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Jack can tell from the stilted messages he’s getting from Robby that he’s just about at his breaking point.
It helps, too, that he has his informants on the inside— Samira’s message asking if something happened with Robby at home, Whitaker letting him know Robby keeps disappearing for a few minutes at a time, Dana’s texts escalating from Robby’s having a bad day to minute-by-minute updates on how close she thinks he might be to completely falling apart, how he won’t talk to her, how she can see the last thin thread in him about to snap.
There hadn’t been a second of hesitation for Jack in reaching out to Shen and Ellis, asking them to combine their efforts and cover for him tonight. It’d only taken some bargaining on his part— and a few vague IOU favors that he dreads them calling in— but they’d agreed, leaving Jack free to prepare their home for Robby’s arrival.
The last message he gets from Robby— on my way home, nothing more, nothing less— gives Jack a timeline. If he wanted, he could’ve timed it all to the minute. In a way, he nearly does, because he’s opening up the oven in the same moment he hears Robby’s keys in their front door.
“Hey, welcome home,” he says over his shoulder, pulling his lasagna from the rack inside. The dish clatters gently from his oven-mitted hands onto the stovetop, their home warm and filled with the rich scents of tomato and spiced meat and cheese, freeing him to turn and head straight for him.
As predicted, Robby looks like he is roughly two seconds from snapping. His hair’s sticking up in every direction like he’s been running his hands through it for hours, his back is hunched with his shoulders practically up around his ears, his face is blanched pale with shadows bruised in under his eyes, his lips bitten raw and his hands clenched tight and his entire body screaming out how he must feel inside. When Jack goes to Robby, pushing the front door shut behind him, he can tell that there’s pure exhaustion written into every line of him, slumping even with his muscles pulled taut.
“Hey,” Robby greets him, his voice low and rough, scratching from his throat. “You feeling okay? Shen was there for hand-off, said you asked for cover.”
He drops his bag at the door as he speaks, hangs his helmet up, pries his boots off. It’s like he’s a ghost going through the motions he used to in life, a shadow of himself; there’s no enthusiasm, no light in him. Jack’s chest just aches.
“I was overdue for taking a night off,” Jack tells him. He reaches for his coat, unzipping it for him and pushing it back off his shoulders, down his arms. “I think you are, too.”
Robby’s eyes flash over him, though they’re nowhere near as bright as they should be. All the same, he lets Jack strip his coat from him and hang it beside his own on its hook, snug together on the wall, like everything else in their home— two toothbrushes, two combs, two pillows, two of them, each set side-by-side.
“I made us dinner,” Jack tells him, taking Robby by the hand, drawing him towards their kitchen. “Lasagna, mashed potatoes, honey-roasted carrots. How’s that?”
Robby’s quiet, letting Jack pull him around. He doesn’t speak much louder in answering, “Good,” though he does pause and add, “Thanks.”
“It’s for me as much as it’s for you,” Jack answers, pulling Robby’s chair out for him. He doesn’t put him on display, just turns away and takes up their lasagna dish again, potholders protecting his palms from the heat. When he brings the dish to the table, Robby is seated, watching him with tired eyes, tilting forward a little, arms crossed high and tight above his chest, holding onto his own arms as if hugging himself. “How’s water sound?”
When he nods, Jack runs a hand over his shoulder, brushes a kiss against the top of his head. Two glasses of water come from Jack’s hands to the table, Robby’s without the clink of too-cold ice, and Jack sits right beside him, nudging his ankle with his own.
“Eat as much as you want,” Jack tells him.
He doesn’t hesitate, reaching forward to serve Robby from the dishes he’s laid out between them. Scoops of mashed potatoes and roasted carrots meet his plate before Jack cuts him a slice of lasagna. Robby’s eyes stay fixed on him throughout the whole process; they burn into Jack’s face, he can feel them, and he looks up into them as soon as he finishes serving him.
“After you finish,” Jack says, “I’m going to give you a bath. Then, we’re going to lay down, and I’ll read to you until you fall asleep.”
Robby’s big, dark eyes blink at him. It’s a slow blink, exhausted, confused, but he seems to take this in for a silent moment before he dips his head in a nod and reaches for his fork.
“Sorry,” he says, cutting himself a slice off the corner of his lasagna. Though he pauses for a second, lingering, he eventually brings the forkful up to his mouth and slips it in, chewing slowly.
“Don’t be.” Jack picks up his own fork, taking his eyes off of Robby for the time being. “One of those days?”
Robby’s response is a rumbling hum in agreement. Jack peeks at him, sees his thin focus fully fixed down on his plate, neatly severing out a little square of potatoes to scoop into his mouth.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jack asks him. Robby lifts his shoulder in half a shrug. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“Mm.” Robby’s eyes flick up to his again, and Jack gets the message easily, leaning back in his seat for a moment. He stretches his back, observes Robby for a moment, then tilts back in, going after his carrots as if they’ve got targets on their backs.
Their meal is eaten in a comfortable silence. Jack likes to be talking, to be moving, always in action, but— there’s something about sitting like this with Robby that does feel like he’s doing something. Something important, even, and it lets his insides settle in a way they never do with anyone else, content to just exist alongside him.
Though Robby makes his way through a fair amount of what Jack put on his plate, his fork clinking in even rhythm as he takes small, methodical bites, he slows before clearing it. Jack’s just finishing his mashed potatoes when he sees Robby lay his fork down, sliding his plate away a little bit.
“All done?” Jack asks, and earns a nod before Robby’s scrubbing at his face with his hands. “Alright, I’ll wrap it up for tomorrow, clean up in here. You wanna go get your clothes off, put your robe on for me?”
“Okay,” Robby says quietly. His body seems minutely less tense as he stands than it had been when he first got home, but he’s still stiff, stuck somewhere in his own mind, so burned out that there’s barely even a spark left.
Jack lets him leave on his own, gives him a few minutes to himself after he hears their bedroom door click softly shut. He takes his time in clearing their dishes, packaging away their leftovers, washing everything he dirtied in the sink; he even takes a few extra minutes to swap his prosthesis for his crutches, to wash everything and set it aside neatly, to massage and moisturize his leg, anything to keep his hands busy. Only when he’s heard silence from down the hall for five straight minutes, no creaking of steps or shuffling of fabric, does he head down towards him.
Still, he raps on their bedroom door with his knuckles, waits for Robby’s, “Come in,” before he twists the knob and ducks his head inside. Sure enough, Robby’s got Jack’s robe on instead of his own; it hangs open in the front, untied, as he lays curled on his side on top of their covers. His own pillow is under his head; Jack’s is in his arms, his face buried in it, though his dark eyes peer up to meet Jack’s once he’s inside.
“Hey,” Jack greets him. His steps are quiet, slow, and he’s ginger in setting his crutches aside and sitting on the edge of their bed, careful not to disturb Robby too much. “Alright if I touch you?”
Robby nods against his pillow, eyes drifting closed again. A wavering breath sucks into his lungs, then comes out as a heavy, trembling sigh, his fingers clutching tighter into Jack’s pillow.
Reaching up, Jack runs his hand over the knob of Robby’s shoulder, rubbing backwards towards the blade. A full-body shiver wracks Robby, from the crown of his skull to the soles of his feet, and he draws his knees up closer around the pillow, face tucking back down into it.
“That’s it,” Jack says, soft. Another shuddering breath escapes Robby. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, brother. Just let it out.”
A tight, strained sound slips from Robby, and he shakes his head. His swallow is thick, audible; shaking his head again, his grip on his pillow tightens until his knuckles go white, and Jack runs his hand up to his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. He strokes through his hair, keeps an even and steady rhythm.
“You’re okay,” Jack repeats. “Breathe with me.”
Sucking in another rough breath, Robby pushes it out as a sob. Jack climbs up and over him, secures himself against his back, holds him tight against his chest with his arms wound around him; Robby grabs onto his hands, buries his face against Jack’s arm, and dissolves into tears, ripping out of him with such force that Jack’s chest throbs in sympathy.
“I’ve got you,” Jack whispers into his ear, kisses the nape of his neck. Their bodies curl together easily; with Robby in Jack’s worn robe, and Jack in just a t-shirt and boxers, they’re able to nearly glue to one another. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. Just let it out. You’ll feel better when it’s all out.”
Robby’s fingertips dig into Jack’s wrists, the backs of his hands, his palms, hanging onto him like one or both of them might disappear if he doesn’t. Jack holds him closer, tighter, buries his face between his shoulder-blades and breathes as deeply and evenly as he can, just for him.
“You’re okay,” Jack keeps telling him. “Today was hard, days can be really hard. You’re doing everything—”
“Jack,” Robby keens, a horrible rip of a sound that tears itself out of him, and then he’s sobbing, great gasps that Jack can feel billowing out of him as much as he can hear them, and he tightens his grip on him. “Jack, fuck, Jack—”
“I know,” Jack promises him. The backs of his own eyes prickle, and he forces it back. “I know, I know. I got you. I know. You’re okay, you’re okay. You’re okay, I got you, I love you. You’re okay.”
Robby’s sobs escalate until he goes silent with them, shaking in Jack’s arms, occasionally making a whimper of a sound that escapes through the air he can’t get down.
“Just breathe,” Jack whispers, pushing their hands closer to Robby’s chest. He rubs circles into his bare skin, a forest of dark hair soft beneath the side of his hand, trying to coax his lungs into calming. “Just breathe with me. You’re going to be okay. It’s over now, hear me? It’s all over, and you made it through, and you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
He’s not sure how long he stays there, his face buried against Robby’s shoulder, holding his hands, rubbing his chest, murmuring to him in repeated words of comfort, over and over and over again. The clock on Robby’s bedside table isn’t visible from his current vantage point, and so he just hooks his ankle between Robby’s, slots their thighs together, and holds him through it.
When Robby starts being able to breathe again, it comes back to him in bits and pieces. His tears begin to slow, and his sobs become audible again for a long while; then, it’s his chest starting to steady, the hitching breaths no longer coming quite so fast nor so shallow; then, he’s sucking in a huge, deep breath, and blowing it out in a shuddering gust, and then—
Then, he’s still in Jack’s arms, the only movement his chest and belly with his deep breaths, in and out, finally matching to Jack’s.
“That’s it,” Jack coaxes him. “There you go.” He kisses the jut of his shoulder under the robe, the knob at the top of his spine. “I gotcha.”
“Sorry,” Robby whispers back to him. He sniffles, turns his face into Jack’s arm again. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack’s thumb rubs a circle into the back of Robby’s hand, and he kisses the nape of his neck again. “Not a single thing. I love you.”
“Love you,” Robby mumbles back. If he’d sounded exhausted before, he sounds completely drained right now, absolutely empty, burnt down to nothing.
His cheek pressed to Robby’s shoulder, Jack just keeps rubbing his chest for a while. Robby’s breathing stays fairly even, only the occasional hitch breaking his rhythm. The night becomes darker, the silence grows deeper, and Jack holds Robby until his pulse is calming in his veins, finally slowing to a less troubled pace.
It’s only when Robby’s starting to slowly run his thumb over the knob of Jack’s wrist that he kisses his shoulder again, lifting his head up just a little bit.
“Hey.” His lips brush Robby’s shoulder, just where the robe and his skin meet. “You still up for that bath? Or you wanna go to sleep, babe? Hm? You don’t have to talk, just— Nod if it’s a bath, shake if it’s bedtime.”
Robby’s still quiet for a longer moment before he nods in his arms.
“Bath?” Jack asks, and Robby nods again. “Okay. Up we go—”
He shuffles them both upright, hauling Robby along with him. His big body slumps like a puppet with its strings cut, slack and knobbly; Jack props him up, holds him in his arms. The only muscles he seems willing to move are the ones Jack is puppeteering for him, steering him up to his feet, grabbing for one of his crutches while holding onto Robby’s arm with his other hand. Their path to their bathroom is a stumbling one, but Jack manages to sit Robby on the closed toilet seat and himself on the edge of the bathtub, reaching to twist the knobs for the hot water.
In moments, the room is starting to fill up with steam, with heat. Robby’s small shivers, his arms around his knees, start to slow a little, and Jack glances to him as he’s tipping their lavender bubble bath syrup into the stream.
“Hey,” Jack says, drawing Robby’s attention up to him and off the circles he’s rubbing into Jack’s robe with his thumbs. His big brown eyes have warmed a bit, though they’re bloodshot and swollen now, the dark circles beneath them slick with tears that haven’t dried yet. “I love you. More than anything.”
Robby nods, holding his hand out in Jack’s direction. They meet in the middle, and Jack tangles their fingers together, squeezing tight. Jack can hear his answering, I love you, too, in that hold.
They stay stuck together, Jack keeping his grip on Robby as he turns his attention back to the water. His fingertips trail over the top, testing the temperature, stirring the bubbles up; it’s close to the right temperature, and he turns it up just a smidge, making sure it’s perfect for what he knows to be Robby’s preferences.
“You wanna come over here?” Jack asks when the bath is full, reaching to twist the water off. Robby’s already standing, pulling his robe off halfway; after a beat, he pauses, then pulls it back on, burying his face down, inhaling from the fabric. Jack’s heart twists inside, watching Robby close his eyes, take a moment, then finally shuck his robe off, hanging it on the hook behind the door, crossing to Jack without a stitch of clothing on.
Jack holds his hand up to him, allowing him to use him for balance. They keep each other steady, and Robby climbs inside, seating himself amongst the warm water and fragrant bubbles, knees bent and arms folded on top of them.
“That’s it,” Jack encourages him. His hand cups the back of Robby’s head, cradling the curve of his skull as he guides him to lay back, loosen up. “Just close your eyes, okay? Let me take care of you.”
For a few moments, Robby only stares up at him, leaning back against the curve of the bathtub. He slides down a little bit further, until his chin almost reaches the water, submerging himself as far as he can go; their bathtub is deep, long, and he’s able to stretch his legs, getting comfortable in the steaming-hot water. His eyes stay fixed up on Jack as his eyelashes flutter, then sweep down, drifting closed.
“There we go.” Jack reaches for their pink bath sponge, squeezing it into the water, filling it with that same heat. “You just relax, let it all go. I know how heavy it all is. I’ll help you carry it, okay? All of it. I got you.”
Robby’s face screws up a little bit, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, his mouth tightening as he resists another flow of tears. In reaching to thread their fingers together again, lifting Robby’s arm, he gets another squeeze to his hand, and he squeezes back, making sure he knows he’s there.
“You always give everything you’ve got,” Jack keeps murmuring to him, starting to scrub inside his palm. “You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to just be, babe, I promise you. You’ve been fighting too hard. You have to rest. You need to be taken care of. I can help. You just rest.”
Something about his words makes Robby’s chest hitch again, and he sinks down a little further in the water. Jack draws his hand up, kisses the back of it.
“You’re not alone,” Jack promises him. A tear leaks out from one of Robby’s closed eyes; Jack gives his hand another kiss, scrubs softly up the inside of his forearm, taking his time to clean off each and every square inch of him, sweat and grime and stress sluicing off him. “I’m always right here, no matter what. Everything else stays outside, and I’ve got you in here. And I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I promise.”
Tears keep slipping down Robby’s face, but they’re not like the sobbing hiccups he’d had earlier. They seem more like he’s just releasing the last of what’s been pent up inside of him, and Jack sponges his shoulder, starts moving across his chest. His dark chest hair gets soaped up under his hand, down to his belly; Jack’s wrist disappears beneath the water, and he keeps scrubbing, soft, slow, gentle, moving over his thighs, between his legs, taking his time with him. Robby dissolves into him, finally comfortable and safe and secure enough to collapse entirely, and Jack leans in to press a kiss to his temple.
“I know it’s hard. It’s so hard, I know, I’m sorry,” Jack tells him, soaping the inside bend of his knee, making sure not to miss a single bit of him. “I’m so sorry. But I’ve got you.”
Robby’s eyes flutter back open, tears clumping his lashes together. Jack sets the sponge aside for a moment, rinsing his hands so he can take Robby’s face between his palms, sweeping his thumbs beneath his eyes. He clears away his tears, leans in, presses a kiss so softly to his downturned mouth, his wet-sparkling beard.
“I love you,” Jack promises him, their lips brushing as he speaks. “I love you, I love you. You’re going to be okay.”
With a dip of his head, then tilting back against the rim of the bathtub again, Robby keeps his eyes focused on Jack. His lids are heavy, but he doesn’t look away, and Jack lets him watch all he likes as he lifts his other arm, drawing it towards himself, washing him from his fingertips to his shoulder once again. He tries to work his muscles as he goes, to loosen up every tight knot inside of him until he can finally relax, and he keeps going, until Robby’s nearly asleep under his touch.
“How’s that?” Jack asks, and receives a rumble in response, Robby slowly blinking at him again. “That’s good. We’re almost done. Then, I’m gonna bring you right to bed, and we can read anything you want. How’s that?”
The way Robby looks up at him then makes Jack’s heart crumple inside. He bends down, one hand planted on Robby’s warm, soapy shoulder to keep himself upright as he kisses the top of his head.
“Let me finish up here,” Jack murmurs. Robby tilts a small nod, and Jack gives him one, two, three more kisses before he twists the soap from the sponge and squeezes water into it, reaching for Robby to wash the lather clean from his skin. Every inch of him is washed and taken care of, Jack’s special attention focused on making sure he’s completely cleansed of the day that came before— of everything that came before, of everything but them, safe and secure and tucked away in their home.
It’s only once Jack’s sure that Robby’s been cleaned everywhere that he sets their sponge aside. His wet fingertips tip Robby’s chin up, and he cups his hands, bringing palmfuls of hot water up over Robby’s head, letting it glide over him, soaking his hair all the way through.
In lathering his hands with shampoo, working it through Robby’s hair in scrapes of his nails along his scalp, he watches as Robby melts further and further, muscles liquefying more and more until he’s submerged again in the water almost entirely. From his nose up, he’s still above the water, eyes scanning over Jack in increasingly sleepy droops.
“Hold your breath,” Jack warns him, dropping his voice down to a quiet hush. Robby’s chest stills for a moment, his eyes closing effortlessly, and Jack brings up palmfuls of water over his head, rinsing the shampoo suds out until he’s completely cleaned, until he’s scrubbed and purified and Jack has washed everything else away. “That’s it. How’s that, babe?”
“Mmm.” Robby’s answering low grumble is affirming. When he forces his eyes back open as far as he can manage, he looks more exhausted than Jack thinks he’s seen him since they were residents, and even then, he didn’t have this bone-deep weariness in him.
“Okay,” Jack murmurs. With his hands wet, he cleans Robby’s face off, makes sure all his tears are gone and these last parts of him are washed, and then kisses him on the tip of his nose. “Let’s go to bed.”
He leans back, unplugs the bathtub. Together, the two of them maneuver upwards, and Jack leans against the sink with their fluffiest towel in his hands, drawing Robby between his soft handfuls of fabric. Without being asked, he ducks his head down, allows Jack to ruffle his hair dry. All the tightness worked into him has finally drained out, along with all his energy and what appears to be everything he had left in him.
What Jack does see in him, though, is the light he’d been missing. The spark that is Robby.
“Hey, there,” Jack says quietly to him, stroking his damp hair back, kissing his forehead. When Robby stretches back up to his full height, Jack lifts his hand, lets Robby take it and tug him upwards. Once Jack has his crutch under his arm again, he reaches for his own robe, draping it around Robby’s shoulders again.
In their bedroom, Robby is easily led to lay down once again. Just as he had before, he curls around Jack’s pillow, but he glances up at Jack once he’s laying down, waiting for him. His hand stretches up, fingers twitching to beckon him closer, and what else can Jack do but go?
“Which book do you think?” Jack asks, leaning to examine the pile of options Robby picks from at night. “How about…” His fingers trace the spines, and he asks, “Little bit of a rom-com?”
The corners of Robby’s mouth twitch upwards a little, and he nods, eyes flickering towards Jack’s face as he takes up the book and settles into bed, his back against the headboard, his legs tucked under the covers. Within a heartbeat, Robby is shuffling closer, setting his head in Jack’s lap, curled up against him, pillowed by his thighs.
“Comfy?” Jack asks, running his hand through Robby’s hair, opening up to where his bookmark has saved his most recent page. Robby yawns against him, nods. “Good. Okay, let me see here… Okay, good, let me just—” Jack clears his throat, then starts reading with, “‘Chapter Five: The Italian Dinner.’”
Robby curls closer to him, his big hand reaching up to lay over Jack’s bare thigh, stroking his fingertips underneath the edge of his boxer shorts. As Jack reads to him, Robby’s eyes start closing in longer and longer blinks. Color returns to his pale face, and he pulls Jack’s robe closer around himself, burrowing deeper into their blankets and Jack’s lap both, burying his face into his belly.
In time, his breathing steadies further, and his body grows lax, and, before Jack knows it, Robby is dropping off into real sleep. He’s comfortable, calm; he doesn’t seem unsettled any longer, not even while unconscious, and Jack comes to a slow stop in his reading, peeking around the edge of the pages at his sleeping, relaxed, serene face.
“That’s it,” Jack murmurs down to him. He slips the bookmark back into place, deposits it back in Robby’s pile.
From Jack’s lap, Robby keeps sleeping. He seems so peaceful this way, his muscles loosened, his face slack; Jack reaches up, cradling his jaw in his hand, sweeping his thumb in slow strokes over his cheek. His beard is soft under his touch, and he bends double, kisses the top of his head.
“I love you,” he whispers down to him, quiet, careful. When he shuffles down a bit, just enough to get horizontal and draw Robby into his arms, he gets a snuffle from him, right into his chest, before Robby’s winding around him and burying in, not even blinking in the process. Fast asleep, finally resting, all that weight that had been compressing him when he’d come home is finally off his shoulders, at least for a little while, and he hugs Jack closer in his sleep.
Jack’s throat tightens. His thumb glides over the knob of Robby’s jaw, and he kisses his hair again, clutching him close.
“I love you,” he repeats, hoping Robby can feel it in his sleep. “I love you, babe. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”