1 - 20 of 277 Works by Alethia
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"It's officially Veterans Day." Parker swiveled in her chair to look at Jack, going mock-solemn as she intoned, "Thank you for your service."
"You're fired," Jack instantly shot back, the damn traitor.
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"Tell me something that brings you comfort."
"Something that brings me comfort?" Robby shot back, his tone mocking the frivolity of it, because he never was one to just follow directions.
"Yes," Gene said, eternally unfazed. "It can be the smallest thing, whatever comes to mind."
What came to mind was: Pens games, the trails at Frick Park, the rare book collection in the Oliver Room at Carnegie Main, a cortado at Sage Caffe. But what he said was: "Jack."
...wait. Shit.
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Jack just laughed and shoved him a little harder into the door, a visceral, physical reminder: he was in control now. He expected Robby to bitch him out, sharp like he got when cornered—
Except instead Robby slumped, his breath out almost relief, like all the fight had drained from him. He didn't say anything, just took a few shaky breaths, body shivering under Jack's—
...oh.
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"If you really want to know, the hot new thing is an app called findr. It's for bougie professionals who like to pretend they're elevated while slobbering all over each other, so entirely your speed."
At that, Robby lost his war with self-control and did flip her off.
Ellis actually laughed. "The vision," she said again, dark eyes dancing. "findr," she said again, like he might have forgotten. "Go fuck away the raincloud, Robby. For everybody's sake, but mostly mine," she drawled as she sauntered away.
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Robby finally piped up: "Kind of a shame, though. Guy seemed like your type."
Jack felt himself wanting to bristle, quickly controlling it. Because what the fuck. They'd been entirely wrapped up in each other in the year since Pittfest, Robby finally going to therapy, letting them get more serious than the fuckbuddy deal they'd had going before that. Jack had thought things were going well. "I have a type?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows.
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Robby frowned and looked at Jack. "Is it me or are you now off Monday through Thursday?"
"Yeah, I figure we can drive out Tuesday morning and come back in time for my shift Friday night."
Robby's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did someone invite you to the cabin I rented?" Jack tilted his head and just looked at Robby, silent and expectant. After a long moment, Robby huffed a resigned laugh, like he wondered why he even bothered protesting. "Jack, would you like to come hiking with me?"
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"Everyone, can I have your attention, please," she said, using her soccer captain voice. The floor instantly quieted as everyone paused to look at her, curiosity replacing the usual distracted bustle. Parker looked back to Jack, smirking now. "We have a celebrity in our midst."
"Man, what are you on about?" Jack asked, getting a little annoyed now.
Parker flashed a grin. "Dr. Abbot has just officially become the most-cited emergency physician in the entire country," she announced with a little relish.
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When Robby ambled in a little early for his shift, central was a hive of activity, Walsh calling back to Jack as she accompanied a gurney out of Trauma 2: "Learn from the master, soldier boy."
"When you find one, be sure to let me know, princess," he shot right back, but the note of fondness in his tone made Robby freeze. That wasn't their usual back-and-forth. That held warmth to it. An undercurrent of knowing. A joke shared between two people who'd seen each other naked. More than once.
Robby clocked Jack watching Walsh go—what the fuck—and then he went back into Trauma 2, debriefing with the team. It was the tiniest moment, nothing—
And yet Robby's whole understanding had just realigned. Jack and Walsh. What the fuck.
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"Please, I'm fifty-three years old," he said, dismissive. "I've had every type of sex there is."
They were grabbing an early dinner before Jack went in for his shift, Robby on his day off. Robby telling tales on his day off, it seemed. Jack was practically required to scoff at him. "Like hell you have."
Robby leveled him with a look. "And how would you know?"
"Because I know you. And you have never once given up control."
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Jack looked from the intern picture to Robby again, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes. "Jesus, this is like a recipe." He gestured between the picture and Robby, young and old. "It's like twink plus seasoning equals daddy. Fuck," he said, a kind of helpless note to it. Then he walked out, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb on Robby's head.
What did that mean?
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Jack was poised for a beautiful three-pointer when Jake spoke, "So, hey, what's it feel like to get fucked?"
The surprise of it scattered his focus for an instant, but figuring that was what Jake wanted, Jack let muscle memory pull him through, releasing the basketball—and getting nothing but net, fuck yeah.
Then he looked over at Jake and tipped his head, nonchalant. "Vulnerable."
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Gifting someone a stethoscope at a milestone was very traditional, he knew, but some traditions should be observed. They kept you anchored to something greater than yourself. And this one was just...warm. Jack always thought of the people who'd given him his steths—Colonel Jacquemin, who'd gifted him his first Littmann when he finished residency, or Lizzie, who'd given him his current Littmann III when Adamson hired him as an attending. It was a reminder of the people who loved you, believed in you, helped you along the way, a physical token of those you carried with you.
Sure, maybe it wasn't exactly Jack's place to give one to Robby, more properly the domain of family or mentors. If Adamson had lived to retire, he would've gifted Robby a steth to celebrate his promotion, Jack was sure. Robby's family was gone, so that wasn't an option, and Jack would be damned if Robby's elevation to one of the highest posts in their field would go uncelebrated.
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"Congrats again on the award; you deserve it." And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.
Probably off to go plan how to hit on Jack. Jack, who this random doctor wanted to have sex with. Here. At the conference.
Intellectually, Robby knew that was what people did at these things. Drunken hookups at conferences were common, though often denied, if not regretted. Robby had never partaken because that was not his speed, but Jack—
Well, Jack had no such qualms. And at an ED medical conference, he was basically a rockstar. He could probably have anyone he wanted.
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After Jack and Robby finally got serious, it came as a surprise.
When a patient's sister returned in the morning—bearing donuts and a smile that was half-chagrined, half-determined, her thank you note including a phone number—Jack was flattered. He was still charting, long past when he should have gone home, but he was glad he stayed. Not because of the phone number, though that was always a nice ego boost. But because of Robby. The way Robby's eyes went flinty when he realized why the woman was there. His smile tight. Shoulders tense. On the surface, perfectly polite. In reality, a storm.
Jack never expected Robby to be possessive.
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Robby sagged a little, another tiny rush of air out. Jack pretended not to notice any of it even as it slid through him, his hypothesis gaining evidence, firming in his mind.
No, Jack didn't think anyone ever touched Robby.
He was going to change that.
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The job offer came out of nowhere. Centennial Hospital, a level 1 trauma center in Colorado, wanted him to take over for their retiring chief attending. They'd heard the same rumors as everyone about PTMC—how it'd be taken over, transformed, the ED shut down. Didn't Jack want to get ahead of it and find himself a new gig, head of the department, master of his own fate? And the money, of course. Lots and lots of money.
Jack promptly told them to fuck off.
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"IPA," Robby called again, a reminder.
"For that, I'm getting you a Bavarian wheat beer, you prissy fuck." But Jack bypassed the respectable Penn Pilsner and grabbed a pack of their hopped-to-shit IPA, hating himself a little for giving in...but it would make Robby smile.
The door banged open, spinning Jack around, senses instantly on alert as a guy rushed in, black bandana tied around his face, pistol pointing at Sal as he shouted. "Open the register! Now!"
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As she walked away, another text came in, Robby unable to help checking.
you blushing for me?
...oh. Oh, that absolute asshole. Jack knew exactly what he was doing, sending shit that would turn him on.
I'm fucking working here, Robby sent back, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He'd just...not look.
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"It's Santos."
Parker's dry observations flitted through Jack's mind again—that ever-present question of whether he should raise it...but now didn't seem like the time. "A month in and still driving you up the wall? What'd she do this time?"
Robby shook his head, despairing. "What didn't she do?" Then he refocused on Jack, something sharper there, more intent. "Doesn't matter. Distract me?"
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When his phone rang loud in the stillness, waking Jack from the sleep of the dead he'd perfected in war zones half a world away, he sat straight up in bed and knew: something was wrong.
His phone announced it was Dana—and it was 0721—which shot a little thrum of worry through him as he answered. "What happened?" he asked, no preamble. She wouldn't wake him if shit hadn't gone sideways.
"Robby hasn't come in yet and he's not answering his phone," she said, voice grim. "He's never missed a shift without calling." She spoke quietly, probably standing in the middle of the ED, trying to keep up a brave face for everyone else. As much as she could, anyway. People tended to notice when the fucking chief attending didn't show up to work.