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Robby almost turned back.
That was the thing he’d remember later—the way the thought came unbidden, brief but insistent, and how he brushed it aside without really examining it. He was tired, sure, but it was a good tired. The kind that came from days spent inside fluorescent-lit rooms, from carrying other people’s emergencies until his shoulders ached with them.
He needed quiet. He needed air.
The trail had been clear when he started out. Cool, crisp, the kind of autumn day that felt like a promise. The sky had been pale blue, clouds high and thin, nothing threatening. He’d checked the forecast—chance of afternoon storms, nothing definitive.
Robby had lived long enough to know that “chance” wasn’t certainty.
He kept going anyway.
The trail climbed steadily, winding through trees that thinned the higher he went, the ground growing rockier beneath his boots. He liked the way the world narrowed out here—no pagers, no alarms, no decisions that carried the weight of life and death.
Just one foot in front of the other.
He was nearly an hour in when the light changed.
It was subtle at first, just a dimming at the edges, like someone had turned the saturation down on the world. Robby paused, glanced up through the trees, and frowned.
Clouds had rolled in fast—thick, low, moving with a purpose that made his stomach tighten.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Not ideal.”
The wind picked up, sudden and sharp, carrying the metallic tang of rain. The temperature dropped enough that he noticed it through his jacket.
Robby turned around.
He didn’t get far.
The first sound wasn’t thunder.
It was a crack—deep and resonant, like the earth itself had split open.
Robby froze, heart hammering. His eyes darted upward just in time to see movement where there hadn’t been any a second before. Rocks dislodging. Small at first, then bigger, cascading down the slope in a terrifying chain reaction.
“Shit,” he breathed.
He ran.
The ground betrayed him immediately—slick with sudden rain, loose gravel shifting underfoot. He stumbled, caught himself, kept moving as the sound behind him grew louder, closer.
Then something struck his leg.
The pain was immediate and blinding, a hot, tearing sensation that dropped him hard to the ground. He screamed as he fell, the breath knocked clean out of him as his head cracked against stone.
The world went white.
When Robby came back to himself, the rain was pouring.
He lay twisted at the edge of the trail, one leg pinned at an angle that made his stomach churn just to look at it. Blood soaked through his pant leg, dark and spreading. His head throbbed dully, vision swimming every time he tried to focus.
“Okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “Okay.”
He tried to move his leg and nearly blacked out.
“Nope,” he said weakly, breath coming fast. “Nope, nope.”
The storm worsened with terrifying speed. Rain turned to sleet, then to something sharper, stinging his face and hands. The wind cut through his jacket like it wasn’t there at all.
Robby fumbled for his phone with shaking hands.
No signal.
Of course.
He checked again anyway, like the answer might change if he wanted it badly enough.
Nothing.
He forced himself to take stock the way he’d taught a thousand patients to do.
Broken leg.
Laceration—deep.
Head injury.
Exposed. Cold.
His teeth began to chatter violently.
“That’s bad,” Robby murmured, fear creeping in around the edges of his clinical assessment. “That’s really bad.”
Jack heard about the storm from a paramedic, of all people.
They were standing near the charge desk, sipping burnt coffee and making small talk when the radio crackled with updates—trail closures, flash flooding warnings, reports of rock slides in the nearby mountains.
Jack’s stomach dropped.
“What trails?” he asked immediately.
The paramedic rattled off a name.
Jack’s blood went cold.
He pulled his phone out before he was even fully aware of the movement and dialed Robby’s number.
Straight to voicemail.
He tried again.
And again.
“Come on,” Jack muttered under his breath. “Pick up. Pick up.”
Dana glanced up from the board, reading his expression in a heartbeat. She had taken a rare night shift for Lena.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Robby went hiking,” Jack said, already moving. “Meeker Park. He should’ve been back by now.”
Dana didn’t hesitate. “Okay. Breathe. When did you last hear from him?”
“Hours ago,” Jack said, voice tight. “He sent a picture near the overlook.”
Shen appeared beside them, iced coffee in hand, expression calm but alert.
“I’ll cover the floor,” Shen said immediately. “What do you need?”
Jack swallowed hard. “I gotta call in search and rescue.”
Shen nodded. “Go, we got this."
Jack paced while waited on hold, every worst-case scenario screaming for attention.
He’s fine. He just lost signal.
He slipped.
He’s hurt.
Jack stopped pacing.
The not-knowing was unbearable.
Shen came back over, question unasked. Jack blew out breath. “They’re mobilizing. They’ll start at the trailhead and work up.”
Shen sipped his coffee. “They’ll find him.”
Jack didn’t trust himself to answer.
Search and rescue found Robby at dusk.
It took longer than anyone wanted. The storm made visibility poor, the terrain treacherous. By the time they reached him, Robby was barely conscious, shivering violently, skin pale and waxy.
“Hey,” one of them said urgently, kneeling beside him. “Stay with us.”
Robby tried to answer. Something incoherent came out.
His leg was unmistakably broken, bone threatening the skin. The laceration on his thigh gaped angrily, bleeding sluggishly in the cold. His pupils were sluggish, his answers confused.
“Hypothermic,” the medic muttered. “Head injury too.”
They moved fast—splinting, wrapping, insulating him as best they could, starting the slow, careful descent.
Jack got the call while he was standing in trauma bay.
“They’ve got him,” the dispatcher said. “He’s alive. Injured. En route by helicopter.”
Jack’s knees nearly gave out.
“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you.”
He turned toward Shen, eyes bright with fear and relief.
“He’s coming in,” Jack said. “I’m treating him.”
Shen raised an eyebrow slightly. “Jack—”
“He’s my husband,” Jack said flatly. “And I’m not stepping back.”
Shen studied him for a long moment, then nodded once.
“Then we do this together,” Shen said calmly. “And we do it right.”
Jack exhaled shakily.
The sound of the helicopter blades grew louder overhead.
The helicopter announced itself long before anyone saw it.
The deep, percussive thrum rolled through the hospital like an approaching storm, rattling windows and setting Jack’s nerves on edge. He stood in trauma one, hands braced on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the doors like sheer will might pull Robby through them faster.
“ETA ninety seconds,” Dana called out. “Let’s be ready.”
The room snapped into motion.
Monitors powered on. Warmed IV fluids were hung. A Bair Hugger lay folded at the foot of the bed like a promise. Mateo checked suction twice. Jesse pulled airway equipment closer. Someone dimmed the lights just slightly—small mercies that mattered when everything else felt sharp.
Jack paced once. Twice. Then stopped himself.
Be still. Be useful.
Shen stood a few feet away, iced coffee abandoned on the counter, posture relaxed in a way that would’ve been infuriating if Jack didn’t know it was genuine.
“Jack,” Shen said calmly. “When he comes in, I need you focused. Not frantic.”
Jack laughed once, harsh. “I’ll try not to be.”
Shen met his eyes. “I mean it. You can be scared later. Right now, you’re a doctor.”
Jack nodded. He could do that. He’d done worse.
The doors burst open.
“Incoming!”
Robby looked smaller than Jack expected.
Curled inward on the stretcher, wrapped in foil and blankets, face pale and slack with exhaustion and cold. His hair was matted with blood and rainwater. One leg was splinted awkwardly, soaked red from thigh to knee. The other twitched faintly, involuntarily.
Jack’s chest constricted painfully.
“I’m here,” he said automatically, before anyone had even finished transferring Robby to the bed.
Robby’s eyes fluttered open at the sound. They didn’t focus at first. Then—slowly—they found Jack’s face.
“Jack?” Robby slurred.
Jack leaned in instantly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”
Robby frowned faintly, confusion knitting his brow. “I—fell.”
“I know,” Jack said gently. “You’re safe now.”
“Trauma team,” Dana said crisply. “Let’s go.”
Jack forced himself to step back half a pace, enough to let the team work, but not so far that he lost sight of Robby’s face.
“Airway?” Dana asked.
“Patent,” the flight medic replied. “But he’s confused. GCS thirteen on pickup, now twelve.”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Breathing?” Shen asked.
“Rapid, shallow. O2 sat ninety-two on non-rebreather.”
“Circulation?” Dana continued.
“Hypotensive in the field. Responded partially to fluids.”
Jack was already moving, muscle memory overriding panic. He pressed his stethoscope to Robby’s chest, listening intently.
Breath sounds were there—but diminished on the right. Not absent. Just… off.
“Robby,” Jack said quietly. “Can you tell me where you are?”
Robby squinted at him. “Hospital?”
“Good,” Jack said. “Do you know what day it is?”
Robby hesitated too long. “Tuesday?”
It wasn’t.
“Okay,” Jack said softly. “That’s alright.”
“Temp?” Dana asked.
“Thirty-three Celsius,” Jesse replied.
Jack’s stomach dropped. “Fuck, okay okay okay.”
“Hypothermia protocol,” Dana said immediately. “Warm fluids, Bair Hugger, get wet clothes off.”
Mateo and Princess moved fast, cutting away Robby’s soaked hiking gear. The sight of his injuries made the room go quiet for half a beat.
The laceration on his thigh was deep—jagged edges, muscle visible beneath, bleeding sluggishly but steadily. His leg was visibly deformed, swelling already distorting the normal contours.
“Jesus,” Ellis muttered quietly from the doorway. The senior night resident had slipped in unnoticed, eyes sharp, already assessing. “That’s a nasty break.”
Jack swallowed hard and pressed gauze firmly to the wound, hands steady despite the tremor he could feel in his forearms.
“Pressure,” he said. “Robby, this is going to hurt.”
Robby hissed weakly.
“BP’s eighty-eight systolic,” Jesse called out.
“Okay,” Shen said calmly. “Two large-bore IVs. Start warmed fluids wide open.”
“I’ve got one,” Ellis said, sliding a line in smoothly. “Second’s in.”
“Good,” Shen nodded. “Labs. Type and cross. Trauma panel.”
Jack leaned close again, voice low and grounding.
“Stay with me,” he said. “Don’t fall asleep.”
Robby’s eyelids drooped anyway.
Jack felt a surge of fear so sharp it nearly stole his breath.
“Robby,” he said more firmly. “Hey. Look at me.”
Robby forced his eyes open again. “I’m… tired.”
“I know,” Jack said. “You can rest later. Right now, I need you awake.”
“Head CT,” Ellie ordered. “As soon as he’s stable enough.”
Robby coughed suddenly, a wet, rattling sound that made Jack’s heart jump.
Shen noticed instantly. “Let’s reassess lungs.”
Jack listened again, frowning deeper this time.
“Breath sounds are worse on the right,” he said. “Could be contusion. Or developing pneumothorax.”
Shen nodded. “Keep an eye on it. Don’t chase ghosts yet.”
Jack bit back the urge to argue. Shen wasn’t wrong—but fear made everything feel urgent.
Robby shifted weakly, grimacing.
“My leg’s… not right,” he murmured.
Jack’s throat tightened. “I know. We’re going to take care of it.”
Robby’s eyes flicked down, then widened faintly as reality caught up.
“Oh,” he breathed. “That’s bad.”
Jack forced a small smile. “I’ve seen worse.”
Robby snorted weakly. “Liar.”
“You're forgetting the pieces of tibia I left in the desert,” Jack quipped.
The Bair Hugger hummed to life, warm air flowing over Robby’s torso. His shivering eased slightly, but his skin was still cold beneath Jack’s hands.
“Temp’s coming up,” Jesse said.
“Good,” Shen replied. “Let’s get imaging moving.”
As they prepped to move Robby, Shen stepped closer to Jack, voice low enough that only he could hear.
“Jack,” Shen said gently. “I know you want to be everywhere at once. But I need you clear-headed.”
Jack met his gaze. “I am.”
Shen studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. Then you’re with me. We make decisions together.”
Jack exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”
They rolled Robby toward CT, Jack walking alongside the stretcher, one hand resting lightly on the rail like a tether.
Robby turned his head toward him, eyes glassy but searching.
“You came,” he said softly.
Jack’s voice broke despite his effort to keep it steady. “Always.”
Robby’s eyes closed again, exhaustion finally winning out as the warmth and fluids began to do their work.
Jack stayed right there as the doors slid shut, fear and relief tangling painfully in his chest.
He was alive.
For now.
CT was quiet in the way only hospitals could manage—machines humming, lights low, voices kept deliberately calm as if volume alone could push things over the edge.
Robby lay still on the scanner table, eyes closed now, exhaustion finally dragging him under. The shivering had eased, but his skin still looked too pale, stretched thin over bone. Jack walked beside the table, one hand resting on the rail, fingers curled tight like if he let go Robby might vanish entirely.
“Contrast going in,” the tech said.
Jack nodded without looking away.
Shen stood at the workstation, arms folded, eyes flicking between the screen and Robby’s vitals. Ellis hovered nearby, already scrolling through labs as they began to populate.
“Pressure’s soft again,” Jesse’s voice crackled over the speaker from the control room. “Systolic’s dipping into the eighties.”
Jack’s stomach clenched.
“Fluids aren’t enough,” Jack said quietly. “He’s bleeding somewhere.”
Shen didn’t disagree. “Let’s see what the images say.”
The scans populated slowly, line by line, the anatomy unfolding in cold grayscale. Jack leaned forward instinctively, eyes trained to spot what didn’t belong.
There.
“Right femur fracture,” Ellis said, pointing. “Comminuted. That laceration tracks deep.”
“Active extravasation?” Jack asked.
She zoomed in. “Yeah. Looks like it.”
Jack swore under his breath.
“And chest,” Shen said calmly, scrolling. “Right-sided pulmonary contusion. Small pneumothorax. It’s not huge, but with hypothermia and pain—”
“He’s going to crash soon,” Jack finished.
Shen nodded once. “Agreed.”
Jack closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to breathe.
“Okay,” he said. “We need to move.”
They rolled Robby back into trauma one, the doors swinging open to a room already reset and waiting.
“Okay, team,” Dana said crisply. “Update.”
“Left comminuted femur fracture with active bleeding,” Shen replied. “Pulmonary contusion, small pneumo. Hypotension likely hemorrhagic.”
“Chest tube?” Dana asked.
Jack hesitated for half a second.
Not because it wasn’t indicated—but because it was his husband, and the thought of driving a tube into Robby’s chest made something deep and instinctive recoil.
Then the monitor alarmed.
Robby’s oxygen saturation dipped suddenly, numbers sliding downward with alarming speed.
That decided it.
“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “Now.”
“Alright,” Dana said. “Let’s do it.”
Robby stirred faintly as they repositioned him, brow furrowing, a low sound of discomfort escaping his throat.
“Hey,” Jack said immediately, leaning close. “It’s okay. We’re helping you breathe.”
Robby cracked his eyes open. “Hurts,” he murmured.
“I know,” Jack said. “I’m right here.”
Ellis assisted smoothly, movements efficient and unhesitating. Shen supervised without hovering, trusting Jack to lead but ready to step in if needed.
Jack’s hands were steady.
They had to be.
The moment the tube was placed, air hissed out audibly, pressure releasing. Robby’s oxygen saturation climbed almost immediately, numbers creeping back toward safety.
“There,” Jack said softly. “That’s better.”
Robby let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed again.
“Good response,” Shen said quietly. “Nice call.”
Jack barely heard him.
The bleeding was next.
Ortho was already on their way, but Robby’s pressure continued to sag, his skin taking on that unmistakable ashen tone that set every alarm bell ringing.
“He’s cold and bleeding,” Jack said. “This is a bad combination.”
“Starting blood,” Dana said. “Type-specific’s ready.”
The first unit flowed in, warm and dark, the color of life returning slowly, incrementally, to Robby’s face.
Jack hovered close, watching every monitor, every subtle change.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, more prayer than command now.
For a terrifying moment, Robby’s heart rate spiked—then stuttered.
The room went still.
“Pulse?” Dana asked sharply.
Jack’s fingers were already at Robby’s neck.
“There,” he said, relief crashing through him. “It’s there.”
Robby groaned faintly, consciousness flickering.
Jack bent close, voice low and urgent. “Hey. Hey. I need you with me.”
Robby frowned weakly. “So… cold.”
“I know,” Jack said, brushing damp hair back from Robby’s forehead without thinking. “We’re fixing that.”
The Bair Hugger hummed louder. More blood flowed. The numbers stabilized—just enough to breathe again.
Ortho arrived at last, assessed quickly, decisively.
“He needs the OR,” the surgeon said. “Now.”
Jack nodded. “ICU after.”
“Agreed,” Shen said. “He’s too fragile for the floor.”
As they prepped Robby for transport, Shen stepped closer to Jack, voice low.
“You did good,” Shen said. “You stayed clinical.”
Jack swallowed hard. “I almost didn’t.”
“But you did,” Shen replied. “That matters.”
Robby’s eyes fluttered open one last time as they began to roll him out.
“Jack?” he whispered.
Jack was there instantly, walking alongside the stretcher, fingers curled tight around the rail.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Robby’s mouth twitched faintly. “Figures.”
Then the doors closed, and Robby disappeared down the hall toward surgery and the ICU beyond.
Jack stood there for a moment after, chest heaving, the adrenaline finally draining out of him.
He leaned one hand against the wall, closed his eyes, and let himself feel it—just for a second.
Fear.
Love.
The terrifying knowledge of how close he’d come to losing him.
Then he straightened.
There was still more to do.
The ICU smelled different from the ED. Cleaner. Quieter. The air felt heavier somehow, like sound itself had been dampened out of respect for how fragile everything was here. The lights were dimmer, the rhythms slower, but the stakes felt higher in a way Jack couldn’t quite articulate.
Robby arrived swaddled in tubing and monitors, his body dwarfed by the bed, his face pale against white sheets. The leg that had taken the brunt of the rockslide was now encased in a temporary external fixation, metal rods and pins holding bone in place until it could be repaired definitively. A thick dressing covered the laceration, clean now but angry beneath.
The chest tube bubbled softly at his side.
Jack stood at the foot of the bed, hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep them from shaking.
“Vitals are holding,” the ICU nurse said gently, checking lines and pumps with practiced ease. “He’s sedated for now. We’ll let him rest.”
Jack nodded. “Can I stay?”
She smiled faintly. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”
Jack pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, eyes never leaving Robby’s face. Every rise and fall of Robby’s chest felt like a gift he didn’t dare take for granted.
Hours passed.
Jack barely noticed.
He tracked numbers without consciously trying—heart rate steady but elevated, oxygen saturation stable with support, temperature slowly climbing back toward normal. He watched the nurse adjust drips, listened to the low murmur of reports, let the quiet hum of machines anchor him.
At some point, Shen appeared at the doorway, iced coffee back in hand like a talisman.
“How’s he doing?” Shen asked softly.
“Stable,” Jack replied. “Fragile, but stable.”
Shen nodded. “You did good work down there.”
Jack let out a tired breath. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Shen’s mouth curved into a small smile. “That’s usually how it goes.”
He lingered for a moment, then added, “Go get some sleep. I’ll have someone call if anything changes.”
Jack shook his head immediately. “I’m not leaving.”
Shen studied him for a long moment, then sighed.
“Didn’t think you would,” he said. “At least lie down.”
Jack compromised by shifting in his chair, stretching his leg, never breaking contact with Robby.
Robby woke slowly.
Not all at once—never all at once. First came sensation: pressure in his chest, a dull ache radiating through his leg, the unfamiliar tug of tubes and wires tethering him to the bed. Then sound filtered in—soft beeping, distant voices, the steady hiss of oxygen.
He frowned faintly, brow furrowing as confusion set in.
“Jack?”
The word came out rough, barely more than a breath.
Jack was on his feet instantly, chair scraping softly against the floor.
“I’m here,” he said, leaning over the bed. “Hey. Easy.”
Robby’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then slowly sharpening as they found Jack’s face.
“You… look bad,” Robby murmured weakly.
Jack huffed a quiet laugh, relief crashing through him so hard it made his chest ache.
“Funny,” he said. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Robby’s gaze drifted, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the tubes, the brace on his leg. His breathing hitched.
“I fell,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Jack said. “You did.”
“Storm,” Robby added, voice slurred. “Rocks.”
“I know,” Jack said gently. “Search and rescue found you. You’ve been in surgery. You’re in the ICU now.”
Robby swallowed hard, pain flickering across his face.
“My leg—”
“It’s broken,” Jack said honestly. “But they fixed what they could. You’re going to recover.”
Robby closed his eyes briefly, absorbing that.
Then, quietly: “You came.”
Jack reached out, carefully curling his fingers around Robby’s hand, mindful of lines and monitors.
“What kind of a question is that? Of course I came Mikey. Kinda part of the whole 'death do us part' thing."
Robby squeezed back weakly, a tear slipping free despite his best effort to stop it.
“I thought—” His voice broke. “I thought I was going to die out there.”
Jack’s throat tightened. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead gently against Robby’s.
“You didn’t,” he said. “You stuck it out and we carried you over the finish line.”
Robby nodded faintly, exhaustion already pulling him back under.
Recovery was slow.
Robby drifted in and out of consciousness over the next day, waking confused and disoriented, sometimes frightened by the unfamiliar sensations in his body. Jack learned the patterns quickly—when Robby needed reassurance, when he needed quiet, when pain crept in beneath the sedation.
When Robby woke gasping from a half-remembered dream of rain and falling stone, Jack was there.
“You’re in the hospital,” he said calmly. “It’s daytime. You’re warming up nicely. I’ve got you.”
When Robby grimaced, reaching instinctively for his leg, Jack caught his hand gently.
“Careful,” he murmured. “It’s still healing.”
Robby frowned. “Hurts.”
“I know,” Jack said. “You've got a ways to go yet before that goes away. Just, don't be all stoic with the meds okay? They're there to help you heal.”
The nurses smiled softly at them, used to families who stayed but still struck by the quiet intensity of Jack’s presence.
“He’s lucky,” one of them said quietly to Jack as she adjusted a monitor.
Jack shook his head. “So am I.”
Going home came weeks later.
Too soon for Jack’s comfort. Too late for Robby’s patience.
Robby moved carefully, crutches awkward beneath his arms, his leg still fragile and angry beneath its brace. He hated how slow he was, how much help he needed, how tired he felt after the smallest exertion.
Jack didn’t rush him.
He helped Robby settle onto the couch, adjusted pillows, made sure water was within reach before sitting nearby—not hovering, but close enough to respond instantly.
“You don’t have to watch me like that,” Robby said one afternoon, half-teasing.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You got buried in a rockslide and almost dropped out on me in the ED. Forgive me if I'm a little cautious.”
Robby smiled faintly. “Fair.”
The first night Robby sleeps in their bed again, neither of them sleeps much.
Jack wakes at every small sound. Robby wakes from half-formed dreams of falling, rain slick against his skin.
At one point, Robby reaches out blindly in the dark.
“Jack?”
“I’m here,” Jack answers immediately, already turning toward him.
Robby exhales, relief palpable. “Okay.”
Jack adjusts the pillows under Robby’s leg, careful and practiced now. He presses a kiss to Robby’s temple without thinking.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs.
Robby’s fingers curl into Jack’s shirt. “I know. It just takes a second for my brain to catch up.”
Jack nods, understanding too well.
Later, when the sky starts to lighten with early morning, Robby speaks again.
“You know,” he says quietly, “when I was out there… I kept thinking I didn’t want you to find me like that.”
Jack swallows. “I’m glad I did.”
Robby turns his head, meeting his gaze. “Me too.”
They lie there as the city wakes up around them—two people stitched back together by luck, skill, and stubborn love.
Not untouched.
Not unafraid.
But home.
The nights were harder.
Robby woke sweating, heart racing, the sound of imagined stone cracking echoing in his ears. Jack learned to recognize the shift before Robby even spoke.
“I’m here, Rob” Jack would murmur, a hand grounding at Robby’s shoulder. “You’re inside. You’re safe.”
It hits Jack two nights later.
They’re home. Robby’s asleep on the couch, leg elevated, breathing slow and even. The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the rain tapping against the windows.
Jack is rinsing a mug in the sink when it happens.
His hands start shaking.
Out of nowhere, his heart slams into overdrive, breath coming too fast, too shallow. His mind fills with images he didn’t invite: Robby pale on the stretcher, soaked and cold; the CT images; the way the monitor dipped and dipped again.
I almost lost him.
Jack grips the counter hard, knuckles white.
The room feels too small. Too quiet.
“Jack?” Robby’s voice, groggy but immediate. “What’s wrong?”
Jack doesn’t answer fast enough.
Robby struggles upright despite the brace, wincing as he shifts. “Hey. Talk to me.”
Jack turns, eyes wild, chest heaving.
“I can’t—” he starts, then stops, ashamed of the crack in his voice. “I keep seeing it. You out there. Alone.”
Robby’s expression softens instantly.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Come here.”
Jack shakes his head. “You shouldn’t—”
Robby cuts him off. “Jack. I’m okay. Right now. I’m here.”
Jack crosses the room in two steps and collapses down in front of the couch, forehead pressing against Robby’s knee, careful of the injury but desperate for contact.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” Jack admits, voice breaking. “I don’t know how I would’ve survived that.”
Robby’s hand finds his hair, fingers threading through it gently.
“You don’t have to be the strong one tonight,” Robby says. “You already were.”
Jack breathes in shakily, grounding himself in Robby’s warmth, the steady rhythm of his voice.
They sit like that for a long time, fear draining slowly, neither of them rushing the other out of it.
Slowly, steadily, Robby healed.
Strength returned. Pain receded. Fear loosened its grip.
One morning, Robby stood at the window, sunlight warming his face, and let out a slow breath.
“I’m going back,” he said quietly.
Jack looked up from the table. “To work?”
Robby nodded. “When I’m cleared.”
Jack studied him carefully, then smiled.
“Good,” he said. “The place is worse without you.”
Robby laughed softly, reaching for Jack’s hand.
“I’m glad you found a way to get to me,” he said.
Jack squeezed back, heart full.
“Me too,” he replied.
Robby stands just inside the ED doors longer than he needs to.
The place smells the same—antiseptic and coffee and something metallic beneath it all—but his body doesn’t trust that sameness yet. His leg aches dully inside the brace, not sharp pain anymore, just a constant reminder that it hasn’t forgotten what happened.
He adjusts his badge. Straightens his shoulders.
You’ve done this before, he tells himself. You know this place.
Still, his heart is beating too fast.
Dana spots him first.
She doesn’t say anything at first—just looks him over with the practiced, appraising gaze she uses on patients and staff alike. Then she steps closer.
“You’re cleared?” she asks.
“Yes,” Robby says. “Limited hours. No traumas solo.”
Dana nods. “Good. You try to be a hero and I’ll personally sedate your ass into next week.”
Robby smiles faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The residents notice next.
Javadi's eyes widen. Whitaker looks relieved in a way that’s almost comical. Santos grins and calls out, “Look who survived nature’s assassination attempt.”
Robby huffs a laugh, the tension easing just a fraction. "Nice to see you all again. Santos, your still tactful as ever.
Then the overhead speaker crackles.
A trauma alert.
The sound hits him like a physical blow.
Robby’s breath catches. His mind flashes unbidden images—rock breaking loose, the sound of it, the way the ground vanished under him. His leg throbs sharply, sympathetic pain flaring.
Jack is there before he even realizes he’s frozen.
Not touching. Just close.
“Hey,” Jack says quietly. “You don’t have to take this one.”
Robby swallows. “I know.”
He watches the trauma team move—Dana directing, Shen calm and precise, Ellis already scrubbing in. The choreography unfolds without him, and for the first time, that feels… okay.
Robby exhales slowly.
He steps back, deliberately.
Later, when he handles a quieter case—a kid with a broken wrist, scared but stable—his hands are steady. His voice is warm. The rhythm comes back, not all at once, but enough.
At the end of the shift, Dana catches his eye again.
“You did good,” she says simply.
"Yeah...I did." Robby smiled softly. I did good.