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He shivered, although the heat was running full blast. Robby stumbled to the thermostat, his fingers fumbling and clumsy, smashing the up arrow as if sheer force could summon warmth. But the room remained stubbornly cold, the air heavy and unmoving. His skin was stretched too tight, his breath shallow and sharp, and his fingers were so numb they might as well belong to someone else.
He moved on autopilot, his feet dragging like they were encased in lead. His hoodie clung to him, but he didn’t have the strength to peel it off. All he wanted was to shed his clothes, crawl under the covers, and disappear for a week.
But his living room around him felt foreign, like a place he’d never been. And God, he just wanted to be warm. To close his eyes. To stop.
His knees hit the floor with a dull, jarring thud, pain radiating up his legs. But at least gravity wasn’t his enemy anymore. Robby wrapped his arms around himself, a feeble attempt to hold himself together.
The memory of earlier—surrounded by the dead he couldn’t save, Jake’s accusations slicing through the air—clawing its way back into his mind.
Every failure, every misstep, settled into his muscles like lead weights.
Tears blurred his vision, hot and unwelcome. He thought he’d cried himself dry hours ago, but his body had other ideas, shaking uncontrollably as his breath caught in his throat. The last fifteen hours crashing over him like a tidal wave.
“I’m here, boss.” Frank’s voice cut through the haze, steady and grounding. He knelt in front of Robby, his presence calm and unshakable. “I’ve got this.”
Robby blinked, his vision swimming as he stared at Frank in confusion. Words formed in the back of his throat but refused to surface.
Frank’s hands found Robby’s shoulders, firm but gentle. “Let’s get you to the sofa.”
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Robby let go.
He allowed Frank to take control, let himself be guided off the floor and toward the sofa. The worn cushions sagging under his weight as he sank into them, his head falling back against the wall. His body was like an empty shell, his internal batteries long since drained.
He barely registered the tug at his feet until his shoes were removed, followed by his socks. The sensation was distant, almost surreal. “I can do that,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and barely audible.
“Yeah, I know,” Frank replied, his tone light but unyielding.
Robby didn’t argue. Too tired, too hollow to do anything but surrender.
A thought flickered briefly in his head—that this was too much, too intimate—but was gone before it took root. Before someone else grabbed attention, something quieter, softer.
“Don’t you have any organic in this place?” Dana started pulling pots and pans onto the counter. “And would it kill you to have any fresh vegetables?”
“What?”
But before he could ponder why Dana was in his kitchen, Frank had him already on his feet, guiding him down his hallway and toward the bathroom.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Robby mumbled.
“You don’t have to hold the answers to everything,” Frank replied.
“It’s kind of my job.”
“Just in case you forgot, your shift ended an hour ago.”
Robby might have walked out of the hospital, but a part of him was still there. Maybe it always would be.
Frank didn’t rush him, one hand steady on Robby’s back, the other gripping his arm to keep him upright. The bathroom light flickered on, casting a soft glow that made the room feel oddly safe.
Robby stared at the tile floor, unmoving. His hoodie hung off his shoulders. He barely registered movements, barely comprehended the calm voice murmuring instructions beside him.
Frank crouched slightly, his hand reaching to unzip the hoodie. “Let’s get this off,” he said softly.
Robby let him, his arms limp at his sides, his mind stuck somewhere between the hospital and the darkness. He let Frank unburden him, piece by piece, until he was stripped down to his boxers and undershirt.
Robby stared at the bathroom, still hesitant, still unsure.
“It’s just a shower,” Frank reassured him. “Warm water. That’s all. You don’t have to do anything, okay?”
Robby didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
Frank adjusted the water temperature until steam curled up into the air. “It’s ready,” Frank said, his tone soft but insistent.
He stepped back, giving Robby space, but kept close enough to steady him if he faltered.
Robby hesitated, his muscles rigid, his mind caught in the endless loop of faces and failures. The weight of the last fifteen hours pressed down on him, relentless and suffocating.
Frank didn’t push. He waited, silent and steady, the embodiment of patience. His presence was a quiet anchor in the storm, a reminder that Robby wasn’t entirely alone.
When Robby finally stepped inside the shower, he allowed the water to cascade over his skin, the warmth cutting through the icy grip of shock. It wasn’t just water; it was a lifeline.
He didn’t cry. Not this time. He stood there, motionless, the water soaking him, washing away the grime of the last fifteen hours. But not the weight of it. That still clung to him, heavy and unyielding, like an anchor dragging him down.
Robby rested his forehead against the wall, the hot water beating down his skin and through his bones.
It was a battle to stay upright, to resist the pull of exhaustion and despair. At some point, the water shifted from hot to lukewarm, then finally cold. It felt good. Grounding. A sharp contrast to the numbness that had taken hold.
Behind the shower curtain, a shadow moved. Frank leaned against the counter, watching over Robby without judgment or pity.
Robby pushed back at the irritation his presence brought. He didn’t need a babysitter. No one under his supervision should see him like this broken and beaten down. Vulnerable.
“You okay, boss?”
“I’m fine,” Robby growled. Why are you still here? Went unvoiced, but lingered in the air between them.
“You ready to get out?”
Robby wasn’t even sure his feet knew how to operate on their own.
“I’ve gotcha.”
And for the second time tonight, Frank wordlessly took charge, supporting Robby’s weight as he transferred from the shower to the floor on wobbly feet.
The shame threatened to burn red across his cheeks, but Frank was quick to replace the vulnerability with towels over Robby’s shoulders, fresh sweats, and a t-shirt waiting for him. It was an efficient kind of care, no room for protest or delay.
“You don’t need to…”
“But I want to. We both do."
By the time Robby’s brain caught up with Langton’s words, he found himself dressed in warm clothes, feet moving automatically as the comforting scent of soup guided him down the hallway. The aroma was rich and familiar.
Dana appeared, her arms folded over her chest, a fierce yet warm presence. “Did you think we’d let you do this all on your own?” she asked.
“Do what?” Robby croaked, his throat dry, his voice raw. He didn’t know what the hell was happening. Everything felt surreal, like he was floating outside of himself.
Dana gave him a pointed look but didn’t answer. Instead, she gestured to the sofa. Without protest, Robby sank into it, his body too exhausted to do anything else.
Dana placed a bowl of steaming soup on the coffee table in front of him. “Eat,” she commanded, with no room for argument in her tone.
His eyes lingered on the faint bruises healing around her face. Guilt and anger surged to the surface, coiling tightly in his chest. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”
Dana snorted, rolling her eyes. “You think I cooked? After today?” She shook her head, exasperated. “I ordered take-out when I realized you had nothing in your cupboards.”
Robby blinked, the haze in his mind lifting slightly. “I have food,” he muttered defensively.
Frank snorted from the other side of the room.“Sure you do,” he said, the skepticism dripping from his voice making it clear he didn’t believe a word of it.
Robby glanced between the two of them. “Is this a tag-team?” he asked, trying for levity but unable to mask the weariness behind his words.
“Eat before your soup gets cold,” Dana shot back, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He didn’t have the energy to fight them. Picking up the bowl, Robby began taking small sips of soup. The flavors. Garlic, onion, tender chicken, slowly awakened his tastebuds, coaxing him to eat more.
By the time he finished, he realized he had drained the entire bowl without even noticing.
Dana’s expression was both pleased and smug, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “See?”
Frank had already claimed the TV remote. He flipped through channels with the ease of someone who had decided to make himself at home, finally settling on a nature documentary. He lounged on one end of the sofa, Dana perched on the other, the two of them forming a protective barrier of comfort around Robby.
It didn’t take long for the warmth of the soup and the soft embrace of clean clothes to seep into his body. The tension from earlier. The constant standing at attention, the relentless tightness in his chest began to unravel, his body sinking further into the cushions.
The narrator’s soothing voice blended with the sounds of thousands of birds chirping, a rhythmic symphony that lulled his mind into a type of listless calm. It might have been the first moment of stillness he’d allowed himself all day.
But stillness wasn’t safety, not for Robby. Not when his barriers were down, every filter stripped away by sheer exhaustion. Without warning, the floodgates opened, and the memories surged forward.
Every crying parent. Every blaring alarm. Every heartbreaking sob of someone who had lost a loved one that day. Blood and tears and the suffocating weight of grief, it all hit him at once, raw and unrelenting.
It was a grief he knew all too well. The grief of not being able to save someone he loved.
Adamson.
Leah.
Countless others.
Robby started shaking before he even realized it. His breath hitched as he fought to pull himself back from the edge. But no matter how much he tried to control it, his body had other ideas.
Frank wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulders. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness. just the solid, steady warmth of someone refusing to let go.
Dana curled her fingers gently around Robby’s hands, her head resting in the crook of his chest.
Neither of them said a word. Words wouldn’t suffice—not after today. Their presence spoke instead, a lifeline pulling him back from the darkness, holding him together when he felt like he might splinter apart. Together, they anchored him, silent but unwavering. The two of them—bookends of comfort and strength—were a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Not tonight.
Fini-
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Never written anything in this fandom, but I had a need.