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"So this is what you two do sometimes?" Frank asks about twenty minutes into the drive. Robby knows roughly how long they've been driving because of how far they got.
The countryside around them is illuminated by the almost full moon in the cloudless sky. There are no street lights out here – the twin cones of light coming from the car the only thing showing Robby the curves and dips in the road. He's cruising at a medium speed, not too fast; he knows what Jack usually likes and he applies that tonight.
Robby slouches further into the seat. If Frank is talking, he can relax a fraction of an inch. He's been listening to Frank's distraught breathing ever since before they started – nasal, too fast, not deep enough. If he reached across and put his hand on Frank's chest, he's sure he would be able to feel his heart beat like a piston engine in his chest.
"Yeah." Out of the corners of his eyes, he sees the way Frank's hand still clenches and unclenches in an unsteady rhythm – he's been trying to calm himself since the end of their shift, it just hasn't really been working. "Sometimes," he adds.
"So… he what, he gets jittery and you take him on a drive?" There's a thin, breathless quality to Frank's voice; talking just to talk, or maybe just to hear Robby's voice answer.
Robby smiles and makes sure to keep that softness in his voice when he answers, "Yeah. That's what we do." He thinks of the times Jack is restless and stuck in his head. Sometimes he sits in the backseat, leans his head against the door and is asleep within a few minutes. Most times, he sits next to Robby and talks about what's bothering him. Robby is not Jack's therapist, but he is a good listener and he knows what it is about their jobs that hurts. There is no rule for how to do these drives.
"Okay," Frank says. He suddenly reaches out across the center console. "Can you… can we…"
Robby takes his right hand off the wheel and slides it into Frank's. "Better?"
Frank doesn't answer. His fingers are clammy, cold, but the clenching stops after a few squeezes of Robby's hand.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" he asks carefully.
Frank inhales and exhales a few times. "I don't even know," he finally says. "My head's just… today is… I don't know."
Robby doesn't say anything. He wants to give Frank time to sort himself out. "Just not a good day?" he suggests eventually, cautiously, because he's not supposed to put words in Frank's mouth. He's supposed to wait until Frank tells him in his own time, in his own words.
"Yeah, that," Frank says with a heavy voice that he never used to have before.
They continue driving a while longer, but Robby is already calculating which turn he needs to make to bring them home fastest. "This isn't working, is it?" he asks because he can hear from Frank's breathing that it's not getting better. That the silence and the drive aren't helping him the way they help Jack.
Frank shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I don't even know what's wrong. Just… bad thoughts all around."
"Don't be sorry." Because Robby has an idea. "I should've known you rely on touch more," he says quietly. His lovers are fundamentally different in that one aspect; Jack doesn't need touch to know he's loved, Frank is tactile. "We should take the bike out some time. You can sit in the back, hold on to me. We'll go for a ride."
"That would be nice."
Robby makes his turn and brings them home. He can picture them, riding these roads on his motorbike. That's what he does sometimes, on his own, when he needs to clear his head. It would be perfect, Frank could cling to his back, feel his steady inhalations – he's sure feeling him become calmer would bring Frank's anxiety down, too.
Once they're in his driveway, Frank looks out the window with a frown, then at Robby.
"I really don't think you should be alone at your place tonight," Robby says. That pretty much conveys most of his worries between the lines.
The speed at which Frank accepts that he'll stay at Robby's, tells him that he was right. "Jack won't mind?" he asks.
"No, he won't," Robby promises.
Once the garage door is fully open, he drives inside and pushes the button to shut it again. As it rattles closed, they get out. Frank seems minimally less shaky than he did when he got in, and leans onto the roof of the car. "Thank you. For trying."
Robby nods. "Any time. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I'm here." He tilts his chin at the motorbike behind Frank. "We'll try that some other time."
Frank nods and follows him inside. He stops somewhere between the front door and the living room, looking at the couch, lost in whatever spiral he's in. The few times Frank has been over for a night or two, or that one long weekend Jack went to a shooting range with his buddies, he always had his go bag with him. They've never done this spontaneously before, unprepared. This is new territory, in multiple ways.
It's Robby's job to take over here; he invited Frank in, after all. "Come on, I've got a toothbrush for you."
He walks ahead and finds a new one in the bathroom for Frank to use. He puts the toothbrush on the sink and opens the mirror cabinet above it to show Frank where he can find the toothpaste and anything else he might need. Then he moves on to the bedroom and grabs a third pillow from the closet. He feels almost embarrassed by how well-prepared for this situation he is. He's never actively planned for it to happen, but he's ready. By the time he's stuffed the pillow into a case and put it on the bed, Frank comes shuffling out of the bathroom. He's still wearing all his clothes and Robby doubts he'll take any of them off.
He stops and hovers in the doorway, his arms are crossed, hands in his armpits. His eyes fixate on the bed and the third pillow. Just from looking at him, Robby knows his pulse is back up. "We haven't negotiated any of this," Frank says. "With Jack. We haven't talked about this," he elaborates as if he's spent his time in the bathroom talking himself out of this.
Robby shakes his head. "He'll be fine with it," he says, because he knows Jack and while the three of them haven't talked about it, he and Jack certainly have, just like he and Frank have had a couple of conversations about this arrangement.
"How do you-"
"Frank," Robby interrupts to stop the protest. "Your head's not in a good place tonight. He cares about you. He knows I love you. He'll understand that I don't want you to be alone right now. Alright? I don't need to ask him about this, trust me."
Frank nods. "This is a one-time thing," he says like he's promising to do better.
And isn't that what Robby worries about the most? This unsustainable tension that never seems to loosen? But he nods, because he wants to be supportive. He makes a 'come here'-gesture, beckoning Frank closer. "Ready to turn in?"
Frank nods and crawls into bed. He flops down in the middle and is just about to scoot over to Robby's side, when Robby catches him by the hip and shakes his head. "You're good right there," he says and slides in on his own side. He puts his phone on the nightstand and opens his arm for Frank to come to him.
And this manages to do what that one-hour drive earlier didn't – Frank curls into him, lays his head on Robby's chest, wraps one arm around him, and almost instantly relaxes.
"You good like this?" Robby asks, blinking at the ceiling – relief floods him. He wouldn't have known what else to try, other than take Frank to the hospital.
But physical contact seems to help and he can feel Frank's cheek move as he nods.
"Alright." He keeps his breathing calm and rubs up and down between Frank's shoulders. They'll figure out what this was tomorrow so they can work on fixing it – because Robby can't watch Frank self-destruct like that again.
Frank slides down a little, getting more comfortable the more relaxed he gets, and Robby listens to his breathing even out until it's slow and deep. He stops stroking Frank's back and grabs his phone to let Jack know they have a guest and why. He's certain that it'll be fine, but he still doesn't want to simply spring it on him. And he wants Jack to know that he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have a good reason. When he's sent the message, he closes his eyes and concentrates on how nice this feels. Just lying down together. The only thing missing is Jack's breathing on the far side of the bed.
He wakes up when he hears the front door, but he doesn't move. Frank is sleeping deeply next to him. He can hear Jack trying to be quiet – there's rustling outside, quiet and muted, trying not to disturb them. When he comes around the corner, he stops and looks at them.
Robby tries to communicate a 'hello' and an 'I hope this is okay' and 'I love you' and much more with just his eyes and by blowing a kiss with his free hand.
Jack nods and comes over for a quick, soft kiss before he disappears into the bathroom – he even closes the door before turning on the light so as to not wake Frank. This is alright, Robby thinks. He's not worried.
When Jack comes back in, he's already on crutches, quietly making his way over. He slides in on his side and turns towards them. "Good night," he whispers.
"Night," Robby replies and huffs as he feels Jack's fingertips in his hair, ruffling the strands he can reach.
He closes his eyes again and now he can relax fully, with Jack's breathing next to him.
The next morning, he's in the bathroom, getting ready for the day, when he hears Jack's smile-tinged voice. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."
He almost wants to go back into the bedroom to check on them, because Frank was right, this was not negotiated, he's never brought Frank here when Jack was home – this arrangement is very much divided into two and two. Whatever this will end up being, or at least what Robby hopes it will become, it's not there yet. But he stops himself. Maybe this will be good. Maybe they can work this out. He stays and continues with his routine, brushes his teeth, oils his beard, shaves some stray bristles.
When he's ready – and so what if he took longer than he usually would – he comes back out and stops in the doorway.
There they are, lying in bed together, Jack with his arm out and Frank using it as a pillow, close and touching. They're doing something on Frank's phone together.
"Black and white," Frank murmurs and taps at the screen while Jack nods.
"And there, a Lazy Susan rotates like a carousel," Jack helps out. He casts a glance at Robby and winks at him with a smile.
Robby pushes down his excitement and crosses his arms. "Are you two doing Connections?"
Frank nods, focused on the screen and tapping. "Hah," he murmurs. "Two to go." Then he looks up and at Robby and just… his smile is coming in slow, but steady. Like a sunrise.
"Come downstairs for breakfast. We've got to get a move on."
They can talk about the rest later.