kaya_black
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Dana shot him a meaningful look. "She up and says to me that Robby can't stand to be alone, has got the TV on in his bedroom all night."
Jack scoffed. "No, he doesn't."
Dana stilled, her blue eyes locking onto his. And just like that, it went from an idle comment to a moment. A moment that expanded, curling into something weighty, settling leaden in Jack's gut. "That right?" she muttered, and there was a whole epic journey packed into those two words, going from how would you know all the way to how did I not know.
Fuck.
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Yom Kippur fell on a Thursday, not quite a month after what was arguably the third-worst day of Robby's life.
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It landed deep in Robby's chest, a warm kind of awareness rising; this was Jack's version of care. He may not approve of the bike, but he was trying to make sure Robby was as safe as possible on it.
Jack dropped the Garmin back to the table and tapped the pocket knife. "And a Leatherman ARC. It's got like twenty tools on here. Basic stuff, but it'll help you fix some things. And before you argue, you never know what could go wrong on the road. If you're not always prepared, you're never prepared."
"Are you about to hit me with 'two is one, one is none?'" Robby asked, only slightly mocking.
Jack jutted his chin forward, stubborn. "If I thought you'd take two, I'd send two."
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It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was ordinary, part of both their continued white-knuckled grip on the edge of life. Keeping it together. Sometimes you just couldn’t carry it alone. Sometimes you needed someone to stand by you, to fill the air with words until the world righted itself, to walk beside you back onto solid ground.
Sometimes, unfortunately, it was that person’s day off, and you had to drag yourself off the roof.
Jack kept drifting.
He wanted it all to stop.
He craved silence.
Stillness.
Darkness.
The world was too damn bright.
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Jack has a rough night and goes to find Robby. Robby tries to keep Jack grounded, however he can.
Bookmarked by kaya_black
17 Aug 2026
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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.