Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights of the trauma bay were still humming when Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch walked out, but he couldn’t hear them over the phantom echo of the heart monitor. That high, unrelenting tone—the sound that meant he had lost.
He didn’t stop walking until his body did it for him, sinking down in the nearest breakroom, back pressed against the cold wall. He pulled his knees up until his scrubs wrinkled sharply, elbows braced on them, his hands locked tight in his hair as if he could keep the world from splitting apart.
She’d been young. Too young. Her family was waiting in the hall. And he, he was supposed to save her. That was his job. His responsibility. His burden.
His chest was tight, breaths shallow. If he tried to pull in more air, the only thing that came was the memory of the monitor flatlining.
He didn’t notice the door opening until the footsteps came closer, measured, a little unevenlike a man who knew exactly where his prosthetic clicked against tile.
“Robby.”
The voice was low, steady, lined with exhaustion but warm enough to cut through the fog.
Robby shook his head without looking up. His fingers dug harder into his hair. “Don’t. Don’t start with—” His voice cracked, jagged at the edges. “Don’t start with the whole ‘you did everything you could.’ I can’t—Jack, I can’t hear that right now.”
Jack Abbot stood there for a long moment, weighing his words like he always did. Then, with a soft grunt, he lowered himself onto the bench beside Robby, leaning back as if he had all the time in the world.
“I wasn’t going to,” Jack said at last.
That got Robby’s attention, if only for a second. He blinked at him through the mess of his hair, his expression raw and tired.
Jack sighed. “I’ve been where you are. More times than I can count. And if one more officer had told me it wasn’t my fault, I think I’d have broken my fist on his jaw.”
Robby let out something between a laugh and a sob, dropping his head back into his hands. His shoulders shook. “Then what am I supposed to do? Pretend it doesn’t matter?”
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It matters. That’s the point. If it didn’t matter to you, I’d be worried.” His voice dropped, steady as stone. “But you can’t bleed yourself out over every single one. You won’t last. Trust me—I tried.”
Robby pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw sparks. “She was… she was just a kid. And I froze. For one second, I froze. What if that was enough to—”
Jack reached over before the words could spiral further, grabbing Robby’s wrists and pulling his hands down. He held them firm, rough calluses biting gently into Robby’s skin. “Look at me.”
Robby resisted for a heartbeat, then forced his gaze upward. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, but Jack’s stare was unwavering.
“Stay with me,” Jack said, quiet but commanding. “Right here. In this room. Not back in that trauma bay. Not in the what-ifs. With me.”
Robby’s chest rose and fell in jagged bursts, too shallow, too fast. Jack squeezed his hands tighter.
“Breathe,” Jack instructed. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Match me.”
Jack exaggerated the rhythm, slow and steady, and after a moment Robby mirrored it—haltingly at first, then with more control.
“That’s it,” Jack murmured. “You’re here. You’re not alone. Just keep breathing.”
Robby’s hands were trembling under Jack’s grip. His throat worked, trying to swallow words that burned on the way up. “It feels like I failed her.”
Jack shook his head. “You fought for her. That’s not failure.” He shifted closer, sliding one arm around Robby’s shoulders and pulling him in. Robby stiffened at first, then gave in, burying his face against Jack’s shoulder, shaking with silent sobs.
Jack held him there, steady as a wall. “When I was over there,” Jack said quietly, “I lost men. Kids, really. Eighteen, nineteen. Some days, I thought I could hear their voices for years afterward. Still do, sometimes.” His voice caught just slightly, then steadied. “But I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger. Neither were you. You can’t carry the whole war by yourself, Robby.”
Robby squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at Jack’s sleeve like it was the only thing tethering him.
“You’re allowed to grieve,” Jack continued. “You’re allowed to break down. Hell, you should. But don’t do it alone. You hear me?”
For a long moment, the only sound was Robby’s uneven breathing, muffled against Jack’s shoulder. Then, in a hoarse whisper: “I don’t want to be alone.”
Jack tightened his arm around him, a quiet vow in the gesture. “You won’t be. I’m not going anywhere.”
Robby finally let golet the tears fall, let the weight he’d been holding in crash outward. Jack sat through all of it, solid and unmoving, repeating the same words whenever Robby’s sobs grew frantic.
“Stay with me. Right here. You’re not alone. Stay with me.”
By the time Robby’s breathing evened out, the breakroom clock had ticked forward nearly an hour. Jack still hadn’t moved, his arm still steady around him.
And for the first time since the monitor flatlined, Robby believed he wasn’t alone.