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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.
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"Is it possible Robby thinks you and I had a torrid affair?" Walsh asked later, leaning against the counter next to him.
"Torrid?" he echoed, in disbelief.
"Any affair with me would be torrid, obviously."
Jack made a face at that horrific thought. "I have never implied to Robby that we had an affair, torrid or otherwise, because I don't hate myself."
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Collins shot him a cool look. "My attending told me to either erase my measurements and use yours or to make sure any new measurements came in under 11 weeks."
Shit. Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is why I did the fucking measurements myself," he muttered. Because if they had just used his numbers, there would be no problem; he'd documented everything that needed to be documented and if anyone made an issue of it, then it'd fall on him. No one else.
"So sorry for being thorough," Collins said, pointed.
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Jack had just stepped back onto the main floor when he clocked movement at the ambulance entrance, two guys hurrying in, the smaller one helping a guy with a sweatshirt covered in blood. But something was wrong, some unnamable instinct rising within Jack at the way they moved. It was too fluid, too controlled. Jack knew what the walking wounded looked like, had seen it for years, from war zones to bar fights. This wasn't the injured seeking help; this was men hunting.
Time slowed, Jack's heart rate spiking, the adrenaline dump casting everything in sharp relief—the full ED floor, patients plus shift change meaning twice the usual personnel were here.
Robby was here.
That thought got him moving, Jack approaching laterally. He got there right as the guns came out.
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"Man, you're like something out of Les Mis right now," Jack drawled, flicking his eyes over him pointedly. "And look, I know Collins is one-of-a-kind and all, but it wasn't great at the end there," Robby took a breath to say something, so Jack held out a hand, "don't argue, you know I'm right. So I say we do something to slam you back in your body and remind you that good things exist and you should have them."
Robby just blinked at him, brown eyes wide and startled. "And your solution is we roll around in bed with a woman you just met. The three of us. Together," he added, like he wanted to be real clear on what they were talking about.
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"I want to be alone, Jack," Robby said, short and sharp and pissy.
Fucking great. Apparently in the 45 minutes since Jack had last seen him, Robby had gone from devastation to anger. This would be fun.
"It's nice to want things," he drawled, deliberately light. "I wanted to walk out of Iraq on my own two feet, but hey. No plan survives contact with the enemy and all that."
Robby turned then, looking at him over the top of the couch, face drawn, eyes dark in the low lights. "Yeah? You my enemy?"
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"I'm not about to kill myself, Robby," Jack said, easy. "If I were going to kill myself, I wouldn't do it here, for you all to find, because that's just rude. I'd eat my gun at home like a proper soldier. Iraq vets have a system, man, it's tradition," he drawled, putting some grim humor on the last.
"Gotta be honest, man, you're not making me feel better over here," Robby said, his voice actually worried now.
"Would it help to know I'm out here because it reminds me that I want to be alive?"
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Dana was already explaining: "Mohan was asking if this guy's single," she said, hooking a thumb Jack's way.
Robby lit up like he'd just gotten a gift, turning bemused eyes his way. "Oh, was she," he drawled, enjoying this.
Dana made an indulgent noise. "Apparently she's very taken with our dear Dr. Abbot and wondered if the feeling is mutual." They both looked to Jack then, Dana long-suffering, Robby delighted.
Fuck Jack's life, honestly.
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"Yeah, what's with you saying you don't have a best friend?" Jack asked, indignant, waving an illustrative hand toward himself.
Robby held his gaze, his smile fading into something more intense. "'Best friend' isn't the term I'd use for you," he said in a silky voice, the tone he'd promised to never, ever use at work.
It slid through Jack, going straight to his cock, lighting him up everywhere. Oh, fuck him. Jack swallowed hard against his suddenly-dry throat, trying to tamp down on the arousal. "You're right," he said, keeping his voice controlled. "'Superior' works much better."
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"Can I say something ghoulish?" Robby asked, soft in that way he got when he was ashamed of himself.
"Brother, you can say anything you want," Jack shot back, easy.
"You know what I mean."
"Aren't we past this? Like, years past this? And besides, I've seen into the deepest, darkest, blackest pit of human depravity; if you say anything that even rates, I will be impressed."
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Robby went steely. "Fuck you," he said, clipped, but his eyes were big and wide and hurting.
"Sure," Jack drawled, easy in a way that was certain to piss Robby off. If he wanted to fight, they could fight. If he wanted to fuck, they could do that, too. But Jack didn't think he really wanted either, so might as well push past all that to get to the heart of things.
"You think this is about my ego?" Robby pressed, offense in his voice.
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"It's just," Shirley started, then promptly floundered. She clenched her jaw, then tried again. "People keep hitting on me."
Knox smirked. "You don't say," he drawled.
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Then Jules pulled back and really looked at them, her brain kicking back on. "Wait, how are you here? Why are you bloody? What's going on?"
Shirley shrugged. "Well, we took over the silo."
"You took over the silo?" Jules echoed, the what the fuck thick in her voice.
"Just a little," Knox offered, light.
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Shirley took a steeling breath. "I think it should be you and me."
Surprise swept Knox. The words were general, but the way she looked at him held intent; it felt like Shirley defining them as a them. But...maybe he was misreading it? "It already is you and me."
Shirley narrowed her eyes. "Are you gonna be a dick about this?"
Okay, not misreading it. "Odds are good," he drawled with a tiny apologetic smile.
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"So what's the deal with you and Shirl?" Hank asked, knowing. He knew something, anyway.
"Hell if I know," Knox drawled.
"The sheriff says that when he walked in, Shirl was two seconds from crawling into your lap."
"And fuck him for interrupting just when it was getting interesting," Knox shot back.
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Shirley glared and lowered her voice so anyone walking by wouldn't overhear. "Why do you think I kissed you, asshole? It's because I wanted to."
"I mean, that's not really an answer," Knox drawled. Then he tilted his head. "You still want to?"
"Yeah," she muttered, "although this conversation is making me question it."
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Shirley opened the door sooner than he expected. She'd lost her red jacket, clad in a dark red tank and work pants. Her brown skin was clear of the usual grit of the day, but it was the lack of boots that clinched it. If her boots were off, that meant she was in for the night, so Knox didn't feel too bad about interrupting.
She seemed to have other ideas, though. She shot him a hard look and said, "Yeah?" in a way that really meant fuck you for pushing this.
Shirley's tones spoke volumes.
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Kate looked again and blinked. Buffer had just walked in, tall and tan and exactly as she remembered him, dressed in a dark purple collared shirt and jeans, his night-out look. She hadn't seen him since he posted off for the Kingston, almost a year ago. And he walked into this bar, here, now?
What were the odds of that?
or
One man leaves Kate's life; another returns.
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"I just wanted to let you know that the president has asked me to stay on as ambassador," Kate said.
"Happy tidings," Austin said, a smile in his voice.
"I'll remind you of that when you get frustrated with me."
"When am I not," he deadpanned.
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Let's Not Praise the Day Before the Evening by Alethia
Fandoms: The Diplomat (US TV 2023)
03 Nov 2024
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At sight of her, Austin offered a sympathetic look, then held up a bottle of something brown. "I brought grief scotch."
Kate actually smiled—possibly for the first time since the news, something real filtering through all that heavy numbness. "Is that better than regular scotch?"
"Oh, yes," he agreed, his voice a dark purr. "You see, with grief scotch there is no limit."