Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Jack meets Robby it’s not love at first sight. 

Robby is something, overwhelming maybe. At least he is to Jack. Jack who left the United States whole and healthy ready to serve his country and came back one foot short and a bad taste in his mouth for patriotism. He feels one foot short when Robby talks to him, something in his brain itches because even if Robby has a few years on him they are both attendings.

Sure his schooling wasn’t at a fancy pants university, he’d slogged through his bachelors and scored well enough on his MCAT to go where he wanted and then fucking 9/11 happened and the Jack Abbot of 2001 thought wow I can serve my country. What a fucking idiot. So he signed up, went the USU route and then off to Iraq he went. Then Afghanistan and [redacted] where he was lucky enough to get slightly blown up. 

By 2010 he was back stateside less one foot and down his favorite ankle. It might be strange to have a favorite ankle but Jack’s was special. It had a lovely phrase in the worst handwriting he’s ever seen, fuck me you took a long time, curled around his tibia. He doesn’t even have a picture of his favorite ankle. Jack had never had enough money to buy a camera and he’d always figured he’d find them someday and chew them out about the proper way to hold a pencil. His handwriting is excellent, elegant for a doctor someone once told him.

So when Robby talks down to him again Jack decides he doesn’t like him. Something about his face and the way he wears a bandaid on the left side of his jaw and scratches at it incessantly pisses him off. He almost snaps at him to just fucking take it off because he clearly is allergic to the adhesive if he’s that itchy. 

Who even covers their mark if it’s that prominent anyways? Jack's mom always said if your mark isn’t well hidden it’s a sign that your match loves you more. It was a dig at him, with his hidden script she’d hated so much. Not much he could do about it though he couldn’t always wear shorts and flip flops. 

It hurts Jack to see someone deny love in such a blatant way. What’s so good about you Michael Robinavitch that you don’t want to be matched? Someone loves you enough to put words on your face and you can’t even be proud enough to show the world? Coward.

Jack takes the open night shift position as soon as it opens up. Glad to be rid of Robby and his hidden words.

Months later Robby is handing off to him, a tense ten minute conservation usually. Jack tends to keep it strictly professional even when Robby tries to make small talk. Today is a bad day already, Jack’s leg hurt when woke up and now standing full weight on it in the ED he’s regretting not calling in a favor to get his shift covered. So maybe he’s a little snippy when Robby asks him how his week is going.

“Fine.” He says not looking at him and his stupid face. 

“Uh okay well in North 10 is Mrs. Robinson and she’ll need some hand holding until her son gets here.” Robby says and Jack can hear him scratch at his face even if he’s not looking at him.

“Right.” Jack can handhold a little old lady with the best of them. Something about his hair already turning gray at the temples makes them go wild.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Jack flings his head up from where he was looking over an intake sheet to glare at Robby. He almost loses his dinner/breakfast in the process because Michael Robinavitch is growing a truly awful looking beard. It’s in that stage between scruff and grown out that always looks bad. And missing is the ever present bandaid.

Because there on his left jaw, following the shape of his mandible is Michael you know me. It’s a little obscured by the hair growing in but it’s in Jack’s own fucking hand. 

Robby has the decency to scratch over the words and stop Jack’s derailing thoughts. “Have a good shift.” He pats Jack on the back as he walks out like they’re friends or something.

Or something.

Jack spends the rest of the shift on autopilot chewing over and over the words. He can do a chest tube at night with fifty pounds of gear on. He can do it while thinking of Michael you know me just fine.

The words are telling. They mean Jack has to make an effort, he has to open up, he has to get to know Robby and be known in return. It’s not something he wants right now, still boiling with the anger of being hidden. It’s his words Robby so clearly wants hidden. It’s his love Robby has rejected. Well too bad fucker, he won’t even know what’s hit him until he’s saying fuck me you took a long time.

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He starts out slow, letting Robby rope him into an extra couple of minutes of small talk on handoffs. He finds out such nuggets as Robby’s an only sibling, he was raised by his grandmother, and did his residency in New Orleans. Jack shares in return that he has four older sisters, but not that they don’t talk, he played the flute in middle school band, it was the cheapest instrument, and that he lost his foot a few years ago.

Robby winces like it hurts him when Jack shrugs around the story, most he can’t share anyways but what he can is like callous by now.

He never mentions that it’s his handwriting now well hidden under Robby’s beard or that his mark was on his ankle. It’s too much too soon. He’s grateful for it later that he never did.

Somewhere along the line they become colleagues who chat, then maybe friends, and finally friends. But not before Jack learns to keep his thoughts about marks to himself.

There’s a patient, it’s how it usually starts. Robby looks worn around the edges when he hands off, “East 14 is a Miss Carla Smith, she’s pretty banged up and I’ve got social on it but she seems pretty determined to go back to him.”

Jack nods as they walk, he knows the statistics that say it takes seven times for someone to leave an abusive relationship and well growing up like he did he got to see it firsthand. “I can try and talk to her but you know we can’t force her to do anything if she won’t press charges.”

Robby rubs his hands down his face, “He’s not even her match.” He makes a face like he just drank the stale break room coffee.

“Brother,” Jack scolds. “You know that being a match doesn’t mean shit anyways. But I will talk with her, see if we can at least get her to stay safe for a while.” He’s told Robby a little at this point. One of his weaker moments he had spilled that his own parents were a match but one that didn’t work, one that led to violence and 911 calls and Jack a stint in juvie (expunged thankfully).

“Thank you.” Robby sighs and clasps a big hand on Jack's shoulder engulfing even its broadness in his grip.

Miss Carla listens to Jack’s story at least and compromises on staying with them for a day or two to heal the bruises on her face. She even laughs when Jack makes fun of Robby, “Sorry you had to deal with the big guy, he means well but never says the right things.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a small smile fiddling with her bracelets that cover over a bright red script on her wrist, he can just catch the word love and it gives him hope for her. “He seemed pretty focused on the match thing.”

Jack huffs a humorless laugh, “Pretty bold coming from him.” He clams up when Carla leans forward, intrigued now. It’s bad to gossip in the ED, he does it sure but never to patients.

“Well now you have to tell me why.” Carla says quietly, her fingers pressing into her wrist still.

He shuffles on the stool he’s on, uncomfortable. Robby is his friend? colleague. But if it helps one girl's life well he can deal. “He’s got a mark here,” he points to his jawline with two fingers. “Covers it with a beard like a bad secret and turns around and judges folks for their marks…I don’t know.”

Carla sits back, her eyes narrowed. “What about your mark?”

Jack grunts as he hikes up the leg of his pants to show her the metal and carbon fiber where ankle and foot once stood. “Lost it a few years ago the old fashioned way. Plus they’re kind of a complicated situation.”

Her eyes don’t judge his lack of anything but light up at his last sentence. Jack has always found women to be more perceptive, smarter, wiser than men. He shouldn’t be surprised when she catches on easily. “Complicated in that they judge their patients on not being with their match while denying their own?”

Jack shrugs, caught out in the truth and yet the words dry up in his mouth. 

“You should tell him,” She says like it’s easy.

“I wish that was a good idea.” He admits. There’s a hole in his life, not romantic but vaguely Robby shaped. In that way that he bought an extra blanket for his couch, Robby is always cold.

“I think it’s nice. You being his friend even if he won’t…” She leaves it unsaid and looks sad all of a sudden. “Do you think that mine will actually love me?”

Jack takes her hand, she’s freezing cold. “I think that love doesn’t come from the match we make the love ourselves and the match is the match.” 

Her tiny cold hand grips his with surprising strength. “Um I think I’d like to talk with that social worker again?” 

Carla sends him a photo and a thank you card seven months later, she’s grinning in the photo looking up at a very tall handsome man with a sloppy script across the base of his throat the same scarlet color as Carla’s wrist. Her card is simple, Dr. Abbot you were right. The match is the match, whatever that means. Love, Carla and Joe

He tapes the photo next to his workstation. It’s good that someone gets a happy ending even if he doesn’t. 

Robby never asks about the photo, just pauses for a second the first time he sees it and blinks a few times before moving along. Jack almost wishes he would say something, anything.

He learns to deal with the disappointment. 

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It’s years of pining but friendship. Jack eventually cajoles Robby into watching football with him when their days off align, he finally uses the extra blanket despite Jack keeping the house at a perfectly acceptable 69.

They aren’t best friends no it’s more like brothers, at least that’s what they call each other. Even Shen, baby resident turned attending, picks up on the brother thing and uses it to get under Robby’s skin.

Pittfest is a fuck show. 

The handoff that morning was a bad one. Jack had handed the letter to Robby for the veteran’s family biting back his distaste for how this country treat veterans and the ever growing misuse of disability payments by non-disabled veterans. He, without guilt, drops the $2,800 payment he receives every month straight into a charity bouncing from medical, animals, and kids each time. His accountant complains about his itemized deductions but Jack could give two fucks, that’s blood money in his eyes and it better go to someone who will use it better than him.

He has the police scanner on low for background noise as he works out when he catches the call “Code 131, 10-33, 10-33 active shooter at Pittfest.” Jack knows they’ll need him at work and doesn’t even do more than wipe his sweat and get changed. He grabs his work bag shoving essentials in and hoofs it to PTMC. His condo isn’t too far, it’s usually a leisurely walk but he practically jogs in.

When Robby turns and catches him in a full hug he almost drops his backpack, they don’t usually hug more than halfway but Jack will take it. The rest of the shift is a blur, an adrenaline rush and Jack hates that he loves it so much.

It’s Robby’s speech to day shift that leaves Jack worried. He pats him on the back as he leaves but it doesn’t feel like enough so he sticks around as Robby does his last rounds and follows him up to the roof just to be sure. He knows Robby, even after Adamson died he wasn’t like this. Fraying at the edges and crying in front of the whole ED. 

Jack knows he’s talking out his ass. “We’re the bees that protect the hive.” It sounds like bullshit to his ears and he gets when Robby wants him to shut up. There’s tears threatening in Robby’s eyes. 

“Hey Robby,” and Robby doesn’t move back from the edge “man. Michael.” That gets his attention, he never calls him anything but brother or Cap or Robby even jokingly Boss Doc. Jack swallows and ticks his neck to get the crick out of it. It’s better late then never. “You know me.”

Robby won’t look at him, the unshed tears in his eyes flowing down his cheeks to meet his beard. “Fuck me.” He laughs, wet but real. “You took a long time.”

“Well I knew how you felt about it, because of.” Jack gestures at his own jaw and watches Robby’s mouth fall open.

“You fucking idiot.” Robby takes a big shuddering breath in. “I covered it because I hate being called Michael by someone who’s not you.”

Jack feels pretty stupid, he feels the years he waited weighing down on his shoulders. A good decade of waiting and knowing Robby didn’t actually want him but. “How did you know? My mark is gone.”

He winces and digs into his back pocket, pulling out his battered wallet and then an even more battered piece of paper when it’s unfolded it has Jack’s handwriting on it. It’s just a prescription for antibiotics but it’s seen much better days. “Pretty early on.”

“And you never said anything because?”

“I was worried. You hated me at first and I thought maybe if I had a little extra time I could make you like me, love me.” He’s tearing up again and sliding his wallet back into his pocket. Robby shrugs, “Guess I waited too long.”

“Michael,” Jack starts and Robby throws up a hand, looking away from him. “Don’t Jack, don’t.” 

But Jack’s never been a good listener, not when there was something important to say. “Michael, you know me. Think why would I stick around knowing for years if I didn’t already love you.” He moves in close, hugging him with the railing between them digging into his hips. 

Robby doesn’t say anything, just sobs wetly and lets Jack hug him from behind, one of his hands coming up to cover where he’s bracing a hand against Robby’s beating heart. “I would’ve waited the whole time for you, you have to know that.”

Jack holds on tighter so Robby knows he means that more than he’s meant anything other than Michael you know me.

It’ll take some time but they’ll leave the hospital together, drink a few beers in the park. Laugh at the absurdity of it all but for a few minutes on the roof they’re Michael and Jack, who took a long fucking time but dear god do they know each other.