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The sound cuts through the chilling calm of the evening. Metal cracks against brick as the rooftop door slams open. Loud as a gunshot, and for Robby, the consequence of it being so close carries an identical sense of danger.
The echo pierces the call of the void, resonating between his ears in a way that good sense hasn't seen fit to do in months. He was supposed to answer the call this time. He was ready to succumb to it, to give in. Robby turns at the waist, and the tip of his foot falls back from the ledge it had been hovering over. He's planted firmly on solid ground once more. Hates it. He doesn’t step back. He probably should. It's the sensible thing to do. There’s a fleeting taunt on the wind from the void: Leap. Do it now. They can’t stop you if they don’t see. Go. Now. NOW.
Heart racing; pulse pounding; palms sweating. Robby doesn’t move. He waits.
Jack rounds the corner, chest heaving. He’s frantically scanning the area, attention drawn first to the right side of the roof. It’s where they’ve spent so many evenings and mornings contemplating all the biggest things in life, like purpose and legacy. Sometimes love. Rarely, but sometimes.
“Son of a bitch,” Jack barks, fist slamming against the brick door frame. Robby is tucked a bit out of his sightline on the opposite side, behind one of the other stairwell access structures. He’s too scared to move, to be seen. Uneven steps carry Jack across the roof, hurriedly. He’s on the opposite side of the door’s structure seconds later and out of Robby’s view.
Robby’s shoulders sag. He swallows down a sob. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” He’s angry that he’s been interrupted. He’s ashamed that Jack nearly caught his last living act. A healthier man would see this as a sign, but Robby isn’t one.
The urge to hide is strong. The reality that there is no escape is stronger.
A fleeting glance over the edge. Well, there is one way to get out of this. Robby doesn’t get to entertain the thought any further. The instant his body becomes aware of Jack, everything else fades to the foreground. There’s nothing else he’s able to dedicate his full attention to. That’s the way he’s always been. It’s one of the few things about Robby that’s never changed; that’s still juvenile and tender.
Jack must complete his search on the right side of the roof because he comes back around to the door again. Head on a swivel; phone at his ear.
“Dana, I don’t fucking see him! Are you sure he—” Jack catches his eye, he visibly deflates. His whole body slackens, shoulders dropping like the strings have been cut. “Never mind. I’ve got him. Stay put.”
Jack taps the phone screen, slips the device into his jeans pocket, and approaches. Robby doesn’t move from the edge. His hands won’t stop shaking. Balling his fists and shoving them into his fleece pockets doesn’t cut off the adrenaline, but it's at least a vulnerability he can conceal.
The closer Jack gets, the more deliberate his steps become. The only noise between them is the city sounds of traffic below and the crunch of gravel beneath Jack’s feet. It could be just another twisted night; a flirtation with an idea. Robby could pass it off and pretend to be fine and paste on the fake smile that he knows Jack is sick of. They’d throw some barbs, he’d dodge some questions, and they’d both go home. But Robby’s so damn tired, and by the shine of unshed tears in Jack’s eyes, it wouldn’t work this time anyway.
Because Robby is on the wrong side of the roof.
And they both know it.
Jack doesn’t say anything when he gets to the safety rail. He’s probably doing the math. Robby is on the unsafe side, not good, but not unusual. Jack knows that there’s no additional structures on this side of the roof, though. It’s a straight shot down to the pavement from here. No helipad, ambulance bay, or trees to offer the illusion of an increased survival rate.
Jack’s mouth swishes from left to right, his fingers curl around the railing until his knuckles are white. Yeah. He knows. This is different.
Jack's wedding ring taps against the metal as he stares out somewhere over Robby’s shoulder. His left hand relaxes its grip, only for his thumb to rub against the ring—a tell that he’s holding back, processing.
Robby wishes he wouldn’t. He deserves the worst abuse that Jack can give him, raw and unfiltered. Spewing with hate and vitriol.
Nothing happens.
Jack’s gaze finally meets Robby’s, and Robby wastes no time in dropping his chin, counting the scuffs on Jack’s boots.
Time passes in that same dance. The voice was right. He should’ve jumped.
They stare at each other. Past each other. Through each other.
This isn’t how this was supposed to go.
Jack wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the building today, let alone on the roof of PTMC. Robby had been so careful. He’d triple checked the schedule. Been so cautious to make sure that out of all the things he’s laid at Jack’s feet, arriving on scene and witnessing the immediate aftermath of this was not going to be one of them. He’d wanted to spare him that, of being a first responder to his last breath. Almost like a consolation prize for putting up with him for a couple of decades longer than anyone else has ever dared to try.
It's a bad gift, but Robby's been an awful friend, so it tracks.
It’s the thought that counts anyway.
As much as Robby wanted to do this alone with no one the wiser, seeing Jack a final time is a kindness that he doesn’t deserve to have extended. It’s also a cruelty in light of what he plans to do, and that… that is more in line with how he’s used to the universe aligning things for him.
Robby wonders who ratted him out. He’d be pissed that his plan to exit quietly into the night has been temporarily halted, but that would involve having feelings. And honestly, he’s fresh out of those. He doesn’t know how to care anymore. The empathy has been drained out of his body, leaving nothing but a husk where someone overflowing with compassion used to live.
“Who called you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Robby supposes it doesn’t.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Robby tries instead. Jack should be at home. He should be lying in bed, reading a historical fiction book by candle warmer light. He should be listening to his police scanner and justifying how much sleep he can go without between SWAT shifts and night shift if he answers a call. He should be so far away from the ghosts that haunt this hospital and the poison that Robby leeches into everyone he loves.
“Neither should you,” Jack says as he walks around the end of the safety railing to join Robby’s side of it. He eyes Robby’s positioning, toes of his sneakers touching the bricks of the raised edge. “Want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Not happening.”
Robby should’ve expected as much. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. Crosses his arms over his chest. “Why ask then?”
“Just making conversation,” Jack shrugs. “I don’t know if you remember, but it’s the kind of thing civilized people do.” He takes a careful step forward, eyeing the rooftop’s edge, the distance between them. An arched brow raises in question as he looks between Robby and the ledge. “We can try it. Start simple. You talk. I listen.”
“Hard pass.”
“Worth a shot.”
Jack’s not quite in arm’s reach, but that’s nothing new. Robby has never been able to get a hold of him in any meaningful way. Jack is always a touch too far away in all of the ways he craves.
It’s too bad, really. In another life, Robby likes to think they were made for each other. Molded from divine clay and placed side-by-side on a life path that had more ups than downs. A version of a world where Robby had never lost himself to hopelessness. A reality where Jack had never been torn apart by heartache and pain, forced to wear the price of the battles that others waged. They’d find each other earlier, so much earlier, long before they’d been forced to pour concrete into their veins to stay safe and sane, hardening to a landscape that demands toughness towards others over kindness to the self. Robby would never question what he wanted in that world; he’d give Jack everything, and he’d take Jack’s anything, and together they’d be all wrapped up in one another’s arms, assured that they had something pure and true to believe in.
That world was never going to be this one, but Robby is grateful to have it at the forefront of his thoughts all the same. As far as parting visions go it can’t get much better.
Jack clears his throat and sniffles. He rocks from one foot to the other, favoring the prosthetic and adjusting his weight to no doubt take pressure off the residual limb. He's a contradiction; all hard lines and soft edges. Hands trained over years to heal, hands trained over years to hurt. He’s handsome and beautiful and Robby hopes he finds someone to love him as much as Robby wishes he could have, as much as he wishes he’d have been allowed, because Jack Abbot deserves the universe on a silver platter.
“Were you going to do it?” Jack asks.
Robby presses his tongue to the back of his teeth; opens his mouth to speak; thinks better of it. He turns his attention to the skyline instead, choosing not to look down. He's got that view memorized. But this one, beyond the hospital and not below it? That view he hasn’t spent as much time with.
He loses time tracing his eyes along the rooftops and city lights. Searching for the right answer because all of the ones inside of him are wrong. Everything about Robby is wrong.
“Michael,” Jack pleads. “I need an answer.”
No, he doesn’t. Michael is reserved for special occasions. Jack only ever called him that during weddings, funerals, and the fleeting moments where gazes had held for too long and touches lingered until the skin beneath them warmed. If he’s using Michael, Jack already knows the answer.
“I can’t give you that.”
“Why not?”
“Plausible deniability?”
“Robby—”
“Go home, Jack. I don’t…” Robby shakes his head. “You need to be far away from this. Far away from me. I won't answer that.”
“Why not?” Jack tries again, and this time Robby breaks.
The sob that bubbles up from his throat is ugly, and wet, impossible to contain. “Because you can’t stop me. And I need you to leave. I don’t want to be the reason you feel like you broke your oath. It’s better if you just… go home.”
The implication hangs. If Jack knows with certainty what Robby’s intentions are and doesn’t stop him, he’ll have violated the most central law of patient care: do no harm. Maybe not literally. But Robby knows Jack's mind, far better than his own. He hasn't been able to protect Jack from himself, but he can try to protect him from this.
“I beg to fucking differ,” Jack spits out, lips curled back in a snarl, eyes dark with anger. “Fuck you and the oath. You’re not a patient. You’re my bedrock. I’m not leaving you like this. I’m not leaving your side until I know you’re going to be okay.”
Robby snorts, wipes the back of his hand beneath his nose. “Hope you brought a sleeping bag then.”
Jack shakes his head. “What’s this really about? Talk to me. Please. We’ve been here before. No day to date has been the day. So what gives? What makes today so special?” Jack has this elegant way of stripping things down, peeling away the tissues and sinew until it gives way to bone.
Robby closes his eyes and lets the responses play across the back of his eyelids, swaying against the breeze and wondering idly if nature will gust the wind strong enough to take the choice from him. He’d kind of appreciate it if it did. It would be easier. Robby would really appreciate something being easy for once.
Fuck it.
“You weren’t working,” Robby shrugs. Smile pinched thin.
“Oh, fuck off. I’m being serious.”
“And I’m not?” Robby turns to Jack fully then, taking a step towards him, his back to the ledge, and throwing his arms wide. He doesn’t know what Jack sees in him, never has. Why has he cared enough to stick around when Robby has been able to successfully push everyone else away. There’s no disguising the dire shape he’s in. His cheeks are burning despite the evening chill; the tear tracks on his face won’t dry because he’s been crying since he got up here; the sole of his shoe runs parallel to the ledge, and if the wind picks up, if he steps towards Jack and stumbles on the gravel, it’s over and done with it and down, down, down he goes, gone but not forgotten, at least until the next shift. Because no one shakes off trauma like his ED staff, and he’ll be just another statistic for them to work through at the end of the day and Robby’s okay with that.
He doesn’t know if it’s true, but he likes to think he’s leaving them better than he found them.
He’s had so much time to think about this and be okay with that.
Jack shifts back a half step, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open. “Fuck,” he whispers. His lip quivers; his face reddens; his hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Jesus… you’re serious.”
“I am nothing if not an opportunist, Jack. You should know that.” Then again, maybe he doesn’t. Why would he? Jack has no idea how many times Robby has stayed late at work to be near him. How many times a phone call about being just in the neighborhood, what are you up to, was a desperate ask for closeness. All those nights spent on couches with shoulders touching, feigning sleep under the guise of stealing one more minute of Jack’s warmth, his comfort, his peace.
Robby hates existing and is eager to stop, but he would’ve gone so much sooner if it weren’t for Jack. Jack’s existence has prolonged the inevitable. But all good things must come to an end and Robby intends to end his selfishness once and for all.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to confess.
Robby vaguely remembers what it was like to have a passion burning inside of him that wasn’t entirely fueled by self-hatred. He’s comforted so many people through their final moments. Watched as they slipped away into the nothingness of whatever comes next. All leaving as a corpse left behind to occupy space until someone—ideally someone they loved—disposed of what remained.
Is it so wrong that he finds a compelling beauty in that? We all just take up space until someone decides there isn’t a spot left among the living for us anymore. Our final act on this earth is to be a burden.
Robby will die like he lived. He’s always been a burden to the people he loves.
His mother who left.
His bubbe who stayed.
His Jack who he’ll leave behind.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Jack said, shaking his head.
Robby laughs, mean, snappish. “Then don’t! No one’s stopping you from leaving.”
“You! You are stopping me.”
“Oh, ho, ho. No, way. I don’t think so. There’s the door, Jack,” Robby gestures grandly with his hand to the rooftop door behind them. “Please, be my guest. I’ll meet you down there. Hell, I’ll even give you a headstart. Who do you think is gonna make it to the bottom faster?”
Jack’s eyes are rimmed with red. His face is flushed, whether it’s sadness or fury, Robby can’t say. “Unfuckingbelievable. That’s not funny.”
Robby inhales hard through his nose, clearing the mucus. “It’s a little funny.”
Jack’s face cycles through a myriad of expressions and finally lands on the one Robby can’t bear: grief. “Please don’t do this,” Jack whispers, mouth shaped to a deep warbling frown. His voice drops low, words dragged up from somewhere deep in his chest, shredded and pained. “I can’t lose you, too.”
And there’s something about watching the strongest man he’s ever met crumble, that nearly brings Robby to his knees. He looks away, out at the skyline again and away from the damage he’s done.
“I’m not okay, Jack,” Robby says quietly. “Every shift, every call, every time someone is delivered to us in pieces and we can’t put them back together? It’s taken something from me. And, brother, I am just… all out of things to give.”
“I know. I know you are.” Jack says it immediately, like he’s been holding it in, like he’s known longer than Robby has and he’s been waiting for Robby to say it first.
Robby doesn’t have much time to react before Jack’s arms are around his waist. Despite his smaller size, he manages to muscle Robby away from the edge. There’s nothing gentle about the urgency in it, a near-panic level of strength that jolts Robby back a full step in the right direction, towards safety, towards another day above ground.
It’s too hard to tell whether it’s an embrace of affection or confrontation. But Robby doesn’t have much fight left in him any more so he wraps an arm around Jack’s broad shoulders and lets himself be guided until they’re down and around past the safety rail, shuffling until they’re leaning against the nearest access structure.
They’re a mess of squeezing limbs, and shaking shoulders, and stuttering breaths. Mumbled apologies. Half-promises. Things neither of them will remember saying. They sink to the gravel and every single sharp edge digs into Robby’s skin. He knows it can’t be comfortable for Jack either, not with the added aggravation of his unwieldy prosthetic that’s made for comfort in motion and not whatever this is.
Their arms untangle until they find an embrace that works as they lean against the brick. Robby towers over Jack normally, but here, seated and hunched low in his grief, he buries his face into the side of Jack’s neck. He breathes him in, letting the scent of citrus and cinnamon take him away from this god damn roof and all the burdens he’d sherpa’d up to it a dozen times or more.
“Shh, I got you. I’m so fucking proud of you, Michael,” Jack coos, breath warm against Robby’s ear. His hand slides up the back of Robby’s neck, fingers spreading wide, anchoring him there like he’s afraid he might slip away. “You’re still here and I am so unbelievably proud. We are going to get you the help you need, okay? You hear me?”
Robby nods. He sinks his fingertips into firm muscle. “Okay.”
“Good. That’s good.” Jack’s hands are splayed wide along his back, moving in soothing circles as he rocks them back and forth.
Robby can feel Jack’s tears seeping into the collar of his shirt; feel the scrape of beard against his neck; feel the barest press of lips against the hair behind his ear. It lingers a second too long to be accidental. His eyes drift closed, strained by the fatigue of crying and his sobs bleed into shaking breaths.
“That’s it, there we go,” Jack coaxes. “Just breathe for me. Nice and slow.” He palms the back of Robby’s head, finger nails carding through the short hairs there. Slowly their breaths even out. They stay wrapped together, cocooned in an embrace full of hope and fragile trust.
“Thank you,” Robby mumbles into Jack’s throat. “For being here.”
“Weren’t nothing. I was just in the neighborhood.”
Robby’s laugh is somewhere between a snort and a hiccup. He’s not cured, he doesn’t suddenly have an overwhelming will to live. But for right now he’s breathing and in the arms of someone who loves so much it hurts, and it’s not always a good kind of hurt, but for right now it is. Robby will go to bed tonight and he will wake up tomorrow morning and it’s enough.
Jack clears his throat, but no words follow.
When they pull back from their embrace, their hands naturally gravitate to the other’s shoulders. It’s familiar, yet intimate in a way they normally aren’t. Robby’s too desperate for a good thing to question it.
Jack leans in and touches his forehead to Robby’s. They breathe. The air in Robby’s lungs was in Jack’s seconds before and there’s a metaphor in there somewhere that he’ll probably cling to later. Jack doesn’t pull away right away, he clings, staying close enough that their noses brush when Robby inhales.
Robby speaks first. “You’re thinking too loud. Say it.”
Jack nods, a flash of pink swipes across his lower lip. His grip tightens slightly where it’s still resting at the back of Robby’s neck, thumb pressing just beneath his hairline. “Yeah… I just… I hate to ask. I know you got nothing left to give, sweetheart. I know it. I do. But I need you to give me one thing.” The endearment was let loose on a whisper, softer than everything else around it. Jack’s jaw tightened immediately, like he felt it escape past his teeth and couldn’t catch it in time.
“Hm?”
“A chance. Give me a chance to help you. A real, honest to god chance, I’m begging you. I haven’t bought a new suit in years, so don’t make me go clothes shopping for your funeral. I don’t want some wrinkly old man tailor touching my balls with a tape measure.”
Robby laughs and Jack keeps going.
“Look, I don’t want to lose you. Seriously. I can’t…” His thumb shifts, brushing once, absentminded and careful, along the curve of Robby’s neck. “I can’t do this whole game of life bullshit without you.”
Robby won’t make a promise he can’t keep, but he can tell the truth. “I don’t want to lose you either.” It’s a shitty thing to say after what he almost did. Jack doesn’t call him on it.
Jack nods and slides one hand from Robby’s shoulder until long fingers curl around the nape of his neck. “The only way for us to both get what we want is to stick together,” Jack sniffles, leaning back and searching for something in Robby’s eyes. “You good with that? I don’t want to alarm you, but it could be a long while. I got an open calendar and no one else I’d rather fill the time with.”
“You’ll get sick of me,” Robby sighs, wiping the tears from his eyes once more. He wants to be wrong. He's not sure it's the same thing as wanting to stay, but not wanting Jack to leave isn't that bad of a proxy.
The void calls to him: Everyone leaves. They always do. They always leave. That’s why you need to leave first. He will leave you.
“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere,” Jack says it like a vow. Robby’s fingers tighten in the front of Jack’s shirt before he even realizes he’s doing it.
He doesn’t let go and Jack doesn’t leave.
For the first time in hours, the void goes eerily silent.