Archive of Our Own

Robby is in Pedes, swaying Baby Jane Doe, when he hears a commotion. Slowly turning to look through the window, he sees Cruz and Ellis rushing toward the ambulance bay. He keeps rocking the baby while he watches the spectacle unfurl before his eyes. It’s a trauma, no doubt, but Robby’s off the clock, and he knows Jack and the night shift can take care of it just fine.

The door to the room suddenly opens to let Dana in; Robby barely has time to register the anguish on her face before she announces, voice as pale as her face, “Robby! It’s Abbot!”

Robby freezes, his hands clutching the blanket, before he moves. He leaves the baby in her bed and marches to the source of the commotion. He ignores the dizziness, the ringing in his ears, and the exhaustion that has taken hold of him.

Cruz and Ellis are running alongside a gurney coming from the ambulance bay. Robby feels like he’s walking in slow-motion. He doesn’t see the face on the gurney, but he does see a hand grabbing Ellis’ scrub and hear what is unmistakably Jack’s voice say “Not Robby”, before the hand falls to the side.

Three more steps – and Robby doesn’t want to take them, doesn’t think he can do it, but still his body moves – and he’s there, Shen and Al-Hashimi beating him by a second. On the gurney, pale, so very pale, is the unmistakable shape of Jack. His chest is barely lifting, his breathing labored. Robby can’t wrap his mind around that.

“What the fuck happened?” Robby hears himself croaking from behind. Ellis jumps, turning to him with a vaguely guilty look that he ignores. “Someone stole an ambulance, ran over him,” she answers.

“Which room is free? Dana?” Cruz asks.

There’s an urgency Robby’s never heard in Shen’s voice when he says, “Jack, man, talk to me,” his knuckles on Jack’s chest. Robby’s eyes are drawn to the movement. There’s so much blood seeping from he doesn’t know where. They have to find the source of the bleeding. It’s Jack, Jack who’s barely breathing, Jack unconscious. Someone must have answered the question about the room because all of a sudden, they’re in Trauma 1, someone is cutting Jack’s scrubs and shirt, and it’s a nice shirt – it’s the one he bought after the Metallica concert. Robby had gifted Jack tickets, and they had stayed for half of it before the noise and the crowd became too much for Jack. They’d hung out outside the arena afterwards, and bought the T-shirt for a small fortune from a very happy fan. They shouldn’t cut this shirt.

A hand is pushing him to access Jack’s neck, and Robby pushes back. Through the buzzing in his ears, he hears someone order ‘intubation’. His body starts moving because it knows what to do, he does it every day. He knows what Jack needs. He can’t think too much about the fact that it’s Jack, that he’s hurt and looks so pale, in shades of white and red that Robby doesn’t know how he will ever forget.

But a hand pulls on his elbow, and when he turns, annoyed, he sees the hand is attached to Langdon. Fucking Frank. “You can’t, Robby, come on. Let me-”

Robby pulls from his grip, furious. Is Langdon fucking stupid? Does he think they have time for this shit? He groans and doesn’t dignify that with an answer. “Laryngoscope,” he requests. When nothing happens, he raises his eyes to Mateo, who’s looking at him with something akin to pity, to Ellis, who’s by the door, looking stricken and not moving, to Al-Hashimi, who’s shaking her head at Mateo. Robby grabs the scope from the nurse’s hand.

Then Ellis says, “Robby, your hands are shaking,” and every eye in the room lands on Robby’s fingers.

“My hands don’t shake,” he answers blankly, though he can see the tremor just as well as everybody else.

Several things happen then, in a blur that will make it hard for Robby to remember them later.

He does remember Langdon’s grip again, his voice, insisting but gentle, like Robby is some kid who needs reasoning and not the chief of this fucking department. “Come on, Robby, you’re too close, you can’t be there, he said it himself-”

Robby has no idea what happens in his brain at that moment. There probably isn’t much thought, just the need to free himself. The need to help Jack. Next thing he knows, Langdon looks at him from the floor, massaging the back of his head where he met the wall with a bit too much force. Force from Robby’s own hands, it seems.

For a second, the room remains frozen, Jack’s struggling to breathe the only sound. Everyone moves at once then, Ellis running to Langdon, who’s getting on his feet and still talking to Robby, who can’t hear anything over the shrilling in his ears, Mateo gently taking the scope from his hand, and Shen’s hands on his arms to turn him to the door.

“Get out of here, Doctor Robinavich!” Al-Hashimi orders, and Robby hears that, and the hate he feels in that instant is so hot it blinds him.

A second later he’s in the hall, Dana putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Robby?” He turns to the EMTs approaching him. “They also crashed your bike, man, sorry,’ one of them says, bracing for Robby’s reaction. He stares, feeling a hysterical laugh bubbling in his chest.

The next few minutes are the worst Robby’s ever experienced. The thought of Jack’s fate in Al-Hashimi’s hands, of all people, makes him seethe with fury. He paces in front of the trauma room, ignoring the worried looks he gets from doctors and nurses. Dana tries to soothe him, but her calm only fuels his rage.

“I should be in here!” he barks.

“Yes, ‘cause you’re absolutely in your right mind for this,” she bites back.

“That woman cannot – should not – you don’t understand, she’s-” and it’s a good thing Dana doesn’t let him finish because to hell with HIPAA.

“Shen is the one leading; she’s just overseeing. You trust Shen. Jack trusts Shen.”

Robby grits his teeth. He sees she’s right – they haven’t closed the curtains, and he dimly wonders if it’s for his benefit or if they didn’t have the time.

Before he can retort, Walsh appears, sends him a curious look, and enters the room. In the few seconds the door’s open, he hears her say, “Fuck, is that Abbot?”

Only a minute passes before they’re out again, wheeling the gurney to the elevator, Walsh talking about an OR.

Robby tries to breathe enough to say something, anything, that would make her understand. He tries to gather all the authority of the chief, but what comes out of him is a broken “Walsh” in a voice he doesn’t recognize.

“I know, Robby,” she answers, not slowing down, and she’s less harsh than she could be. She’s already in the elevator when she says, with unusual softness in her tone, “We’ll get your boy up and running again in no time. That’s what we do.” And Robby barely has the time to glance at Jack’s form on the gurney before the elevator doors close. They seem to be closing on his lungs, seizing his breath, taking it all away. He wants to run after them, he wants to say he’ll scrub in, but Dana’s face is telling him not to even think about it. There’s no fight left in him. He’s so tired. So fucking empty.

He turns to the Pitt, the department on hold, so many eyes on him. He looks around, searching for something to do, someone who needs him, but Dana’s hand, back on his shoulder, squeezes him.

“Let’s get you to the waiting room, Robby.”

Her demeanor is gentle but cautious, as if Robby were a grenade that could explode any second. He wants to scream, and he wants to break something, but Frank’s face between curtains takes his breath away. Head low, he follows Dana, eyes on the floor. At the elevator, it’s McKay who offers to go with him.

He should be submerged by shame, by guilt, probably, but there’s nothing left in him. Nothing but emptiness and the throbbing, aching knowledge that Jack is hurt. Jack may be dying. And wouldn’t that be the fucking cherry on Robby’s cake? Jack is not allowed to die. If Robby can’t, why should Jack? That’s just not fair.

When Cassie positions him in front of a seat, Robby lets his body sag into it. Doesn’t register what his resident is saying. Doesn’t care.

A corner of his mind is idly playing with the thought of the roof, but he’s so tired he doesn’t think he’ll even get there.

Suddenly, he feels sick – gets up on his feet and runs to the bathroom. When he gets out of the stall, he sees McKay waiting for him. He snorts, but seeing himself in the mirror makes him wince. They don’t say anything while they walk back to the waiting room. She stays with him for a while. He doesn’t care. Doesn’t look at her, doesn’t talk or listen to her.

He lets time stretch around him.

*

I’m still your emergency contact, and I do not want to be contacted. Oh, fuck Jack for that. Fuck him for being an adrenaline junkie. Over the past few years, Robby has thought about it, Jack’s work with SWAT, has imagined sometimes getting a call and hearing Jack is hurt. The worry had taken a backseat in those last few months, but seeing him arrive in uniform, apart from a reaction that Robby chooses to ignore, had made him sick.

And Jack, quiet about it, ever the annoying bastard that he is, had been hurt. Not that he had come to Robby about it. Anger seethes in Robby again – maybe it’s about Jack being hurt in the field, maybe it’s something else entirely, something ugly and teethy that gnaws at Robby’s mind, conjuring the picture of Mohan’s hands on Jack’s body.

The thought of an emergency contact makes Robby realize something, and he pulls out his phone to text Dana.

[Robby] Has Jack’s next of kin been notified? It’s his sister, right?

[Dana] Yes and yes. I called her. Said she’d try and get here asap. Told her she can’t exactly fly the plane herself though, and she said she’s not above threatening the pilot. Scary woman. 

Robby snorts. For what he knows about Emily, it sounds about right. But then again, he would also hijack a plane to get to Jack quicker. 

 [Dana] Can’t wait to meet her

[Robby] You’re in for a treat.

The first time he met Emily, she was in town for a few days, in the middle of what Robby understood to be a rough divorce. Jack had asked if Robby wanted to get coffee with them and entertain his sister for the evening, while Jack was on shift. Curious to meet a member of Jack’s family, honored to be welcomed to a part of him Robby had no access to, he’d been quick to agree.

He hadn’t expected a beautiful woman, with a face full of freckles and vibrant hazel eyes, talking about her divorce with a philosophical shrug and wry humor. Robby had been a little bit entranced.

As it turned out, Emily was not indifferent either. There were charming smiles from both sides, knowing looks and lingering touches. At some point, when she got up to use the bathroom, Jack slapped Robby’s arm.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

Jack stared. “Nuh-uh. Not happening, brother.”

Robby felt his face heat up, fretting on his chair. He had half a mind to pretend he didn’t know what Jack was talking about.  Anyway, what was it to him? He shrugged. Under the heat of Jack’s gaze, he’d finally complied.

“Okay, whatever, I’ll behave.”

“Thanks.”

But once Jack had left for his shift and Robby and Emily were left alone with drinks, it had been tempting to ignore his promise. Emily was the one who said it: her brother didn’t need to know. No broken hearts would be born from a drink and a tumble in Robby’s sheets. Robby had toyed with the idea, thinking that she’d be back on the other side of the country the next day. Jack would never have to know. Want was curling in his guts. He yearned to kiss and lick those freckles and find out their extent on her body, to get his hands in those lush curls. 

It might have been the idea of lying to Jack, or the knowledge that his want was somewhat misdirected, rerouted in what his brain felt was a safer direction, but either way it had been enough to stop Robby. He’d concluded he just needed to get laid and had put all thoughts of freckles behind a safely locked door. 

*

“Robby?” The voice makes him jump.

“Jake? What are you doing here?” Robby turns to look around the room. McKay isn’t there anymore; he’s alone with a Jake he’s not convinced he isn’t hallucinating.

“Frank texted me.”

“Langdon?”

“Yeah,” Jake confirms like it’s obvious.  

“But why?”

Jake looks hurt, and Robby has to avert his eyes.

“He thought I would care that your best friend’s in surgery?”

Robby doesn’t have a best friend. Jack is something else. Something that he can’t think about. That door he has left very deliberately closed. Most of the time, he’s fine just ignoring it; on days like this one, when he’s on the verge of breaking, when he feels so raw and exposed, he knows he absolutely should not look at it.

Robby says nothing. Why would Langdon call Jake of all people. A kid. A kid that Robby has failed, as if he needed that on top of everything else. Anger spikes in his veins, again. Fucking Langdon. Couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

“Why would Langdon text you?” Robby asks once more.

“We text. We’ve been texting. I thought you knew.”

Nothing makes sense here.

It’s... absurd, to see Jake here. He hasn’t been to PTMC since PittFest. Robby has hardly seen him. Jake shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be subjected to a Robby who is, once again, losing his footing. But Jake is here, and Robby’s here, and even if that doesn’t make any sense, he has to pretend he’s okay. For Jake, he has to pretend everything is going to be okay.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I care that Jack is in the hospital, you know. I’m not here just - not just for you. He’s reached out to me.” Robby must look even more bewildered because Jake scrambles to explain, “I thought- I thought he wanted to talk about you. But he never said anything. We played ball together. Talked about Leah.”

Jack, once again picking up the pieces after Robby. Jack, who hasn’t said anything about this to him. The bitterness Robby feels in his throat is uncalled for, but that doesn’t stop it.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are! You’ve said that a million times!” Jake clenches his fists. “I can’t hear you say that one more time! You can’t even look me in the eyes when you say it,” he adds, vindictive.

There is nothing to say to that. They both know it’s true.

“Jack’s talked with me about grief.” Jake says, “What it’s like living without the person you love. And I – why wouldn’t you want to talk about that with me, man?” Frustration, anger, and sorrow fill his voice.

“You haven’t been able to look me in the eyes either,” Robby whispers. Jake’s face makes him raise his hands in defense. “I know how hard it must have been for you, seeing me and seeing-” his voice breaks, he feels the tears welling up behind his eyes again, and how can he have any more to shed after  today? “I know it’s hard seeing me and being reminded of her.”

Jake looks down.

“And I also know I- I could or should have insisted. Been more present for you. I didn’t want to add to your burden,” Robby rubs his face. It’s only partly the truth, of course, but what use would there be in talking about his overwhelming guilt? Jake doesn’t need that. “I’m sorry about that. I guess it was easier to let you be.”

Jake nods and wipes his eyes, still fixating on the floor.

“Did it, ah, did it help talking about it with Jack?”

Jake shrugs. “A bit. I miss her so much, and it’s so hard some days, Robby,” he looks up, and in his teary eyes, Robby sees the kid Jake still very much is.

“Some days I don’t even think about her anymore,” Jake lets out. “Then I feel so guilty when I realize. But you know, I will always remember her. I will never forget her,” he adds, defiantly. “Despite what you said.”

“I know,” Robby sighs.

And Robby knows that it’s true, for all he wishes it wasn’t, wishes Jake could be seventeen and carefree.

“I just- how long will it hurt?”

He has no answer to that question, though. How long will it hurt, and Robby, riddled with guilt and grief about every person he’s ever seen die, that he’s ever had a hand in letting die, what can he tell Jake?

Grief is a thing with claws and we have tender flesh, he thinks. It is relentless, and guilt is its worst friend. Grief will rob you of your ability to feel joy, though you won’t realize it. For it is so, so easy to make it all crumble, and so, so hard, it takes so much time and effort to earn just a fraction of it back. Every single laugh and joy, you’ll have to pry it away from grief’s unforgiving hands. It is exhausting, and there is no break from it.

The words are forming in his mind, already on his lips, but Jake is looking up at Robby with so much trust that Robby could cry. Jake is seventeen, in need of hope, and Robby doesn’t have much to share. What he does have, burning a hole in his chest, is the need for Jake to keep looking at him like that.

He tries to think of a way to say what he knows to be true: grief is also a testament to the love you held, to the love you hold. Grief is love enduring, and what else in this world can outlive death, look it in the face and prevail?

Surely Jack ‘yes, life can suck, but it’s also beautiful and hilarious’ Abbot would know how, but no one’s here to say the right words in Robby’s stead.

“I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love again,” Jake declares. Robby refrains from reacting. It’s tempting to scoff, of course you will; life is long, and you are so very young.

He breathes for a while. When was the last time Robby fell in love? Jack’s face appears in his mind, but that’s not falling; that’s the opposite of falling. It’s a feeling that’s been building for five years, not that Robby’s ever let himself think about it in so many words, keeping it carefully hidden behind the door. Maybe once or twice, with too much to drink and the happy buzz of having spent an evening with Jack, he’s let himself imagine.

“I hope you do. I hope you get to have that experience many times in your long, long life. You have so many people to love in your future. And maybe you will always think of Leah when you do, and maybe one day it will feel okay. It will feel like honoring her memory, to let yourself live and love,” he answers slowly, deliberately.

Jake nods, bringing a hand to his face to swipe tears away. Robby wants to reach out, but his hands stay in his lap, still shaking.

“Are you?” Jake asks after a beat, once he’s done sniffing and wiping his nose.

“Am I what?”

“In love,” Jake adds. His eyes on Robby feel curious. Make him feel antsy. “I mean, if it’s okay for me to ask.”

Hearing the vulnerability in Jake’s voice makes Robby’s throat close. He wants to answer; he wants to tell Jake that they can talk about anything. It’s not even a difficult question, Robby’s not in love, Robby hasn’t been in a relationship for a while. The thing with Noelle was definitely not love.

He looks down at his hands, thinks about Noelle hugging him, thinks about Jack hugging him, about the worry on his face, his voice breaking from it, and oh, no. He cannot think about that now. He feels hot, feverish.  

“I don’t know,” Robby finally admits. “I don’t know.”

Jake looks skeptical but doesn’t push.

“Well, you are a dick sometimes, that probably doesn’t help.”

Robby grimaces, “You’re the second person to say that to me today.”

Jake snorts. “I asked Mom if she broke up with you because you were a dick to her like you were to me that day.”

That feels like a punch to Robby’s guts. He gets ready to beat himself up, to own his shortcomings. Janey never did anything wrong. Robby was probably a dick, if he’s honest, and he feels enough on edge, frayed, to admit it to Jake. Tell him that it’s what Robby is. A dick who hurts the people who are crazy enough to love him, can’t save the people he should save, can’t love the people he should love. Jake’s voice cuts through his inner turmoil.

“She said no, you were just married to your job,” Jake shrugs, “and it always came first in your relationship.” Robby winces. Janey discussed that with Jake, told him what a failure of a partner Robby had been. But Jake isn’t finished.

“I was surprised, kinda. That’s not what I remember. Like, at all.”

Robby turns to face him.

“I know I was a kid, but I always felt like you made the time for me.”

The stare Robby fixes on him seems to embarrass Jake. He mumbles, “I don’t know, you worked a lot but... You didn’t make me feel like that was your priority.”

Robby feels the tears welling up again. He shut his eyes.

He should tell Jake, it’s easier to have a relationship with a kid who looks up at you like you’re a god just because you make time for him, rather than with an adult woman who makes you feel inadequate because you won’t talk about your feelings. Can’t Jake see what a failure Robby is? But Robby doesn’t say anything. He breathes heavily in the silence.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Robby can feel how close he is to losing it again. He wouldn’t hurt Jake, he never would, not like he shoved Langdon earlier, but who knows what he’ll do.

Jake scoffs, incredulous. “This again? Fuck you, man. Why do you always push me away? What have I done?” There are tears in his voice and in his eyes, and he looks very much like the 17-year-old he is. That sobers Robby up.

“I’m sorry,” he says and winces when Jake grits his teeth. “I know I’ve said it before, but I am. Sorry about what I said that day, sorry that you had to see me crumbling like that, and – and so, so sorry that I couldn’t save her, Jake, I’m so sorry.” He feels the tears rolling down his face and hates himself for it.

“I know. I try not to blame you,” Jake whispers. “It’s just been hard accepting it.”

Robby nods, not trusting his voice.

“I’ve been seeing a shrink,” Jake says, tentative.

“Does it help?”

He shrugs, “I guess.”

“I have too,” Robby says.

“It helps?”

He scrubs a hand over his face, not looking at Jake.

“Yeah.”

Jake smiles, a small and trembling thing, and Robby’s lie feels more like a promise. In the silence, he hears Jack’s voice. It’s a process.

And Robby has been seeing therapists – not Jack’s. His guy offered other names, saying it didn’t feel ethical to treat both Jack and Robby, and Robby has been trying not to think about what that implied. About Jack complaining to his therapist, worrying, about Robby. What else could he be saying? Those thoughts tend to derail Robby’s breathing.

“I’m sorry too, you know,” Jake says, a determined look on his face. “For what I said. When I said you’re not my father.”

Robby rushes to interrupt him, “It’s okay. I’m not your father. Never tried to be.”

“No, but... You know. I- I really am sorry. I wanted to take it back...” He lets his voice trail, keeps his eyes resolutely away from Robby’s face, somewhere over his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Jake. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s true.” He breathes shakily, tries to smile. They both know it, and Robby thinks, thanks god, because Jake already has a failing father, he doesn’t need another one.

“I’m not, and I’ll never be your father,” he says, his voice a whisper. “But you’ll always be my son.” Jake lets his face fall into Robby’s chest. Robby curls a tentative arm around him and doesn’t say anything about the humidity that’s slowly seeping into his shirt. He feels his body shaking, doesn’t know if it’s him or Jake. His own face is wet.

“I miss you,” comes muffled into Robby’s chest.

The guilt threatens to drown Robby again – he hasn’t been here for Jake, hasn’t been the parent Jake deserves – but Jake’s body is solid against his, anchoring.

“I miss you too. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for imposing my shit on you today,” Jake says, sitting up and wiping his face, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it. I get it, you’re really worried about your basketball buddy.”

Jake snorts.

“I don’t think he’s gonna be able to play ball for a while though,” Robby adds, weariness taking over him.

“Guess you’ll have to do, old man.” Jake sounds unsure, and Robby’s heart keeps breaking today, though he doesn’t know how it’s possible, how there remains something to break.

*

Langdon comes by at some point, brings Jake a soda, and hugs him. They talk quietly for a while, Frank staying at a safe distance from Robby. Robby doesn’t say anything.

*

Janey arrives to pick Jake up, embracing Robby in a hug full of pity and tenderness that he doesn’t let touch him. He can’t break again, not while Jake is here.  

Standing up to leave, Jake idly says, “So, how about that bike? Do I get to take it for a ride?” He sounds excited for the first time.

“Absolutely not.” Robby’s tone is sharp, sharper than it should probably be, in a way he never is with Jake. But at the thought of him on a motorcycle, Robby’s throat is closing. “We call them donorcycles for a reason.”

Jake and Janey stare at him.

“It’s not working anymore, anyway. Some ambulance crashed into it.”

Jake lets a breath out and nods. They hug him and leave. Robby feels his mind drift, the pain seizing him, making him fold in half. The blood beneath Jack, Jack in the OR.  

*

There’s a knock on the door and, before he’s answered, Noelle enters the room. For a second, Robby wonders what the hell she’s doing there.

She comes close to him, seemingly to hug him, but Robby doesn’t move from his spot on his chair. The eyes he turns to her are hollow.

She hovers for a while, asking how he feels and whether he needs anything. He doesn’t trust his voice and gives only monosyllabic answers. In the corner of his mind, Jack is raising an eyebrow like he was earlier, an implicit What the fuck are you doing.

She sits next to him, talks about something from the hospital, and he has to gather all of his strength not to tell her to shut up. He doesn’t want her here, doesn’t know why she is, and he doesn’t want to think about the last time he saw her. Doesn’t want to think about Jack’s twisted face or the guilt Robby can’t explain.

When she extends a hand to take his, he shrinks away from her.

After that, she only lasts a few more minutes before leaving. He only feels relief as the door closes once again.

*

Robby’s alone for a while. He thinks he might have drifted off when he wakes up, at the sound of a code, from a dream that leaves him shaky and nauseous. He’s up before he remembers he’s not supposed to intervene. Nobody needs him to get on this code.

Images from his dream surface again, fuzzy. Monty. Leah. Those he couldn’t save. Jack - he couldn’t even try. If he had been less wired - less at the end of his rope, he could have tried at least. He could have been the one to care for Jack. Robby is the chief of the damn department, and what does that make him if he can’t even tend to his friend?

He leans on a wall, then lets himself fall to the floor, his back never leaving the anchoring pressure of the wall. He lets himself spiral. Lets his brain produce images of Jack- dead. Lets the fear paralyze him completely.

He’s pulled out of it by Dana’s voice calling his name, in a way that makes it obvious it’s not the first time. He forces his eyes to focus on her face. She looks exhausted and worried sick.

“I brought you food.”

Robby looks at the sandwich, feels the nausea hit again, and turns away.

“If you want to be a martyr, fine, but I don’t see what good it does to let yourself starve while Jack’s in surgery fighting for his life,” Dana scolds.

He eats the sandwich, drinks the water, then he lets Dana hold his hand for a while. He stays on the floor.

*

Eventually, Walsh comes in and informs Robby that the surgery was “a piece of cake” and that Jack is going to be just fine, convalescence notwithstanding. Robby thinks he cries. Dana coaxes him back into a chair. She leaves after hugging him tight, says she’ll be back.

He doesn’t really know what happens after that. He’s just waiting for Jack to wake up.

*

Ellis comes in, jaw tight and Shen in tow, enormous iced coffee in hand. Absently, Robby realizes their shift must have ended. They sit in chairs opposite him, discuss the latest news of Jack’s state, then scroll on their phones, the silence between the three of them only broken by Shen’s occasional sips.

“Shouldn’t you go home?” Robby asks, only getting a double shrug for an answer. “He isn’t going to be out of surgery for a while,” he adds. Same shrug. After another few minutes of that pantomime, Robby snarks, “I don’t need babysitting, you know.”

Ellis raises a sharp look at him.

“We hear you, boss,” Shen answers, briefly looking up at Robby, “But I don’t think Jack would forgive us for leaving you alone right now”. Robby takes in the edge in his voice, the tiredness on his face, and stays silent.

“I would rock a mullet, I’m telling you,” Shen says, putting his phone out so Robby and Ellis can see the AI-generated image of him with an atrocious hairstyle.

Robby closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the back of the chair. Jack is going to be okay, he tells his brain, trying to calm the tremor in his whole body. Jack is going to be okay.

*

“You look like shit,” is the first thing Jack says when he wakes up, voice hoarse. Robby lets out a snort that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

“Look who’s talking,” he answers with a grimace.

Jack tries to smile, then the tiredness takes hold of him again, and he falls back asleep.

Robby stays by his side, slowing his breathing to match the rhythm of Jack’s chest. He tries not to think about the internal damage, of the broken ribs that could have pierced a lung, about the internal bleeding, and the collapsed lung. He tries to ignore the bruises on Jack’s neck and the broken collarbone. All of these will heal with rest and time.

The next time he wakes up, Robby gives him some water, and a nurse comes in to check his IV and vitals.

“The anesthesia’s worn off, but he’s still out of it with the morphine.”

Robby nods, eyes not leaving Jack’s face. He’s slowly blinking, trying to move his head and grimacing.

“The surgeon will come later to explain to you what was done exactly,” the nurse says.

Jack sighs, his voice still gruff and sluggish, “Please tell me it wasn’t Walsh.”   

Robby grimaces.

“Shit,” Jack groans, “You know she’s gonna lord it over me for the foreseeable future. Asking for favors on account of saving my life or whatever.”

“Can’t say I care,” Robby shrugs.  

The nurse leaves with a smile.

When they’re alone, Jack tries to sit up, but Robby stops him with a hand on his chest and a look meant to be stern but overflowing with panic. Then the words are out of him, before he can stop them, before he has a chance to think about them.

“Fuck you, man. Fuck you for spending your free time getting shot at, and- and then getting almost killed in the ambulance bay. You can’t fucking do that to me.” Robby hears his voice shake, feels the nausea come back again, his whole body trembling. Jack looks taken aback, but Robby’s mouth won’t stop. “I thought you were- I thought you would-” He can’t fucking breathe. “Shit, it’s you and me, that’s what you said, right? You can’t leave me,” his voice is barely a whisper.  

“Not planning to, man, I promise,” Jack assures, soothing, and Robby wants to laugh and cry – of fucking course Jack is trying to reassure him, even though he’s the one in the hospital bed.  

Anger flares up in Robby.

“You said you didn’t want me to treat you,” he would probably sound petulant if he weren’t so tired.

Jack hums, “I know it was a given, but I needed to be sure.”

“You don’t trust me?” This time, he sounds so hurt to his own ears that he winces.

Jack stares.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I’d want you to treat me,” Robby argues in a low voice, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “You’re the one I trust the most, the - the doctor I trust the most.” He hates the way his voice breaks, how it’s barely a whisper by the end.

Jack groans. Beckons him closer. Robby complies.

Jack takes his wrist and looks at him like he’s a particularly dense 5-year-old.

“Has it occurred to you that I didn’t want to add that weight on your shoulders? That I didn’t want you to have that responsibility, to feel like my fate was in your hands and to have the fucking- what if things had turned south?”

There’s no anger in his voice, the heat only anguish, frustration, and something Robby can’t name. His eyes are searching Robby’s, and his hand is not letting go. They both know what he’s referring to, the names of Adamson, of Leah, heavy between them. Robby can’t think of that, if things had turned south. He won’t. That way lies madness. Jack is here, alive and warm against Robby.

“Never mind that we’re not supposed to treat those closest to us,” Jack adds, faking annoyance.

“They wouldn’t let me anyway,” Robby blurts out, still bitter. “My hands were shaking.”

Jack tilts his head, “Your hands don’t shake.”

“Yeah, well...”

Jack’s face breaks into a slow grin.

“I-I snapped at Langdon, pretty badly.” Robby sighs, rubbing his face. “I snapped at so many people today,” he breathes out, ashamed and tired, so very tired.

Jack snorts. “I snapped at a patient earlier ‘cause I was so worried about you,” he attempts to shrug and winces. “Gloria’s gonna be up my ass, man. So come on, lay it on me, who did you snap at? The kids?”

Burying his face further into his hand, Robby groans, “I snapped at Javadi about her TikTok while she was trying to find out where Jesse is detained; I- ah, you’re not going to like this one.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. Robby should probably keep quiet, doesn’t need Jack to worry about him on top of everything else – and isn’t he worried enough, he’s just said so – but the words leave his mouth anyway, with some relief. He needs someone to know and tell him how inadequate he has been.

“I snapped at Mohan for having a panic attack,” he finally lets out, wincing at his own words.

Jack’s eyes round just a bit. “Shit, man,” he lets a low whistle out. “Langdon’s twelve steps ain’t got nothing on the apology tour you’re doing.”

Robby groans. “Do I have to get to it now, though?” he all but pleads.

“Nah, it’s okay, you can hide in here a little longer,” Jack answers with a smirk. “Unless you have to get started on the road,” he adds, like a second thought, and Robby could almost believe it.

He huffs a trembling laugh. “I’m not going anywhere,” he affirms. He can feel Jack looking at him but keeps his eyes firmly on Jack’s hand. A hand that he sees moving, Jack catching his chin in a light touch, forcing Robby to look up and meet his eyes.

“What about your trip?” he asks, and Robby hears the caution, and he’s so fucking done with people walking on eggshells around him.

“For fuck’s sake, Jack, I’m not leaving for three months while you’re in a hospital bed.”

There’s the ghost of a smile on Jack’s lips. “Okay. If you want to babysit me so much...”

Robby rolls his eyes. “Someone has to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

Jack raises pointed eyebrows but doesn’t comment. “As long as you still take that much-needed break, man, I’m not complaining.”

“I’m taking it alright,” Robby answers, defeated. He doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore.

“It’s a shame, though. Was really looking forward to knowing what’s in that fucking gift shop,” Jack muses with a smirk.

Robby snorts.

“You don’t seem out of it at all,” Robby realizes, frowning.

Jack snorts, “Nah, we’re not very generous in this hospital. Is that dose of morphine the standard of care?” He’s joking, but Robby’s frown gets deeper, and he gets up to check the chart.

“Don’t bother,” Jack says. “Acquired tolerance, you know,” he explains, gesturing to his leg. “The army likes to shut you up more than it likes to hear you suffer.” He says, matter-of-factly. Robby, on the contrary, feels anger and bitterness spike up.

He doesn’t know much about the time after Jack’s amputation. What he knows, he’s learned in bits and pieces like that. He’s aware of the suffering amputees go through, but the idea of Jack being in that much pain makes him queasy. He wants to unpack everything in that sentence; he wants to ask and learn every little thing Jack is willing to tell him.

“You could still have more,” he says softly instead.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jack replies.

Robby watches him like a hawk, but he does look as fine as possible.

“They’re gonna be okay, you know,” Jack says after a few minutes of silence, Robby’s brain blank but for a single thought – Jack is going to be fine – his wrist still in Jack’s hold.

He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“The kids. Dana. Langdon. They’ll understand.” Jack’s eyes are pleading for him to see it, his fingers moving to press Robby’s, and Robby feels anger flaring up again.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he snaps.

Jack doesn’t back off, “Doing what? Trying to put that tortured mind of yours at rest? Not happening, brother.”

Robby rubs the back of his head and wants to tear his own hair out. “Taking care of me when you’re lying here, after almost-” his voice breaks again. “I’m the one supposed to babysit you, aren’t I?” he says weakly.

Jack huffs, “Let me take care of you, Mike.” His voice is low, tired, and laden with so much tenderness that Robby can’t take it. Not today, not like this. His heart is in his throat; he doesn’t know how long he’s going to be able to keep up that conversation, but he doesn’t want it to end. Jack is alive, Jack is here beside him, Jack is doing well, if just a little bit worse for wear than he was yesterday. If just a little bit rawer, more earnest than they usually are.

“That’s rich coming from you. You didn’t want me to treat you earlier either,” he blurts without thinking. “You went to Mohan.”

“Come on, man,” Jack closes his eyes in frustration. “I didn’t go to her; she found me.”

“You could have come to me,” Robby stubbornly says.

“I didn’t need to, and that’s not the point. I don’t-” he sighs, the effort to talk causing him visible pain, guilt seizing Robby. “I don’t need you to treat me.” Jack’s eyes become pleading, big and green in his so pale face. “I don’t need you to be my doctor. Or my babysitter. I just need you to-” he bites his lip, “Go on a cruise, go on a hike, do what you need to do. The only thing I need is for you to be somewhere.”

The silence is broken only by Jack’s heavy breathing.

Robby takes it in, forcing his own heart to slow down. He doesn’t dare look at Jack, and his eyes find a point above his shoulder before he speaks.

“We can go together. When you’re better. To Head-Smashed-in Buffalo Jump. If you still want,” he adds like an afterthought, like the words aren’t being torn away from his guts.

He can feel Jack fix him with that characteristic stare of his, enough that Robby starts to squirm.

“We can do that, yeah.” He hears the smile in Jack’s voice and slowly lets himself look him in the face again. “But we’re not riding that thing there,” Jack declares, his tone final.

Robby sighs. “Philistines, all of you… The motorcycle’s done for anyway.”

“Thank fuck,” Jack sighs in exaggerated relief. “I swear if I have to hear the word carburetor one more time...”

“Yeah, yeah, screw you,” Robby says, mock-offended and no heat behind it.

“We can do that too,” Jack answers, lightly.

Robby’s brain freezes for a second - or twenty. Maybe a good minute. He tries to remember how to breathe.

“Is this the morphine talking?” He eventually asks, wary, through gritted teeth and a heart that doesn’t want to find a normal rhythm again.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Do you want it to be the morphine?” Jack’s face is more colored than before, open, his tone easy as anything. And there’s an out if Robby’s ever seen one. But Jack is alive, real, and it’s making Robby lightheaded, the relief breaking down all the doors in Robby’s heart and mind.

“No,” he whispers.

Jack smiles, easy, tender. “Okay then.”

“Okay. Okay,” Robby repeats, feverish.

He can’t look at him, needs to feel him. He lets his forehead gently fall against Jack’s, whose hand immediately curves around his nape.

Breathing against his mouth, Robby points out, “You have to stay alive for that.”

“So do you.”

And that does it. The dam breaks, and tears start flowing on Robby’s face, dripping on Jack’s lips, though the hand on his neck doesn’t let go. Robby sobs and cries, mumbles apologies after apologies, for what he’s done, what he hasn’t been able to do, what he would have done, and Jack never lets go.

Afterward, he gently disengages himself from Jack’s grip, though he stays close and takes his hand in his, bringing it to his mouth.

“Someone has to play basketball with Jake anyway, and it’s not gonna be you.”

Jack looks at him, something apologetic fleeting on his face, but Robby shrugs and kisses his hand with trembling lips. They’ll have time to talk about that later. That and many, many other things. They have time.

“I’ll take some more morphine now, please,” Jack sighs. Robby has never been so quick to call a nurse.

*

Days later, when Jack has been cleared to go home, when they have slept away some of their exhaustion and finally got their hands on each other, as they’re lazing in Jack’s bed, sated and hazed, Jack turns to Robby with a grin.

“So Robinavitch, I make your hands shake?”

Robby groans and buries his face in Jack’s neck because he can.

“Didn’t hear you complaining about my hands a few minutes ago.”

Jack laughs and brings one of said hands to his mouth to kiss his palm.