Work Text:
Robby gets the call from Jake around 7 pm the day before Pittfest. Leah’s parents have rented a cabin by Lake Erie for the weekend, an impulsive last-minute decision for one final family trip before school starts up again in earnest, and they’re offering to take Jake along.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Jake asks, sounding a little guilty. “That way you can still go to Pittfest, right?”
Robby pinches the bridge of his nose and swallows back a sigh. He had rearranged his whole day when Jake had asked if he could go with Leah instead. But that’s teenagers for you, and Robby was young once. He gets why Pittfest can’t compete with a weekend away with his girlfriend, even if her parents are going to be around the whole time.
“Sure, don’t worry about it,” he tells Jake, even as he starts wondering how he’s going to pull it off, or whether it’s even worth it. “Enjoy your weekend.”
“Thanks!” Jake says, suddenly a lot more upbeat. “Have a good time!”
“You too.” He’s going to ask if Jake’ll be back in time for their basketball plans on Sunday but Jake hangs up before he can, and Robby does sigh then, scrubbing his face with his free hand before putting his phone down.
He contemplates, for a moment, just writing off the tickets and going to work as planned. Finding someone to cover for him so late notice is going to be a pain in the ass, and Robby hates asking for favours. Besides, tomorrow is the day they get their new residents and med students, and part of him thinks he should be there for their first day. He’s the head of the ED, after all.
Then again, he had wanted to go to Pittfest, had looked forward to it independently of spending time with Jake before Jake had asked if he could give his ticket to Leah, and so many people owe him favours at work that one of them will probably be glad he’s finally collecting.
His mind made up, he starts making calls, and thirty minutes later he’s off the ED’s schedule for the following day.
And if there is a small part of him that’s relieved at the fact that he won’t be going in, well… he buries it and pretends it’s just about the tickets.
Speaking of the tickets, he still has an extra one, and realistically there is only one person he wants to ask. He doesn’t know whether Pittfest is Jack’s scene but he does know Jack would say yes if he asked. He doesn’t want to think too closely as to why, because then he would have to consider why Jack was his first thought, and this will not be a date.
Never mind that he wants it to be. Or that Jack would probably say yes to that too. Robby isn’t completely unself-aware, or blind. He knows how Jack looks at him. In fact, Jack, it seems, is always looking at him. Robby knows what it means, or at least he’s pretty sure, and so he avoids looking back too much. He feels guilty, sometimes, for letting Jack believe he’s alone with his feelings. But Robby has managed to fuck up the vast majority of the relationships he’s had throughout his adult life, and he won’t – can’t – risk this one, and so he says nothing. He can do without a lot in life, he’s found out, but he isn’t sure he can do without Jack, whose solid presence has become a constant source of grounding and irreverence over the years.
Robby runs his hands through his hair, annoyed at himself for letting his mind wander, and shakes his head. It’s just two friends hanging out, he tells himself firmly. Nothing more.
Jack deserves better. He’ll realize that eventually and move on, and Robby will have to live with the regrets but at least it won’t impact their friendship.
Feeling a little too self-conscious to call Jack now, giving the tenor of the thoughts, Robby decides to wait ‘til morning. And if he tells himself it’s mostly because Jack’s just started his shift and he doesn’t want to bother him, well… Robby’s very good at lying to himself when it suits him.
Robby sleeps like crap that night, waking up around 4 from a nightmare he pretends he doesn’t remember, and never really managing to go back to sleep. It’s a bad night on top of a row of bad nights going back a couple of weeks, and maybe it’s just as well that he isn’t working today. He knows his temper has been fraying a little for the past couple of shifts, though thankfully no one has commented on it yet.
By the time 7 am comes around and he finally allows himself to call the ED, wanting to catch Jack before he leaves but not willing to risk disturbing him at a bad time if he’s with a patient, Robby’s been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours.
“PTMC emergency department, charge nurse station.”
“Hey, Dana, it’s Robby.”
“Hi Robby.” The professionalism bleeds off her tone, replaced by warmth. “I thought you were working today?”
“Yeah, I was but Jake and his girlfriend are going away for the weekend, so I’m going to Pittfest after all. Shen is covering, said he was looking forward to working a double.”
Robby can almost hear Dana rolling her eyes at that, and he privately agrees. Oh, to be this young again…
“So what can I do for you?” she asks, getting the conversation back on track.
“Is Abbot around? I need to ask him something.”
There is a beat of silence which doesn’t bode well, and then:
“He’s getting some air.”
Robby feels a pang of worry. “Okay, thanks. I’ll try his cell. Have a good shift.”
“Thanks, take care of yourself.”
“I always do.”
Dana snorts and Robby hangs up before she can make her opinion on that known, bringing up Jack’s cell number instead and hitting call.
It rings and rings and rings, and Robby is starting to get concerned when the man finally picks up.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping in for once?” Jack asks instead of saying hello. “You’re not working today, are you?”
“Good morning, Jack,” Robby says pointedly, choosing to ignore the question. Jack will probably find out that he was supposed to be at work today soon enough, and he will no doubt have opinions about that, but Robby’s hoping to delay the inevitable so he can share those opinions face to face.
He waits for a beat, but Jack doesn’t say anything, his phone’s transmitter only picking up distant rumbling of the cooling units, confirming that Jack’s indeed up on the roof. Robby’s found him there enough times that it’s easy to picture him, hands in his pockets and looking out in the distance. The only real question is which side of the security railing Jack is currently standing on, and Robby’s desperately afraid to find out, today of all days, when he should have been there but is not.
“Rough shift?” he asks when the silence becomes intolerable, looking around as he tries to remember where he left his car keys.
Jack exhales loudly.
“Oh, I don’t know. Had a guy come in. Hit by a drunk driver at a crosswalk. 39-year-old vet. Survived three tours without a scratch. I spent the last two hours coding him.”
“That’s always a rough way to end the night,” Robby says softly, encouraging him to go on. Of course Jack ignores the invitation.
“Anyway, you didn’t call to hear about my sob stories. What do you need?”
Robby considers pushing but he knows he won’t get anywhere on the phone and they’re – hopefully – going to see each other soon enough. He can ask about it then.
“I have tickets for Pittfest.”
“Okay…” Jack sounds confused but at least he’s probably not thinking about patients anymore, and Robby will take the win, no matter how small.
“I was supposed to take Jake, and then he was supposed to go with his girlfriend but now they’re both off to Lake Erie so it looks like I’m going again.”
“Nice,” Jack says, some life coming back into his voice. “So do you need me to cover a shift or something?”
For fuck’s sake.
“What? No. I wanted to know if you wanted to come with?”
Jack doesn’t answer straight away, and for a few heartbeats all Robby can hear again is that annoying electrical hum.
“Sure, why not,” Jack finally says. “You’re buying me a beer though. At what time do you want to meet?” The background noise cuts off abruptly and Robby knows Jack’s back into the stairwell. Something inside him loosens in relief and he drops his keys back where he found them.
“I thought I could pick up you at 3?” It actually starts at noon but he wants Jack to get some sleep, and the man is stubborn enough that he would probably insist on getting there early. “You’re not working tonight, are you?”
“No, no, I’m off.”
“Good.” Robby hesitates for a moment, not wanting the conversation to end. He almost asks Jack if he wants to come over now – he certainly would feel better if he had his eyes on him, it’s a lot harder to gauge his state of mind on the phone – before thinking better of it. “Go home and get some sleep,” he says instead.
“Yes, mom,” Jack snarks and the tone alone makes Robby feel better.
“Jack.” Robby still feels the need to ask. “You’re going to be okay?”
“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Jack says, which isn’t exactly what Robby asked but is a promise all the same.
He’ll take it.
Robby tries to keep himself busy for the rest of his morning so he won’t have too much time to think.
Pittfest is a welcome distraction but between the conversation with Jack and what day it is, the time in-between is a potential mine field, and Robby’s spent too long trying to convince himself and everyone else that he’s fine that he’d rather keep ignoring it’s there and not have to walk through it.
He wouldn’t want a repeat of that first year, after all, when he had made it all the way to the hospital for his shift only to realise he physically couldn’t go in. He had had to call in sick, and then he had gotten so drunk that to this day he still can’t remember most of the day.
Eventually though he had convinced himself that it was just a fluke. Sure, he hasn’t worked that specific shift for the past couple of years but it’s just a coincidence. It’s two days out of 730, surely if you looked at his schedule, you’d find other dates he wasn’t at work for two years in a row. It’s got nothing to do with avoidance or triggers.
He’s fine.
After all, he would be at work right now if not for Leah’s parents. Doesn’t that show he can handle it?
And if the thought makes his heart kick a little harder in his chest and he unconsciously finds himself regulating his breathing, well, he slept like crap and he’s worried about Jack. No other reason.
So he cleans his apartment, and he buys groceries, and he tries to catch up on his reading, but by half past noon, he’s run out of ideas on how to occupy himself.
He ends up heading to Jack’s early, stopping to get them some lunch along the way. At least it’ll assuage the niggling need to make sure Jack’s okay lingering in the back of his mind.
He lets himself in using his key in case Jack is still sleeping and finds him sprawled on the couch with his eyes closed, one arm flung above his head and his police scanner droning on next to him. He’s wearing sweatpants and an old threadbare t-shirt that’s ridden up a little, showing some skin above his waistband, and Robby’s fingers tighten involuntarily around the bag he’s carrying.
There is something a little disarming about Jack in the comfort of his own home, stripped bare of the scrubs he wears like another uniform, and Robby allows himself a second to take in the sight. He must take too long though, because Jack tilts his head towards him and says, without bothering to open his eyes:
“You’re early.”
Robby shrugs, dropping their lunch on the coffee table and giving Jack a critical once-over.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Some,” Jack answers noncommittally, opening his eyes and sitting up to make room for Robby on the couch as he reaches out to turn off the scanner.
“Wanna talk about it?”
It’s Jack’s turn to shrug. “I guess sometimes I forget why we keep doing this.”
Robby nods to himself. He gets it. “You remember now?”
“Nah.”
“Let me know when you do?”
Jack bumps their shoulders together in agreement and then nods towards the bag, putting a definite end to the conversation.
“Is that for me?”
“For both of us,” Robby corrects, pulling the bag closer and surrendering it to Jack who immediately starts digging through it to unearth its treasures.
“Nice,” he grins as he recognizes the logo from the deli he likes a couple of blocks away, handing Robby his sandwich without missing a beat and immediately getting to work on unwrapping his own.
“Let me get some plates first, you animal,” Robby laughs and proceeds to do just that.
“It’s my couch, I can do whatever I want,” Jack calls after him but he does wait ‘til Robby is back, dutifully taking the plate he hands him.
They eat mostly in silence, sharing the occasional anecdote, and then Jack’s off to shower and get dressed while Robby putters around the kitchen, washing their plates and making coffee.
Neither of them wants to deal with the hassle of finding parking at Pittfest so they take a cab, getting there at the same time as a medevac is taking off. They share a look – someone is not having a good day – and move on to get their passes scanned at the entrance.
Robby makes sure to clock where the med tent is on the way in and he catches Jack doing the same – you never know when you might need it – but they’re not here to work and so Robby steers them towards the tents that serve food and drinks.
He owes Jack a beer, after all.
He parks Jack at an empty table and when he gets back, Jack is staring at something off to the side with a somewhat dubious expression on his face.
“You take me to the nicest places,” he drawls, and when Robby turns to look, he snorts. There is a clown standing there completely still with a handful of balloons and not a child in sight, making for a somewhat creepy sight. Robby isn’t entirely sure what he’s even doing here – Pittfest didn’t particularly seem like the type of festival directed towards families with young children – but he decides he doesn’t want to know.
“Shut up,” he says, and hands Jack his beer.
They’re going to have a great time.
This, Robby decides a couple of hours later, is exactly what he needed. Good music and great company. He and Jack have been standing shoulder to shoulder all afternoon, more proximity he usually gets to have – lets himself have –, and Robby’s feeling a little drunk on it, even as it makes something inside him ache a little. Later, he’ll probably pretend it was the crowd pushing closer together but for now, he’s enjoying himself too much to take a step back.
He was right, it isn’t really Jack’s scene and he doesn’t know any of the bands, but Robby is more than happy to share his opinion on each performer. He only has to lean a little to make himself heard over the music, and Jack has yet to move away either, watching him with an amused and ridiculously fond look on his face as Robby rambles on, more talkative than usual.
At the next lull in performances between sets, it’s Jack’s turn to tilt his head towards him, nudging him with his elbow to get his attention.
“You want to grab some food?”
Robby looks down at his watch. It’s half past five, a little early maybe, but he could eat.
They amble back towards the food tents, meandering through the stalls as they consider their options.
They’re arguing about the merit of burgers over pizzas when the shooting starts.
Days later, Robby’ll be told the succession of events that occurred afterwards. How the shooter started at the entrance and then moved deeper into the festival grounds, methodical and unbothered, until he had ended up by the stage where most people hadn’t even heard the shots over the music, not until it was too late.
But at that very moment, he freezes. Jack does not.
The moments that follow are a collection of images, sounds and sensations. Jack’s hand, digging bruises into his forearm, pushing back, back, and back until he had walked into something solid, and then being yanked down. People screaming. His heartbeat, thundering in his ears. Fumbling with his phone to call 9-1-1. The music cutting off abruptly. People running past them, some of them bloody, some of them not. Wanting to help, and Jack not letting him. And through it all, more gunfire, and more screaming.
Then, finally, in the distance, sirens.
It feels like an eternity has passed, though it can’t have been more than a few minutes since this whole thing started. There’s still gunfire going on but it sounds farther away now, and Jack stands, pulling him up with him. Robby stumbles a little when he gets to his feet, but Jack still hasn’t let go of his arm and he steadies him easily before he starts pulling him towards the entrance.
“Wait, Jack –” People are hurt, they need to help.
“When the cops get here.”
He’s right. Deep down Robby knows he’s right. The shooter is still out there, he could come back this way any minute, and they won’t be able to help anyone if they get themselves shot.
Of course, that rationalisation only lasts until they reach the path the gunman’s bullets took and come across the first bodies.
The images will stay with him forever, Robby knows, taking a place of honour in the roster of things that keep him up at night, but he can’t not look, checking for any sign of breathing or movement.
“Black tags, Robby,” Jack says, tugging him along, and Robby wants to ask how he can know for sure, wants to stop anyway, but deep down he knows. Jack’s been through this before, or if not this something similar enough that he can function perfectly normally in it. Robby hates it.
There is another burst of gunfire in the distance and Jack keeps them moving before Robby can argue. Later, he’ll blame himself for not trying harder.
There are people around them, Robby eventually realises, moving in the same direction. Some of them are bleeding, but at least they’re on their feet, of their own volution or supported by others.
“Should we get them to the med tent?” he finds himself asking Jack, finally risking a glance in his direction. He looks focused, a man on a mission, but beyond that Robby wouldn’t be able to guess what he’s feeling. It worries him, distantly, or he thinks it should, but his mind keeps tripping on things, fleeting from thought to thought without really focusing on anything.
Jack shakes his head. “They won’t have planned for this.”
He’s right, probably. The med tent is more likely to have been stocked to handle ODs and heat strokes, not GSW. Even if they did set up triage here, they would have no supplies, how are they supposed to help all these people?
As if to test that hypothesis:
“Please, I need help!” someone calls out and Robby stops walking abruptly, yanking Jack to a stop as well.
They stare at each other for a beat and Robby can see the moment Jack relents, letting go of Robby’s arm so they can turn towards whoever needs them.
It’s a kid, late teens or early twenties, carrying a girl the same age in his arms. Her t-shirt is soaked with blood and her eyes are closed. Robby can’t tell if she’s breathing.
“Hey, it’s okay, we’re doctors,” he says. The kid comes to a stop in front of him, looking up at him with a frantic hope. “Let me see.”
It’s impossible to do an exam like this, Robby quickly realises, but the girl’s got a pulse, weak but there.
He puts pressure on her chest wound as best as he can and shares a grim look with Jack. Not good.
“How long until the paramedics get here, do you think?”
Jack shakes his head. “They won’t come in while the shooter’s still active.”
As if to prove him right, more gunfire erupts in the direction of the stage. People around them scream and duck.
“Then we have to get her out of here,” Robby decides, and they start moving again.
When they get to the front of the venue it’s complete chaos. Robby sees five people try to get into the back of a red mini cooper and someone almost get run over by a SUV. Ten seconds later, a cop car comes to a screeching halt a few feet away and the two cops jump out.
Two seems too few, Robby thinks vaguely.
“Hey, we need to get her to a hospital,” he shouts at them but they ignore him, running past them.
Shit.
“Robby!” Jack calls out to his right, and when Robby turns to look, he sees that he’s managed to flag down a pick-up truck. He’s got the tailgate down and people are already climbing in.
It takes a bit of manoeuvring to get the girl onto the cargo bed while keeping pressure on her chest, Robby having to climb in with her before the boy can follow, but they manage it.
Then Jack moves to close the tailgate and–
“Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” Jack isn’t getting in the truck. Why isn’t Jack getting in the truck?
“I’m going back,” he says and it takes a couple of seconds for his words to compute.
Jack had been bound and determined to get them out of there, and now he wants to go back?
“Then I’m staying too,” Robby decides stubbornly. He’s the one who had wanted to help in the first place, he thinks uncharitably, why is Jack changing his mind now? It makes no sense.
“If you let go she dies,” Jack points out and Robby looks down at the girl. He’s right, Robby knows he is right, and for a second he hates him for it. And for some reason, that anger helps centre him.
“Asshole.”
Jack grins, quick and bright and completely out of place. “I know.”
Robby takes a deep breath. Help the ones you can. Right now it’s the girl.
“Fuck. Fuck. Okay, okay.”
Another burst of gunfire – is it getting closer? Robby can’t tell. He flinches. Jack doesn’t.
“We’ve got to go,” someone yells from inside the cab.
“Do not get yourself killed. I’ll never forgive you if you do,” Robby finds himself saying before he can think better of it.
Jack snaps the tailgate shut and takes a step back.
“Go,” he yells at the driver and the car peels off, almost throwing Robby off balance.
It’s only later, with the car speeding away, that he realizes Jack never answered him.
The drive is a blur. Robby keeps all his focus on the girl so he won’t have to think about Jack – Jack staying behind, leaving Jack behind – but it’s not enough, he knows it’s not enough, her blood slowly seeping through his fingers no matter how much pressure he applies.
It’s only when they come to a screeching halt and he hears his name being called out that he realises they’re in front of the ED. His ED.
He’s at work.
Makes sense, he thinks distantly. They’re the closest trauma centre.
Still, he almost laughs out loud hysterically at the absurdity of the situation.
“I’m okay,” he tells Ellis, waving off the concern. “I need a gurney.”
She clambers onto the cargo bed with him, shining a light into the girl’s eyes. “Okay, tell me.”
“GSW to the chest, she had a pulse when we got her into the truck, haven’t been able to check since.”
She checks her femoral. “Okay, got one but barely, that’s a red, go.”
She slaps a band on the girl’s wrist before moving on to triage the rest of the people in the truck with them, and Robby stops paying attention to her. They get the girl onto a gurney and roll her into the ED, Robby still applying pressure.
“Robby, thank God!” he hears Dana exclaim as they come in.
“It’s okay, Robby, we got her, you can let go,” someone else says – Collins, he thinks – and it takes a moment for his body to obey. He takes a step back, and immediately two persons take his place.
“She was with someone, he’s outside,” he says to no one in particular. Without a task to focus on anymore, he can feel his mind getting a little foggy and he tries to call back the anger – Jack should be outside too – but he can’t quite manage it, glancing around the ED to find rows and rows of gurneys and wheelchairs.
He feels someone tugging on his arm, and then Dana’s voice:
“Perlah, cover for me for a second?”
Perlah’s answering “Got it” is almost lost in the barely controlled chaos that surrounds them as more people are brought in, and the hand on his arm tugs again. This time he goes, taking a couple of steps back out of the way, and then Dana’s voice again:
“Robby, hey, Robby? Can you look at me for a second? Are you hurt?”
“No, no, I’m fine, I –” He finally takes his eyes off the girl to glance in her direction, and then does a double take, his mind clearing again. “Jesus. What happened to you?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.”
“Please tell me they got the bastard.”
“Why don’t we focus on you for a second?” She starts walking but Robbie digs his heels in.
“Wait, wait.”
“What?”
“Jack was with me.”
“Jack?” She looks around, clearly expecting him to appear behind them, and Robby tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest.
“He stayed behind, can you–?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as he comes in,” she promises. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
They stop in front of the men’s bathroom. “I’ll get you some scrubs so you can change,” she tells him.
Robby looks down at himself and grimaces. “Thanks.”
The door closes behind him, muffling the cacophony of the ED, and Robby finds himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. He should clean himself up – that’s why he’s in here, after all – but he must lose track of time because when Dana knocks on the door and slips inside, he hasn’t moved an inch.
“Come on,” she says, turning the water on and taking his hands to place them under it.
The cold shocks him back to himself enough that he starts washing his hands mechanically. There’s blood under his fingernails, he notes dispassionately. It’s going to be a bitch to get out. In the meantime, Dana has wet a paper towel and is cleaning blood off his forehead. Robby doesn’t remember how it got there.
“There you go, much better.” She gives him an encouraging smile and Robby hates that she’s being careful with him. She has better things to worry about.
So he takes a deep breath, locks down everything he can manage to push down, and straightens. He’s fine.
“Thanks.”
She hands him the scrubs without further comment and he doesn’t bother with modesty, yanking off his t-shirt and kicking off his shoes so he can take his pants off. Once he’s dressed again, he shoves his clothes into the bin – it’s not great loss, and the thought of having to clean them makes his heart pound –, only remembering to save his phone, wallet and keys at the last minute. He has to wash his hands again after all that, and then Dana hands him a very familiar hoodie.
“How do you know my locker combination?” he asks, momentarily distracted.
She raises an eyebrow at him and he shakes his head with a sound that could possibly be counted as a laugh, putting on his hoodie like one puts on armour before asking: “Did the girl make it?”
Dana shakes her head. “Nothing you could have done. Walsh said the bullet tore right through her aorta. It’s a miracle you even got her here with a pulse.”
Robby nods to himself.
“Do you think Jack knew?” he finds himself asking and Dana frowns, confused.
“Jack?”
“He told me to go with her. Someone had to keep pressure on the wound. But if she was as good as dead already, then it was all for nothing.”
Jack had to have known. He had to have known, and he guilt-tripped Robby into going with the girl anyway. And Robby should have known too, but it’s surprisingly hard to focus on the medicine when people are potentially shooting at you. If he had been better– if he had–
“Not for nothing,” Dana says, momentarily derailing his self-recriminations.
“What?”
She shoots him a look, like Robby is being dense on purpose. “It got you out of there, didn’t it?”
And Robby is suddenly incandescently furious.
“That wasn’t his choice to make!”
“Robby…”
“I left him there, Dana!”
“And now he can focus on getting himself out of there in one piece without worrying about you.”
Robby shakes his head – not good enough – and Dana grips his hand.
“He’s going to be okay,” she says with a conviction Robby desperately wants to feel.
“Yeah?” he asks and hates how his voice wobbles, uncertain and fucking terrified.
“It’s Jack.” She says, like that holds some sort of meaning, and in a way it does.
A beat of silence and then Robby rubs his face and nods to himself.
“Okay. Okay, yeah, you’re right. Jack’s going to be fine.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“I can yell at him when he gets here.”
“Jesus,” she mutters.
“What?” he asks, defensively.
“The two of you, I swear…”
Robby shoots her a sharp look. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She raises her hands in surrender. “Nothing.”
She opens the bathroom door, the sharp increase in noise almost disorienting. “McKay’s kid is in the break room. Why don’t you go and keep him company? I’ll find you when I hear something.”
Robby immediately shakes his head. “No, no, I’m good. I can work.”
Dana looks dubious, casting around for some support, and Robby decides to bypass her entirely, walking up to Shen who’s probably regretting agreeing to cover Robbie’s shift by now.
“Where do you need me?” he asks him.
To his great annoyance, Shen doesn’t answer immediately – instead he looks at Dana over Robby’s shoulder and Robby tries to clamp down on his irritation.
He’s fine.
“Were you drinking?” Shen asks, catching Robby off guard, and oh. Right. Robby hadn’t considered that.
“I had one beer, two – no, three hours ago.”
“Fine by me,” Shen shrugs. “Go check on the kids in yellow.”
“The kids?”
“New resident, intern and med student,” Dana offers from behind him. “I’ll introduce you.”
Right, that was today. Robby forgot.
As Dana leads him to the yellow zone, Robby can’t help but notice it’s about as far from the ED doors as it can get. He’ll be the last to know if – when – Jack gets there. He wonders if Shen did it on purpose.
Wonders if it’s a bad sign.
Anxiety flares deep inside him and he wrestles it down ruthlessly as he gets a crash introduction to their newest team members, who are having a hell of a first day. He probably doesn’t make a stellar first impression but Dr King – Mel –, whom he remembers vaguely from the interview process, seems to have things under control. It’s a good thing too because it’s not long before Robby gets called over to pink by McKay to help with a patient, and less than ten minutes later he’s back in red, putting in a chest tube while Collins intubates.
“You okay?” he asks her as the patient gets whisked off to surgery – she seems off, somehow. Also: “Where’s Langdon?”
Before she can answer, another patient gets brought in and they have to do it all over again, and then he’s called back to pink, fleeting from patient to patient wherever he’s needed.
It’s easier to focus when he has a task in front of him, but not so much when he’s moving from one to another. He keeps looking over his shoulder for Jack and when that fails, trying to catch a glimpse of him in the patients that come in, if not in body then in a tourniquet here and an artisanal trach there – Jack’s always been good at improvising. Jack is fine.
However looking around means being confronted with rows upon rows of gurneys lining the hallways and the hive of activity around them. Robby doesn’t know why but his mind keeps flashing back to the Covid days when they were just as overwhelmed, despite all the differences. He gets lost in his head a couple of times before someone calling his name forcefully brings him out of it, and when he finds himself going out of his way to avoid Peds, he makes himself walk past it just to prove he can. He can’t afford to lose it now.
Eventually the stream of new patients slows and stops altogether. The shooter is dead, Gloria tells them. She’s reopening the ED to walk-ins. And it becomes harder and harder to ignore the fact that Jack is nowhere to be found. Robby checks his phone, finding missed calls from Dana from a couple of hours ago, more from Langdon for some reason, and a couple of texts from Jake asking if he’s okay. He texts Jake back and puts his phone away.
Nothing from Jack.
It’s been too long.
He should be here by now.
Not today, of all days.
And suddenly Robby can’t stay there anymore, his chest feels too tight and it’s like he can’t breathe. He tears off his PPE and snaps off his gloves, tugging at his collar.
“Robby?” Dana calls after him.
“I need some air,” he manages to choke out.
He doesn’t remember making his way to the roof until he’s standing by the railing, as if standing there will magically summon Jack to him.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there, arms crossed over his chest with his fingers digging harshly into his elbows in an effort to remain grounded, until–
“You’re in my spot,” he hears, and the tears he had barely been managing to keep at bay threaten to spill over.
He turns, half-stumbling in his haste, and then he’s collapsing against Jack, barely remembering not to put too much weight on his bad side and holding on to him as tight as he can. And Jack just… lets him have it, wrapping his arms around him like he never plans to let go.
Jack’s here. Jack’s fine. It’s going to be okay.
“I’m so fucking mad at you,” Robby eventually manages, his voice thick with too many emotions.
“I figured,” Jack says, sounding not at all bothered by it, and Robby has to pull back a little to look at him.
He doesn’t go far, cupping Jack’s face with both hands, and the look on Jack’s face derails whatever he was planning to say about choice and autonomy and giving him the curtesy to make his own fucking decisions.
Someone got Jack some clean scrubs to wear but he didn’t do a great job at cleaning himself up before coming up to the roof, and there are still specks of blood dotting his face. He looks tired and a little tight around the eyes, the way he gets when he’s been walking around on his prosthetic for too long but is being stubborn about it. But despite it all, or maybe because of it, he is looking at Robby with that unbearably fond expression that’s reserved just for him.
He’s rarely had to face it head on, usually catching it from the corner of his eyes, and Robby can’t deal with how much Jack loves him right now – because that’s what that look means, he knows – and he has to close his eyes before he does something stupid like kiss him. Instead he presses their foreheads together for a few heartbeats, which is only marginally less stupid, but only because it allows him to ground himself. Then he straightens again and opens his eyes. Jack’s expression has dimmed a little for some reason but he still gives Robby a tiny smile and Robby exhales, some of the tension leaving his body.
“You okay?” He asks, and then decides to check for himself, his hands moving to pat Jack down.
“I’m okay,” Jack confirms, submitting to Robby’s examination good-naturedly, though the way he winces when one of Robby’s hand touches the left side of his chest almost immediately makes a liar out of him.
“What is it? Did you get shot?”
“No, I didn’t get shot. It’s just a cut.”
Not even remotely satisfied with that answer, Robby grabs the bottom of Jack’s scrubs and pulls it up.
“Buy me dinner first, why don’t you?” Jack mutters but doesn’t resist, obediently lifting his elbow to expose the wound on his side.
And okay, it’s not that bad, but it’s still bleeding a little and it needs stitches, and–
“What are you doing up here instead of in a bed getting stitched up?” Robby demands, immediately regretting it when Jack’s expression shutters further. It was an asshole-y question. He knows why Jack is up here.
He opens his mouth to apologise but Jack beats him to him, apparently having decided he’s had enough of Robby’s bullshit for the day.
“Why do you think?”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. Just… Can we go and get that looked at?”
“Fine.” Jack gestures sarcastically at him – ‘after you’ – and Robby reluctantly goes, Jack falling into steps with him.
The elevator ride is mostly silent, Jack electing to ignore whatever tension’s still lingering between them by leaning against the wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Robby finds himself watching the long line of his throat before forcing himself to look away. He clears his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m being an asshole.”
Jack doesn’t bother opening his eyes. “I get it, you’re pissed at me.”
Robby doesn’t try arguing the point. He is. But deep down he’s mostly terrified, and Jack knows that too. “I could have helped.”
“Yeah, maybe. Probably.”
“Then why?”
Jack cracks his eyes open to look at him.
“You know why.”
It’s Robby’s turn to look away. He does know. In fact, he’s just spent the past two hours wishing Jack was anywhere but where he was. If he had had a way to ensure it, he would have taken it, consequences be damned. It hardly seems fair to blame Jack for succeeding in doing the same. But when has Robby ever been logical about Jack?
It’s also the closest they’ve ever come to acknowledging Jack’s feelings out loud, because of course he knows Robby knows.
“It’s okay,” Jack says when Robby stays silent. He sounds almost resigned and Robby hates it, hates that he’s the cause of it.
Maybe Robby should say something. Jack, of all people, deserves to know that he’s loved, and surely anything would be better than this. Yes, Robby should say something. He opens his mouth, not really sure what’s going to come out, but before he can decide the elevator stops on the surgical floor and the doors open, letting Mohan and one of the new students in, pushing a gurney.
Then the elevator gets moving again and it is quite possibly the longest elevator ride of Robby’s life.
“You guys should head home. Your shift was over hours ago,” Robby finally says to the elevator’s newest occupants in an effort to break the silence.
“Oh, we’re fine,” Mohan answers, sounding more upbeat than Robby expected.
He glances at the student – Javadi, was it? – who looks about ready to fall asleep standing and then back at Mohan with a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t notice.
“That’s the adrenaline talking.”
She shrugs and is off the second the elevator doors open on the ED floor. Javadi on the other hand hasn’t moved, leaning against the gurney.
“Off you go,” Robby tells her kindly and she finally rouses herself enough to do so, completely forgetting about the gurney.
He shares an amused look with Jack, because even when they’re – whatever they’re currently doing – they’re still them, and they’ve both been there.
Robby pushes the gurney back into the ED proper, Jack trailing after him. Dana looks relieved to see them and Robby feels a twinge of guilt for worrying her.
“Hey Dana. Is there a bed open somewhere?”
She looks between the two of them, probably trying to figure out who the bed is for.
“Sure. Do you want me to grab Shen or Ellis?”
Robby feels Jack tense next to him, and he shakes his head. “Dr King will do just fine.”
“Alright. Why don’t you head off to Central 7, I’ll get her for you.”
In Central 7, Jack sits on the bed without complaint, and Dr King – Mel – is only a few seconds behind.
“Oh. Hello. What seems to be the problem?” she asks, looking between the two of them.
“Dr Abbot here needs stitches,” Robby tells her.
She steps closer. “Can I take a look?” she asks Jack, and he pulls up his scrubs.
“Okay, it doesn’t look too bad,” she says, almost cheerfully. “How did it happen?”
Jack glances at Robby. Mel follows his eyes and frowns. “Do you want Dr Robinavitch to step outside?”
Robby shoots her a disbelieving look and crosses his arms. Really?
“No, it’s fine,” Jack says. He seems to find the whole thing amusing, the bastard. “It’s from a knife.”
Mel blinks. “Oh. Oh. Uh. Do we need to call the police?”
“No, that’s fine. It was just an accident.”
She only looks half-convinced. “Right. I’ll just go and get everything ready and then I’ll be right back then.”
“Thanks.”
She leaves and Robby counts to ten in his head. Slowly.
“A knife wound,” he states, staring at the wall in front of him. He can’t bear to look at Jack right now.
“Uh-uh.”
“You got stabbed in the middle of a mass shooting.”
“I didn’t get stabbed, and it wasn’t on purpose –”
“I would fucking hope so.”
Jack doesn’t dignify that with an answer. “One of the food trucks’ staff thought I was the shooter when I came to check on their co-worker. Luckily for them I wasn’t because they had no clue what they were doing.”
Robby digs his palms into his eyes before scrubbing his hands through his hair roughly.
Jack got stabbed. With a knife. A few inches to the right or down, a little more force behind the thrust, and he could have bled out right there and then, with no one to help him.
Robby doesn’t know how to handle that.
“Luckily for you, you mean.”
He must sound weird because Jack frowns and reaches out for him.
“Robby, hey –”
Whatever he was going to say is interrupted by Mel’s return and Jack lets his hand drop, aborting the movement half-way through. Robby keeps staring at the wall while he tries to get himself back under control, his arms tugged tight around his chest.
Mel seems oblivious to the tension in the room as she rolls both the table now holding her supplies and the stool closer to Jack, and snaps on gloves.
“Ready?” She asks.
Jack dutifully lays back on the bed and lets her do her job. She injects the lidocaine, and she’s just about to start cleaning the wound when Robby abruptly says:
“I’ll do it.”
Instead of handing Robby the betadine, she glances at Jack, looking distinctly alarmed.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” She trails off at the end, making it sound like a question.
Robby frowns and opens his mouth to protest when Jack cuts in.
“Let her do her job, brother.”
Robby transfers his frown to him.
“Jack.”
The man quirks a gentle eyebrow at him. “Michael.”
“I’m fine.”
“Robby. Your hands are shaking,” Jack counters kindly.
Robby looks down at his hands.
Fuck.
He shoves them into his hoodie. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologise for.” A beat of silence, during which Mel looks back and forth between the two of them with something like trepidation, and then Jack adds, with a hint of a roguish smile: “You can hold my hand if you want.”
He probably means it as a joke, because he appears genuinely surprised for a split second when Robby parks himself on the edge of the bed and proceeds to do just that, taking Jack’s right hand in both of his. But then Jack’s smile softens into something small and still so fond despite Robby behaving like a complete lunatic, and he curls his fingers around Robby’s.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” he tells Mel who’s still hovering next to him.
“Right,” she says, a little too brightly, and she sits back down and reaches for the betadine again. She cleans the wound then irrigate, and Robby watches her like an hawk.
To her credit, it doesn’t seem to bother her. Much.
“What are you using?” Robby asks when she reaches for the needle and Jack gives his hand a squeeze.
“Please ignore him,” he says. “He can’t help himself. But it’s late and we all want to go home.”
She’s quick and efficient with her stitching, and once she’s done, Robby has to admit he wouldn’t have done a better job. Probably.
“Great work,” he still tells her because positive reinforcement is a thing, especially after a day like this. “I’m glad you’re with us, Dr King.”
She looks surprised at that, and then she lights up. “Thanks! I’m very glad to be here. I’ll clean that up and get your discharge papers. I mean, Dr Abbot’s.”
“Thanks,” Jack says, and waits ‘til she’s out of the room to give Robby a pointed look.
“What?”
“You and your residents, man…”
“Like you’re any better.”
As if to prove him right, Ellis chooses that moment to pop her head into the room. “You okay, boss?”
Jack waves off the concern. “I’m fine.”
“Good, ‘cause I’ve got something to show you.”
She moves over to the bed, brandishing her phone and looking completely unfazed by the fact that two of her attendings are currently holding hands. She shows Jack a picture, and Robby cranes his neck to look at it.
He sighs.
“You do know there is a procedure to take a patient’s picture, right?”
Jack and Ellis shoot him identical looks that say he’s no fun.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Robby asks Ellis almost plaintively.
It’s a little mean, maybe. He knows he wasn’t the only one worried about Jack and he remembers Ellis was outside doing triage. She was probably the first one to see him come in and Robby doesn’t want to imagine what he looked like then.
She doesn’t seem to mind though, sharing a look with Jack that he can’t begin to decipher, and then she’s off, leaving them alone again.
“How are you doing?” Jack asks.
Robby huffs a weak laugh.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Jack shoots him an unimpressed look. “How about we agree we don’t have to take turns?”
Robby opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again.
“I really wanted today to be a date,” he blurts out, completely out of the blue. But today has been a very shitty day for both of them, and Jack deserves to know.
It takes Jack a few seconds but then he grins, wide and uncomplicated.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Would have been nice to know. I would have dressed up.”
Robby risks a smile, rubbing a hand through his hair. Jack keeps hold of the other one.
They sit in silence for a moment, and then:
“Hey Robby?”
Robby makes an interrogative hum.
“You know I’m a sure thing, right?”
“Do I?” He means to sound teasing or maybe flirty, and misses the mark completely.
“When it comes to you? Yeah,” Jack says with disarming sincerity, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Robby wishes it was. Maybe it can be. Maybe after the day he’s had, he can stop denying himself what he wants and let Jack make his own decisions. Wasn’t it what he was pissed at him about earlier? And maybe he’ll regret it later – maybe he’ll overthink it or chicken out, but Jack will forgive him, he’s pretty sure of that.
“Okay.”
Jack actually startles at Robby’s acceptance because apparently it’s one thing to be told Robby wanted to take him out on a date, and another thing entirely to realise he actually wants to do something about it. He stares at Robby for a moment, trying to read whatever is on his face, and then he smiles, slow and rakish.
Heat curls in Robby’s guts. “Let’s get out of here,” he says because he’s pretty sure they’re going to end up traumatising his staff if they stay here much longer.
Jack’s smile turns positively wicked.
“Yeah? You’ve got plans?”
“How about you let me take you home and find out?”
There is something very gratifying about watching Jack scramble to his feet and make a beeline for the door.
“Well, come on then,” Jack says expectantly and Robby follows.
Of course it’s not as easy as that. They say goodbye to Dana first, check in with Bridget and Shen to make sure they have a full roster for the night, make a detour to avoid Gloria, and finally get waylaid by Mel at the door. Then they both realise they don’t have a car and have to wait 15 minutes for an Uber as their part of the city is still a gridlocked mess.
When they finally make it to Jack’s place, close to a full hour later, it’s almost half past 10, they’re tired, hungry, and in dire need of a shower.
None of that matters.
Robby’s spent the whole ride back to Jack’s wanting to reach out and touch and having to settle on holding Jack’s hand for propriety’s sake, which was not nearly enough now that he’s given himself – and been given – permission for more.
He pins Jack against his front door as soon as it closes behind them, unable to wait for a second more, because for some reason he’s managed to function perfectly well for years without touching Jack beyond what’s allowed between friends, but it now seems unconscionable to leave any space between them. Jack lets him, and there is something heady about that, about all the possibilities suddenly available to them. Robby’s almost overwhelmed by it but Jack doesn’t let him flounder for long, tilting his head up to catch Robby’s lips for a kiss.
Robby falls into it with a desperation he wasn’t expecting. But Jack is here, in his arms, warm and so very alive, and some of the fear from the last few hours finally starts to drain from his body, though it’ll probably take a lot longer to disappear entirely, if it ever does.
It seems strange to call a kiss transformative when Robby’s a 50 year old man who’s kissed plenty of people in his time, some of whom he had loved dearly. It’s not even that Jack’s a man, though it’s certainly been years – decades – since Robby ventured on that side of the fence. But somehow it still feels new, because it’s Jack. Calling him his best friend seems reductive to all of what Jack represents – his partner, his anchor, his minder sometimes, someone who calls him out on his bullshit, keeps him in check and picks him up when he needs it. Jack, who’s stubborn and kind and insufferable and so fucking handsome it makes Robby’s head spin sometimes. Jack, who has no right being as good as he is considering what life has put him through, and who probably wouldn’t agree with Robby if he ever said so out loud.
Robby runs his hand though Jack’s curls, both because he can and so he can angle his head the way he wants and deepen the kiss, and when he tugs on his hair Jack makes a bitten back sound that goes straight to Robby’s dick, even as he licks into Jack’s mouth to taste it on his tongue.
He ends up blowing Jack right there against his front door because moving to the bedroom or even to the couch seems inconceivable. He’s out of practice, and he finds himself choking on Jack’s dick more than he intends to or is strictly comfortable, yet he can’t seem to stop himself, the sounds spilling from Jack’s mouth spurring him on. It’s raw and exhilarating and when Jack finally comes with his name on his lips and something not far from a sob, Robby can’t remember the last time he felt this alive.
“Up, up,” Jack says breathlessly, pulling on Robby’s hair to drag him back to his feet, and now that he’s no longer focused on Jack’s pleasure, the action sparks a blaze of arousal throughout his body.
“This is going to be over embarrassingly fast,” he warns through gritted teeth as Jack palms him through his scrubs and he finds himself grinding forward mindlessly.
Jack laughs. It’s a beautiful sound.
“Like I did any better,” he points out.
“True,” Robby agrees. He’s rather proud of that, actually.
“Dick.”
And Robby would argue for the sake of arguing because he does so love bantering with Jack, but then Jack is pulling him out of his pants, licking his palm and getting down to business, and Robby can’t really form words after that.
Later, after they’ve showered, eaten and made their way to bed, Jack sprawls against Robby, his head pillowed against his shoulder and a loose arm slung across his body.
Robby lets himself enjoy the closeness, running his fingers through Jack’s hair, still wet from the shower. Jack’s heavier than what Robby’s used to but the weight is comforting, a reminder of Jack’s continuing existence. He can’t remember the last time he lets himself have this, or – well, actually, now that he thinks about it, he can. It didn’t end well.
He must tense at the reminder that this could very well still blow up in their faces if the past is any indicator, or maybe Jack just knows how his brain works because:
“You know, if this was just some life-affirming thing, it’s okay. You can let me down gently in the morning.”
His tone is light and he remains completely relaxed against Robby’s side, but he won’t look at him when Robby tries to catch his eyes, and that slams Robby right out of the past and back to the present.
“You really need to stop letting me get away with shit like that,” he sighs.
Jack shrugs with one shoulder and then winces a little as it pulls on his stitches. “Yeah, my therapist says the same thing.” He pauses for a couple of seconds and then adds, quieter: “Could give you his number if you ever feel like talking to him.”
Robby bites back both his instinctive denial – he’s fine – and a deflecting quip about the ethics of the guy treating both of them, and takes a moment to actually consider it.
“Does it help?”
“I haven’t jumped off the roof, have I?”
Robby tightens his grip on Jack.
“Not yet.” Not ever if he has anything to say about it. “I’ll think about it,” he allows, dropping a kiss on the top of Jack’s head as an apology for the lack of an outright ‘yes’.
Jack nods against his chest and doesn’t push. “Can you get the lights?” he asks instead, yawning.
It doesn’t take Jack long to fall asleep, the army being responsible for one good thing at least, and Robby feels the exhaustion of the day urging him to follow. He fights it, a little, determined to catalogue every minute detail of Jack asleep against him, but eventually Jack’s steady breathing and the sure knowledge that he’ll have plenty of other opportunities drag him under.
Later, they’ll take turns waking each other up from nightmares, Robby’s decisively more bloody than the sterile Covid dreams that usually haunt him, where he has to pull the plug on everyone he’s ever cared for. Jack’s are quiet, all tension and mumbled words Robby can’t really understand, though he thinks he hears his name a couple of times.
“We’re kinda fucked up,” Robby comments idly at around 5 am, the two of them staring at the ceiling, and Jack snorts.
“Now you’re getting it.”
“Maybe… maybe therapy wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” After all, he would like to be able to sleep without watching Jack die, if possible.
Jack doesn’t answer straight away, which tells Robby that he’s managed to surprise him again. He almost surprised himself, truth be told.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to fuck this up,” Robby says because it’s important that Jack knows this.
Jack turns his head to look at him. “You won’t. Or, well, you might. Or I will. We’re humans, it happens. Therapy won’t change that.”
Robby frowns. “I’m getting some mixed signals here?” Does Jack not want him to go to therapy?
“I mean, I did therapy when I thought I had to once, didn’t work. Only did when I went back because I wanted to do the work. What I’m saying is, don’t go only because you think it’s going to stop you from fucking this up. Because then when you do, it’ll just fuck you up more.”
“That’s very reassuring on the fucking up front,” Robby quips, very much regretting bringing it up and wanting the conversation to be over.
Jack waves an impatient hand, not letting him hide. “I don’t care about that. If you fuck up, you fuck up. We’ll handle it.”
The unwavering certainty in Jack’s voice finally makes him glance in his direction but he has to look away almost immediately so he won’t have to face the unshakable faith in his eyes. Jack doesn’t let him though, pushing himself up on his elbow to force the eye contact.
“We will handle it,” he repeats. “We’re very good at handling things, have you noticed?”
“I’m going to need a drink if you keep talking,” Robby says, a little desperately.
“I’m just saying, we’ll be fine.”
“Still talking.”
Jack finally takes pity on him and raises a challenging eyebrow. “Shut me up then.”
It takes Robby a second to catch on – actually, why didn’t he think of this sooner? –, and then he’s rolling them over and pressing Jack into the mattress.
“Just so you know, I won’t let you get away with that every time,” Jack points out, grinning.
Robby kisses him and that does shut Jack up very effectively.
(Jack brings it up again later. He is stubborn like that. And then he does it again, and again, whenever he thinks Robby might need to hear it. And on the days when Robby, freshly home from a brutal therapy session and feeling like he’s not making any progress, tells him he might have to keep reminding him for the rest of their lives, Jack just looks at him like he’s an idiot and says the rest of their lives sounds just fine to him.)