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Jack has been waiting for this moment for years.
He doesn't bring it up right away. That’s the key.
If he’d mentioned it the day Robby turned fifty, Robby would’ve dug his heels in on principle alone. If he’d brought it up during a stressful week, Robby would’ve weaponized his schedule. If he’d framed it as concern, Robby would’ve deflected with statistics and irony.
So Jack waits.
He waits until it’s a quiet Sunday afternoon. Until Robby is relaxed enough to sprawl across the couch with his feet on Jack’s lap, glasses sliding down his nose, an article half-read and forgotten on his tablet. He waits until Robby is so comfortable that he forgets to be defensive.
Jack watches him for a while, fond and calculating in equal measure.
Then—casually, like he’s talking about the weather—
“So.”
Robby hums noncommittally. “Mm?”
Jack takes a sip of his coffee. “You’re fifty-three now.”
Robby doesn’t look up. “What an astute observation. They teach you that in med school?”
Jack grins. “Which means you’re overdue.”
Robby freezes.
Slowly, he lowers the tablet. “For…?”
Jack raises his eyebrows. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
There’s a beat.
Then Robby sighs deeply and drops his head back against the couch. “Jack.”
Jack leans against the counter, arms crossed, perfectly relaxed. “Michael.”
“I don’t need one,” Robby says reflexively.
Jack tilts his head. “Interesting. Because last week you lectured a forty-six-year-old about ‘preventive screening saves lives’ for ten full minutes. I distinctly remember you saying—” Jack adopts Robby’s professional cadence with uncanny accuracy— “‘Screening saves lives, and avoiding it because you feel fine is exactly how people end up with late-stage colorectal cancer.’”
“That was different.”
Jack squints. “Oh do enlighten me, Dr. Robinavitch."
Robby gestures vaguely. “He had a family history!”
Jack immediately counters, “And you have a husband who would like you alive for at least another thirty years”
Robby groans. “This is personal bias.”
“This is spousal bias,” Jack corrects. “And it’s stronger.”
Robby rubs his face. “I don’t have symptoms.”
Jack smiles sweetly. “Neither do half the people who get scoped. And yet one in every twenty-four people over the age of fifty are diagnosed each year.”
“That’s not—”
“And,” Jack continues cheerfully, “you’re not allowed to cite statistics while actively avoiding the thing you tell everyone else to do.”
Robby glares at him. “You are enjoying this.”
Immensely,” Jack agrees.
Robby sits up, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time.”
Jack pushes off the counter. “I already checked your schedule.”
Robby looks up sharply. “You what.”
Jack shrugs. “Dana owes me a favor. Also, you’re terrible at protecting your own calendar.”
Robby stares at him. “You are unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Jack says, smiling, “correct.”
There’s a long pause.
Robby exhales, defeated. “Fine.”
Jack beams.
“But,” Robby adds, pointing, “you are never allowed to bring this up again.”
Jack leans in and kisses his forehead. “Deal.”
(He absolutely plans to bring it up again.)
The morning of the colonoscopy, Robby is… not dignified.
He insists he’s fine, of course. Insists he’s done this hundreds of times. Insists it’s routine, boring, nothing to be nervous about.
Meanwhile, he is pacing the pre-op bay like a man awaiting sentencing.
Jack sits in the chair beside the bed, watching with open amusement.
“You know,” Jack says mildly, “most people don’t pace like that when they’re ‘not nervous.’”
Robby shoots him a look. “I am not nervous.”
Jack hums. “You’ve looped the curtain twice.”
Robby stops, glances behind him, scowls. “My feet are cold.”
“You are wearing hospital socks,” Jack points out. “With grippies.”
Robby looks down. “They’re humiliating.”
Jack laughs softly. “They're adorable.”
A nurse pops in, cheerful and efficient. “Ready to go?”
Robby nods immediately, too quickly. “Yes.”
Jack stands and takes Robby’s hand, squeezing gently. “You’ll be great.”
Robby exhales. “I cannot believe I let you do this to me.”
Jack leans in. “Practice what you preach, doctor.”
Robby squints suspiciously. “If I say anything embarrassing—”
Jack grins. “I will cherish it.”
Robby groans as they wheel him away.
When Robby wakes up, the world is soft.
Not blurry exactly — just… padded. Like his thoughts are wrapped in cotton and gently bouncing off each other instead of landing anywhere useful.
He blinks slowly.
The ceiling tiles look fascinating.
“Hey you,” Jack smiles.
Robby turns his head with great effort. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “You’re here?”
Jack laughs quietly. “I said I’d be here.”
Robby squints at him. “You look very handsome.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “I look the same as I did twenty minutes ago.”
Robby nods solemnly. “Yes. But now I’m noticing.”
Jack snorts and reaches for Robby’s hand. Robby’s fingers curl around his immediately, grip loose and warm.
“How do you feel?” Jack asks.
Robby considers this deeply. “Like I had the best nap of my life.”
Jack grins. “Told you.”
Robby sighs happily. “I forgive you.”
“For?”
“Everything.”
Jack laughs so hard he has to look away.
Robby’s eyes drift shut again, then open abruptly. “Did they—”
Jack tilts his head. “Did they what?”
Robby whispers, very seriously, “Did they see my soul?”
Jack bites his lip. “Only a little.”
Robby blinks, clearly losing that train of thought. Then he smiles, dreamily. "Are you my doctor?"
"Nope. Today I get to be just a husband." Jack gently strokes his thumb against Robby's cheek.
"Husband...we...you're married?" Robby looks crestfallen. Jack takes pity on him and plants a soft kiss on his forehead.
"Yes sir. Married to you in fact."
"Woah...that's...really?" Robby asks hopefully.
"Really really." Jack confirms. "You're stuck with me, Mikey."
Robby considers that for a second. "I like being stuck."
"Good. Because I'm not ever letting you go."
The nausea creeps up quietly.
Robby’s chatter slows. His brow furrows slightly, like he’s trying to solve a problem he doesn’t quite understand yet.
Jack notices immediately.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”
Robby swallows. “I think… I might not be okay.”
Jack’s hand is already rubbing slow circles on his arm. “Nauseous?”
Robby nods, eyes suddenly wide and miserable. “I don’t like this part.”
“I know,” Jack murmurs.
Robby’s breathing picks up. “I’m gonna—”
Jack grabs the basin just in time, holding it steady while Robby retches weakly, completely undignified and deeply apologetic even while drugged.
“I’m sorry,” Robby mumbles between heaves. “I don't...I can't...”
Jack brushes his hair back gently. “You’re doing great.”
When it passes, Robby slumps bonelessly against the pillows, exhausted.
Jack wipes his mouth, smooths the blankets, presses a kiss to his temple. “Better?”
Robby nods faintly. “You’re very good at this.”
Jack smiles softly. “I know.”
Robby wakes up again and immediately forgets why he’s awake.
Which, to be fair, is a recurring problem at the moment.
He blinks slowly, lashes fluttering like the effort alone is impressive, and turns his head toward the sound of quiet laughter.
Jack.
Robby’s face brightens instantly, like Jack has just been summoned rather than present the entire time.
“There you are,” Robby says warmly.
Jack raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been here.”
Robby squints at him. “Consistently?”
Jack laughs. “Shockingly so.”
Robby nods, satisfied. “Good. I was worried you might be a hallucination.”
Jack leans closer. “Why would I be a hallucination?”
Robby considers this with intense focus. “Because you’re very attractive and I’m on drugs.”
Jack loses it.
He has to turn his head away and press his knuckles to his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. When he looks back, his eyes are bright and a little damp.
“You are unbelievable,” Jack says fondly.
Robby smiles lazily. “You married me.”
“I did,” Jack agrees. “Against my better judgment.”
Robby’s fingers twitch, searching. Jack takes his hand immediately, lacing their fingers together. Robby squeezes weakly, like he needs to confirm Jack is solid.
Robby frowns suddenly. “Wait.”
Jack braces. “Yes?”
Robby whispers, very seriously, “Did I behave?”
Jack hums. “Define behave.”
Robby’s eyes widen. “Oh no.”
Jack grins. “You told the nurse she had ‘kind eyes but unsettling efficiency.’”
Robby groans. “That tracks.”
A beat passes.
Robby squints at Jack again. “Did you cry?”
Jack blinks. “Why would I—”
“You get emotional when you’re worried,” Robby says sagely. “It’s very cute.”
Jack stares. “You were unconscious.”
Robby nods. “But I know you.”
Jack exhales, smiling despite himself. “I might have teared up a little.”
Robby beams. “Victory.”
Once they’re discharged, Jack helps him into the car carefully, buckling him in like he’s precious cargo.
On the drive home, Robby drifts in and out of sleep, murmuring nonsense.
At one point, he opens his eyes and says earnestly, “I’m glad you made me do this.”
Jack glances over, surprised.
Robby smiles lazily. “You take good care of me.”
Jack’s chest tightens just a little. “Always.”
At home, Jack gets Robby settled on the couch with blankets and water, sitting close enough to keep a hand on him at all times.
Robby dozes, safe and comfortable, occasionally squeezing Jack’s fingers like a sleepy reflex.
Jack watches him with fond amusement and quiet love, thinking — not for the first time — that convincing Robby to take care of himself might be one of the best things he’s ever done.
And also that drugged, affectionate Robby is an absolute menace in the best possible way.
Robby expects—hopes—that once the drugs wear off, Jack will be merciful.
This hope is wildly misplaced.
It starts in the car.
Robby is half-asleep in the passenger seat, seatbelt snug, head tipped toward the window. Jack glances over at him and smiles to himself.
“Hey,” Jack says casually.
Robby blinks. “Mm?”
“You told me I was ‘consistently handsome.’”
Robby squints. “Was I wrong?”
Jack laughs. “No. Just… noted.”
At home, as Jack helps him settle on the couch with blankets and water, the teasing escalates.
“Do you remember asking if the doctors ‘saw your soul’?” Jack asks innocently.
Robby groans and buries his face in the pillow. “Please tell me I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Never speak of this again.”
Jack kisses the top of his head. “Oh, I’m absolutely speaking of this again.”
Robby peeks out. “You’re cruel.”
Jack grins. “You’re adorable.”
Later—much later—when Robby is fully himself again and feeling human, Jack still won’t let it go.
Weeks afterward, Jack will occasionally lean in and murmur, “Did they see your soul?” just to watch Robby groan and throw a pillow at him.
It becomes a Thing.
Jack is insufferably pleased.
At home, Jack moves with practiced ease.
Water. Crackers. Blankets. The couch transformed into a nest.
Robby drifts in and out, murmuring nonsense, squeezing Jack’s fingers reflexively.
At one point he opens his eyes and says, earnestly, “I’m glad you made me do this.”
Jack looks down at him, surprised.
Robby smiles sleepily. “You take good care of me.”
Jack’s chest tightens. “Always, my love.”
Robby falls asleep mid-sentence.
Jack stays right there, one hand resting on Robby’s chest, smiling to himself.
Victory has never felt so sweet.
Jack’s 50th birthday is low-key by design.
Dinner at home. Cake. A few carefully chosen gifts. No fuss.
Robby hands him a card last, smiling innocently.
Jack opens it.
It’s sweet. Thoughtful. Sincere. A whole paragraph about love and life and gratitude and growing older together.
Jack smiles, touched.
Then his eyes drop to the bottom.
P.S. Your colonoscopy is scheduled for March 4th.
Jack freezes.
Slowly, slowly, he looks up at Robby.
“…You did not.”
Robby chuckles, utterly unrepentant. “Practice what you preach, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “You scheduled my colonoscopy.”
Robby shrugs lightly. “Well, you are due.”
Jack closes the card, points at him. “This is revenge.”
Robby laughs. “This is preventive care.”
Jack shakes his head, laughing despite himself. “I can’t believe you.”
Robby steps closer, kisses him softly. “You love me.”
Jack sighs, wrapping an arm around him. “Unfortunately.”
Robby grins. “Happy birthday.”