Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

2020 (February 12^th)

Robby stared numbly at the boxes and bags lining the hallway of their home— far too few for what should have been, if this was truly happening.

But it was happening, and Jack clearly liked to pack lightly.

“You’re really moving out,” Robby said, throwing his keys into the bowl by the front entrance, and dropping his backpack on the floor. There were flurries still stuck to his jacket, but Robby didn’t care as he shrugged out of it, tossing it on the hallway table for now— he’d hang it up later when his life didn’t feel like a fucking dream, unreal and detached.

Jack nodded, arms folded as he took in Robby. He might have been waiting for a bigger reaction, Robby wasn’t sure. Robby didn’t know how he was supposed to react right now anyway; three days ago, Jack had mentioned he wanted space again, and Robby hadn’t really believed him, hadn’t taken him seriously because Jack was doing better. Why would he want to move out now?

Sure, Jack still had his hang-ups, still woke up screaming most nights, but there’d been improvement. The meetings, the VA resources— the scant joke of options that they had— fuck, even a new therapist recently, they’d all been pointing to helping Jack navigate this side of losing the leg. He hadn’t snapped at Robby in months, hadn’t been mean, and had been showing a few slivers of his old personality that Robby clung to, delighted to see the spectre become more solid as the weeks went past.

They were still on opposite shifts, but if Robby was being honest, he thought night shift was working for Jack, keeping him level and letting him flourish. Everyone at the hospital loved him, and all Robby heard was his praises being sung; apparently, Jack was quickly becoming the most preferred attending to work with, with night shift residents disappointed if they weren’t scheduled with him. Even the nurses tried to be on with him because they preferred his style of management.

Changeovers allowed Robby to catch glimpses of Jack in his element again. Robby remembered the first time he saw Jack smiling again, overseeing a nervous med student wrapping up a nasty laceration on a shoulder. Robby had watched through the open door as Jack cracked a joke that had not only the med student relaxing, but the patient laughing through the winces of pain that meds hadn’t yet dulled. The sight had stolen the breath from Robby’s lungs— he’d almost forgotten what it was like to see Jack’s lips stretch across his face, the way his crow’s feet crinkled, and his eyes grew bright with mirth.

For all the personal bullshit and horror Jack dealt with every single day, work seemed to be the haven that allowed him to reach for his past self.

And Robby had clearly deluded himself into thinking he could remain a part of Jack’s healing and recovery and life. He’d really thought that they were finally finding their feet again, and that maybe, just maybe, they could work on their relationship again. Be together.

Robby exhaled roughly as he bent over and unlaced his shoes, in no hurry. He could feel Jack staring at him, but Robby didn’t want to rush the inevitable end.

“Do you even have a place to go?” Robby finally asked as he toed off his shoes and straightened again; he couldn’t quite bring his gaze up to meet Jack’s, vision snagging on the pair of duffle bags, one suitcase, and only three boxes— neatly stacked up one after another. This was all Jack was taking? All he needed? The years spent together, buying shit for the house, for each other, and Jack thought the essentials he wanted to take with him could fit in two trips to the truck? Three, if he didn’t want to carry too much at once.

Jack stayed silent, and Robby knew better, knew that Jack was waiting him out, but Robby couldn’t help it. He looked up and was caught in Jack’s gaze. Only then did Jack respond. “Yeah. I found a one-bedroom not too far from the hospital.”

Robby wondered if Jack was even going to let him know the address. He was going to ask Jack for it— beg, if he had to— but what came out instead was, “How tall is the building?”

Robby’s teeth snapped together, far too late to take back the words. But Jack gave a huff of laugh through his nose, and Robby was struck, suddenly, that that was the first real time Robby had made him laugh in years.

“I’m on the ground floor of a two-story place. And there’s no roof access.” Jack offered a grim smile at that.

Robby managed to bite back the thought that it probably didn’t even matter— the hospital was plenty tall enough, and Jack had access there whenever he wanted, if he ever figured that out. Robby wasn’t about to go and give Jack any more ideas if he could help it, though. Then again, Jack hadn’t shown any particular signs that he was going to drag himself up and over a ledge, so Robby knew he needed to quiet his own personal fears. So instead, he said, “You really thought this through.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jack nodded anyway.

“Why…” Robby began, but his tongue stuck in his mouth, his throat clicking. Robby paused, taking a breath so that the emotion didn’t get the chance to well up. He would not cry. “Why can’t you stay?”

He tried hard to keep his desperation from bleeding through, but judging by the way Jack’s eyes softened and the sad smile he gave Robby, he clearly had failed.

“I can’t, Robby.” Jack shrugged, arms still crossed, and Robby abruptly realized this wasn’t Jack’s casual posture, but a defensive one. “As much as it—” he cut himself off, mouth snapping shut tight enough that Robby saw a muscle pull taut in his jaw. He tried again. “I asked for a divorce for a reason. I was too fucked up to work on this relationship then, and I’m still too fucked up to try again.”

It was Robby’s turn to give a laugh, though it sounded a little more out of control than he meant it. “‘Asked’,” he repeated, more to himself, as he shook his head. “That’s funny.”

A pinched expression came over Jack’s face. “I need space to work on myself, Robby. And I cannot— I will not— keep dragging you over the coals. It’s not fair to you.”

Robby shook his head again, another laugh escaping him. He snapped, “Right, because god forbid anything is unfair to me.”

“It’s not fair to me either,” Jack shot back, though there wasn’t any real heat in his tone. “But yeah, Robby. Sue me if I don’t want to keep drowning you with me.”

“So pick up the fucking floaties, Jack. Don’t push me away.” By focusing so hard on not letting himself cry, Robby accidentally tripped into anger. The pettiness felt good after trying to hold it together for so long.

But the patient look on Jack’s face took the wind out of Robby’s sails. Jack wasn’t hurt by anything Robby said to him, that much was obvious; he was already hurt in ways Robby couldn’t comprehend.

Jack breathed deeply, and Robby wondered how many tips he’d picked up in therapy. Then again, Jack had always been calmest under pressure— when everything went to shit, he always managed to be the steady one, guiding everyone through like a lighthouse.

“Robby, I am a mess. You deserve better. You deserve someone better than me, and a life that’s not fucking tied down to misery, which is what will happen if I stay. You are going to break yourself trying to fix me, and I will not have that on my conscience.”

Robby opened his mouth to argue, but Jack cut him off. “Don’t even fucking try to deny it. I have been awful to you, laying on hurt after hurt, and forcing you to take more. Don’t think I don’t know what I’ve done to you. And I’m sorry, I’m—” Jack’s voice cracked, and Robby’s throat went tight, his eyes suddenly stinging. “I’m so fucking sorry that I’ve— that I’m like this. That I couldn’t help myself, and you bore the brunt.”

A lump in Robby’s throat didn’t let him speak just yet.

Jack uncrossed his arms and brought one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his breath shuddering out of him. “But I can do something now. So, I’m going to do my best. And I know I have no right to ask you anything, but I’m asking you to do yourself a favor and let me go. Date other people. Find someone who can give you what I can’t.”

Robby shook his head at Jack’s words, his intentions, this situation, this shitty fucking decision that was never Robby’s to make. He never got to choose.

“I don’t want to,” Robby whispered, his voice shot. Cheeks too warm, a vein pulsing in his forehead, and Robby still refused to break. He wouldn’t prove Jack right.

Again, that sad smile was directed at him. “I know. But I can’t make you happy, and you deserve to be happy, Robby.” Jack wiped a knuckle at the corner of his eye, and Robby looked away.

Jack sniffled and then said, “It’s about time I admit that I gotta work on my existential crisis.”

Robby let out a shaky laugh, though it wasn’t all that funny. Nothing about this was funny. This was a divorce being imposed on him time and time again, and Robby knew he needed to accept it. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to agree, but he had to pretend.

Fake it ‘till he could make it.

“Yeah,” Robby finally got out, throat thick. “Heard those suck.”

Jack laughed again, though the tears made it sound choked.  

2016 (January 3^rd)

“Mmm, that feels nice,” Robby mumbled, and with the way his mouth was pressed against the pillow, he was sure the words came out sounding muffled or slurring.

Jack’s soft laughter confirmed that Robby wasn’t as slick as he tried to be, but it didn’t bother Robby at all. Not when Jack’s fingers continued to trail up and down Robby’s back in soft passes, chasing the prickling skin that continued to dry from where Jack had cleaned him up.

“You look high, all relaxed and limp. A pretty mess.” There was pride in Jack’s tone that Robby picked up on, and he smiled at the thought that Jack liked how he could wreck Robby with sex.

Robby certainly didn’t mind, not when Jack was fantastic in bed. And he definitely didn’t mind it when Jack’s fingers drew higher and a hand slipped into Robby’s hair.

“Mmm,” Robby groaned immediately, goosebumps rising up as Jack carded sure fingers through the longer strands. For a while now, Robby had been thinking of cutting his hair shorter— the length was beginning to annoy him, and he was ready for a change— but with the way Jack touched him, scraping blunt nails through his scalp before grabbing on and tightening his hold, Robby was willing to wait a little longer. This felt great, and Robby would do anything to have repeats of moments like these.

“You’re like a cat,” Jack commented as the bed dipped beside Robby. Without opening his eyes, Robby could tell Jack had lain down next to him— hand still playing with Robby’s hair— and was on his side, watching Robby.

Jack did that a lot— watch Robby.

Lying on his stomach, naked with only a top sheet pulled up half-heartedly up his thighs, and his arms stretched out in front of him under the pillow, Robby might have agreed with the assessment. “Meow.”

Laughter bubbled up out of Jack and filled the room. Just hearing it made Robby grin like a schoolboy, and he stretched out purposefully. Pleasant aches lit up along his muscles, reminding him of what they’d done, and Robby felt great— happy and easy. Light.

Jack’s fingers continued their gentle petting, over Robby’s neck, down his shoulders, swiping down his back and then up again— tracing his spine in a way that made Robby shiver convulsively. He earned another chuckle for that display, and Jack’s hand flattened in response, palm warm as it erased the tickling feeling. It only lasted a few moments before Jack lightened his touch again, and the fingers trailed up. This time, they bypassed Robby’s neck, going instead over Robby’s shoulder and down the arm closest to Jack.

It took a few moments for Robby’s thoughts to form again, his attention focused on the fact that Jack’s fingers were lingering on Robby’s bicep, thumb rubbing back and forth over inked skin.

“Can I ask about these?” Jack’s voice was low, quiet, as if it was only for Robby, here in this room, despite them being the only ones here.

For once, Robby didn’t feel like giving his usual bullshit answer— about how they’re good reminders to have when working in this field. He knew Jack’s history, knew that Jack would understand the surface-level reasoning just fine. Robby could tell him to simply read and translate them, and Jack would leave it there and move on.

Robby wanted to explain.

Opening his eyes, Robby caught Jack’s gaze was on the tattoo— ‘amor fati’ on his right arm. ‘memento mori’ on his left was obscured by the pillow, but Robby knew that Jack had seen it multiple times, knew what it said, and where it was.

“I credit my grandmother for them.” Robby propped himself, arm holding his head up, which created a fantastic stretch of his back. The muscles in his body seemed to contract all at once to hold the tension before he breathed out and settled in comfortably.

Jack watched avidly, his fingers sliding down Robby’s arm to perch along Robby’s forearm instead. His complete attention was on Robby, which should have felt unnerving, but Robby found that he liked it. A lot. Jack had a way about him that made it seem like there was no one else in the world when he looked at Robby like that.

“I lived with my grandmother after my parents died.” Robby swallowed back the old pit of grief, time having blunted the edges but unable to erase them. He'd long ago accepted that the sorrowful ache would stay with him forever. “Car accident. It was truly a fluke, no one at fault.”

Jack’s eyes softened as Robby spoke. Pity was something that Robby typically detested, but the sympathy Jack offered him was different somehow; Jack knew what it was like to lose people close to him and understood the grief that still gripped Robby’s heart in a brutal vice when he least expected it.

“But I was an angry kid, screaming at the world about how unfair it was. Losing them…” Robby’s lungs stuttered on his next breath, and he took a moment to force a normal rhythm again. “I was so angry. I was supposed to have been in the car with them, gone out with them, and yet I was still here when they weren’t, and it wasn’t— it wasn’t fair.”

The fingers on his forearm absently brushed back and forth, and Robby took comfort from the gesture.

“My mom’s mom took me in, dealt with the terror of a grandson who didn’t want to face the truth, all while she was grieving her own daughter. She used to say,” Robby sighed heavily, his lips quirking into a soft smile. “She used to say that everybody died. It was the fact of life. No one escaped the end because it was the one thing you could never cheat.” Robby changed the position of his hand so his wrist wouldn’t fall asleep. “No matter what anyone tried to do or said, everyone had their expiration date. Unfortunately, some people like to forget that fact, so it's important to enjoy life when you can, knowing that you were never going to know when your ticket gets punched.” Robby’s smile grew wider. “That was up to what fate had in store for you.”

Jack nodded slowly, never stopping the movements of his fingers.

Robby continued, “I could have spent my whole life angry and bitter. Punishing myself for something I could never change in the end. Or…” A huff of laughter came out of him unbidden. “Or I could learn to love my fate, whatever it held for me. I could only do my best and try to make a difference while I was still here. So that’s what I decided I wanted to do. I wanted to embrace my fate and remember that everyone will die. I can try to reschedule that appointment to the best of my abilities, but when your name is called, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

“That’s beautiful,” Jack said, solemn. The intensity of Jack’s focus on Robby was comforting. Even more welcome was when Jack leaned forward and kissed Robby’s bicep, lips right over the fading black ink. The motion was purposeful, slow, and almost unbearably intimate.

Grinning, Robby twisted and turned onto his back, pulling Jack atop him in the same movement— a thrill going through him when Jack let himself be manhandled so easily, as if in sync with Robby at all times.

“You know,” Robby began when Jack was settled on top of him, looking at him intently. Jack gave an inquisitive hum. “I have to say that I’m loving my fate right now, since it’s brought you to me.”

At that, Jack’s face split into a wide smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively.

Pulling Jack in, Robby continued, “I know I’ll die someday, so I’m going to enjoy every moment I can until then.”

“Hmm, I can agree with that sentiment,” Jack said, nodding as he dropped his face close to Robby’s and nudged their noses together. “Though I’d rather hope we have many moments together before anything dire happens.”

Robby chuckled. “Me too.”

Jack angled their faces and kissed Robby deeply. When he pulled back, he rolled his hips over Robby’s, drawing a groan from them both at the answering interest found there. “Wanna enjoy this moment a little more with round two?”

In a rush, Robby agreed, “God, yes.”

2020 (March 29^th)

“Well, shit,” Robby muttered, shaking his head.

Bridget nodded solemnly as she signed off and gestured towards the clipboard for Dana, who was also shaking her head.

“Hopefully, you guys can turn some things around today,” Bridget said, though no one called her out on the false hope in her tone. They all knew things were getting worse by the day, and the influx of patients they were seeing wasn’t about to slow down any time soon.

“Go home, get some rest,” Robby said before looking around. “Where’d he go?”

Bridget grabbed a few sanitizer wipes and began to clean up her station. “He mentioned something about wanting to get some air. I don’t blame him.”

Dana glanced towards the ambulance bay doors, and Robby looked over, too. Looking back at Dana, he asked, “Can you hold down the fort a moment?”

Waving him off, “Go. We’ve got this right now.”

Robby rapped his knuckles on the counter, saying, “I owe you one.”

Dana didn’t deign to respond past a knowing look, and then Robby was headed off through the ambulance bay doors. He looked around, but didn’t immediately see Jack, so he walked out further and then to one side. Nothing still, so he checked the other side.

Jack still needed to do changeover, so there wasn’t any reason to think that he’d left, but then again, after the night he’d apparently had, Robby wasn’t too sure what he could count on anymore.

He walked back inside, defeated, and Dana immediately saw his expression and knew what was up. “Not out there?”

Robby shook his head. He wondered if he needed to start walking around the floor, thinking maybe Jack slipped into a room for a moment, but as he did a full turn, he looked out the ambulance bay doors again. He began to shake his head again and was about to go door-to-door when his eyes snagged on the stairwell next to the ambulance bay doors. To the left was the viewing room, but to the right were the stairs, leading up.

“I’ll be back,” Robby threw behind him and walked towards the stairwell, hoping to god his gut feeling was wrong. He didn’t even bother trying for the elevators on the other side of the floor, knowing he’d be stopped immediately. Instead, he climbed.

By the time he reached the roof access door, Robby’s chest was heaving, and a stab of guilt went through him at the feeling; how many of his patients struggled just like this, unable to catch their breath properly?

He gave himself a full minute to calm down, but he was still breathing audibly by the time he pushed open the door and walked out onto the roof. Robby had hoped he’d find the space empty, but sure enough, Jack was there. And on the wrong side of the fucking railing.

The sight pissed Robby off.

The fear, the guilt, the anger— they bubbled up despite Robby trying to swallow them back; knowing Jack well enough to even anticipate him making his way up here was annoying, and frustration was thrown into the mix of emotions. 

Robby was grateful he didn’t have to worry about how to approach Jack without startling him because he was sure he would have failed immediately, but luckily, Jack heard something— the door opening, Robby’s breathing, his steps— and his head swiveled towards the sound.

It made it easier for Robby to ask, “What the fuck are you doing up here?”

Jack had the goddamn decency to look nearly sheepish, from the half a view Robby could see, but his tone was more empty than Robby would have liked to hear as he said, “It’s not like that, Robby.”

Reaching the railing, Robby asked, “Yeah? What’s it like then? Because this,” Robby gestured towards Jack and the obvious fact that he was only a few steps away from the fucking edge, “gives off a pretty specific impression.”

Jack watched Robby from the side, and when Robby leaned his forearms against the railing, only two feet away, Jack seemed to relax, as if he’d been anticipating getting physically pulled back to safety. The loosening of his shoulders only pissed Robby off more, though he wouldn’t have been able to describe why.

“I wanted some air. Needed to get away from it all,” Jack explained, turning his attention back out to the abyss. With the morning light breaking through, the view was probably pretty enough, but Robby refused to look away from Jack, keeping him in his sights at all times so he didn’t miss a single twitch.

“The parking lot has plenty of air,” Robby commented dryly, and he knew he wasn’t hiding his anger very well.

Jack gave a half-shrug and lifted his hand, showing off an N95 dangling from his finger. “Don’t have to wear a mask up here.”

Robby breathed out a long exhale, bending over slightly to stretch. He could understand that. His own mask had been on since he left his car, and there was a world of difference between wearing one in case-by-case situations and living in fear of not wearing one all the time and the implications that came with the possibility of contributing to cases rising.

But the pairing of Jack's suicidal ideation and his choice of the hospital roof as a break room was not a great mix.

“I’m not going to jump, Robby,” Jack said when Robby didn’t reply. “I’m really not. I was just… looking for some peace and quiet.”

The assurance didn’t quite do its job.

“Then prove it,” Robby said. “Come back over.”

Jack breathed in deeply and then let it out through pursed lips, dragging out the moment. There was no missing the eyeroll Jack gave before he nodded once, sharp, more to himself, and turned around.

“You just hate the cold,” Jack accused mildly, but he crawled under the railing. His prosthetic foot got caught on the bar, and he had to twist slightly to get it free, but in the time Robby’s heart lunged into his throat, Jack was straightening up, calm and collected.

Robby pointedly looked around at the damp spots still lingering on the ground— patches of melting frost. The days were growing warmer, but the nights were still fucking chilly.

“Don’t slip on the slick.”

Jack gave a sigh, but he was careful as he began to walk towards the doors, Robby in step behind him.

“We’re steadily on the road to getting more patients than we can handle if this keeps up,” Jack said bitterly, “and it’s only going to get worse exponentially.”

Robby nodded and held the door open for him. Mercifully, Jack went to the elevator and hit the button; taking the stairs once had been enough for Robby.

“Cases are rising. Everyone’s freaked out, and it’s stressful,” Robby agreed. Jack snorted at the succinct summary, but he nodded. The elevator doors opened and they both stepped in.

Before Jack could get ready to speedrun Robby on his caseload, Robby blurted, “We should live together again.”

Jack’s head snapped towards Robby, a bewildered expression on his face. Robby ignored it and continued, “We can be each other’s bubbles, Jack. Not worry about being alone.”

He’d meant to float the idea as a practical option, but he’d obviously been incapable of reining back his goddamn yearning.

Robby knew before Jack said anything that he’d failed on the front of being convincing.

“That’s not a good idea, Robby,” Jack said, sounding like he was trying to soften the rejection some. Robby was already nodding automatically. “The hospital wouldn’t be able to afford being down two attendings if one of us got it.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Robby muttered, begrudgingly agreeing. “It’s just…”

This time, it was Jack who nodded. “I know.”

Robby couldn’t handle pity from Jack, so he quickly changed the subject. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

He faced the elevator doors so he could avoid whatever Jack’s expression was doing. It was bad enough that he could hear the sympathy in Jack’s voice as he began to report.

2026 (June 4^th)

“I’m going to take a sabbatical. I figured a solid month, month and a half would be a good idea to just— recharge. I was thinking of going on a road trip.”

Jack blinked, bewildered at the sudden information dump. He’d been waiting for Robby to come home from his appointment after his shift— and why Robby had decided to work today was beyond him— but the door had barely opened before Robby was striding inside and talking a mile a minute.

“You… what?” Jack asked, not even sure where he wanted to start unraveling this conversation.

“A sabbatical,” Robby repeated, shoes off. His bag was already down, dropped unceremoniously, which had startled Jack; Robby typically took care of his belongings, and certainly didn’t go tossing shit everywhere. “I have a lot of hours accrued, and HR has been whispering about not allowing rollovers starting this next year. So I might as well use what I’ve got.”

Jack stepped back as Robby walked past him, going into the kitchen and to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle.

“You want to go on a vacation?” Jack asked, trying to see where Robby was coming from.

“Yeah, next month. I figured, why not? We’ve got solid residents, an incredible team of nurses, and a few other attendings that need a chance to step up. Can’t do that if I’m around.” Robby took a long pull of the water, but his eyes were on Jack, bright.

And slightly manic, Jack realized.

Narrowing his eyes at Robby, Jack wondered what can of worms had been opened during his appointment today to cause this.

“I’m all for vacations, Robby,” Jack began slowly, stepping into the kitchen and crossing his arms, “but I’m not sure if next month is the best time to up and leave.”

Robby waved him off. “They’ll be fine. I was thinking I could go west. Go down the coastline, maybe even hit Mexico before crossing back along the south. Do a full interstate tour. I think that would be fun, just out in the open road.” Robby’s grin was too sharp for Jack’s liking. “The wind on my face like a crazy teenager.”

With a start, Jack realized what was going on. “On the bike, you mean.”

Robby clearly caught Jack’s flat tone because he lowered the water bottle from where he’d been about to drink again. “Yeah?” There was a defensiveness in his voice, as if daring Jack to say anything else on the subject.

Leaning against the counter, Jack tried to take a deep breath— he hadn’t been expecting to have a quiet fight— or whatever the fuck this was— the minute Robby got home.

“So you’re trying to kill yourself, is that it?” Jack probably could have worded it differently, but he was off-kilter.

“What? No.” Robby had the decency to look gobsmacked, at least, but it didn’t do a thing to soothe Jack.

“No? You’re not hoping to crash the bike somehow? Long stretches of road where you can creep up to top speeds. All it takes is a—”

“Jesus, Jack, no.” Robby shook his head. “I just need a little perspective, is all. Fresh air helps with that, so I’ve been told.” He looked pointedly at Jack, dangling the bait about how Jack tends to find his own fresh air.

“Then you’re running away, Robby,” Jack sighed heavily, untucking his arms to lean them behind him on the counter. “You wanna say this isn’t a convenient way to take yourself out of the equation, fine, but you’re definitely not facing something right now. Your problems are still going to be here when you come back.”

“My life is fucking peachy, Jack. Haven’t you noticed? What could I possibly be running from?”

Jack stared at him hard, unable to quite believe the bullshit coming out of Robby’s mouth right now. He knew denial was a powerful thing, but holy shit.

But then again, maybe this escape was less about denial and more about wishful thinking, Jack pondered, watching Robby’s face; there was a mask there, even with Jack, but the cracks still showed, and he realized that Robby was trying to speak something into existence.

He was trying to convince himself more than Jack.

“Let’s start with Langdon, then,” Jack finally said, after a moment of letting that patently false claim hang in the air.

Robby set the water bottle on the counter and turned away from Jack, his hands coming up to interlace behind his neck. The move was familiar— Robby trying to ease the tension of stress somehow, but Jack waited him out.

It didn’t take long before Robby turned back to Jack, letting his hands slide down to drop by sides. He gave a ‘what’ gesture before saying, “Okay, fine. I don’t want to deal with Langdon’s first day back. Or first few weeks. Fucking sue me. Why do I have to be the one to clean up that mess? It’s not like I was a good influence the first time around.”

Jack didn’t really know what to say to that.

“And anyway, I put in for the time off already. I’m skipping the Fourth of July weekend entirely.”

Robby didn’t give Jack a chance to respond, pushing past him and stalking out of the kitchen. Jack watched mutely as Robby headed down the hallway, and the slam of a door told him that Robby was done with this conversation.

A breath caught in Jack’s lungs, and he let it out slowly. He hadn’t handled that well at all, and the guilt clawed through his chest. He turned back towards the kitchen, unsure of what to do— Robby was going to need space right now. Any further cornering would only shut him down harder, and Jack didn’t even know where to start with the game plan to address this notion of a sabbatical.

He wasn’t even against the idea, on its face. Lord knew that Robby deserved a fucking vacation, and Jack would love for him to enjoy his time off. But the circumstances surrounding it didn’t feel like the positive angle it should have been, and Jack was worried. He apparently sucked at communicating that.

Jack’s gaze fell on the countertop, on the cutting board with foil wrapped around the flat iron steak that was still resting; he’d timed the meat to be ready for when Robby came home, and the scallops in the fridge would have only taken a few minutes in the pan. The spice bottle of saffron was next to the pan— everything ready to go at a moment’s notice.

He’d wanted to surprise Robby with a favorite meal for his birthday, and now it was going to get cold.

2020 (September 15^th)

This was fucking hell.

The world had gone crazy, people were dying, and through all the insurmountable pressure, Robby ached not to have Jack close by. Catching glimpses of him during handoff wasn’t enough, but it was all Robby had.

If only he could fucking find the man.

“Fresh air,” from Lena had been Robby’s clue, and since when did that become a goddamn codeword? They’d be announcing it on the floor someday and everyone would know: Code Fresh Air meant Jack might actually do it this time.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Robby muttered as he crossed the roof, beelining for Jack, who was once again, tempting fate in a way that had Robby rubbing his bicep compulsively.

Leaning back against the railing, Jack didn’t even indicate that he’d heard Robby approaching, didn’t look over when Robby was within touching distance, but he did reply, “She turned five last month. Congenital HIV, but she was thriving. At least until her cough got out of control and her lungs gave up.”

Jack’s hands gripped the railing behind him, and he leaned forward, looking down. Robby fought back the instinct to rush and grab him, taking a shred of comfort in the fact that he could see how tightly Jack was holding on.

“Had to intubate her and she was… so small. All the machines hooked up to her, and she couldn’t—” Jack cut himself off. He didn’t need to say the rest; Robby could fill in perfectly fine. An immunocompromised child coming in now was going to be rough.

“I just…” Jack shook his head. “I just needed a minute, Robby.”

Robby’s silence was pointed enough that Jack swayed back, loosening his grip— white-knuckled— and relaxed against the railing, his gaze going off into the distance.

“We were going to lose her before she stepped foot in the hospital because assholes can’t wear a fucking mask.”

Robby could agree on that point. “The whole world’s going to shit.” He hated turning on the TV and seeing the latest fuckery, in politics, in cases rising, in people losing their minds and basic human dignity. In common sense.

Jack scoffed and muttered, “Fucking ‘heroes’ my ass. Nobody wants to be told what to do, even if it means helping someone else. Saving a little girl’s life…”

There wasn’t much to say to that. But that wasn’t the point— Jack knew Robby was on his side, and simply needed to rant and say his grievances out loud. Robby didn’t mind being the sounding board, but he wished they could have been doing this downstairs.

Jack must have picked up on Robby’s worry because he finally looked over, silent as Robby’s shoulders slumped. Robby scrubbed his eyes hard. Fuck, he was tired already, and it was the beginning of the shift. The moment he went back downstairs, the chaos was going to clock in and not give him a single moment’s rest until he forced himself to walk out of the building.

Maybe Jack did have the right idea, escaping the mess downstairs.

Robby glanced over the railing and wondered how long it would take to fall, and if it was enough time to regret the decision or watch your life flash before your eyes, as people liked to say.

He noticed Jack turning around in place, only to lean on the railing from the opposite side, his attention on Robby.

“No change on Adamson. All the same.”

Robby hissed out a shaky exhale, finishing with a nod to acknowledge that he heard. People liked to say that ‘no news was good news,’ and Robby wished that could apply in this case as well. Suddenly feeling weary down to his bones, Robby doubled over, leaning on the railing and letting it hold him up for a little while. Jack was still on the other side, and Robby couldn’t bring himself to berate him about coming over to the right side.

“He’ll pull through, I know it,” Robby said straight down to the ground from where he was bent over. They’d seen extraordinary cases and Adamson was still alive, still had a chance.

Jack didn’t call him out on the sound of false hope in his tone, but he did clear his throat and shift enough to catch Robby’s attention. Robby glanced over enough to see that Jack was fidgeting, acting almost nervous.

“What?” Robby asked sharply, daring Jack to say anything contrary.

Clearing his throat one more time, Jack began to hesitantly broach the subject that Robby had been adamantly, furiously ignoring. “Robby, I know you don’t want to hear this, but it might be time to let him go.”

Robby reared back, straightening immediately and facing Jack head-on. “It’s not time to do fucking anything.”

“He’s been on ECMO for—”

“I know how long he’s been down there, Jack,” Robby snapped.

Jack nodded in appeasement, but he clearly wasn’t done. “I know, I know. I just meant… if you need someone to make the call, I can—”

“What the fuck are you offering right now?” Robby bit out, needing to take a physical step backwards, shutting Jack down. He didn’t want to have this conversation anymore. Jack could stay up here for all he cared.

He turned to leave, but then let out a frustrated growl because he did care. Turning back to Jack, he pointed a finger at him, “Get the fuck back in the building so I can go to work.”

For once, Jack took the hint, and blinked at Robby before quietly ducking under the railing. He blessedly didn’t say another word as Robby led him back to the elevator. They were silent the whole way down, and once the doors began to open and the wall of noise from the floor greeted them, he turned towards Jack and said, “Go home. I’ll figure out the status of your cases on my own.”

Robby didn’t wait to see what Jack’s reaction to that order would be and walked out. Almost immediately, he was approached, providing a much-needed distraction.

“Dr. Robby? I wanted to run something by you for a patient of mine; can you come take a look?”

“Sure, Samira. I’m all yours.” There might have been a look of surprise on her face at Robby’s sudden attention, but he couldn’t really tell through the masks. She’d only been there since July for her ED rotation—that had extended months because they needed the bodies— but already they’d fallen into a dynamic that grated on Robby’s nerves. She was motivated— would probably make a fantastic doctor someday if she’d trust her instincts more, but he hated how many times he had to tell her to pick up her speed.

God, and what a fucking joke it was anyway, all of these poor med students dealing with this shit; it was ridiculous that these kids, freshly out of school, or barely scraping by to graduate, were being pulled onto the floor and thrown into the fire simply because they needed the bodies.

At least Samira seemed like one of the students who could pull through, but she struggled to move at the pace the ED required, preferring to sit by patients' bedsides, and Robby wondered if she was cut out for emergency medicine."

As she led him through the floor to a patient outside of Central 12, Robby glanced towards Pedes, seeing the end of Adamson’s bed through the window. He could almost hear Adamson’s voice, laughing as he clapped Robby’s shoulder with his hand, saying  that Samira reminded him of a younger Robby.

He was pretty sure that was meant to be a compliment of sorts for Samira, but most days, Robby didn’t see the resemblance. Adamson was seldom ever wrong, but Robby wondered if this would be an exception.

Then Robby stopped wondering about anything at all as he focused on the report.

2015 (October 25^th)

“Holy shit, man,” Jack crowed, a breathless grin on his face as they watched surgery take their patient upstairs. “That was a fucking impressive save.”

Robby blinked, taken aback by the compliment— that was all backwards— but he couldn’t stop his own smile— the adrenaline was still pumping hard, given how intense and insane this case had been. “Me? That was all you.”

“Nah, man, you got her stable. You caught the aortic dissection in the middle of all that mess. Jesus, how did you catch that?” Jack snapped off his gloves, throwing them in the trash in a single arc.

Robby shook his head. “Yeah, but you kept her from bleeding out.” Nearly three hours of touch-and-go, and yet Jack had been the impressive one, refusing to give up. “Surgery’s got a chance to put in that stent-graft because of you.”

“You kept her alive— oh my god, are you blushing?” Jack stopped suddenly, and Robby was suddenly viciously glad that they were the only two in the aftermath of the trauma room for the moment; they wouldn’t be for long, so Robby tried to pull it together.

“No,” he immediately denied, pulling off his own gloves and going to the wall for the hand sanitizer as a buffer, despite knowing the back of his neck was burning hot, and no doubt red enough to see from L&D at this rate. “Just hot in here. You’re not sweating after all that?”

Jack gave a bright peal of laughter at that. “Sure, man. It’s the heat.” The incredulity in his tone was nearly masked by his good humor, and Robby didn’t push it. He was still riding high on the success.

More than that, realization was crashing down on him about how seamlessly they had worked together. With all the whirlwind, it was becoming astonishingly clear that they’d been an amazing team despite the fact that, for the past few months, they’d been on the fence with each other, feeling each other out the few times they crossed paths.

Which, admittedly, hadn’t been often. Their schedules rarely overlapped, and Robby wondered how much of that had been Adamson’s doing, slowly warming the water to get them both accustomed to each other until they were too far gone to go back.

They were both… big personalities, as the grapevine that Robby denied he ever listened to like to say. So they may have butted heads on the few occasions they’d come together over a patient, each with approaches that rubbed the other the wrong way. But they’d been absolutely on the same page this time and pulled off a batshit crazy treatment that worked. Jack had gained Robby’s respect without Robby even realizing it— he’d chalked Jack’s attitude up to ego, but Robby had to admit he’d been peacocking this whole time too.

The sound of the door opening made Robby look up and he smiled back reflexively at the grin Adamson had on his face.

“Good work, boys,” Adamson said genially, heading towards a monitor. “That was some teamwork there.”

Jack made a low and joyful whooping noise, his arms coming up over his head in a stretch before interlocking his hands behind his nape, still breathing hard. “This was what I was born to do.”

A near-giddy laugh escaped Robby at that, not even feeling the need to interject; he could relate and thought Jack’s assessment was spot on. He’d never seen anyone so in their element like Jack had been, making for such an exciting watch and an easy pull of gravity into his orbit.

“This was similar to what we got to see in the desert,” Jack commented to the room. At Robby’s raised eyebrow, he amended with a wink, “Fewer bullets flying everywhere, though.”

Robby laughed.

“I would hope so,” Adamson responded lightly, his own happiness obvious. Jack’s joy was simply so palpable and contagious that no one could escape it.

Jack slipped his hands up his neck to tussle his hair, the curls going every which way and leaving him looking endearing. It was infuriating how carefree he could be, how young he looked in that moment, and Robby couldn’t stop smiling.

Robby watched as Jack walked across the room and stopped next to Robby, landing a congenial hand on his shoulder as he said, “I would have killed to have a brother like you back in Iraq. God, we would’ve been unstoppable. Best squad in the dirt.”

“Yeah?” Robby was proud he didn’t stammer. He was oddly touched, and very surprised that Jack apparently was being genuine right now.

“Fuck yes. You’re the real deal, brother.” Jack’s thumb brushed back and forth along Robby’s collarbone, and Robby could feel the heat through his scrub top and undershirt. The touch felt electrifying, lingering a second longer than what Robby would have thought could be considered casual.

With a start, Robby blinked and was hit by the realization that their friendly animosity had been attraction this whole time. Sure, Jack was hot, but that was a given— something that could be overlooked when presented with the storm of cowboy ideas he brought with him like a halo. But the way that Jack looked at him now, staring hard as if nothing else in the world mattered, grinning at him like Robby had hung the moon— this was different. The hand on his shoulder, squeezed firmly, and it wasn’t to show dominance, but to send a signal, Robby was sure.

“You really do get warm, don’t you?” Jack commented, his thumb sliding far enough along Robby’s shoulder to lightly touch the side of his neck— right where Robby felt his blush extend. “Might need to go cool down a minute, yeah? Take care, brother.”

Jack’s hand abruptly slipped off, and then he was heading out the door, catching hand sanitizer on the way to the hub, leaving Robby dumbstruck with his revelation.

“Yeah, you— you too, bro—brother,” Robby called after him, voice losing volume immediately as embarrassment crashed into him over his out-of-step timing. Luckily, the door had closed fast enough for Jack to not hear, and he didn’t see Robby cringe and hunch his shoulders— his left side still feeling the ghost imprint of Jack’s touch.

A low, throaty chuckle startled Robby into spinning around, and mortification swelled up at record speed as he realized he’d forgotten that Adamson was still in the room.

“That was a good save, Mike. You should feel proud. I know I’m proud of how your… teamwork skills have come along.” There was still mirth in Adamson’s face, but he didn’t give Robby a chance to respond, walking past him and adding, “Go and clean up, and we’ll meet you back out on the floor in five.”

He then winked knowingly at Robby and exited the trauma room, leaving Robby alone.

Turning on his heel, Robby strode across the trauma room; he’d never been so grateful to have the bathrooms literally on the other side, and he pushed into the men’s room. Blessedly, it was empty, and Robby went straight to the sink. He looked in the mirror and could barely swallow down the indignity that swelled up as he realized how fucking obvious it was to anyone looking at him that his face was on fire. The blush colored his cheeks and extended down into his chest, and he knew he couldn’t blame it all on the high emotions.

And on top of that, Robby had to deal with the chagrin of his mentor knowing him so well; Adamson knew damn well that Robby had a crush.

2020 (September 24^th)

He killed Adamson.

How was he still allowed to be here, to be walking and working and free, when he killed one of the best men he ever knew?

“Hey, man,” Jack’s voice was soft, gentle in a way that Robby was getting used to again over the past week. “You ready to head out?”

Robby blinked, and realized he’d been staring at Pedes for a while, his body frozen to the spot. He could see the cartoon animals from here— the fucking fox staring at him accusingly. There were beds in there— they’d managed to fit three patients in the space, adding one more when last week there had only been two beds in the same room. But they were drowning, running out of space. There weren’t enough beds for everyone, and definitely not enough space to put them.

“Robby. Brother, you with me?” Jack’s tone was quiet, but still loud enough to hear through their PPE. Robby looked around, seeing the occupied beds in the hallway, but most of the patients were unconscious or otherwise distracted. Staff were busy checking in on patients in the rooms and further down the hall, so right now Robby and Jack had as much privacy as they were going to get.

Robby finally turned and looked at Jack, his head too heavy for him to move freely. But he did it, because there was an edge of concern in Jack’s voice that Robby didn’t want to exacerbate. Through the masks, Jack’s expression was soft, worried, and focused completely on Robby, searching him intently. The focus was familiar, and Robby wondered when he’d stopped feeling the thrill of being under Jack’s scrutiny.

There was only numbness now.

“Robby?” Jack asked again, and his gloved and protected hand was on Robby’s shoulder, the crinkle of plastic sounding overly loud.

What was Robby supposed to say right now? What did Jack want? Abruptly, Robby realized that Jack had been lingering longer during hand-off with Robby, checking in more often, which Robby figured made sense. But he didn’t know what to say to Jack, didn’t know what Jack wanted to hear. What Robby could tell him and what he should tell him were two completely different matters, and there wasn’t a clear answer anymore.

Robby was suffocating. Drowning in guilt and fatigue and burnout and anguish, and yet he was still here. Still working. They were down so many people— no matter the fact that they’d pulled nurses and doctors from retirement to come help— and Adamson wasn’t the only staff to die, which meant that Robby couldn’t even take a day off, not really. Not without feeling the weight of every one of his failures threaten to choke him in the silence of his condo. The condo he’d bought with Jack. The condo they’d fixed and renovated and made theirs.

The condo that screamed at Robby for his inability to do anything right. Because everyone he ever loved and cared for left him, one way or another. He pushed Jack away, made him think he needed to run away, and then he killed Adamson. Not particularly great ways to show his love to people.

So Robby was spiraling, losing control of his life, but he couldn’t show it, not now certainly. Not when he’d been thrust into Adamson’s role almost immediately, the hospital needing to fill the gaping hole that Adamson’s death had left behind. He’d been interim chief while ECMO did its best, but now it’d been considered a given that Robby would stay in his role, so Robby couldn’t show anything but strength while the world crumbled around him.

But Jack knew him. Could see how fucked up Robby was. Was checking in and asking about him and trying to… trying to what? Fix him? Robby didn’t know.

What Robby did know was that he was fucked up. Looking at Jack right now and seeing in retrospect how well Jack had been doing lately— away from Robby and his bullshit— it was painful to understand that Jack was okay. He hadn’t needed Robby, and he certainly didn’t need Robby’s bullshit now.

With sudden clarity, Robby finally understood what Jack had tried to communicate to him the past two years: you can’t fix your mess by dragging people into your shit.

Robby didn’t think he could live with himself if he grabbed Jack’s open hand and pulled him down to drown alongside Robby— not after all the work Jack put in to recover and heal.

“Robby,” Jack tried again, obviously stressed at the lack of engagement he was receiving.

“Yeah, sorry,” Robby forced himself to respond, making his decision. Deliberately making himself give a laugh, Robby joked, “Think I need a nap.”

Jack’s expressions were always so clear to Robby, even through layers of plastic and masks. His eyes narrowed and the crinkles at the edges seemed deeper than usual, saying clearly that he wasn’t buying whatever Robby was trying to sell right now.

But Robby wasn’t going to back down. Not this time. He’d use humor and anything else at his disposal to deflect and avoid Jack getting swept back under the riptide.

“You got this?” Robby asked, gesturing mildly around him to encompass the shift change.

Jack made a sound in his throat, some noncommittal agreement, and replied, “I’ve got the floor. But Robby…”

Robby knew that tone and had to get himself out before Jack pried his way back under Robby’s skin. Unsticking his feet from where they’d been anchored, Robby turned his back on Pedes and Jack and began to weave his way around beds.

Jack was in step beside him, and Robby should have known better that Jack with a bone never gave up; Robby would have to out-stubborn the man for once.

“Robby, hey.”

Robby came to a stop, whirling around to face Jack with the blandest look on his face that he could manage, and waited. “What’s up?”

There was a brief look of surprise on Jack’s face, but he followed it up with, “How are you doing, brother?”

Robby forced himself to smile and was glad for the masks because he was sure he was grimacing instead. “Surviving. How’s that existential crisis of yours coming along?”

Again, surprise colored Jack’s expression, but he gamely took the bait. “Oh, you know, a work in progress.”

Robby nodded. He was then saved from having to continue the conversation when one of the night shift med students— Robby couldn’t remember his name— called out from North 3. “Dr. Abbot! I need you here!”

Tipping his head towards the side, Robby said, “Keep up the good work.”

The conflict in Jack’s eyes was unmistakable— he wanted to stay and continue this conversation, but he needed to go be an attending.

Work won out, because of course it did. It always did. Patients’ lives hung in the balance, and the medical staff were the last line of defense in the losing battle.

Personal grievances would have to wait.

2026 (July 4^th)

“Dana! Where are we going?” Jack called out the moment they strode through the ambulance bay doors. Pushing in a screaming child on a gurney, Jack ignored the shocked looks on the faces of the security guards and a passing med student— being in full TEMS uniform and covered in blood was probably a little surprising. 

Dana didn’t miss a beat, having seen Jack in uniform before and was unfazed by the sight, and pointed towards the trauma rooms and saying, “Trauma 1 is ready for you!”

“Activate MTP and let surg and anesthesia know we’re coming!” 

“What the fuck happened?” Robby appeared instantly among the rushing crowd— Perlah took over pushing the gurney, but Jack kept a hand on the kid, still trying to be reassuring. Mateo was right there, checking the IV Jack had put in just minutes ago, and Santos was next to Robby as they rolled through the doors into Trauma 1.

As they transferred the kid over the table, Jack rattled off, “Ten-year-old, vehicle vs motorcycle, abdomen tender to palpation, vitals ok-ish. I’m positive there’s internal bleeding. Fucking drunk driver broke through the barriers and hit him and his father while they were waiting on their motorcycle for the parade to start.” He couldn’t stop himself from looking up and immediately made eye contact with Robby, who was wide-eyed. Jack didn’t have time to parse out any of the emotions he saw in Robby’s face, though, and reported, “Dad was pronounced dead on scene, blunt force trauma.” And all of the blood on Jack was from the futile efforts of trying to save him.

“Jesus,” Santos murmured, and Jack could relate; he’d been volunteering at the Fourth of July fair, kitted out for a demo with the truck and equipment tours. The VA had wanted some meet-and-greet for the community PR, though Jack had known the volunteers were there doubling up as possible medics on scene if absolutely needed.

And it’d been needed.

The driver had plowed through the crowd, and from what Jack had seen, there’d been mostly minor injuries that were going to be trailing after them— this kid and his dad got the worst, it seemed.

“Gonna need wide bore IVs in both arms,” Jack told Santos, who immediately jumped on board.

A runner showed up with blood from the blood bank, and Jack pointed at him, saying, “Hang that,” and to Mateo, he ordered, “We need a trauma panel stat.”

“Baseline vitals?” Robby asked, before turning towards the kid and saying softly, “Hey, it’s okay. We’re here to help. Can you tell us your name?”

The kid had stopped screaming and was now crying, looking around with wide eyes, and Jack was sure he wasn’t seeing much— the kid had been screaming non-stop since he saw his dad mangled and covered in too much blood.

Jack responded, “Pulse 132, resps 34, shallow. Last BP was 100/68— can we get another BP now?— SpO2: 96. Abdomen was still soft in the field but,” Jack nodded towards the obvious bruising on the kid’s belly. “Alert…ish.”

And still crying.

Jack heard Perlah on the phone with peds surgery and anesthesia to let them know the ED team were on the way.

The kid didn’t respond when Robby again asked him his name, and Jack was suddenly hit with a weird sense of déjà vu— Robby wasn’t supposed to be here today. And yet, here he was, working, on a day that he’d taken off very specifically to head out on sabbatical. But Jack had known that— Robby got fucked in the scheduling this morning when the other attending got sick, and they needed Robby to fill in last minute. Jack was pretty sure Robby’s actual replacement was around somewhere, but couldn’t bother to guess as to how that’d been going so far today.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Jack continued, “Skin is warm, but getting clammy, not seeing cyanosis yet. GCS is…13.”

Robby managed to shine a light in the kid’s eyes, though he had to fight a little against the kid shaking his head, “Pupils PERRLA. He’s still compensating.”

“Kids have that nasty habit of falling off a cliff,” Jack pointed out— kids would be fine until they weren’t. “Priority is going to be surgery.”

“Hey, my name is Mateo. What’s your name?” Mateo tried, swapping with Robby the minute the penlight turned off. The kid was still crying, but he managed to turn towards Mateo and whisper something.

“We can send him straight to the OR?” Santos suggested on the other side of Robby.

“We can get a CT scan first— what did he say?” Robby asked as Mateo gave an encouraging smile to the kid.

“That’s good, Luke. You’re okay, we’re going to take care of you.”

The crying continued, especially as Jesse slipped in to draw blood for labs.

“What else are we working with?” Robby asked as Santos did the head-to-toe assessment, trying to find other injuries.

“Cap refill is sluggish, no other major trauma. Prepping for a EFAST scan.” She moved the ultrasound around, looking for fluid in different body compartments. “Positive in the abdomen.”

Jack nodded, his guesses confirmed. “That much blood is probably the liver. Let’s get TXA on board.”

When Jesse bumped into Jack, Jack moved out of the way to let him run the x-ray. Glancing over, Jack realized he didn’t recognize the recorder who was tracking everything that happened, starting an electronic health record for the patient or maybe searching for one already in existence; she must have been a new day shift staff member.

“Respiratory rate’s increasing and he’s getting tachy,” Perlah announced, and Jack realized the kid was quieting down.

“Shit,” Robby muttered, reaching over to lift the kid’s eyelids when Mateo backed off, checking the pupils while trying to get him to focus. “Luke? Luke, can you hear me?” Robby absently adjusted the non-rebreather mask from where it’d slipped.

“Mateo, can you— read my mind,” Jack nodded as Mateo started an IO in the tibia for more fluids.

Perlah reached around Jack to get a warm blanket on the kid where she could reach, and out of their way. Jesse was on warm-air circulators, from what Jack could see with a spared sliver of attention.

“He’s bradying down— systolic’s 70, SpO2s tanking.” Robby glanced at the monitors.

Jack winced as he checked Luke again, “He’s cyanotic.” Shit, he wasn’t perfusing.

“Pupils are unreactive,” Robby said as he once again opened the kid’s eyes.

Jesse palpated the kid and announced, “Abdomen is distended and firm.”

The monitors grew louder, and Jack glanced up to see Robby shake his head in frustration, followed by, “Shit, he’s hemorrhaging.”

“Apneic! Six-oh ET tube!” Jack called out, and before he could move, Robby was already prepping. The moment the tube was placed, an RT— Lucy? Jack couldn’t remember her name— took over to manage the airway.

“Systolic is 52,” Perlah called out loudly.

"He’s decompensated!" Santos said, shifting out of Jesse’s way. “He’s dumping all his blood into his belly; we need to stop the source of the bleeding.”

Perlah and Mateo were on task with fluid replacement— blood and crystalloids— but Jack could see it wasn’t doing a damn thing.

“We’re not going to make it to CT,” Jack told Robby.

Robby’s eyes darted up and down the kid’s torso before saying, “If it’s the liver, we can try cross clamping the aorta.”

Jack was brought up short at that. “You want to cut off blood to everything below? In a kid?”

Robby grimaced, clearly knowing what a wild idea that was. “It’d be risky, but it could give him a chance. We’d clamp just above the diaphragm, left thoracotomy.”

“Robby, that’s not standard practice— there’s an abysmal success rate in peds, you know that.”

“Really, you’re vouching for standard of care right now? If the kid is FTD, then—”

Perlah’s voice rang out loudly, saying, “V tach! Asystole!”

“Shit, starting compressions,” Robby took point. “C’mon, Luke. Stay with us.”

The sight of Robby doing compressions on a kid was awful, but Jack pushed the emotion down and refocused. He knew they needed to keep the brain perfused and said, “Let’s push more blood.”

Mateo was already there, following the order.

As Robby continued his compressions, he said, “Someone do the math for epi— he’s what, 80lbs?”

Robby could do the math himself if he wasn’t distracted, so Jack took over. “0.01 mig per kig with him weighing around 36-ish kilos…” Jack squinted and briefly looked up at the ceiling, calculating, “So point three six milligrams IV.”

“Push point three six of epi,” Robby ordered immediately, taking Jack at his word.

The recorder whose name Jack still hadn’t caught corroborated just a moment later with the Broselow tape, and Jack heard Santos murmur, “Woah, he did that in his head?”

No one answered her.

Glancing at the monitors, Robby announced, “Pulse check.”

Jesse was the one to announce, “No change.”

Robby got back into position to resume compressions.

“Labs are back!” Perlah announced. Jack saw she was on the phone and his focus was on her as she relayed, “Lactate’s nine three, PT’s 38, PTT’s 50, hematocrit’s 20, platelets 60. pH seven two, bicarb’s 15, AST and ALT are elevated.”

“Fuck,” Robby growled, but he kept going with the compressions. 

Jack felt his eyes widen in surprise— Robby knew damn well the kid was gone. CPR wasn’t going to make a fucking difference, not when he was just pumping all that blood straight into his belly like that. Maybe if this’d been an adult, they could’ve coded him all the way to the OR and into a crash ex lap, but even then, Jack knew that it wouldn’t have worked. There was just too much damage. 

“Robby…” Jack tried, not quite knowing what miracle Robby was grasping for here.

“Fuck,” Robby cursed again, and then nodded several times before he finally stopped. Straightening up, he looked at the clock and said, “TOD: 1743.”

That was when they heard a woman yelling outside the doors.

Jack’s heart plummeted, instinct informing him before his conscious mind could put together the pieces. He turned towards the doors just as they opened, and Dana was guiding in a woman in a pretty blue dress with white stars; belatedly, Jack realized that the outfit matched the one on the kid, and he knew the mother who had finally caught up to the hospital.

“Luke? Baby?” The woman’s voice was hoarse, and she had streaks of mascara under her eyes.

Jack looked at Robby and recognized the faint look of dissociation in his expression. There was no way Robby was going to be able to talk to this parent and explain how he had just called the time of death of her son.

Sure enough, Robby seemed to belatedly realize the woman was in the room, and he opened his mouth to say something— presumably condolences or the beginning of an explanation— but nothing came out.

“Luke?” The woman asked again, and it was then that she seemed to realize that no one was working on her son anymore. He was lying under the fluorescent lights, illuminated harshly with the bag-valve mask hanging limp from the ET tube protruding from his mouth, eyes closed, entirely too still.

“Luke!” She screamed and rushed forward. No one stopped her— Mateo immediately moved back to let her pass— and then she was sobbing as she curled over Luke’s head, hands stroking hair and lightly tapping his cheek. “Open your eyes, baby. It’s me, it’s mommy.”

Robby watched dumbly, and Jack stepped in, ready to help. He reached up to take his safety glasses off and realized he was still wearing his fucking gear. Making a fast choice and knowing how confusing camo print would be in the hospital, he immediately attacked his vest and undid the clasps as fast as he could. He shrugged out of his jacket and pushed it into Robby’s chest, who managed to catch it.

“Let’s clear the room,” Jack ordered quietly, and Santos, the RT, and Jesse immediately disappeared through the south exit while the rest carefully filed out through the north exit towards the hub.

Robby stood still, holding the jacket like a life vest, and Jack walked forward. Perlah stayed behind to turn off the monitors.

“Ma’am?” Jack began softly.

“Where did everyone go?” The woman asked through her tears. “Why aren’t they helping Luke? Why won’t he open his eyes?”

“Ma’am, my name is Dr. Jack Abbot. I was on the scene with your son.” He refrained from saying ‘husband’ as well, thinking that that would have to be another conversation to ease into, but it didn’t matter.

The woman looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and screamed, “You killed my son?” She turned to look at Robby. “Or was it you?”

Jack saw Robby flinch at that, and so did the woman, apparently, because she directed her words to Robby. “Why didn’t you save him? He’s just a little boy!”

Robby’s mouth opened and closed, no words coming out, and Jack knew this wasn’t going to be good for anyone in the room. Luckily, Perlah— who had been quiet in the background— seemed to notice, and she gave Jack a meaningful look before she came next to the woman and said in a soft voice, “Can you tell me about Luke?”

The grieving mother turned her attention towards Perlah, and then her face crumpled. Perlah didn’t skip a beat, moving in to hug the woman who wailed into Perlah’s shoulder. The mother’s hands were still clutching Luke where she could, and Jack had seen enough.

He trusted Perlah to take over and handle it from here.

He did not trust Robby right now.

Turning around, Jack strode up to Robby and said under his breath, “Let’s go.” He nearly had to force Robby to move, pushing him out the south exit doors, and was viciously glad when the hallway was clear. The sound of the woman’s crying didn’t taper off until the doors closed, but Jack kept pushing Robby towards South 20, bodily getting in the way of the view to the trauma doors.

“Robby,” Jack said, and he was glad that Robby pulled it together enough to glance at Jack, though the look in his eyes left something to be desired.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Robby said after a beat of searching Jack’s face. He still held the tactical jacket in his arms.

“Neither are you,” Jack pointed out, offering a smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes.

“Fuck,” Robby mumbled, looking down at the jacket. He breathed in deeply, and Jack was relieved to see him physically holding on and compartmentalizing this shitshow.

“Just a couple more hours of the shift,” Jack pointed out, trying to give him the light at the end of the tunnel. “I can stay and help,” he offered, hearing the sound of an ambulance’s wail cutting across the floor.

The look of gratified despair that Robby shot him then was almost comical— Robby wanted Jack there, but he obviously felt guilty dragging him in, so Jack shook his head to dispel whatever Robby was feeling right now. “You guys need the help, and I’ve suddenly got some free time on my hands.”

Like fucking clockwork, and with a sixth sense that Jack was envious of, Dana peeked her head from the other side of the hub and called down the hallway to them, “We’ve got two more patients coming in from your fair, Abbot. Could use your help!”

Jack wasn’t surprised— the kid had been the most urgent and had gotten the on-site ambulance ride, but the rest of the victims would be arriving now. Calling back to Dana, he affirmed, “I’m yours!”

Dana threw a thumbs-up, and Jack turned back to Robby, who looked more alert and back to word-mode.

“You got this, brother?” Jack asked, needing to check in.

Robby inhaled sharply and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah.” He handed Jack his uniform back. “You can use my locker. Same combination as always. Meet you in Trauma 2?”

Jack took one more moment to look over Robby and then began to fold his jacket over. “You got it, boss. Be there in a minute.”

Jack clapped Robby on the shoulder as he passed him, heading towards the lockers at a brisk pace.

It was only a few more hours. They could survive a few more hours in the Pitt.

2021 (December 31^st)

Robby was smiling.

And flushing. Definitely red all over as Dana liked to point out, as she refilled Robby’s champagne glass a little too generously, but he didn’t call her out on it.

She had invited a few people over to celebrate New Year’s, keeping the group small. Robby had been won over, surprisingly, despite cases rising like crazy, because Dana pointed out that most of the guests were in daily contact anyway. And that was certainly true— the get-together felt more like a work function than a private party, but Robby didn’t mind, almost finding comfort in the familiarity.

And it didn’t hurt that Jack was here too. Dana had apparently strong-armed him into coming, and while Robby had first assumed the night would be awkward—it was startling to realize this was the first time they’d gotten together outside of the hospital since Jack had moved out— he was quickly proven wrong with how easy conversation and interactions had been since the moment he stepped through the door.

The alcohol might’ve had something to do with the blurred edges, especially when their drinks kept getting topped off practically as soon as they took a sip. Over the course of the night, Robby learned that Jack was much more of a lightweight than he remembered, and he wondered vaguely at first if losing the leg had something to do with it— thinking there’d be less mass to contend with, before his tipsy mind remembered that that wasn’t the way gaba receptors worked. 

But no, Robby decided in the end. The alcohol wasn’t entirely the reason that being in Jack’s orbit was a pleasant, familiar affair; Jack was doing well. Robby would see him briefly during changeovers and notice that Jack moved around more confidently— limping far less than Robby remembered, to the point that Robby sometimes forgot that Jack was missing a part of a limb. There was a lighter air to him that Robby noticed— and yearned for— that gave an impression of younger years despite the silver that streaked through his hair these days.

And he also had a fantastic scruffy look he’d recently adopted, making him look deliciously hot. Robby could hardly look away from him. He was a starved man, and Jack held the bounty of anything Robby could have ever wanted.

In fact, Robby was drawn to Jack the whole night, despite knowing damn well he wasn’t supposed to be. He’d kept his self-made promise not to drag Jack through the mud, not when Jack was finally finding his two feet to stand on, and the result had created an odd distance between them. Jack had noticed Robby pulling back, but Robby didn’t know another way to keep him safe.

All of Robby’s efforts to maintain that healthy separation were going out the window tonight. Memories of past New Year’s Eves with Jack overlapped with present moments, and Robby was homesick enough to indulge where he could. He fit himself into any conversation that included Jack, brought him appetizers to try, laughed at his jokes, and felt himself preen under Jack’s undivided attention when Robby spoke. Jack was letting Robby in, making room for him, calling him over to tell a story, jumping in with his own version of events, and offering food off his plate, and the small gestures and moments made it feel almost like they were dating all over again.

Robby knew he shouldn’t keep encouraging this tentative truce they’d found themselves in, but he couldn’t stop himself from finding excuses to keep up the charade. The connection felt important, somehow, and Dana’s drinks gave the perfect cover to dismiss the brushing glances of fingers as glasses were passed over, or the brief hand on a waist to stay steadied as food was reached for across the table.

So when Dana came around, announcing, “Two-minute warning!” with a fresh bottle of champagne to fill Robby and Jack’s glasses, it was no wonder that they’d found themselves sitting next to each other on a couch so sunken that their thighs were pressed together from the angled cushions.

“Got any New Year’s resolutions, then?” Jack asked, clinking his glass to Robby’s as Dana walked away towards her husband on the other side of the room; most people had migrated towards the kitchen and living room area where the TV screen was showing the Future of Pittsburgh Ball in the Cultural District, leaving Jack and Robby the only ones in the alcove that Dana’s husband like to call a study-library.

Robby snorted, feeling overly warm. “Absolutely not. Why, do you?” He drank a healthy mouthful and kept Jack in his sights over the rim of the glass.

“I might have a few that I want to try,” Jack responded, the mysterious fuck. Just to add the cherry on top, he even threw Robby a wink, matching the grin on his face.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” Robby asked, rolling his eyes. “Guess?” He put up a finger when Jack opened his mouth to respond, saying, “No, wait, I got this. You want to take up figure skating.”

Jack laughed, the sound loud and bright, and Robby grinned at the familiarity; it pawed at the ache that always lived in his chest, like a tongue helplessly pushing into the empty space a tooth used to live, no longer used to the lack of wisdom.

“Nailed it in one,” Jack played along, swaying into Robby and sharing a branding touch for a breathless moment. Instinct had Robby twisting in place to better face Jack, and in the same heartbeat, Jack shifted as well. They both let out a chuckle when their balance was made trickier with the cushions, and Jack solved their issue by throwing his leg— and prosthetic— to hang over Robby’s thigh.

The air in Robby’s lungs disappeared briefly at the searing warmth, paired with the monumental casualness Jack displayed with his leg.

In the background, they distantly heard the others begin to count down from twenty. Here, there didn’t seem to be any urgency. The air suspended, the moment stretching out languidly.

“Can’t wait to hear all about how that works out for you. You should take videos so I can see you on the ice,” Robby said quietly, tipping his head to the side so he could rest it on the couch’s back edge.

Jack blinked slowly, his grin softer. “You could just come out in person instead,” he murmured, still carrying on with the joke even though they were both no longer paying attention to the subject.

“Six! Five!” Came the shouts from the other room.

“You know, maybe I should,” Robby agreed, his voice matching the low volume.

“Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Jack’s eyes were solidly on Robby, staring at him intently, and Robby couldn’t help himself from flicking his gaze a little lower— Jack’s mouth was always sinful and inviting. He barely caught Jack’s lips part or his quick inhale before his mouth crashed into Robby’s.

A groan escaped Robby’s lips, letting Jack immediately swallow down the sound, and Robby brought his hand up to cup Jack’s face, framing his jaw and letting his fingers dig behind Jack’s ear. Jack made a pleased sound, and he deepened the kiss, licking across Robby’s lips and teeth until Robby opened for him. The catch of Jack’s scruff against Robby’s lips sent an electrifying thrill through him, though it made Robby’s eyebrows crease, the edge of something undefined and odd right below them.

Jack’s warm palms slotted into place on either side of Robby’s cheeks, the pads of the fingers curling to scratch lightly against the edges of the facial hair found there, and the touch seemed to throw Robby off the cliff entirely— a step missed, stomach swooping at the unfamiliar sense of wrongness.

They’d never kissed before like this, with Robby wearing a full beard, and Jack with days-old stubble limning his face.

Panic promptly set in, then. Everything about this was wrong— unearned. Robby had deluded himself tonight into thinking he could have any of this— any kind of relationship with Jack. It didn’t matter how badly Robby wanted it, wanted him, he couldn’t.

Jack was out of bounds, deserved the good life he was fighting so fucking hard for. He’d begun to bloom away from Robby, and if Robby tried to touch it, he’d kill the growth like he killed everything else in his life; no matter how many lives he saved, it would never be enough, and it would never justify the tragedy of hurting Jack.

That was completely unacceptable.

Like a switch flipped, Robby froze, going limp as he forced himself to ignore the desire and blatant want in his entire being. His chest seemed to fracture with the force of his attempt, and the yawning grave of numbness began to trickle through his veins like an anesthetic.

“Robby?” Jack murmured against his lips, pulling back just far enough to share breaths.

Robby wasn’t sure when he’d closed his eyes, but they fluttered open now and saw concern lacing Jack’s expression.

There was an odd ringing in Robby’s ears, and he couldn’t quite hear himself as he said, “I have to go.”

“Robby?” Jack’s voice held a sudden urgency and confusion that didn’t sound good, but again, Robby couldn’t quite hear it clearly.

Strangely, Robby found himself moving— not entirely in control of his limbs, but they pushed him to stand. Jack’s legs slipped off his thigh to land on the floor, but Robby didn’t think about it in time to try to catch the prosthetic or ease it down. Instead, his feet took steps, taking him away from Jack, who called after him again.

“Robby!”

The tinnitus in Robby’s ears was deafening, and the background roar of people singing Auld Lang Syne was muffled as a result. His name was called again, but Robby was already out of the room.

The hallway was short, immediately leading out into the open space of the living room, where people were singing and swaying, facing the TV. Robby barely glanced at them as he headed straight for the front door, thankful that his coat was on the rack right next to the door so he could easily grab it— his keys were in the pocket, which he immediately pulled out before opening the door.

His name might have been called out again; he wasn’t sure. Robby didn’t slow down or stop to find out; he only felt the sudden frigid air slap against his face, though maybe a flurry or two joined in.

It didn’t matter— his cheeks were still ragingly hot, and the ghost of Jack’s lips was a caress that Robby had almost forgotten about. But he’d had to forget; he couldn’t feel this stolen moment and remember it because then he’d want it again.

Robby dragged his forearm across his face, replacing any lingering touch with an abrasive swipe of his sleeve, and the coarse handling made his lips chap instantly. He welcomed the rough tingling.

His car was parked just off the driveway, and Robby blamed the wind for the echo of his name as he slipped inside and turned on the ignition. He barely checked the street before pulling out, driving away.

*

“Oh, shit,” Robby swerved to avoid barreling right over the person behind him, but as a result, he spilled half of his coffee over himself. The only thing saving him from a smattering of burns on his chest was the weatherproof jacket he’d kept on despite the café’s heating working double-time.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think you’d turn around right here.” A woman’s voice made Robby look up to see who he’d run into, and he was met with a stunning face and warm eyes.

“No, no,” Robby grimaced, looking down at himself and the droplets of coffee that rolled off his chest. “That one was on me.” His head pounded with a hangover headache making him unable to process what to do about the mess on his jacket, and he ended up simply holding still.

The woman didn’t seem to have such an issue and procured napkins seemingly from thin air as she said, “No, I shouldn’t have been standing there, I was just trying to see the blackboard.” She offered some napkins with one hand, while the other immediately went forward to wipe against Robby’s jacket.

Robby froze, his brain desperately trying to catch up to the quick turn of events occurring.

“And oh god,” she suddenly stopped and pulled her hand off. “Now I’m touching a complete stranger, I’m so sorry. That’s so rude of me.” She took a physical step backwards, which was a little bit funny to Robby.

“I’m Robby. There, now we’re not strangers,” Robby said, taking the proffered napkins and wiping off the rest of the coffee that she’d missed, though it wasn’t all that much; the real inconvenience was going to be for the poor staff worker who had to clean up the puddle of coffee on the floor around them.

The woman laughed, making Robby look up again and quirking a grin. “Oh, well, in that case. She brought her hand forward again and wiped off a few droplets that Robby had missed. “There. Practically brand new. All ready for the New Year.”

“Surely this isn’t a bad omen of how the year will actually go,” Robby replied dryly, and the woman laughed again. She stepped to the side, and Robby followed.

“I think it’s a good omen, actually,” the woman said. “It’s all about how you look at it.”

Robby lifted his much lighter coffee cup, “It’s looking pretty half-empty, I’d say.”

“Or half-full,” the woman retorted. “Let me get you another cup.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Robby began to decline, but the woman shook her head.

“No, really. I insist.” She smiled at him, gesturing towards the trash can for Robby to toss in his ruined cup. “And then maybe we can talk about some other good omens that can signal a good year?”

Abruptly, Robby realized she was flirting. Had been, he belatedly thought. With the shock, Robby found himself opening his mouth to again decline her offer and try to let her down gently, but then he stopped himself.

He was still plenty hungover, even at eleven-thirty in the morning, and the blanket numbness from last night still lingered limply, reminding Robby of his failures at any given moment.

Kissing Jack had been a mistake. Jack had been drunk, hadn’t known what he was doing, and Robby had taken advantage of the situation to coddle his own inability to let go. But Jack had made it very clear to Robby from the beginning— they weren’t together anymore.

He needed to take Jack’s own advice and try dating someone else. Robby could do that; he could do what Jack asked. He’d appease Jack in his request and show that he could let Jack go. After all, it was what Jack really wanted.

“You know what?” Robby started, looking at the woman; she had an earnest look on her face, waiting for Robby’s answer. “I think that would be a really helpful discussion.”

Robby offered a hesitant smile, and it was apparently enough for the woman to grin.

She offered her hand out to Robby, saying, “Excellent. My name is Heather.”

Robby took her hand, shaking it as he said, “Hello, Heather. It’s so nice to meet you.”

2026 (July 4^th)

The sound of the ambulance bay doors opening and a gurney rolling in had Jack glancing up automatically. He was almost done charting and wondering if he’d be able to sneak out of here successfully any time soon— take Robby home with him while he was at it. It was supposed to be their day off for fuck’s sake, and yet they always managed to get pulled back into the fray somehow. He hadn’t even had a chance to properly ask Robby about earlier, with the kid they’d coded— it’d been a small mercy that they’d both managed to avoid the mom, with Perlah and Kiara taking point with that case.

Jack was pretty sure he wouldn’t have gotten any satisfying kind of answer out of Robby anyway, and knew for a fact that once they left for the day, Robby wouldn’t reopen the topic.

The teenager on the gurney was groaning and writhing, his face streaked with soot and his hand raised above his chest, wrapped thickly in white bandages that were soaked with blood. Jack immediately knew that the kid was missing a few fingers at the very least; gut instinct told him that mishandling firecrackers was the culprit, especially today. The kid wasn’t even the first one to roll in with this type of injury.

“I got this,” a voice from behind Jack said, a hand tapping his shoulder to indicate he should stay sitting where Jack had half-stood to go assess the patient. Jack glanced to the side to see Langdon heading straight to the kid, asking the EMT for a case report, Perlah and Donnie already there.

Jack nodded even though no one was paying attention to him, and he sat back down with a quiet groan. Langdon was clearly trying to make a good second impression today, and Jack admired the tenacity— from what Dana told him, the kid hadn’t complained about the easy cases he’d been given all day. A destroyed hand was probably going to be the highlight of his day, so Jack didn’t feel the need to jump in.

He turned back to the screen and tried to focus on filling out the right boxes when a series of sudden, loud bangs cracked through the floor, echoing off the walls in a chaotic jumble. Shouts and screams jumped into the fray, and the smell of acrid smoke hit Jack only a moment later when he was already dropped to the floor, taking cover.

Instinct had him rolling under the desk, protecting his head as he desperately tried to reorient himself and figure out where the incoming fire was coming from. The bangs continued, a short staccato over people yelling, and then there was a whooshing sound, a low, mechanical groan, and then rain.

Through the confusion and disorientation, the rain was what threw Jack off the most— it hardly ever rained out here. But the water pelted down on him, and even his meager cover wasn’t enough to fully shield him from the way his pants and shirt slowly got soaked.

That was going to mix with the dust, Jack thought distantly, and create mud, and fuck, he hated mud. It got everywhere, made shit harder to see when he was trying to keep perforated organs and intestines from falling out of bodies. It mixed with the blood and caked on his skin, staying there for days sometimes, if he couldn’t find a way to wash up.

Mud kept him chilly— taking forever to dry— and it smeared across his face, above his lips, so he was always smelling the petrichor no matter how much he tried to wipe it off on his bare shoulder, because they’d stripped him before throwing him in the hole. His hands were tied behind his back, coarse rope pulled so tightly that he knew he was going to lose circulation soon. Maybe that was the plan, to let his hands die, necrosis to set in. If he ever got out of here alive, they’d have to cut his hands off, just like his foot— there was absolutely no way that was ever going to be fixed, amputation was the only way forward.

Even in his dehydrated delirium, Jack knew that much. His foot was unsalvageable, and sometimes Jack hated the fact that his medical knowledge gave him that diagnosis so fast; there was simply no comfort in knowing that if he got out of here, it would be to missing a fucking limb.

Three limbs, maybe, if he couldn’t get the blood flow to his hands. He tried to flex his fingers, but the mud coated his skin, keeping him too cold, too stiff, and Jack couldn’t move. The water was misting his face, holding him down, and Jack couldn’t move.

Over the ringing in his ears, Jack noted the gunfire ceased, and fear sluiced through his veins at what that meant— what was next?

Hands on him, gripping his bicep and shoulder, had Jack struggling because he knew now what came next. They were going to pull him and hurt him, kick and punch and beat him until he could hardly breathe.

Attempts to struggle always incurred more pain, but Jack couldn’t help it; the animal instinct to fight back lodged too deeply in his bones, even if he couldn’t move his hands— they were still cinched too tightly behind him, a dead weight. But he couldn’t win. He flinched back, tried to make himself smaller, get away, pull out of reach, but the foreign hands were insistent, pulling and tugging, and grabbing so tightly that Jack had no choice but to follow.

The mud dripped over his eyes, blinding him, and he tried to wipe it away on his shoulder, but it didn’t work. He stumbled forward— fuck, his leg hurt so badly, and it couldn’t support his weight, he couldn’t feel it— but the hands on him didn’t let him fall. He was nearly dragged forward, and his foot slogged behind; the necrosis was really setting in because he knew the foot was still there from the sheer pressure of pulling weight along, but there was no sensation left, not even pain right now.

Muffled shouting around him tried to penetrate through the tinnitus, but Jack couldn’t pay attention. It was better not to know what the others were screaming about, because Jack couldn’t help them, not here, not like this. He couldn’t even help himself. Wasn’t that the first rule in emergencies? Save yourself before saving others?

What a fucking joke right now.

Jack tripped and stumbled again, but the strong hands on him pushed him forward, not letting the ground swallow him up again. The fear and adrenaline pumping through Jack at the unknown was going to make him sick, but Jack gritted his teeth against anything that tried to escape his mouth, even sounds. They’d use any reaction against Jack and make the hurt worse.

“Jack!” someone shouted, and his name was audible over the dampened fog in his ears. He hated that they knew his name, but that was the only thing he was allowed to say anyway.

Through the mud and grit filling his mouth, he managed to mutter, “Jack Abbot, Major SMO. December 29^th, 1975. DoD ID: 09-191-994.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. C’mon man. Stay with me.”

The hands tugged again, almost coaxing, and Jack tripped forward— he couldn’t fucking find his feet under him. Belatedly, he realized that one of the hands holding him had slipped under his armpit, holding him more firmly so Jack couldn’t fall— axillary support technique, his mind helpfully supplied. The other was still around his bicep, guiding him, and confusion welled up even more when Jack realized his hands weren’t tied behind his back like they had been a moment ago.

He still couldn’t feel his hands, and that terrified him more than the foot— he really didn’t know what he’d do if they took his hands. He needed his hands.

“Umf,” Jack groaned, the breath pushed out of him in a rush as he was pushed into a hard chair. Fuck, he hated interrogations. They knew he didn’t have the information they wanted and only asked questions once as a façade of an excuse that was more of a prelude to beating the shit out of him.

“Jack, can you hear me? It’s Robby.”

Sheer panic gripped Jack’s heart in a sudden vice— how the fuck did they get Robby? Robby was supposed to be home, safe, untouchable. But that was his voice, Jack knew that much.

He couldn’t let them know how affected he was, couldn’t let them hurt Robby. He had to think, had to get them out of here, even if he was still as fucked as he’d been before they dragged him into this room.

“Breathe with me, Jack. You’re in the Pitt. You’re stateside in Pennsylvania. It’s 2026, c’mon.” Robby’s voice was steel, hard and clear, even as the ringing in Jack’s ear finally began to lose its volume. But there was an undercurrent of concern, and fuck, if Robby was scared, then Jack had to pull it together.

Something rough, but absorbent, wiped over Jack’s face, clearing the mud from his mouth and cheeks. His eyes were still closed— wet dirt clumping his eyelashes together— but even that was cleared away, the damp paper towel gently passing over his eyelids.

“Jack, listen to me. You’re okay,” Robby’s voice insisted, and Jack had to find him, had to locate his position, had to know. Even if he couldn’t get them out, he had to see for himself that Robby was okay, was whole.

Jack wasn’t whole, and he couldn’t bear the thought of Robby going through the same thing he’d gone through.

Blinking was a disorienting affair, and his bottom left eyelid twitched uncontrollably, making him frustrated. The swirl of colors and light was immediately overwhelming, and Jack had to squeeze his eyes closed several times to get his vision to focus.

“That’s it, c’mon. Stay with me, Jack. It’s just us in here.”

Here. Here. Where was here?

The second he could see, Jack automatically catalogued Robby in front of him— looking at him with alarm, but safe, whole, unharmed— so he tried to take in his surroundings. He’d expected rubble, concrete, bars, mud, but all around him was white, clean lines, and fluorescent lighting. The juxtaposition of what Jack expected with what he was seeing didn’t make sense, and his panic wasn’t letting him tease apart his reality.

“You’re in the Pitt, Jack. You’re at work, with me, with the team. Some dumbass kid had firecrackers in his bag, and they managed to go off— don’t ask me fucking how, I don’t know.” One of Robby’s hands was settled on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing rhythmically, while the other had a wad of paper towels that he was using to dry off what he could of Jack’s skin. “Sprinklers went off, which certainly didn’t help, but you’re okay. Everyone’s okay. No one got hurt, Jack. The firefighters are out there right now making sure everything’s under control.”

There were colorful posters pinned up on cabinets behind Robby, reminding workers to clean up after themselves, to change the filter on the coffee pot, to ‘take a break!’, and other mental-health awareness tips that never really worked in this environment. Because this was the lounge, Jack realized, with the sink next to the fridge that hummed quietly in the corner, the uncomfortable and flimsy chairs around the center table, and the water dispenser that had a digital readout of how many bottles had been saved because people filled up their own.

But Jack still felt the mud and grit in his fatigues, his boots, on his hands and in his hair. He looked down and was hit with a wave of vertigo because that was half of his uniform— the camo pants and laced-up boots were familiar, clean, if not a bit damp. The expected mud wasn’t there, and his hands were clean too, limp in his lap, but clean. And his shirt was black, not camo. Where had his jacket gone? He was going to be reprimanded for being out of regs.

Jack stared at his hands— he could feel them, tingling and not numb— and slowly flipped them over and back, inspecting his nails. They were still clean. Droplets of water pebbled and then streaked across his fingers and palm, and the skin under his watch was uncomfortably wet as well. Robby must have seen where Jack was looking, because one hand was suddenly engulfed in paper towels, drying him with the starchy material. His other hand received the same treatment, and then his hands were freed again, but far less wet than before.

And there wasn’t a single trace of mud on them.

“Jack, say something. You with me?” Robby’s voice was warm, and Jack dimly began to realize he was freezing. Shivers sporadically tried to wrack through him, but he brutally suppressed them, not wanting to show weakness. He’d never let them know they were getting to him if he could help it.

The hand on his shoulder changed from squeezing to rubbing, and that helped a little. “Jack, which pocket has the lorazepam? I know you have it on you.”

Of course Jack had it on him. He had his sertraline backups in his right pocket, and a few lorazepam tablets in his left lower, PRN. It slowly dawned on Jack that this might have been one of those circumstances where he’d need a dosage, and his eyes slid towards the pocket compartment in his cargos.

The hand that’d been on Jack’s shoulder slipped off and came to hover right over the pocket. “Here?” Robby asked. Jack nodded, and then Robby’s hand opened the flap and pulled out the foiled pill pack. Robby glanced at the dosage number printed on the back of the foil, and then neatly popped out two pills.

Jack stared mutely as Robby moved back, grabbing a mug that was on the drying rack, and quickly filling it with water from the tap— so much for using the water dispenser, Jack thought, a bit hysterically.

But Robby was back before Jack could let the panic sweep him under, sitting in another chair he’d pulled up to face Jack— their legs slotted together, alternating— and he stretched his hands in Jack’s direction, the mug in one and the two pills in the other.

“I need you to take them, Jack. Think you can do that for me?” Robby asked, bumping his hands against Jack’s chest. When Jack didn’t immediately reach for them, he added, “Please don’t make me leave to get a syringe and an injectable dosage.”

The thought of Robby leaving was a bolt of renewed fear that Jack couldn’t stop. There was also a hint of begging in his tone that Jack didn’t like. Robby hardly ever asked for anything, so Jack wanted to try to give him what he wanted.

Jack brought his hands up— both tingling still, but free, free— and he picked out the two pills from Robby’s palm. He didn’t think as he slipped them into his mouth and then took the offered mug to wash them down.

“Good, good,” Robby murmured, taking back the mug when Jack lowered it. A hand encircled Jack’s wrist then, two fingers over his pulse point. Jack knew his heart was racing too fast, so he closed his eyes and let Robby learn it as well.

A shiver rolled through Jack’s spine, and this time, he couldn’t hold it back.

“Yeah. We need to get you out of those clothes soon. Wanna take off that shirt for me?” Robby’s hand let go of Jack’s wrist, setting it back down in his lap, and Jack opened his eyes, scowling at the loss of warmth. At least their legs were still pressed together, keeping that point of contact.

Knowing he wasn’t going to get the touch back right now, Jack attacked his own shirt, yanking it out from where it was tucked in, and fought to unpeel it from his skin; the motion was jerky and frustrating, but Robby helped hold the wet fabric out of the way where he could, and then Jack was free.

“Here, this’ll help,” Robby murmured, and Jack blinked in surprise. He had no idea when Robby took off his sweatshirt, but it was being offered to Jack now. Gripping the soft material, Jack slipped an arm through the first sleeve and groaned in appreciation even before he managed to wrap it around his back and blindly search for the other sleeve— Robby’s hands helping to guide his arm into the right hole. It was warm from Robby’s body heat, and the softness clung to Jack’s skin. Even the metal of the zipper— which Robby wordlessly closed for Jack— didn’t bite with cold against Jack.

Jack was still uncomfortable— for so many reasons— but he breathed out slowly as he took comfort where he could. The present was still overlapping with the past, but each moment that passed felt sturdier and clearer.

“Now you match,” Robby declared.

At Jack’s confused stare, Robby gestured from Jack’s chest down to his legs. Jack looked down at himself and caught on to what Robby meant, but disagreed. The sweatshirt was a dark forest green color, while his fatigues were field drab. Maybe on a spectrum they’d eventually meet, but they were worlds apart in terms of matching.

Incredulous at the blatantly incorrect description, Jack lifted his head, intending to say something, but the words caught in his throat when he saw Robby offering him a cupcake decorated with red, white, and blue sprinkles.

“Eat it,” Robby ordered.

Jack accepted the offering despite never having liked cupcakes, staring at it dumbly for a moment before he gave a short bark of laughter that sounded too unhinged to his own ears. Nothing about the situation was funny, but the cupcake had the literal icing on top of such a shit day that Jack couldn’t even fully comprehend the irony.

Jack brought it to his mouth and took a bite, his eyes sliding to the side where he saw the rest of the leftover cupcakes in a container— someone had made a batch for the Fourth and left them behind for anyone to take.

The icing was immediately too sweet for Jack, seeming to fill behind his molars and making his throat constrict, but he forced himself to chew and swallow, knowing that his blood sugar was tanked right now and his adrenaline was going to make him nauseous shortly if he didn’t eat anything.  

It took effort to finish the cupcake, but the moment he did, Robby was pushing the mug of water towards him again. Jack took it, and this time he chugged the tap water, chasing the remnants of cake and icing the best he could. When the water disappeared, Jack set the mug down and looked back at Robby.

“Today’s been fucked up,” Jack commented, voice raspy.

Robby snorted, a relieved tinge to it. “Yeah, you got me there.”

Jack leaned forward, set his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head into his hands. He scrubbed his face hard and then ran his fingers through his hair— his hands immediately dampened with the leftover moisture.

“Fuck. Firecrackers?” Jack asked, in disbelief at the monumental stupidity of people despite having seen firsthand more idiotic choices. “How the fuck does that even happen?”

Robby shrugged. “Take your pick. Matches, faulty lighter, hand warmers gone wrong, I don’t know.”

Jack laughed through nose, the sound brittle. “Hand warmers. In July.”

“Fuck if I know.”

Jack blinked, a thought coming to him suddenly. “Shouldn’t you be out there right now? Helping everyone? Directing the mess?”

Robby shrugged again. “Shen and Roberts were already here and are taking over cases. And Dana was the one who directed me to where you were, so she knows where I am and what I’m doing. Obviously, they’ve got it handled or someone would have knocked.”

Automatically, Jack straightened up and his eyes lifted over Robby’s shoulder to the lounge door. No one had come in this whole time.

“It’s locked,” Robby offered, and the sentiment eased an ache inside of Jack; Robby had pulled him from a shitty environment, dragged him through the North side, and put him somewhere far away from the chaos to give Jack enough time to find his way back from the edge. This wasn’t either of their first rodeo, but there was a different flavor to it now, especially at the hospital, the one place where Jack had never anticipated having a flashback. This place was typically his refuge from his trauma, ironically enough.

“Thanks,” Jack scraped out, his breath hitching with emotion; the benzo would help soften the jagged edges of the aftermath, but the swim to shore still had to contend with the tide. Jack settled an arm on the table and rested his head in his hand. His other hand stayed limp in his lap.

They lapsed into silence for a little while, letting the medication do its magic. Jack felt his heartbeat slow down, and Robby reached out to catch Jack’s wrist. Jack watched tiredly as Robby concentrated, and he wondered if Robby was actually counting right now. When Robby was satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he moved to pull back, but Jack twisted his hand and caught him before he could go far.

There was no hesitation as Robby went with the silent request and interlocked their fingers together, resting their combined hands in Jack’s lap.

A few more heartbeats passed, though Jack swore he felt them pulse stronger in his chest. Their eyes met, and Jack wondered if he looked as hungry as he felt, desperate to drink in all of Robby and let him guide the way.

“Come with me tomorrow.” The words seemed to blurt out of Robby. “I sold the bike, I promise. It’s gone, I’m done. We’ll take the car, just you and me. A road trip. Leave this place for a little while. We’ll come back, but let’s just first…” Robby cleared his throat before continuing to barrel on. “Let’s take a vacation, Jack. We need it. We deserve it. We’re going to burn out if we—” he scoffed, “Fuck, I think we are burnt out a bit, huh? Just… Jack, please?”

Jack stared at him, exhaustion pouring over him like the goddamn sprinklers had earlier. There was desperate hope etched in every line of Robby’s face, and Jack could see the weariness— the guarded wall that he tried to keep erected at all times, but that was shattered to dust now. If Jack thought he was fucking tired, it was nothing on what Robby looked like, even now, even when he was holding it together for Jack’s sake.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Jack agreed. There was an air of inevitability as he said it, as if they were always destined to reach this point.

Robby’s expression went slack with surprise. “Yeah?” One whispered word, and the hopeful note in it nearly broke Jack’s heart.

“Yeah,” Jack confirmed, nodding.

Robby’s thighs tensed, squeezing around Jack’s thigh, and then Robby leaned forward. His head pushed in close, and there was a breath of distance between them as he hesitated. But when Jack didn’t say or do anything, Robby closed the distance, lips against Jack’s, and kissed him softly.

Jack shuddered pleasantly, inhaling sharply through his nose as he kissed Robby back.

Robby’s hands found themselves cradling Jack’s face, holding him far more tenderly than Jack felt he warranted, but he didn’t argue, not anymore. Instead, he moved them more center— both in sync, following each other— and reached his own hands to cling to the front of Robby’s scrubs, keeping him close.

This may have been the wrong time, and it was definitely the wrong place, but Jack didn’t care anymore. They were both so utterly fucked up, but they wanted each other— needed each other— too much to keep trying to push each other away.

Maybe they were finally getting to the same page, somehow. The book was tattered and ripped, but they found the right chapter, found the right passage. They couldn’t hide the shittiest parts of their lives from each other, couldn’t protect or save them from each other, because trying only caused them even more pain.

They’d been there for each other anyway.

So Jack stopped rebuffing the one man he’d ever wanted, and instead clung harder, pulling Robby closer.

And Robby let him.