thenightfall2509
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Summary
While working on his bike, an accidental fire renders Robby without use of his hands for at least a week. Good thing Jack’s got two hands, approximately a hundred favors to call in, and enough stubbornness to deal with an injured Robby for as long as needed for his recovery.
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“Mike.”
It was just his name, but Robby froze immediately.
Because he knew that voice.
Shit.
He’d been so careful.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.”
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Pittfest had taken the last stable brick in the wall that Robby had composed carefully, over years of persistent loneliness. From September to December, Robby pondered every decision he'd made and the worth of them. These thoughts led Robby to a dangerous ledge--one that both quelled the incessant questioning and made his stomach shoot up his esophagus to rest on the back of his tongue.
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When his doctor breaks the news to him, Robby can’t say he’s surprised.
He’s not an endocrinologist, but he had put his diagnosis together before even booking his appointment. The hot flashes that left him dazed and sweaty, the random bouts of tachycardia that for once were not anxiety induced, the migraines whenever he smelled something strong enough to break through the haze of his meds -- he put two and two together and realized the warning label on his suppressants finally caught up to him.
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“Yeah, but this?” Robby lifts the photo slightly. “This is new. It's like I'm meeting part of you I've never known, y'know?"
Jack reaches past him, close enough that his arm brushes Robby’s side, to take the photo. He barely looks at it.
He slides it back into the box with careful precision and closes the lid on the box.
“Old life,” he says. Simple. Final.
OR
Robby spots some interesting stuff in Jack's storage unit and wants to see more.