first he'd resented them, just another way he was different, but they were actually kind of awesome, a much more efficient use of energy because it meant his upper body could help out.

The Flat Rock Trail was an easy dirt path, only a half-mile loop, the two of them walking it slowly, just taking in the tall trees, the river to their left. Water rushed over the rocks, fuller from the recent rains, a soothing sort of soundscape. The air was the perfect kind of crisp, heavy with the smell of earth and wet leaves and something that uniquely said forest. As they walked, a chipmunk darted across the path, going about its business, like the two humans ambling by were of no consequence. Hell, maybe they weren't.

Robby had been silent throughout the hike, just taking it all in. The chipmunk seemed to rouse him. He looked over to Jack, something working in his eyes. "This place was clear cut, back in the 1800s. Just a wasteland. They started replanting a hundred years ago. Now look at it."

Of course Robby knew the history of it. He could probably lead a tour. But that buzz of worry flared at the back of Jack's mind, wondering what Robby was working over in that big brain of his. The duality of humanity? The healing power of nature?

Jack didn't quite get it, so he did what Robby said, taking in the endless tall trees, reaching to the sky, many so big that he wouldn't be able to get his arms around them. Kind of amazing. He looked back to Robby. "When something is destroyed, it doesn't have to stay that way. It can get better," he said, quiet.

Robby shot him an unimpressed look—I see what you did there—but just continued along the trail.

Ruins appeared before them, buried among the trees. Piles of old gray stone, covered in green moss, the outline of a structure still obvious, some of the spaces for windows actually intact. In the center was a gigantic chimney, reaching up among the trees, also covered in green moss. Robby looked over at him with a gleam in his eyes. "It used to be a hunting lodge."

Robby headed in, seeming transfixed by the old stone foundation, trailing light fingers over the gray stone, like he was tracing the essence of the place. He paused in the center of the chimney, the mouth of it gaping open, narrowing as it rose, only coming together above Robby's head as it rose to the sky. Robby looked up at it, the sun dappling him just right, and Jack instinctively reached for his phone to capture the moment—Robby, tall and strong and handsome, framed by a crumbling ruin, limned in gold by the sinking sun.

He really was something else.

Then Robby moved on to explore the rest of it—a labyrinth of crumbling half walls, an old ice house—stopping by the ledge just beyond, a ten-foot drop to the river rushing along below. Through it all, he seemed suffused by an incredible sense of calm, a kind of stillness that they never saw in their world. Not unless the worst had come to pass.

Jack shoved that thought away as they returned to the trail, walking to where it ended at—what else—a large flat rock, the river rushing over it, endless trees in the distance.

They reversed course and headed back down to the Adams Falls Trail, a one-mile loop to a 15-foot waterfall. The trail was mostly flat, but got trickier by the end, jagged rectangular rocks bumping up from the uneven path, obscured by fallen leaves. Jack had to pick his way over it, placing his trekking poles carefully. It would annoy him, but Robby was navigating it just as carefully, keen to avoid a broken ankle.

They reached the falls from the top, the water streaming down, more of a stream than a rush.

"I think it's better from the base," Robby said, nodding to an off-trail path down the side of the falls.

"Lead on," Jack said, lengthening his trekking poles slightly to go downhill.

They picked their way down and Robby was right—it was prettier from the bottom, the spray of water falling onto a large rocky outcropping, water vapor making everything hazy, soft. Notably, the cavern curved behind the falls, so you could actually stand behind the water rushing down.

Robby did, wandering behind it, not even having to crouch. The jagged rockface behind him was a mixture of browns and ambers, matching the layer of leaves on the ground. Robby reached out, the water battering his hand as it fell, a sense of childlike wonder on his face, and Jack found himself reaching for his phone again. He wanted to memorialize the small smile Robby wore, hand outstretched, grasping for something ephemeral, infinite, never to be captured.

He looked over and met Jack's eyes, warmth there that made something in Jack's chest constrict. He had no idea what to say.

So he just smiled back. And admired.

***

The hike back was just as easy, a nice little introduction to it, Jack getting used to the rhythm of the trekking poles and walking on this prosthetic again. They got back to the cabin at dusk, too early to eat yet, so Jack looked to Robby with a smile. "I say we test out the hot tub."

Robby just shook his head. "Of course you do."

***

Jack had turned on the hot tub before they left, so it was already warm by the time he got out there to set it all up. He clicked on the twinkle lights with glee, pulling the cover and setting it aside. The tub interior had a royal blue light built in, so as the jets swirled the water it was all lit up and inviting. It even had cupholders. These owners understood priorities.

After Jack availed himself and put beers out for them, he went back into the cabin. He could hear Robby moving around in the bathroom, so he set the steaks on the counter to warm—beautiful bone-in, dry-aged ribeyes that were obscenely expensive because of the beef shortage. Robby would be horrified. But it was fine; Jack just wouldn't tell him.

As he grabbed his swim trunks and towel, Robby came out wearing his own—dark green swim trunks, a navy towel around his neck, flip-flops. It was more skin than Jack had ever seen from him—faded tattoos along his biceps, a sprinkle of dark hair over his sternum, his Star of David glinting in the lights, a happy trail leading from his bellybutton down and disappearing into those trunks, the worst kind of tease. Jack was suddenly desperate to trace his fingers over every inch of him, starting with the tattoos, he wanted to taste the salt of his skin and bite his way down that belly, fuck.

Clearly, he hadn't thought this through.

Jack cast about for something to say, finally getting out, "Beers are already out there, man. I'll just be a minute."

Robby looked at him, all innocent curiosity. "Oh, yeah? What kinda IPA did you get?"

And that certainly snapped Jack out of it. "Fuck you," he shot back, light, enjoying the way Robby's smile spread over his face as he turned to go outside.

Jack shook himself and went to change. Right. He could hang out with a half-naked Robby. That was fine. He could be chill about it.

Super chill.

***

The night was darkening when Jack came back out, the air cooling fast in the absence of sun, a bite to it now. Robby was already ensconced in the hot tub as Jack made his way over on his crutches, steam curling around him, a bit flushed from the heat. He leaned back against the far side of the tub, eyes closed, those long arms spread out along the edge, hands dangling over the sides. Water droplets dotted along all that skin, his Star of David dancing in the moving water, the blue light shining over him from below, the white twinkle lights from above, melding into something otherworldly.

Jack couldn't help his stare. Robby looked ethereal, the lights softening him, making him faintly glow. It was like his fucking inner goodness was shining through, luminescent. This was how Jack pictured Robby in his mind, that little shine to him, beckoning everyone close. It was kind of hard to look at.

Not that Jack could stop. Fuck.

Of course that was when Robby opened his eyes and caught Jack staring, the corners of his lips turning up, gaze warm.

The zing of it went straight through Jack, feeling caught, like he'd given something away. He flailed for what to say. "Any time you want to tell me I was right," he tried, falling back on his smart mouth. Thank god he could snark in his sleep.

Robby's amusement deepened, his expression going sharp. "I think living alone is bad for you. It's making you all needy."

"You can say you miss me, Robby. We both know it's true," he shot back, automatic.

"Wouldn't have to if you hadn't bailed," Robby said, light on the surface, but prickly underneath, some real feeling there. Anger, maybe. Hurt, maybe. Jack didn't understand it.

So he went for the joke: "Always leave them wanting more."

Something dark flickered over Robby's expression, lightning fast, instantly hidden. And what was that about?

But Robby dropped his eyes to look at him, taking him in. Jack felt his skin flush as he realized that even in the year they'd lived together, Robby had never seen him like this, wearing nothing but black swim trunks, his gray towel slung around his neck. When Robby met his eyes again, he shook his head. "Of course you're fucking built. You need help?"

The shift sent him reeling, Jack going from sensitized and aware to confused.

And then he realized what Robby meant. Because there were two big steps up to get into the hot tub, far too narrow for crutches to be of any use; Robby was offering to help him in. "Nah, I'm good," he said, propping the crutches against the side, stabilizing himself with his hands on the edge of the hot tub—

Then he pushed up, using arm strength to haul himself onto the side of the tub. He swung his legs over and sank into the water, slow and controlled, so that he wouldn't splash Robby. The sudden heat enveloped him, his skin tingling as he settled back against the tub with a sigh.

When he looked up, Robby was staring.

"What?" Jack asked, hearing a defensive note creep into his voice.

"Nothing," Robby said quickly, flashing a tight smile. "Just impressive, man. No wonder you keep in shape."

"Well, yeah. That, and I want people to want to fuck me."

Robby blinked, like he hadn't expected Jack to go there. "Right," he said, like he was at a loss with that one. Which was fair enough; they didn't really talk about their relationships. They talked about everything else...but not that. "Well, I'm sure you have all the girls after you," Robby said generously.

This was an opportunity, Jack realized. Because he'd been married when he met Robby; he'd never mentioned guys, not during his marriage or after, when he was off getting fucked by a different rando every day. This was a chance to gently correct the record, easy and light—it's not just girls, brother—to be more open, as Stan often urged of him. There was no reason not to.

But something in Jack shied away. After all, they didn't talk about their relationships. Robby had always deflected, usually with self-deprecation, even when Lizzie had gently inquired, wanting to help. They just weren't like that. And it seemed...too close with Robby like this, half naked and touchable, light in his eyes and a flush in his skin.

So Jack punted it. "Don't act like you didn't just have Tracy Morris gagging for it after five minutes," he shot back, snagging his beer with a grin.

Robby chuckled, something in him easing as he reached for his own beer, effortlessly slipping into their banter. "I read that email. I think you're exaggerating."

"I'm sure I'm not." He took and swig and waggled his eyebrows. "Go to dinner with her and find out."

"I'd rather pull out my eyelashes one by one," Robby drawled sweetly.

Jack huffed a laugh. "Please don't ruin those pretty brown eyes." Then, realizing how that might sound, he hastily added: "The girls would never recover."

"Because I've had such luck with them," Robby drawled, his usual deflection. He was so predictable in some ways.

Jack shot him a sympathetic look. "Keep at it. Someday it'll happen."

Robby just looked at him for a long, heavy moment. Then he quirked his lips a little and looked out to the trees. "Yeah, Jack. Someday."

***

They stayed like that, just enjoying the heat of the water, until full dark fell. Jack was used to the city, where the light pollution meant it was never truly pitch black, but the forest was something else. The trees were a well of nothingness, the sounds of night filtering to them in their little glowing haven. Given the inky darkness, Jack could understand all the old tales warning against wandering through the forest. It was entirely possible to walk out there and just never come back.

Against his will, his eyes slid to Robby, head leaned back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed. Jack was suddenly very glad to be here.

"I'm gonna get dinner started," he said, realizing he needed to stop staring already.

Robby's eyes fluttered open, his expression contemplative. "Need help?"

Jack just snorted. "You handle all this," he said, gesturing around them, the hot tub needing to be turned off and covered.

One corner of Robby's mouth lifted. "A fair division of labor."

Jack pulled himself out of the tub, swinging his legs over to hop down, skin prickling with gooseflesh as the cold air hit him, colder than when they'd come out here. He wrapped himself in his towel quickly, grabbing for his crutches.

He ignored the feeling of Robby's eyes on him the whole way back to the cabin.

***

Jack went to shower, installing a removable shower bar—bless modern technology, truly—and quickly washing the chlorine off. He determinedly didn't think about Robby pulling himself out of the water, all wet and glistening, swim trunks clinging. No need to torment himself. After, he pulled on cargos and a t-shirt, then went to deal with the food.

He got the grill going, ignoring Robby as he walked by, wrapped in a towel, off to shower. Jack threw the potato wedges on the grill first, since they'd need the longest to cook, then prepped the steaks and asparagus and zucchini. He seasoned everything simply—salt and pepper and olive oil, nothing special—because the nice thing about grilling was you didn't need much fuss to make food taste good.

When Robby came out, his hair was wet and his skin was lightly flushed from the shower and he looked so fucking good that Jack got lost in it, for a second.

Of course Robby noticed, looking a question at him. "You good?"

Jack snapped out of it. "Always. Make yourself useful and set the table, would you?"

Robby nodded easily and did, bringing another beer to him at the grill. Jack smiled in thanks as he took it and tried not to let himself entertain thoughts of how effortless this felt, the same way it had always been, the two of them just falling into a rhythm, like they did this every day.

But they didn't do this every day. It was only temporary. He needed to remember that.

Once everything was done, Jack let the meat rest for the requisite amount of time, and then they both dug in—a steak for each of them, plus whatever grilled veggies they wanted, potatoes nicely browned.

Robby took a bite of his steak and made a sound that Jack could only describe as pornographic. So much so that all Jack could do was stare, his own bite of steak hanging in the air, forgotten. "...good?" he finally asked, his voice a little rough.

Robby nodded and finished chewing. "My compliments to the chef," he said, the same half-mocking way he'd said it earlier, the dick.

It snapped Jack out of the moment, quieting the part of his brain obsessing over what else could make Robby sound like that.

Jack flipped him off.

***

After that, dinner was light—simple and delicious, the two of them relaxed, enjoying each other. They finished everything, Robby cleaning the grill as Jack donned a jacket and went to start a fire in the firepit. He set out his kindling, then arranged the firewood over it. Wearing a hoodie, Robby joined him just as he lit the kindling, pulling his fire blower to help it along.

"What the fuck is that?" Robby asked, sitting in one of the wide wooden chairs, a beer in each hand.

Jack extended the fire blower to its full three feet, showing it off. "This, my friend, is magic."

"A giant metal straw?" Robby asked, dubious.

"A brass telescoping fire blower, the greatest fire invention since the match." Jack proceeded to demonstrate, blowing through it to encourage the flames. In no time, the fire was crackling away, catching on the firewood.

Jack retracted the fire blower with a smug snap, pleased with himself. He sat in the empty wooden chair and took the other beer from Robby, shooting him a prompting sort of look.

"Yeah, okay, that's cool," Robby admitted, a smile tugging at his lips. He clinked bottles with Jack, sitting back to watch the blaze.

Jack did the same, enjoying the warmth, transfixed by the way the fire crackled and moved. There was something hypnotic about it. Primal. Elemental, maybe.

After long moments, Robby sucked in a breath, relishing. He let it out on a sigh. "Today was good," he said in that meditative tone of his, like he was considering the world, the stars, the very meaning of life. "I kept thinking about when you were at my place, toward the end. How we would hang out."

Jack felt his lips curving up, the fondness rising in him. They had settled into a warm sort of camaraderie by the end, soothing but also just fun. It had reminded him of college, a little bit, except without all the awkwardness or insane partying. Or, stranger still, it reminded him of Iraq, when he'd shared a CHU with another doctor in the Green Zone, a kind of bubble out of time. "Today was good," he agreed. "I'm glad you thought to come out here."

"Me, too." He took a careful breath then. "Sometimes I miss those days, you know. Having you around."

Even though he'd joked about it earlier, Jack couldn't help the rush of soft happiness that sent through him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Robby confirmed, shooting him a warm look. Then he looked away again, staring into the fire. "Why'd you leave?" he asked, small, like it was a question that had been eating away at him.

Something gripped in Jack's chest, but he kept his voice light: "Man, you know why. I told you back then—"

"You lied to me back then," Robby corrected, quiet, still staring into the fire. Like if he addressed it to the flames, that made it okay.

The certainty in that shivered through Jack. "I didn't," he insisted. Because he hadn't. He hadn't lied. He just...hadn't told the whole truth. Jack waved an easy hand, trying to move past it. "I told you, I wanted to give you your space."

"Something I did not ask for," Robby said precisely.

Jack sighed. The truth was he couldn't tell Robby the full truth, not without blowing everything up. He couldn't say that in some nothing moment, as Robby was putting on his jacket to head out, Jack had caught a flash of his tummy, that inviting little happy trail there, and his whole body had gone blazing hot. He couldn't tell Robby that it was like flicking a switch, his libido suddenly roaring back to life and entirely focused on wanting him. That he'd immediately gone and jerked off about it, coming like fire over his fist, the first orgasm that hadn't been consumed by Liz. And that the guilt of it had bowled him over, not just for her, but for Robby. Because he hadn't asked to be a part of that, had given no indication he'd welcome it, only ever dating women, albeit poorly. Jack fixating on his straight best friend was beyond the pale.

Even worse: it wasn't new information. Jack had instantly known that he and Robby had a connection. He'd met Robby and it was like his reality realigned, shifting devastatingly into place. As if Robby were a question and answer all in one. But...Jack was married. He was desperately in love with Liz, while simultaneously drawn to Robby, and it was the best feeling in the world, but also the worst. Because he couldn't have both.

Jack had never believed in that one true love nonsense. It was limiting, almost childish, to think there was one singular person for you out there. It implied there was some sort of design rather than endless possibility, endless choices you could make. He truly believed you could find love, and happiness, with multiple people over the course of your life. It had always been comforting to him, a world brimming with connection. There was something beautiful in that.

Finding himself in love with two people at once certainly proved that out, in the worst possible way. Jack had made promises to Liz, promises he didn't intend to break, so everything with Robby...well, he just set it aside. He settled into the friendly closeness with Robby, relishing the way they could read each other's minds, move like extensions of each other at work, and he kept anything more than that to himself. Nothing could ever come of it, so why go there? Most days, he didn't even think about it aside from his pleasure at Robby's simple existence, the warmth that bloomed in his chest when he thought of him. It was enough.

And then Liz was gone and Robby expanded into his entire life, so much that Jack found himself jerking off to thoughts of him in Robby's guest bedroom, tingling and breathless and still wanting.

In that moment, Jack knew he had to go. He'd reached for whatever excuse worked.

It was entirely unsurprising that Robby had seen right through it.

"The truth is I did want to give you your space," Jack said, softer. "But it was because my sex drive had come back online and all I wanted was to get fucked."

Robby blinked at that, eyes snapping to Jack—clearly not what he expected at all—but he still had that set look on his face. "You could've brought women home. It's fine."

This was another opportunity to be real with Robby, only this time Jack found that he didn't want to duck it. It was starting to feel like he was keeping some kind of weird secret, when it wasn't like it was a secret at all. The guys on Grindr certainly knew his deal. There was no reason to keep Robby clear of it. And he didn't want to keep avoiding.

So Jack sacked up and just went for it: "Who said anything about women?"

And that really surprised Robby. He blinked, cheeks pinking as he realized what Jack meant. "...oh." He looked back to the fire, forehead scrunched as he thought.

The pause that followed was filled with the shape of something Jack didn't understand—surprise, yes, but a weightiness he couldn't grasp, a kind of resonance—and he found himself needing to fill the silence in a way he hadn't all day, his heart pounding oddly. "I just—I didn't want anything that reminded me of her. I figured you didn't need to listen to me getting railed within an inch of my life. Seemed kinda rude."

That took Robby from pink to bright red. Even in the glow of the fire, Jack could see it. Robby ran a hand over his eyes. "I didn't know—is that a thing for you?" Robby kind of stumbled over it, but he was trying, bless his heart.

Jack shrugged. "Long time ago. I had to be careful about it for a while in the Army, but then it didn't matter because I met Lizzie."

Robby shot a sideways look at him, inscrutable. "So Ellis wasn't joking, before," he said, like a conclusion.

Jack hummed an agreement. "She likes to poke the bear."

"How is it she knew before I did?" Robby asked, seeming kind of offended by that.

Jack rolled his eyes. "She says, and I quote, 'My gaydar never misses.'"

Robby kind of scoffed at that. "You do not ping even a little bit."

"Thank you," Jack said in agreement. "The reality is she came across me on a fuckin' date. Walked right up to the table, too. And was all, 'Ohmygod, Jack, hi,'" he said, pitching his voice higher, chatty in a way that Parker was decidedly not.

Robby's eyes were dancing now. "She called you Jack?"

"I know, the audacity. She proceeded to pretend we were friends who hadn't seen each other in a minute, all while we were having a furious silent conversation that amounted to, 'don't you fucking dare cockblock me right now.' Last time I ever tell a resident about a cool bar."

Robby actually laughed. "I'm sorry I missed it."

"Oh, fuck no. Can't a guy get his dick sucked in peace? Jesus."

Robby snorted, the redness in his skin dissipating as he went baffled, running a hand over his beard. "I had no idea. Not from you or Liz."

Something soft fluttered in Jack's chest at the thought of her. "She didn't know," he said after a moment, taking a sip of beer.

Robby went very still, an unnamed emotion flickering over his face. "Really?"

Jack shrugged, casual. "It wasn't like it mattered."

Robby's eyebrows rose. "Really," he said again, a different cadence to it now.

"C'mon, it's not like I'd volunteer, 'By the way, I fuck guys, too,' when I'd start dating a woman. And you know how it was with her. I fell hard and fast and that was it. Anyone else was history. What's the point in bringing it up?"

The firelight glittered in Robby's dark eyes. "It seems like a big thing not to know about the person you're married to."

Jack smiled, wry. "You know how everybody has the thing that they struggle with over the course of their life? Their unresolved trauma or whatever."

Robby tipped his head. "I suppose."

Jack shot him a look. "No, brother, everybody has a thing. Yours is your perfectionism, this unshakable belief that if you're not perfect, you're worthless."

Robby reared back a little, eyes wide and stricken. "I—wouldn't say that."

Jack just shot him a bullshit look, but decided not to argue it. "Right. Well, Liz's thing was being chosen. You know, with how her dad bailed for his new family, the way her mom chose the bottle over her. She just needed to be the one who was chosen. Put first. And I did. I never really understood it, because she had such light, I'd be crazy not to be all about her. I mean, you knew her. Can you imagine?"

Robby smiled so sadly. "No," he said, soft. Because he and Lizzie had gotten on famously, one of Jack's very favorite things. Like all was right with the world, that two people he loved so could delight in each other.

Jack angled his head, nodding a little. "But it was the thing that plagued her, the little worry that lived at the back of her mind. If I told her how I used to fool around with guys, I knew where she'd go with it. Wondering if I was really in it with her. Wondering if there was something she couldn't give me. Which wasn't true. I was in it for the long haul. So I figured...no reason to put that worry in her mind. Not over something that didn't even matter anymore. I wanted her to feel totally loved, and totally chosen, because she was."

Robby nodded, slowly, an acknowledgment more than anything. "I can't say I fully understand it, but I get wanting to protect people from pain they don't need to bear."

"Life has enough pain, brother," Jack said, low. "No need to add to it."

There wasn't much more to say than that.

***

They stayed out until the fire burned low, then decided to turn in. Jack made sure the fire was truly out, dumping water on it, then followed Robby back into the cabin, glad to get out of the chilly air. While he loved the fall, winter would be here sooner than he'd like. The snow always made his leg ache worse than normal. He didn't relish its return.

They got ready for bed, moving around each other easily, taking turns in the bathroom, Robby going first, Jack following. When he came out, Robby was in the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water, soft in his plaid sleep pants and threadbare t-shirt.

"Night," Jack said, heading for the couch.

"Where you going?" Robby asked, mild in a way that stopped Jack cold. Because what?

"To rack out on the couch," Jack said obviously, his heart rate ticking up at the way Robby blinked at him.

Robby shot him a look that said seriously? "It's a king bed, Jack. Don't be an idiot." Like that settled something, he headed into the bedroom.

Except it didn't settle dick. Because what? That wasn't a thing they'd ever done, outside of Liz's death. And why would Robby even want to offer that now, after learning about Jack going for guys? The question of that tugged at him, Jack trailing after Robby, hovering in the doorway, senses buzzing. "You serious?"

Robby looked over from stacking the decorative pillows on the bench at the foot the bed, frowning like Jack might actually have something wrong with his brain. "Do you have a communicable disease you'd like to tell me about?"

"Fuck you," Jack said instantly, no heat to it. "Guys don't generally want to snuggle up with their buddies."

"Are we snuggling now?" Robby asked, all innocence. "Tell me more, Jack, what are you imagining?"

God, he was such an asshole sometimes. Jack loved it beyond all reason.

But if Robby was gonna play it like that, then fine. He tossed him a smirk as he moved to the far side of the bed. "You should be so lucky."

He sat and propped his crutches against the nightstand, then settled under the covers as Robby went and turned off the kitchen lights, then closed the bedroom door and hit the overheads. He moved quietly in the dark, slipping into the bed on his side.

His side. What a fucking wild thought that was.

It slid through Jack, the feeling of Robby moving in bed beside him, sheets pulling, his weight dipping the mattress—all the tiny ways another body felt in bed. He hadn't had that since Lizzie—he still associated it with her—even as he knew that this was Robby. It sent a rush of feeling through him...loss and love and yearning.

"Night, Jack," Robby murmured, curled on his side, facing away.

"Night," he said, voice soft, heart still weirdly going.

Beside him, Robby went still, his breaths slowing, deepening as he slipped into sleep. Jack just stared up at the dark ceiling, the moonlight filtering in around the blinds, casting uneven shadows. He felt the bed warming, Robby's soft breaths somehow overwhelming, like a rush in his ears.

Jack synced his breathing with Robby's, feeling that buzz of worry at the back of his mind finally, mercifully, going silent. Robby was here. He was safe. He was fine. And Jack was right beside him to make sure it stayed that way.

As Jack drifted off to sleep, he had the kind of realization that only struck in those hazy liminal spaces, the overlap between awake and not, here and not—

This was exactly what he'd always wanted.

***