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“You just make sure you come back. And if it gets dark, you call you.”
Jack had watched Robby walk away from him with a grim smile. He didn't like the way Robby hadn't answered him, hadn't acknowledged his offer.
The feeling in his gut wasn't concern anymore.
It was a cold, familiar dread.
He’d felt it before missions that went sideways, in the moment before the radio exploded with chaos.
He had felt it when patients came in sometimes, when he knew there was little they could do.
He had felt it for himself, standing on the roof.
And there was nothing he could do.
He went home to his sparse, orderly apartment. Telling himself he needed sleep before his night shift.
Sleep never came easy for Jack, but as he lay in bed, sunlight pouring through the shitty thin curtains, his mind wouldn’t stop racing.
He'd seen Robby’s hands, always steady, always sure, slightly tremble as he signed a form today. He'd seen the empty look in those normally warm, empathetic eyes. A look that was beyond burnout.
It was surrender.
It’s just a trip, Jack told himself. He’s an adult. He's earned it. It will be fine.
But the image of the helmetless ride to work Dana had told him about, the evasive smile, the unreturned promise to call… Jack couldn't pretend anymore.
He shot upright in bed, heart pounding.
This wasn’t a sabbatical.
This was a goodbye tour.
A final, solitary ride toward a decision Jack had seen lurking in the shadows of his friend’s soul for months.
“Damn it, Michael,” he whispered to the empty room, tiredly wiping a hand over his face.
He looked at the clock. Two hours left until his shift. Two hours left until Robby would go on his trip.
The dread was clinging to him now, heartbeat quickening. He couldn’t stop Robby from leaving. He couldn’t chain a grown man to a chair as much as he wanted to.
But he could buy time.
He could create a moment to stop the trip, or at least postpone it.
Jack wasn't proud of the plan that popped up in his head.
It was stupid.
It was destructive.
It could lose him a friendship.
But it could save a life.
He redressed quickly, grabbed his keys, and drove back to the hospital. The employee parking area was quieter now, the day staff mostly gone.
Jack walked in through the ambulance bay instead of through chairs, wanting to avoid the overheated crowds.
And there it was, gleaming under a security light: Robby’s Triumph.
The motorcycle was parked where it had been every time Robby rode it to the hospital the last months, seeming innocuous enough, but Jack felt a flash of hatred as he approached it.
He felt a surge of guilt as he pulled his tactical knife from his pocket, hesitating briefly. He knew Robby was proud of the motorcycle, and Jack didn't want to break it, but he saw no other choice. Right now, saving Robby meant breaking something else, and Jack would deal with the consequences after.
With a quick, practised motion, he slashed the front tyre. The hiss of escaping air was loud in the quiet lot. He did the same to the rear. The bike sagged, tipping sidewards slightly.
It wouldn’t stop him. Robby would get it fixed.
But it would delay him. It would force a confrontation.
Jack quietly placed the knife on the ground next to the front tyre as a message. He knew Robby would recognise the knife and come find him.
Jack was counting on it.
He slipped back into the hospital through a side entrance, the guilt heavy in his stomach. He went and got changed into scrubs, early for his shift, and then headed up to the roof, quietly standing near the edge.
And then, he just waited. Hoping his plan would work.
<><><><><><><><><>
Robby felt a flicker of something almost like relief as he pushed through the hospital’s main doors into the twilight, waving over his shoulder at Whitaker, who was holding the keys to Robby's house with a slightly confused expression on his face.
The kid would take good care of the place, Robby was sure of it.
The city air smelled of rain and exhaust. Robby breathed it in. It wouldn't be long before he would be far away from here, the Triumph carrying him down quiet roads.
Freedom.
The word felt hollow, but he clung to it. He’d done it. He’d said goodbye. He’d performed the part. Now for the quiet, the road, the long, empty miles where he wouldn’t have to be Dr. Robby anymore.
He could leave Dr. Robby behind.
He rounded the corner to the parking area next to the ambulance bay, the keys to the Triumph cool in his palm. And then he stopped.
His bike, his precious Triumph, was tilting to one side, limp, defeated. Both tires were completely flat, rubber slashed with ugly, deliberate gashes.
For a second, he just stared, disbelief short-circuiting his thoughts. Then his eyes fell on the utility knife placed deliberately on the ground next to the front tyre.
Hot, pure fury burned in his chest. It was a clean, focused feeling. He knew who had done this. Of course he knew.
He didn’t call security. He didn’t curse. He turned on his heel and marched back into the hospital, straight up to the roof, ignoring the confused glances sent his way.
Robby found Jack standing near the edge of the roof, leaning his arms on the railing as he stared into the dark sky. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Robby come through the doors, keeping his expression carefully neutral as Robby stormed over to him. His eyes were still guarded, braced, and he barely blinked as he watched Robby's every move.
“You,” Robby said, the word a low, venomous. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn't have to. “You slashed my tyres.”
Jack didn’t try to deny it. He nodded, turning back to look at the sky as he waited for Robby to come up next to him.
“I did.” he admitted, looking down at his hands.
“Why?” Robby put one of his hands on the railing next to Jack. His voice was sharp. “What the hell is wrong with you? That bike is… it’s mine. You had no right.”
“I had every right,” Jack shot back, his own voice low and intense. “You’re riding out of here on a suicide mission and you expect me to just wave? Send a postcard?” he shook his head, knuckles turning white around the metal bar.
“What are you talking about?” Robby’s laugh was short, brittle. “It’s a sabbatical! A holiday! Since when are you my keeper, Jack?” The words were cruel, taunting. Jack didn't flinch.
“Since you stopped being your own!” He snapped back, turning to face Robby head on. The space between them crackled with tension. “I know what I’m looking at, brother. I’ve seen it in the mirror. I’ve seen it in guys who packed their gear a little too carefully the night before they… they checked out. The ‘everything’s fine’ smile. The ‘I just need to get away’ line. It’s a script, and you’re just performing it”
“You’re paranoid,” Robby spat back, but his hands, shoved in his jacket pockets, were starting to shake. “You’re projecting your own crap onto me. I’m just tired. I need a break from this… this place.” He gestured vaguely at the hospital.
“Stop it, Robby. Stop lying!” Jack’s control slipped, his voice rising a fraction before he snapped his jaw shut hard, trying to breathe deeply. Robby scoffed, lips pulling up in a sneer.
“What's this about then? I'm sure Dr. Al-Hashimi will do just fine, wont fuck things up too badly for your night shift anyways-” Robby tried, changing the focus of the subject. Jack shook his head.
“Don’t go.”
The words left Jack's lips before he could stop them. Jack shook his head, shoulders falling in defeat. Robby let out a frustrated noise.
“It's a 3 month sabbatical, Jack-” he tried. Jack's eyes met his.
“This isn't about the trip.” He rasped out. “Don't go”
Robby went very still. The pretense of this being about a motorcycle now gone. The truth of the situation, of what Jack had recognised in him. The furious energy drained out of Robby, the taller man sinking forward to lean his forearms on the railing, head bowed. He tried to form a denial, a deflection, but his throat closed. His hands were trembling violently now, even when he tried to clench them into fists.
Jack saw it.
The fight went out of him too, replaced by a devastating certainty and a wave of anguish for his friend.
He moved. In two strides, he was in front of Robby, turning him towards him. His hands came up, grasping Robby's shoulders. His grip was firm, anchoring, forcing Robby to stay facing him.
“Look at me,” Jack said, his voice a rough rasp. Robby resisted for a second, a child refusing comfort, but then his eyes, wide and so full of pain that Jack's fingers automatically clenched tighter.
The silence was deafening. It was just them, the roof, the sound of the cars below. Jack’s thumbs moved slightly, a small, soothing motion on the worn leather of Robby’s jacket. He searched his friend’s face, seeing the strain, the pain, the emptiness.
“Please,” Jack whispered. A fragile, human plea. “Don’t go, Michael.”
“It’s just a sabbatical, Jack,” Robby whispered. The words were automatic, a complete lie.He tried to say it again, but his voice fractured on the second attempt. “It’s… just a sabbatical.” It sounded pathetic. Hollow. He wasn’t even convincing himself anymore.
Jack didn’t argue. He didn’t press. He simply let go of Robby’s shoulders and, in one fluid, decisive motion, brought his arms around his friend instead. One hand slid to the back of Robby’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, while the other arm wrapped around his back, pulling him into a solid, unyielding embrace.
Robby stiffened for a heartbeat, and then finally-
The dam broke.
A shudder wracked Robby's body, silent and harsh. He didn’t sob, it was quieter, more devastating.
His knees buckled.
Jack, anticipating it, tightened his hold and guided them both down, grimacing a bit at the awkward twist to be able to kneel on the ground with Robby against him. Robby’s weight slumped against him, head buried against Jack’s shoulder as the first hot, desperate tears began to fall.
“I’m sorry,” Robby choked out, the words muffled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He kept repeating it, not specifying what exactly he was apologising for. Jack knew it wasn't for the bike, or the trip. It was for being this broken thing his friend now had to hold.
And Jack just held him.
His own vision blurred, a hot sting rising in his eyes. He hadn’t cried in a long time. But this, seeing the raw, collapse of the man who had once been the one to hold him together… it broke a bit of his soul, too.
He rested his cheek against Robby’s temple, his breath a steady rhythm in the quiet as he held Robby the best he could.
“Shhh,” Jack murmured, his voice raspy with emotion. He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes
“I love you,” Jack started to whisper, repeating the mantra Robby had taught him. “Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me.”
Robby’s breath hitched. He heard the words, his own words of wisdom and comfort used back to him. A fresh wave of tears welled up, this time accompanied by a low, ragged sound. It was the first cry he had truly let out, past silent tears now.
He sank deeper into Jack’s hold, his body surrendering completely, his arms coming up to clutch weakly at Jack’s sides. The tremors in his hands spread through his whole frame as another harsh sob left him. Jack repeated the words again, right against Robby's ear as he held the other man in a tight embrace. His body ached from the position but he couldn't give a shit, couldn't risk letting go.
Didn't want to let Robby go.
It was the soft scuff of a shoe and the squeak of the door leading to the roof that gently broke the moment.
Robby, lost in tears and sobs and ghosts of his past, didn’t notice. Jack, however, tensed up immediately at the sound. He didn’t look up, didn’t loosen his hold. If someone was coming to interrupt, to ask questions, they’d have to pry him off.
If they were smart, they would back off without a fuss.
But no one spoke.
A figure stood there, then slowly, quietly, took a few steps closer.
Jack finally looked up and recognised Whitaker, the quiet, empathetic kid that looked up at Robby like a lost puppy. He didn’t say a word. He simply sat on the ground a few feet away, placing himself between them and the door. His presence was not an intrusion, it was a quiet acknowledgment.
Jack nodded at him. Dennis nodded back, arms tucking around his knees as he looked at Robby with worried eyes.
The door opened again, Dana's sharp eyes taking in the scene before offering Jack a tired nod. Jack glanced down at Robby, who was still sobbing into his shoulder, lost in his own world.
Dana held the door open for Javadi and Santos, the two students sitting down with Whitaker while Dana stayed leaning against the wall next to the door.
They all just waited. They didn't interfere. They just offered their quiet presence and comfort
The sound of Robby’s crying softened, becoming a shaky, uneven breathing. Jack felt him tense slightly, becoming aware of the presences on the balcony. He felt Robby shudder, ashamed perhaps, but then he went limp again.
“I love you, thank you….” Jack repeated again. “I forgive you, please forgive me.” The words made Robby shake his head against Jack's shoulder.
More footsteps, soft and hesitant.
McKay came in with Mel, the latter's posture rigid but clearly forcing herself to stay. They sat down with the students, McKay glancing at the three quickly, making sure they were okay.
Robby's shoulders tensed, noticing them, but he kept his face hidden in Jack's shoulder. Jack quietly stroked the back of his neck, but didn't ask the others to leave.
He just let Robby feel their support, as hard as it was.
Mohan came in next, her gaze locking and lingering with Jack's for a moment. She was holding some bottles of water, placing them on the floor near them without a word, before joining the others near the door, still offering space.
The door opened one more time, and this time, Robby tensed up seeing who it was.
Jack eyed Frank Langdon with some disapproval, but appreciates the man had still come here to support Robby, even with all the ways Robby had been trying to push him away. His bright blue eyes focused on Robby, and for a second Jack was sure Frank would talk right back out again. But then Robby briefly lifted his head, met his eyes, and whatever Frank saw there made him sit down with the others.
Robby’s crying had subsided into a deep, quiet exhaustion, his body trembling in Jack's hold.
He was empty.
Spent.
Jack felt the change in Robby’s body, the gradual softening from desperate tension to weary collapse. He kept repeating the mantra, his voice a low, steady rumble against Robby’s hair. “I love you. Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me.”
After a time, Robby stirred. He tried to speak, his voice a ruined, scratchy thing. “I… I didn’t…” he tried.
“Don’t,” Jack whispered. “Just don’t. You don’t have to explain it. Not now.”
Robby nodded weakly against him. He pulled back slightly, just enough to wipe his face with a trembling hand. He looked around, finally meeting the gazes of the people surrounding him. Dennis gave a small, supportive nod. Santos’s intense eyes held no judgment, only concern. Samira's eyes were warm, gentle. Dana offered a sad, knowing smile.
Robby's eyes finally landed on Langdon. Frank averted his eyes on instinct at first, but then brought them up to meet his gaze again. He offered Robby a nod. It was an acknowledgment.
I see you. I see this.
The silence was no longer heavy. It was full.
Jack shifted, helping Robby sit more upright, though he kept an arm firmly around his back.
“Can you stand?” he asked, just to Robby.
Robby tried to answer, but his voice failed. He settled for shaking his head.
“Okay,” Jack said. “We’ll sit.”
They sat for what felt like an hour, but was likely only minutes. The circle didn’t disperse.
Then Frank spoke. Not to Robby, but to the group.
“Remember that night with the bus accident?” his voice was soft, testing. “Seven criticals coming in at once. Robby was running three bays simultaneously. I was trying to stabilize the cardiac tamponade in Bay 2, and I just heard his voice, clear as a bell over the chaos: ‘Langdon, I need two units of O-neg now, and a chest tray on standby.’ He wasn’t even looking at me. He just knew.”
Mohan spoke next. “The fourteen-year-old with the self-inflicted GSW to the abdomen. Family was… impossible. Robby sat with them for forty minutes after we stabilized her. He didn’t say much. He just let them yell, let them cry. He absorbed it. I took the kid up to ICU. He stayed with the family until they could breathe again.”
Whitaker added, “He was there when that patient died on my first day, he was there today when Louie passed. He never tries to make you feel better, just helps you cope.”
Story after story. Quiet. Specific. Real.
They weren’t praising him, they were reminding him of who he was. Of the weight he had carried for them, and how it had always been acknowledged.
Robby listened, tears still silently tracking down his cheeks. His head was bowed, hands still clutching Jack tight. But he was no longer falling apart. The man in his arms was becoming more present, more solid.
When a lingering silence fell, Jack sighed, squeezing Robby's shoulders.
“After my leg,” he started, the words simple, vulnerable, “You came to my apartment every day for a month. You didn’t ask how I was. You just brought shitty takeout and talked about baseball. You let me be angry. You let me be silent. You never once told me to ‘be strong.’ You just… stayed.” Robby’s hand, which had been clutching Jack's scrubs shirt, moved. It found Jack’s forearm and gripped it.
“We need you, Robby. We love you.” Dana spoke up, voice uncharacteristically soft.
The words hung in the air.
Robby bowed his head further, his shoulders shaking once more, not with the violent grief from before, but something quieter. Something fragile and hopeful.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, breath hitching.
“I didn’t think anyone would notice,” he said hoarsely, eyes flicking up to meet Jack's.
The confession landed softly, no one rushing to answer.
Jack’s arm tightened around his back.
“We noticed,” Jack said simply, nodding firmly. Robby laughed weakly, the sound rough.
“Yeah. Apparently.” he murmured, tiredly rubbing a hand over his face. His gaze drifted past the others then and towards the door. To the night sky beyond the railing, to the city lights blinking in the distance.
For months he had imagined disappearing into those lights. Riding until the noise in his head finally went quiet.
Until it all went quiet.
Now the road felt… different.
Not gone.
Just further away.
His eyes dropped to Jack’s ruined scrubs where he had been gripping them too tight.
“You slashed both tyres, huh?” Robby muttered. A small smile quirked on Jack's lips.
“Front and back,” Jack confirmed. “And I'll do it again, Michael.” He added more quietly. Robby let out a tired huff of breath.
“Asshole.” he said, no real anger in his voice. Jack shrugged.
“Effective asshole.” he corrected, squeezing Robby's shoulder. A faint ripple of quiet laughter moved through the group.
For the first time that night, Robby’s mouth twitched upward.
He looked around the circle again- Whitaker, Santos, Javadi, Dana, Mohan, McKay, King, and Langdon.
They had come.
They had stayed.
Slowly, Robby leaned his head back against Jack’s shoulder, exhausted beyond words.
“I can’t promise I’m okay,” he whispered.
Jack didn’t hesitate.
“You don’t have to be.” he answered, hands finding the back of Robby's neck again. “And you don't have to do it alone.”
A long silence settled over the roof.
Finally Robby nodded, just once.
“…Okay,” he said quietly.
It wasn't a declaration, or a definitive solution.
For tonight, Robby stayed.
For tonight, the Triumph stayed where it was.
For tonight, they all held him.
And it was enough.