Chapter Text
After the initial shock of Jack showing up far too early and dragging him into an exam room to explain, still looking poleaxed, that not only did he apparently have a brother but that said brother was in their house, recuperating from some kind of injuries – Robby goes home to find a Star Trek mirror-verse Jack sitting silent and unmoving on the couch, regarding him like a feral cat in a kennel.
Andrew grunts when Robby offers him a carton of broccoli beef and an egg roll, so Robby leaves it on the breakfast bar with a fork while he cleans the kitchen and puts the house to bed. Maybe Andrew will slink over and eat it if Robby isn't looking directly at him.
Robby disappears into the guest room and starts rearranging. The closed door between them feels safer for both of them. The sheets haven't been used but he changes them anyway, neatens the stacks of back-issues of JEM, puts Jack’s various and distressing number of kitchen gadgets (the “overrated” Aeropress, the stegosaurus taco holder, pizza scissors) into a box in the closet.
“Jack said he told you there would be another bag with antibiotics,” he says carefully when he comes back. The carton and egg roll have disappeared, as has the fork.
Andrew just looks at him, then away, hands still curled on his thighs. After a moment, the one with the saline lock turns over so Robby can snap in a new bag. Robby hangs it from a nail on the wall behind the couch and retreats.
In retrospect, all his work in the guest room hadn’t mattered at all; Robby's kept awake less by the disconcerting feeling of having someone in his house than by the all-night sounds of Andrew tidying up in there. Turns out he doesn't sleep much.
“So." It's eight in the morning. Robby slides a tray on the bed between them. It's got a plate piled high with sizzling onion rings. There are two celery twigs and a handful of ashy-looking baby carrots grouped around the ranch cup for Jack, and two fried eggs for Robby. Brunch, kind of. "A surprise brother.”
Jack presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars burst in the blackness. They have matching bruises under their eyes: Jack from a full shift at the Pitt, and Robby from a sleepless night in his own home.
“I can't tell if I'm curious or furious or resigned.”
“Andrew doesn’t know anything?”
“He’s like, 18 months younger than me. Said his mom was a manipulative bitch about the details, kept secrets like ransom to keep them all under her thumb.”
Robby lies there, one arm behind his head, just letting Jack’s thoughts percolate. The both chew on panko and flick crumbs over the side of the bed.
“They're some crazy criminal family. His mom was a thief, raised all the kids that way. Andrew said he and his twin were pickpocketing wallets at like, five.”
“A twin? Another one of you out there? Hoo.”
“I get the sense she isn't in the picture anymore." Jack tips his head back and glugs down half a water bottle in one go, wipes his chin with the back of his wrist. "What the hell do you do with a brother at fifty? What do I even have in common with this guy other than blood?”
“Is he on the run from the cops, or from someone else?”
“Apparently he thinks he’s presumed dead. So getting him a job might cause some problems.” He looks over at Robby. “Is this my problem? How is this my problem?”
It takes Robby a while to answer. “I don’t know that it is. But you don't have to decide today."
The onion rings disappear one by one. Jack reluctantly eats the celery and uses the carrots as vessels for the ranch. Robby runs the tray out to the kitchen and then hoists a grumbling Jack out of bed to herd him over to brush his teeth.
"Should we talk about the other part?" Robby says through a mouthful of toothpaste.
"Nope."
"It's not just a surprise brother."
Jack clatters his toothbrush back in the cup. "Robby."
They lock eyes in the mirror and Robby raises his hands and shrugs at the same time, so disarming.
"You know about my mother. Any information I got about her, about my dad, I … think I’d run with it and not look back. There'd be a Michael-shaped hole in the wall, Jack.”
“They told me my bio parents were bad news. When I was a teenager I started wondering if that was just some line they fed me. I mean, I knew it was probably true, but you wonder.”
“Did you ever look at the records?”
“The only thing I ever found said ‘Name Withheld’.”
Robby looks over at him. “Our fucking parents, man.” He flicks off the light and by silent agreement, they leave the conversation in the bathroom.