Chapter Text
The second operation was, by every measurable standard, a success. It was also considerably less dramatic than the first. There had been no frantic race from the Emergency Department. No massive transfusion. No surgeons making life-or-death decisions while anaesthetists chased a collapsing blood pressure.
This time, the operation had been planned. Expected.
Orthopaedics had finally been able to do the work that had been postponed while everyone focused on keeping Jack alive.
An open reduction and internal fixation of his pelvis. Metal replacing instability. Screws and plates replacing the violence of the fall.
As Garcia had explained to Robby beforehand, this was the point where trauma care began changing direction.
"We're no longer trying to stop him dying," she'd said. "Now we're trying to give him the best recovery possible."
Robby had clung to that sentence through the hours Jack spent back in theatre. It had become something of a lifeline because for the first time since Robby had arrived at work days and days ago, the conversation had been about recovery instead of survival.
By the time Jack returned to ICU, he looked exhausted. Not critically unstable. Just... spent. His oxygen had been reduced to a simple nasal cannula. His colour was better. His blood pressure no longer depended on a collection of syringes hanging from infusion pumps.
Even asleep, he somehow looked more like himself. Only now there was metal beneath his skin holding together bones that had shattered on concrete.
Robby was there when he opened his eyes again. There was no rush this time. No panic. Just the slow, familiar struggle back towards consciousness.
Jack blinked once. Twice. His gaze wandered around the room before finally settling on Robby. Recognition came almost immediately. "...Hey."
The word emerged little more than a whisper. Hoarse and dry.
Robby smiled before he realised he was smiling. "Hey."
Jack studied him for a long moment. Roby looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Or maybe the day before.
Time still didn't make much sense.
"You..." Jack swallowed painfully. "...sleep?"
Robby let out a quiet laugh. "A little."
Jack frowned. He knew Robby well enough to know he’s lying. He didn't have enough energy to argue. Instead he simply reached, slowly, for Robby's hand.
Robby met him halfway. Their fingers settled together with surprising ease. Neither of them spoke for a while.
The silence wasn't awkward. Just tired and full.
Eventually Robby found himself looking down at their joined hands. He'd rehearsed this conversation a hundred different ways over the last few days. None of them seemed possible now.
"Why didn't you tell me?" The words escaped before he could stop them.
Jack looked at him, confused. "...Tell..." His brow furrowed. "...what?"
Robby couldn't say it. The word lodged somewhere behind his ribs.
Suicidal.
Depressed.
Hopeless.
He couldn't ask, couldn’t say it aloud. Not while Jack was lying in an ICU bed. When every sentence still seemed to cost him effort.
Instead he settled for something smaller. "How you were feeling."
Understanding flickered across Jack's face. Or what Robby believed was understanding.
Jack closed his eyes for a second. He'd wanted to tell him. God, he'd wanted to tell him. The amount of speeches he'd practised in his own head should be concerning.
Every version of, Would you maybe like to...?
Every version of, I've been meaning to ask...
Every version had disappeared with the fall.
"I..." His voice cracked. He swallowed again. "...was..." Another breath. "...going to."
Robby felt something inside him break. He tightened his grip on Jack's hand without even realising. "You don't have to carry everything by yourself."
Jack managed the smallest, tired smile. "...Know."
Of course he knew. He'd been waiting for Robby. Trusting that, for once, he wouldn't have to carry everything alone. The thought brought him an unexpected sense of peace. He'd just run out of time.
Robby looked away before Jack could see the tears gathering in his eyes. They were having the same conversation. He was almost certain of it.
Neither of them realised they weren't.
A gentle knock interrupted the silence. The ICU door opened just enough for Jeremy, Jack’s nurse of the day, to slip inside.
"Sorry to interrupt." He smiled apologetically. "I've got a couple of people hoping to say hello."
Robby looked up. "Visitors?"
"Sort of."
He stepped aside. Two familiar faces stood quietly in the corridor. Liaison Psychiatry. The psychiatrist and the mental health nurse Robby immediately recognised.
"They've just come to introduce themselves." Jeremy said as a way of introduction.
Jack looked towards the doorway. Recognition flickered. Not of the people. Rather of the lanyards. Mental Health Professionals.
He relaxed almost imperceptibly.
"Hi, Jack," the psychiatrist said with an easy smile. "I'm Nathan Reeves, one of the liaison psychiatrists."
The woman smiled too. "And I'm Hannah Lewis, one of the mental health liaison nurses. Your ICU team have told us you've had a long couple of days.
Neither of them came too close to the bed.
They'd clearly done this enough times to know that intensive care could feel crowded very quickly.
Reeves glanced briefly towards Jeremy, who was adjusting Jack’s background fluid infusion.
"We're not here to wear you out." His attention returned to Jack. "We just wanted to introduce ourselves."
Jack gave the smallest nod. His brain immediately filled in the blanks. Somebody had obviously informed the liaison team he was back in hospital. Standard practice and entirely sensible.
Reeves continued in the same calm tone. "We'll let you recover a little more before we have a proper chat."
Jack's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. "...Okay."
"Good." Reeves smiled. "We'll leave you in peace for now."
He exchanged a quick glance with Jermey before both he and Lewis quietly stepped back into the corridor. Robby waited until the door had closed behind them before carefully untangling his hand from Jack's.
"I'll be right back."
Jack looked tired enough that he only managed a small nod. Within seconds, his eyes had drifted closed again.
Robby slipped quietly into the corridor. Dr Nathan Reeves and Hannah Lewis had only made it a few steps towards the nurses' station before he caught up with them.
"Dr Reeves?"
Both of them turned.
Reeves' expression softened immediately. "Dr Robinavitch."
"Robby's fine."
The psychiatrist smiled politely. "Robby."
For a moment, nobody quite seemed to know where to begin. Robby broke first. "Can I ask... what happens now?"
Reeves exchanged a brief glance with Hannah before answering. "From our perspective?"
Robby nodded.
"We wait." The simplicity of the answer caught him off guard. "We've introduced ourselves," Reeves continued. "We've reviewed his background and spoken with the ICU team. At the moment he's simply too unwell for a meaningful psychiatric assessment."
Hannah folded her clipboard against her chest. "He's exhausted, still recovering from a significant traumatic brain injury and receiving regular opioids."
"In other words," Reeves said gently, "anything he told us today would be very difficult to interpret reliably."
Robby nodded slowly. That made sense. Professionally, he would have said exactly the same thing. "So you'll come back?"
"We will. But not until Dr Patel is happy that Jack's cognition has improved."
Robby looked back through the glass panel in the ICU door. Jack hadn't moved, he was still asleep. Still utterly unaware that this conversation was happening a few metres away.
"What are you looking for?" Robby asked quietly.
Reeves didn't answer immediately.
"When we do meet with Jack," he said carefully, "our priority will be understanding his mental state leading up to the incident, assessing his current level of risk and making sure we've got the right support in place going forward."
Support. Risk. The words sounded painfully familiar. Robby had used them himself hundreds of times.
Just never about Jack.
Hannah's voice was kind. "We're not here to catch him out. We're here to help him recover."
Robby managed a small nod. "I know."
He did know. It didn't make it hurt any less.
"If he asks why you’re involved..." Robby hesitated. "Should I..."
He couldn't quite finish the sentence.
Reeves spared him the effort. "There's no need to have that conversation tonight. He deserves to recover from surgery before we ask him to revisit something this significant."
Robby looked down at the floor. "Right."
Reeves offered him a reassuring smile. "You don't have to carry this on your own either."
Robby didn’t quite know what to do with that, so he thanked them quietly before watching the pair disappear towards the lifts. For several moments he remained exactly where he was. Staring after them.
Until another familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "I thought I'd find you out here."
Dana. She looked as exhausted as he felt. Her hair was escaping its ponytail. A takeaway bag hung from one hand. She took one look at Robby's face and sighed. "They've been talking to you."
Robby nodded once. "They're waiting until he's stronger."
Dana nodded. "I figured."
Silence settled between them.
Eventually she held out the takeaway bag. "Eat."
Robby accepted it automatically. "I'm not hungry."
"I wasn't asking."
He almost smiled. Almost.
Dana leaned against the wall beside him. "You look awful."
"I know."
"No." She shook her head. "I don't think you do."
He looked at her, saying nothing, knowing that whatever lie he comes up with, his beloved charge nurse will be able to see right through.
She folded her arms. "When was the last time you slept in a bed?"
Robby opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. He genuinely couldn't remember.
Dana raised an eyebrow. "My point exactly."
"I'm not leaving him."
"You are."
"No."
"Yes."
The certainty in her voice made him blink. She wasn't asking. She was informing him.
"Dana..."
"Dr Patel has already spoken to me."
Robby frowned. "What?"
"He wants you to go home."
That caught him completely off guard. "He didn't say that."
"He said it to me." Dana smiled faintly. "He thought I'd have more luck."
Robby snorted despite himself. "He was right."
"I know." She stepped a little closer. "Robby, honey. Jack is asleep and he'll probably stay asleep for several hours. The ICU nurses know exactly how to get hold of you. And if anything changes..."
"I know."
"They'll call."
Robby looked through the window into Jack's room. He could just make out the outline of the bed. The rise and fall of Jack's chest. The steady glow of the monitors.
Leaving felt impossible.
Dana watched the conflict play across his face. Then quietly rested a hand on his arm. "You've been looking after him for days." She squeezed gently. "Tonight...Let me look after you."
Robby closed his eyes. Just for a moment.
When he opened them again, he still didn't want to leave.
But for the first time… He thought maybe he could.
—
The hospital felt different after midnight. The relentless pace of the day softened into something slower, almost reverent. Lights dimmed in the corridors. Conversations became murmurs. Footsteps instinctively gentler.
It was easier to disappear. Nobody questioned another member of staff walking through the ICU doors. Not at this hour.
Not in hospital scrubs with an ID badge swinging against their chest.
The visitor nodded politely to the nurse at the station.
"Couldn't sleep," they explained with a tired smile. "Thought I'd see how he was doing."
The nurse's expression softened. "He's had a busy day."
"Of course. I won’t stay long."
They stepped inside quietly inside Jack’s room, closing the door slowly behind them.
He was asleep. Or as close to asleep as somebody recovering from catastrophic injuries ever managed.
The monitors traced their familiar green lines. The oxygen hissed softly through the nasal cannula. His face was still mottled with fading bruises, yellow beginning to creep around the edges of deep purple.
He looked… Smaller. As though somebody had stolen all the energy that usually seemed to radiate from him.
They stood at the foot of the bed. Watching. There was no satisfaction. Not anymore.
Only an uncomfortable tightness low in their stomach. This wasn't what they'd imagined.
They'd imagined an empty locker. An empty roof. Robby eventually moving on.
Not this. Not weeks of surgeries or intensive care. Definitely not watching colleagues quietly cry in corridors.
Their eyes drifted to the chart hanging at the end of the bed. They didn't touch it. Didn't need to.
The brightly coloured wristbands were enough. Falls risk. Allergy. Patient identification. Tiny reminders that Jack Abbott had become exactly what he'd spent his career trying to save.
A patient.
Jack shifted suddenly. One hand twitched weakly against the blankets before settling again. Still asleep.
The visitor let out a slow breath they hadn't realised they were holding. Too close. For one irrational moment they'd been certain he was about to open his eyes. Certain he would remember. That he would look straight at them and know what they’d done.
The thought sent an unexpected chill through them.
A nurse's footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the curtain. They stepped back automatically.
By the time the nurse glanced inside the bay, they were already smiling. "He still asleep?"
"Looks like it."
The nurse nodded. "He's earned it. I don't think anyone's going to begrudge him a few hours."
"No." They looked back at Jack one final time. "No, I don't suppose they will."
Then they slipped quietly back into the corridor.
Behind them, the monitors continued their steady rhythm. Jack slept on. Completely unaware that the person who had nearly killed him had just wished him a peaceful night.
—
Robby had slept. Not overly well and not for long. But properly. The kind of sleep that happened in a bed rather than a chair, wrapped in clean sheets instead of fluorescent lighting and the relentless chorus of monitor alarms.
He'd hated every minute of leaving. He'd spent the drive home convinced his phone would ring before he reached the house. Convinced something would happen the moment he walked through his own front door.
It hadn't.
Instead he'd showered for what felt like an hour, watching diluted blood and antiseptic swirl towards the drain.
He'd found one of Jack's mugs in the cupboard. Made coffee in it without thinking. Then sat on his own sofa wondering whether Jack would complain he'd used his favourite one.
The thought had almost made him cry. Dana had been right.
He'd eventually fallen asleep fully clothed, alarm set obscenely early despite Patel promising to call if anything changed.
Now, walking back through the ICU doors with a fresh coffee balanced in one hand and a clean change of clothes tucked beneath the other arm, he felt... different. Not better but less frayed around the edges.
The night nurse looked up from the desk and smiled. "Morning, Dr Robinavitch."
"Morning."
"You look like you've slept."
He almost apologised. Instead he smiled weakly. "So I've been told."
She laughed softly. "Good."
The handover had already begun.
Day staff clustered around the central station, mugs of coffee balanced beside patient lists as the night team quietly worked through each bed.
"...noradrenaline discontinued overnight."
"...mobilising to the chair later if pain allows."
"...repeat bloods at eight."
The familiar rhythm washed over him. Ordinarily he'd have joined in without thinking.
Today he was simply another anxious relative lingering just outside the circle.
Sarah spotted him first. "Morning."
"Morning."
She glanced towards Jack's room. "He's had a good night."
Robby hadn't realised how desperately he'd needed to hear her say that. "No issues?"
She shook her head. "Nothing dramatic. The pain's better controlled. He slept for decent stretches. And he woke a couple of times for observations." She smiled. "Asked for water."
Robby couldn't help smiling back. "Very demanding."
"Oh, incredibly." Sarah lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He even complained about the hospital tea."
"That's definitely Jack."
"I thought so." She handed him the overnight observation chart almost without thinking before catching herself. "Oh. Occupational hazard."
Robby glanced down anyway, having accepted it automatically. Stable observations. Improving inflammatory markers. Haemoglobin holding steady. Blood gases looked quite good considering.
Nothing screaming catastrophe.
He handed it back. "Thank you."
Sarah nodded towards the side room. "He's awake."
Robby looked through the narrow window. Jack was propped up a little higher than yesterday.
One of the healthcare assistants was helping him wash. A bowl of warm water sat on the bedside table. Fresh towels and a clean gown. The ordinary rituals of an inpatient.
The assistant carefully worked around dressings and lines, apologising every time she had to move a bruised shoulder or lift a sore arm.
Jack murmured something that made her laugh. Even through the glass Robby recognised the expression. Dry humour.
Good. That felt... good.
Sarah noticed him watching. "We're changing the bed once we've finished." She smiled. "Would you mind giving us a hand?"
Robby looked at her in surprise. "Me?"
"You know him. And it'll be easier with somebody he trusts." She shrugged. "Besides… You're tall."
Robby laughed quietly. "I can manage tall."
Sarah held the door open for him. "Come on then."
"For the next ten minutes..." She pointed towards the bowl of water with mock authority. "You're not the Chief of Emergency Medicine."
Robby raised an eyebrow. "What am I?"
She grinned. "You're family."
For just a second… Robby forgot to breathe.
—
By the evening, Jack felt almost human again. An immobile, heavily medicated and sore human. But a human none the less.
He'd spent most of the afternoon drifting between sleep and short conversations, enduring another round of blood tests, having one drain removed, and finally managing to eat half a yoghurt without feeling sick afterwards.
The nurses had declared that a victory. Jack wasn't entirely convinced.
His chest still hurt every time he laughed. His pelvis hurt every time anyone so much as looked at him. His throat remained stubbornly sore from the ventilator. And he was getting very much frustrated with his foley catheter.
But his thoughts no longer felt wrapped in cotton wool. They were slower than usual but unmistakably his.
Patel seemed pleased. "So," the intensivist said, looking up from the latest blood results, "I think we're finally getting somewhere."
Jack managed a tired smile. "...About time."
Patel chuckled. "I'll take grumpy over unconscious."
A knock sounded against the half-open door. Patel glanced over his shoulder. "Come in."
Dr Nathan Reeves entered first, followed by Hannah Lewis, the mental health liaison nurse Jack had briefly met yesterday.
Both smiled warmly. "Evening, Jack."
"Evening."
Jack gave a small nod in return.
Reeves looked towards Patel. "Is now still alright?"
Patel nodded. "I think so."
Reeves turned his attention to Robby. "If you don't mind..." He gestured gently towards the corridor. "I'd like to have a brief chat with Jack on his own."
Robby immediately looked at Jack. "You okay with that?"
Jack frowned slightly. Why wouldn't he be? "...Yeah."
His voice was still rough, but stronger than it had been that morning.
Robby stood. "I'll be outside."
Jack offered the faintest nod. The door closed quietly behind him.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Patel wheeled a chair closer to the bed and sat down beside Reeves, while Hannah remained standing with her tablet resting loosely against her hip.
The atmosphere felt... familiar. Not threatening or formal. More like every neurological review Jack had ever performed on his own patients after a head injury.
Patel smiled. "I know you've answered some of these already. But you've had another anaesthetic since then, and your pain medication's changing fairly regularly. We just want to make sure your thinking's as clear as it seems."
That made perfect sense. Jack relaxed slightly.
Reeves smiled encouragingly. "There's no trick questions."
"...Good."
"Can you tell me your full name?"
"Jack... Abbot."
"And today's date?"
Jack frowned. Thought for a moment. Gave the correct answer.
"Excellent."
"And where are you?"
"The ICU."
"What brought you here?"
Jack hesitated. "...Fall."
"A fall from where?"
"The... hospital roof."
Reeves nodded, making a brief note. "And what injuries have the doctors told you that you've sustained?"
Jack took his time. Thinking still required more effort than it should have. "...Pelvic ring fracture....Multiple rib fractures....Traumatic brain injury." He swallowed carefully. "...Lower limb fractures....Abdominal injuries…Some internal bleeding."
Patel smiled. "Very good. You've retained all of that."
Jack managed the faintest shrug.
Reeves smiled gently. "And you understand why you've needed surgery?"
"...Damage control laparotomy." Jack spoke slowly, choosing each word with care. "...Pelvic fixation."
"Good." Reeves looked up again. "And why have we been treating you?"
Jack frowned.
The question seemed oddly obvious.
"You Didn't..." His voice caught. He cleared his throat before trying again. "...Didn't fancy all the paperwork if I died on hospital property."
The joke landed with a dull thud. Nobody laughed. Nobody even smiled.
Instead, Reeves' eyes flicked briefly towards Patel. Patel looked at Hannah.
Just for a second. Tiny. Almost imperceptible.
But Jack caught it.
The sort of look clinicians exchanged when a patient had said something they wanted to come back to later.
Reeves' expression softened almost immediately. "You're certainly keeping us busy."
Jack gave a tired half-smile, but it faltered quickly. Something about the room had shifted. It wasn't the question. It was the reaction.
If one of his own trauma patients had made that joke, he'd have rolled his eyes and told them not to make his mortality statistics any worse.
Instead… The three of them had looked at each other. Not amused but concerned. A faint knot formed low in Jack's stomach.
Lewis continued on. "And if you refused treatment now?"
Jack looked at him as though she'd asked whether water was wet. "...I'd get worse. Possibly die."
"Exactly."
For several moments the questions continued in much the same way. Memory. Understanding. Reasoning. Everything felt reassuringly ordinary.
Then, almost imperceptibly, they changed. Reeves' tone didn't alter. His smile remained exactly the same.
"Can you tell me what you remember about that morning?"
Jack frowned. "The roof."
A nod.
"I... always..." He stopped. His head hurt. "...Morning."
"You liked going up there?"
Jack nodded. "...Quiet."
Reeves waited. “And that morning?"
Jack searched for the memory. It remained stubbornly blurred. "...Waiting."
"What were you waiting for?"
Jack opened his mouth. Nothing came. The answer sat somewhere just beyond reach. "I..." His brow furrowed. "...Can't..."
"No problem." Reeves' voice remained calm. "We don't need to force it."
Jack relaxed again. Head injuries were like that. Some memories came back. Others didn't. Perfectly normal.
Then came the next question. Gentle. Almost conversational. "Before you went onto the roof..." Reeves folded his hands together. "...how had you been feeling in yourself? Do you remember?"
Jack blinked. The question caught him off guard. "...Tired."
Reeves nodded. "Tired physically?"
Jack thought. "...Mostly."
"And emotionally?"
Jack frowned. There it was again. Not a neurological question. He looked briefly towards Patel. The intensivist's expression hadn't changed. Still calm and encouraging.
Reeves continued. "How had your mood been over the last few weeks?"
Jack's brow knitted a little tighter. "...Fine."
"You've been sleeping?"
Jack almost snorted. "...Terribly."
A faint smile crossed Reeves' face. "I hear that's been an ongoing problem."
"...PTSD." The answer came automatically. Of course that was why they were asking.
Military history. Previous treatment. Community follow-up. It all fit. Except… Something about the room suddenly felt different.
Jack's eyes moved from Reeves...to Hannah...to Patel.
Nobody looked surprised by the direction of the conversation. Nobody looked confused.
As though these were exactly the questions they'd expected to ask all along. The knot in Jack's stomach tightened just a little.
For the first time since waking up… He found himself wondering whether this wasn't just a head injury review after all.