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Jack barely catches him before he goes; Robby’s already on the bike, already zipping up his jacket.
“So you’re out of here then?”
It takes Robby a moment to actually turn; Jack watches the effort it takes, how clear it is that he has to gather the energy for it, make himself do it. When he finally looks at Jack it’s not directly, gaze shifted just off center.
“Yeah,” he says, “I’m behind schedule already.”
“You should get some sleep first,” Jack says. He takes a slow step forward, hands in his pockets, wonders if he’s coming across as casual as he’s trying to be.
Robby gives a smile at that but it’s not the kind Jack wants to see, there’s no real amusement in it, doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Jack shrugs one shoulder, “I’m allowed to be a hypocrite.” There, he’s admitted it, for the first time ever, Robby better appreciate it.
But Robby just shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
‘You could not be further from fine’ – but Jack doesn’t say this. He takes another step, only feet away now. If he took another one, two, he’d be close enough to touch that damn bike.
“How far is it?” He already knows the answer, he looked it up, wanted to see how far away Robby’s running.
“2000 miles, little more,” Robby is still looking anywhere but at him, eyes darting across the ambulance bay, to the ground, to the street behind them, to the road that’ll take him away from the Pitt.
‘It’ll wait for you, you don’t have to rush’ – Jack doesn’t say this either.
“But I have a lot of stops along the way,” Robby continues, “stuff to see.” It’s not convincing.
Jack wonders how much of this trip is actually planned, how much is mapped out, if he’s really put any thought in about anywhere or anything else besides the ending. If every worry of Jack’s is right then there’s nothing between here and there.
He wants to ask what the weather there’s gonna be like, if he’s going to be staying in fleabag motels or if he’s going to try camping, what’s he going to do if the bike breaks down – all the things he should’ve asked in the weeks before today; should have asked from the moment Robby told him he was going to do this. These are things friends ask, why the hell didn’t he ask?
He doesn’t ask now, it’ll only delay the inevitable. Robby’s going, there’s no changing that.
“You’re going to call, right? Text me?”
Another nothing smile, another head shake, “Thought you didn’t want to be contacted.”
Jack lets out a huff, tries not to roll his eyes. “Come on man, you know what I meant.”
Robby pauses, a moment that stretches in the humid July air.
“Yeah,” he says eventually, “yeah, sure.” He’s still looking at the fucking ground and it’s making Jack’s chest hurt.
‘Why can’t you look at me?’ – but he doesn’t fucking say it.
He’s run out of things to say.
“Alright,” a nod, “I’ll answer.” He needs Robby to believe him. Hasn’t he done enough – tonight, every day, every year they’ve known each other – to make him believe him? He hopes he has, hopes Robby does.
Robby’s shoulders slump, like a weight’s just been lifted and it’s a horrible thing to see. This was the last obstacle, the last person he needed to talk to, he can go now. The ache in Jack’s chest twists.
“Bye Jack.”
Jack has to take a step away for him to move the bike out, feels a tug like a rope’s being pulled, wants to drag him back. Wonders if Robby feels it, knows he’s being delusional.
“Bye Mike.”
The engine echoes in the bay, the rumble louder than a siren approaching in the distance. Robby doesn’t look over his shoulder, doesn’t see Jack watch him go until he’s disappeared down the road.
At least he’s wearing the fucking helmet.
-
He wakes up on July 5th, goes into work the same as every day, except Robby’s not there when Jack comes in for his shift. It feels off in a way he knew it would. It’s different from the days Robby’s usually off because then Robby’s only 12 hours away from being back, not three months.
‘I’m gonna have to get used to it, aren’t I?’ – he doesn’t want to.
Al-Hashimi’s not here either, an attendant from Presby named Nguyen greets him. He asks her where she is.
“Something came up, apparently,” is all Nguyen can tell him. “I’ll be taking over until you guys can get someone on for good.”
Not for good, Jack wants to say, not for forever, just until October when Robby’s sabbatical is over.
Dana’s not here so he can’t get the gossip she insists she wants nothing to do with but ends up knowing everything anyway, and he can’t ask her how the day was, if everything went the way it’s supposed to. If Robby’s absence felt as loud to her as it does to him now.
“Odds on more missing fingers?” Ellis says, “I’m saying at least three.”
“Not taking that bet,” Jack tells her, “too easy.” There’re always people firing off their leftover fireworks the day after the fourth.
“Gonna be quieter tonight,” Shen says with all his regular confidence, jinxing it with a sentence. “Day shift didn’t leave us many leftovers.”
Jack looks over the row of tablets on the counter, at the milling of people in the bullpen, the day shift doctors passing off patients to his own staff, the constant movement. It looks normal, its version of normal.
“Alright, let’s round everyone up.”
The night begins, the night goes, same as it ever does. Jack sees the Pitt as a living thing, its blood always flowing, heart always beating. He’s told Robby this, got a laugh in response, a “Yeah, I guess,” but Jack knows he sees it too. They see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, it’s something Jack’s always coveted about their relationship. So much easier to exist in the world when you know someone sees the world the way you do, moves through it on the same wavelength. Jack’s always been grateful it’s Robby.
Tonight he keeps his phone in his pocket; that’s something he never does. He checks it in the ambulance bay a few times, stepping out to glance at it throughout the night. No texts, no missed calls, just an empty inbox.
It’s been one day, there’s no reason to worry. It’s a long way to Buffalo Jump, it doesn’t mean much to not hear from him yet. He might not even get anything when Robby does get there, he might not hear anything from him at all. That’d be okay, Jack tells himself, he doesn’t want to get the wrong kind of phone call anyway. It’ll be fine if he doesn’t reach out, as long as he’s walking through that ED door when these three months are over.
He’s lying to himself. It might be fine, but he won’t be. He tries to ignore the prickle in his fingers he gets every time he looks at the blank screen, it won’t do him any good to obsess. But he’s going to; he was always going to even if Robby hadn’t left the way he had.
7 a.m. comes and he’s tired and for a second he forgets, then it dawns on him what three months is actually going to look like and his heart sinks.
-
It’s 6:05 p.m. and he’s putting on his leg when he gets a notification on his phone. A thrill flares across the back of his neck when he sees it’s from Robby.
<<Rock and roll hall of fame. Whole Springsteen exhibit>>
The picture attachment shows a wall of memorabilia: some guitars, an amp, a pair of boots, the outfit from the Born In The U.S.A. cover, a couple vinyls.
Jack, lifelong Bruce Springsteen fan, responds: <<You’re making me jealous>>
And he waits. Sitting on his couch with only one shoe on he watches his phone in anticipation – but nothing more comes. Not even the rolling dots that indicate Robby’s typing anything else. Minutes pass. It’s words on a screen but it feels like Robby’s in the room, sitting there and staying determinedly silent, still refusing to look at him.
Jack texts: <<Steal something for me>>
He puts the phone down. He can’t will him to respond no matter how hard he stares and hopes. And one text is more than nothing anyway. It’s a good sign; Robby hasn’t immediately forgotten everything he’s left in Pittsburgh. Jack finishes getting his leg on, packs his backpack, downs what’s left of his coffee, mentally prepares himself for another day. He’s almost out the door when the phone buzzes.
<<Got badlands playing >>
Jack smiles, a warm swell in his chest, sends back: <<Good choice>> It’s his favorite Springsteen song, Robby knows this.
There’s nothing more after that and isn’t for the rest of the day, or the next, or for the rest of the week.
‘Maybe you meant to say ‘wish you were here’?’
-
“How’s the apartment treating you?” He asks Whitaker as the resident hands over the last patient chart from the day shift.
Whitaker looks almost surprised to be addressed so casually. Guess they haven’t had a whole lot of interactions beyond the professional discussions, Jack realizes. He doesn’t dislike the kid, he has no reason to, and Robby likes him, tells him he’s a good doctor and has the potential to be even better. Jack wouldn’t dare to ask if he’s his new Langdon.
“It’s good, yeah,” Whitaker says, nodding, “it’s a nice place.”
“It is, lotta windows. He’s been there about…15 years now.” Jack remembers when he got it, remembers the housewarming party where he and Robby had a drink too many and Jack passed out in the brand new guest room and Leslie left him there. “Don’t let the ivy die, he’s had that thing since med school.”
“Oh, no, no I definitely don’t mean to, ya know, kill it.”
“Good,” Jack says, turns to the chart, “Okay, we’re all set here, have a good night.”
Whitaker dithers a bit, looks like he wants to say something else and Jack raises his eyebrows at him, but Whitaker turns red and repeats the sentiment before walking off. There’s something about him that gets to Jack, bothers him, doesn’t know why though. Two days later he asks Whitaker about the plant again and realizes what it is.
“Still alive,” Whitaker tells him, happily like he’s proud of himself. Jack wants to tell him it’s not that hard, it’s a plant. Jack’s taken care of it before too.
And there it is – ‘It’s because you didn’t ask me’. Took him too long, his therapist would be disappointed.
Jack’s had the spare key for these last 15 years, has gone over plenty to water the damn ivy. It’s impossible to count how many times he’s been to Robby’s place; it’s third only to his own and the Pitt in terms of how much time he’s spent there. He knows every corner, could walk it in the dark. But he hadn’t been asked, had he, not this time.
“Oh, could you follow up on this medication for me?” Whitaker asks, snaps him out of his head, “It’s for Robby’s friend Duke, he’s supposed to come get it in the morning.”
Duke. Oh yeah, Duke. “He came in?”
“Yeah, I’ve supposed to check up on him,” Whitaker must read something into the expression Jack’s making, adding an apprehensive, “’Cause Robby asked me to.”
So he asked Whitaker to do that too. He gives the kid a ‘sure, okay’ and walks away without anything more. He does check in about the medication, all ready to go, and leaves before Duke gets there in the morning. He doesn’t even know the guy, only heard Robby talk about him a couple times, knows reasonably that it makes more sense for Robby to ask Whitaker because he’s on the day shift. Something about it still stings.
‘What’d I do so wrong, huh Mike?’
-
“Expecting something?” Dr. Ruiz asks mid sentence.
Jack looks back at his therapist, blinks as his focus readjusts. “Huh?”
Ruiz nods towards Jack’s hand where he’s got his phone pulled out of his pocket just enough to see the screen. “Are you expecting a call?”
Jack glances back down, sees no new notifications, tucks it away. He clears his throat, “No, it’s nothing.”
Ruiz raises his eyebrows, “You sure? The only time you pull your phone out during a session is when you’re waiting on something important.”
He honestly was only half aware he was checking it at all. He gives an abashed shake of his head. “Nah, just wondering about–”He stops.
There’s no good reason not to tell Ruiz. He’s talked about Robby plenty and then some over the years; he’s sure the doctor could give him a full history of their relationship from the start. Robby’s as much a part of his life as Leslie had been. And Jack’s told him about the sabbatical, the road trip, it’s not like he’s left it out of their last few meetings so it’d make no sense to keep it to himself now.
“Just wondering about Robby,” he finally says.
“Has he contacted you since he’s been gone?” Ruiz asks.
Jack shrugs, “Once.”
Ruiz raises his eyebrows again. Jack’s been seeing him for a long time, he can read when something he’s said has sparked the doctor’s interest.
“He’s been gone, what? Couple of days now?”
“Eight days,” Jack surprises himself, didn’t realize he was counting them.
Ruiz tilts his head, “Have you texted him?” He sounds neutral about it; he’s good at that – keeping things impartial until he picks up on the thread to grab.
Jack shrugs again, as casual as can be. “Don’t have anything important enough to tell him.”
“You don’t need an important reason, do you?”
He’s in question mode now, they always get here. Of course they do, Jack knows, that’s the whole point, but there’s a needling in the back of his mind that doesn’t want him to pull this thread. If he’d actually say this out loud he’s sure they’d come around to why, something’s making it stick in his throat.
“Okay, sure, I’ll text him,” he lies.
-
His and Robby’s back and forth has always worked better in the real world, their exchanges on the phone mostly to the point, boiling down to confirmations of days off and meet ups. That’s all they have to be, they’ll see each other in person soon enough. In person the rapport between them is easy; it’s always been easy with Robby.
Not now though, not when he stares down at the phone outside the office, now it feels hard as hell.
‘Where are you – what’s the weather like – how’s the bike – what’re you seeing – where are you going next…’
None of it makes it out of his head to his hands.
‘Why isn’t this easy?’
-
The Pitt isn’t home but it’s not the opposite either. It sits in the middle of Jack’s sense of the world, adjacent to the feeling of home. It’s probably a fucked up way to look at it – a place where people live out their worst days shouldn’t garner any affection towards it, but Jack can’t help the way it fits into the shape of his life. It’s the ebb and flow of it, in and out, come in, leave, come back again. People come, people go, sometimes people come back.
“Got a bodybuilder with a steroid overdose, was taking 150mg a day,” Langdon tells him, passing over a chart.
“Sounds like a doozy,” Jack says as he looks it over.
Langdon nods towards the room where the patient is. “Careful with that girlfriend, she’s a doozy.” His tone is this side of playful.
It’s been rewarding watching Langdon come back to himself, find his spark again. Jack’s shifts had overlapped with him plenty since he first started in the Pitt and they’d grown friendly once Robby deemed him good enough to invite to off day hang outs from time to time. Jack’s watched plenty of doctors crash and burn under their circumstances, as far as he’s concerned Frank’s a good guy who made a mistake. Robby never wanted to talk about it.
“Plans for tonight?” Jack asks.
Langdon taps on the bullpen counter, smile on his face, “Date night.”
“Someplace nice?”
“Eleven.”
Jack nods approvingly, “Very nice.”
Lena interrupts, leaning over to them, “Possible appendicitis, room 3.”
“Gotcha,” Jack says, spares a smile to Langdon, “Have a nice one Frank, tell Abby I said hi.”
He pivots on his heel, already stepping away when Langdon stops him with a hesitant: “Hey Abbot, can I ask you something?”
Jack stops. “Yeah, shoot.”
Langdon shifts on his feet, eyes darting around the room before settling back on Jack. He seems almost flustered, the opposite of only a minute before. “It’s about Robby.”
Jack should’ve guessed. “I have heard from him, if that’s what you’re going to ask.” He tries to sound reassuring but isn’t sure for whom.
Langdon nods, “Good.” But his whole demeanor is still edgy; Jack can practically see he’s got words stuck behind his teeth.
“He seem okay?” he finally asks.
‘What should I tell him Mike?’
Jack gives a half shrug, tilts his head back and forth in a non-answer.
“I said some stuff to him before he left,” Langdon says like he’s admitting something.
‘Lot of people said a lot of stuff to you didn’t they?’
“Like what?” Jack’s not sure he even wants to know; he already knows too damn much.
Langdon hesitates again, exhales. “I told him he wasn’t perfect.”
It’s almost funny. “He’s not.”
“Yeah, yeah I know, I just-” he taps his hands on the counter again, uneasy this time, “I told him he needed help, but I don’t think I said it…as well as I could have.”
Jack opens his mouth but all that comes out is a sigh and even that makes his chest sore, like he’s breathing past bruised ribs. He says, “I don’t think there’s a wrong way to say it.” Not when someone really needs to hear it.
Langdon doesn’t look reassured. “Maybe,” another exhale, “I hope he didn’t take it the wrong way.”
Jack wants to tell him it’s not up to him, that that’s on Robby, it was up to him how he took it. But he doesn’t say that because it’s Robby and if Jack does have a bruise it’s under Robby’s name.
“You tried,” is what he does say, “that counts for something.”
That does seem to get through and Langdon’s shoulders drop the smallest bit. It’s not a confident relief but it’s helped. It’s clear he needed to hear it from Jack, from Robby’s best friend.
“Thanks,” Langdon gives a sincere smile, “Have a nice night Abbot.”
Jack thanks him, turns away, and goes to see the patient.
-
“Life can suck”, “It comes for all of us”, “we can't let ourselves succumb to it” – he replays the conversation in his head. It’d all made sense at the time, sounded good, meaningful. He’s not a poet but he tried, that’s supposed to count.
‘Did I say any of it right?’
-
He doesn’t have to make the next move, the next text comes ten days after the first.
<<In Canada>>
It’s just two words but they answer several of those questions and make Jack let out a long heavy breath. How long has he been holding that?
So it’s taken almost half a month for Robby to get to Canada, must mean he really has been stopping along the way, taking his time. He pulls up Maps and plugs in the destination from Pittsburgh.
<<Through Montana?>> Jack asks. The app says it’s the quickest route right now.
The circles dance across the bottom of the screen, Jack waits. He’s in his car, in the PTMC parking garage, had been about to head in, but he’s going to sit here and wait.
<<Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, north Dakota>> Robby responds.
Jack traces the route, at the meandering way it leads north. He wonders what about it must be so interesting that Robby detoured off the straightforward path. <<Nicer route?>>
<<It was pretty>>
<<Send me pictures next time>>
The circles scroll for a moment, then stop. Jack realizes he’s holding his breath again. They come back only to stop again, and they stay gone.
That shift feels longer than usual, drags through the night with every hour feeling like 12. He keeps looking at the clock thinking it must be time to go only to find it’s not even close. He clocks out when the time finally comes, checks his phone and finds no pictures.
-
End of July. It’s hot as hell outside; Jack’s shirt sticks to his back, the socket of his leg gets damp with sweat, the AC in the Pitt sucks. Dana asks if he’s heard from Robby lately.
Not since he’d told Jack he’d hit Canada ten days ago. “Been a little while.”
Dana leans against the counter, purses her lips. “I still haven’t gotten anything at all.”
A zing of energy zaps through Jack’s nerves. He gives a shrug, keeps it nonchalant. “Doesn’t mean too much, he’s not much of a texting guy.”
Dana gives a huff. “Not like it’s that hard. It’s a couple buttons on a phone, a ‘hey, what’s up’ now and then.”
‘It’s so much harder than that’ – he doesn’t know that she’d understand.
He gives another shrug. “He’s on vacation. Plus he’s probably in the middle of nowhere, probably can’t get service.”
She hums like she’s not satisfied with this answer. She turns that pinched look on him. “That what you tell yourself?”
Jack’s eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
There’s a beat where it seems like there’s something she wants to say but she dismisses it with a shake of her head. She sighs.
“He’s a grown man, it’s not like we were gonna stop him,” he says.
She’s not pacified by this either. He loves her, he does, but sometimes she drives him a little crazy.
“You’re not worried about him?”
‘Of course I’m fucking worried’ – Jack bites his tongue.
“He’s fine,” he says instead, “he’ll be back here in October refreshed and raring to go.”
Her expression softens and she looks at him, really looks until he feels uncomfortable.
“I hope you’re right,” she says with another sigh.
Jack’s heart clenches.
-
“I don’t like worrying about things” – it was a stupid thing to say because of course he fucking doesn’t.
There’s someone’s motorcycle parked outside of the ambulance bay, Jack realizes he’s staring at it.
‘I don’t like worrying about you.’ – but he didn’t say that though.
But he always has worried about him, does now, always will. There’s a special place in Jack’s head for all the things he feels about Robby.
-
He’s sweating through the SWAT fatigues, listening to the lead officer give the run down. The vehicle idles behind him, the exhaust blowing out hot air. It’s a team of five, he knows all of them, even went to Miller’s last Labor Day barbeque. Everyone nods, confirms they understand the plan, hustle into the tactical truck. The doors close with a thick noise, the engine revs up. His phone’s tucked into a pouch on his belt.
“When’s the last time you took any time off Jack?” – Robby had said it as retaliation, an attack, threw it out there like a barbed arrow. Too bad it missed, glanced off Jack like it meant nothing at all.
Jack wants this, wants to stay moving, wants to help and contribute and actually do things. He doesn’t wallow or obsess. If he keeps himself busy then he won’t fall into that trap. If he can keep control, he just needs to keep control of it, of himself.
The truck stops, the lead officer gives the go sign.
‘Were you ever actually worried about me when you said that?’
The raid goes well, he doesn’t get hurt. He still goes in for his night shift and he’s fine.
-
It’s 8 a.m. and he’s finally about to leave a rough night behind him. Sometimes it happens like that: people lining up out the door from sunset to sunrise and all Jack can do is knock them out as they come, a case or two keeping him from getting out of there on time. He’s used to his 12 hours turning into 13, 14, 15.
He passes off his patients, gets his bag, says goodbye to Dana. He’s almost out the door when the barely familiar face walks in through it. A roil of irritation surges in his throat.
“Duke,” Jack says, “what brings you in?” He’s careful to sound as professionally friendly as he can, a regular doctor voice.
Duke’s thinner than he was last time he was here, not that Jack saw much of him. He’d been working on Robby’s bike but Jack’s focus had been on Robby, locked on with a mission. As far as Jack had been concerned Duke was a distraction, unimportant in that moment.
Duke looks around the ED, eyes scanning the bullpen. “Oh, just checking in.”
It’s not a satisfactory answer and it piques Jack’s already exhausted nerves. “Anything I can do to help?”
Duke’s still looking around the room, takes a while for him to finally focus on Jack in front of him. “Well, I was looking for Robby.”
The irritation turns to frustration. He feels his jaw go tense. “He’s not here, thought you knew that.”
Duke’s looking at him in a way that’s starting to rankle. Too shrewd, too keen, it’s making Jack feel like he’s being examined.
“Got the surgery coming up and I haven’t heard from him,” he shrugs a shoulder, a slight chuckle, “I was wondering if he forgot about me.”
Jack wants to tell him that’s unlikely, Robby wouldn’t do that. He gives too much of a damn even when he shouldn’t; and Duke’s his friend, he wouldn’t give up caring. If Duke knew him half as much as Jack does then he wouldn’t even think that Robby would be like that. But that’s a knee jerk reaction, the first thought, the second thought tells him that’s not actually true.
Robby hasn’t reached out to Duke, hasn’t checked in when Duke has obviously been going through something. He’s left his care to another doctor entirely. Jack makes himself take a breath, makes himself calm the fuck down. This isn’t Duke’s fault, the guy’s done nothing worthwhile to make Jack hate him.
“I don’t think he’s forgotten you,” he says and this time he’s genuine when he speaks, “He’ll check in when he’s back.”
Duke’s still looking at him too closely, less assessing and more like consideration. If Jack had to pin it he’d guess Duke was studying him, taking him in. Jack wonders how much he actually knows about him, how much Robby told about his friend Jack Abbot. Maybe about as much as Jack knows about Duke, which is almost nothing at all.
‘Wasn’t I worth mentioning?’
“Sure, sure,” Duke finally looks away and it’s too much of a relief for Jack to feel not embarrassed about, “I guess I came here hoping maybe he’d decided to come back early,” he gives another wan laugh, “changed his mind. When he left he was, well, not doing too good.”
‘You weren’t.’
“He was-” Jack has to pause, think about what the hell he means to say, “going through some stuff.”
Duke raises his eyebrows at him as if calling out the understatement. It’s Jack turn to look away.
It’s a snap decision he makes when he says, “Listen – what’s your number?” He picks his phone out of his pocket, swipes it to the ‘add contact’ page, holds it out between them, “Here, put it in.”
Duke’s face scrunches in confusion but he takes it, starts tapping numbers as Jack keeps talking.
“I know you’ve got Whitaker taking care of you, but-” he shrugs, “maybe I’ll give you a head’s up when Robby’s back, in case he does forget to call.”
Duke considers this, then hands back the phone with a smile, “That’d be nice, thank you.”
“No problem,” Jack says back, half wondering if he means it, if he means anything he’s just said.
“Hey, maybe when he’s back the three of us could grab a beer,” Duke says. “Any friend of Robby’s is a friend of mine.” This time he’s looking at Jack like he’s figured something out, something he approves of.
It still prickles but Jack tries to force himself let it go. “Sure.” Sure, why not.
Duke leaves with a nod, Jack waits for him to completely disappear through the door before going too.
-
‘What if you’d actually talked to me?’
He grips the steering wheel, knuckles going white. The frustration burns like a flame trying to catch, makes his throat tight, his teeth clench. There’s so much that Robby didn’t tell him and he doesn’t know why and it’s threatening to burn a wildfire in his chest. He’s here, he’s always been here, but Robby didn’t say shit; didn’t tell him about Duke, about Whitaker taking his apartment, barely a word about the actual trip.
Jack knows how to deal with anger, it’s become a foreign emotion to him over the years. Therapy, self control, mindfulness, he’s got it all down. So why’s it getting to him now, why is he letting it? Why doesn’t it taste right?
‘I would’ve listened.’
-
<<Flat tire>>
The text comes at noon and wakes Jack up. He fumbles for the phone in a daze. Before he can type anything he gets another.
<<Middle of fcuking nowhere>>
<<Where are you? You need me to call you a truck?>> It’s nonsense; Robby clearly still has service wherever he is, he can call one on his own, but Jack’s half awake and reacting on instinct.
<<Ones coming I’m good>>
<<Ok good>>
He drops his head back into the pillows and tells his nervous system to calm down, it’s nothing to freak out about. A flat tire, not a wreck.
The blackout curtains keep the sunlight from getting in so the only light in the room is the glow of the phone in his hands. He’s watching it but his mind is wandering. He’s imagining Robby alone on the side of some Canadian highway, sitting on his broken bike, watching the horizon, waiting to be found. If he was here Jack would be hopping in his car right now to pick him up, leave the damn bike.
‘You’re too far away, how am I supposed to help you when you’re so far away?’
<<Almost there>> Robby texts and it’s like a whisper in the quiet room.
It lays there between them, miles and miles apart. Jack feels that tug on the rope around his heart, passing through the screen, reaching to the other side.
Nothing more. He puts the phone down, tries to go back to sleep.
-
It’s a car crash, not even a motorcycle, but the guy’s got dark hair and a graying beard and brown eyes. Jack fights against fate like he does every damn night but it’s not enough. They pronounce the man dead at 10:35 p.m. His whole team tells him he did a good job, he did what he could. Sometimes there’s no way to win. He hates that sentiment, hates that it’s true.
“I’m fine,” he tells Ellis when she asks. “I’m fine,” he tells Shen. “I’m fine,” when Dana comes in and hears about it. He leaves the same way he came in, telling the world, telling himself, that he’s fine. He drives home, he pulls into his condo building’s garage, he parks, steps out.
His leg hurts. It doesn’t usually but sometimes it aches deep into the muscle. Sometimes his shoulders hurt, his arms and hands and hips. Sometimes his mind sends the pain out through his blood and makes everything fucking hurt. And it hurts so much right now he can’t even keep himself up; he has to give in, sits there on the floor next to his car in the concrete parking garage.
Jack knows Robby knows this feeling – the overwhelming rending of heart strings and the cuts that reach to the bone. The kind of emotion that takes over, shoves everything else out, leaves them hollow. It’s why they keep ending up on the roof. But it’s also why they always end up there together. Why one always follows the other up the stairs.
They do put words to it and it always works. He just talks, says what he thinks needs to be said, finding his way through it and taking them both out the other side. And Robby always repays the favor; he’s been saved by Robby so many times, listening to him say all the right things. It’s always been so goddamn easy between them.
There’s blood on his shoe from a man who died, who didn’t have to, and Jack’s crying alone with his phone in his hands.
-
There’s semi expensive whiskey in a cabinet that Jack bought for Robby, kept it here at his place for when he comes over. Once in a while they pull it out, dole out just enough to enjoy the burn of it. Tonight’s Jack’s night off and he pours out more than that. It’s August, the heat wave lingers but he’s got the AC off and all the windows open. He pulls up an armchair to sit by one of them, second glass on the sill. He’d thrown a CD on the stereo and it’s playing Lanois low in the background.
If Robby’s made it to fucking Head Smashed In, then he’s two hours behind; 1 a.m. in Pittsburgh is 11 p.m. in Alberta. He might be asleep. He might be dead.
‘Jesus fucking Christ Mike’
Jack picks up his phone from next to the almost empty tumbler of whiskey. He types with shaking hands:
<I’m fucking scared>
He doesn’t press send.
He has to run a hand over his face. His chest feels so tight, his heart thudding heavy inside.
<You’ve made me scared and I hate it>
He throws back the rest of the glass, takes a deep breath as he looks out at the city. The Pitt’s a couple miles away, due east.
<I don’t know what you’re going to do but I’m sure it’s something stupid. Something bad. I knew it when you left, I saw it in you. And I let you go. I didn’t even try and stop you.>
Anger finds its way in to the swell of everything, makes him so damn mad at himself.
<I said a lot of shit, didn’t I? I don’t know that you listened. I hope you did but I’m sitting here scared you didn’t. Did I say anything right? Tell me what I should’ve said, tell me where I messed up.>
He swipes at his eyes, the threat of falling tears turning the words blurry.
<I’ll say it now ok? Come back. Just come back. You don’t even know>…
He’s never said it, never admitted it. It’s been there for so long and it’s always felt like this.
…<how much I need you. Want you. Come back. For me.>
His head’s swimming. It’s the drink, it’s the lack of sleep, it’s the emotion surrounding him like a flood he finally can’t keep from pulling him under.
<I need it to be you and me.>
‘Even if it’s not the way I want’ – he can’t even type this part.
Slowly the world comes back to him; the warm breeze through the screen, the music still playing from the stereo, the sound of his breathing and the pulse beneath his skin. He’s tired, drained and emptied.
He looks down at the phone. He could send it.
‘But I’m scared I’ve already fucked this all up.’
He deletes it all, watches the words disappear.
-
Jack has known for a long time that he’s in love with Robby.
After the pain of losing his wife turned from a sharp knife to a duller, steady ache he crawled out of that hole and found Robby at his side, where he’d always been. A reliable presence that never wavered. He said all the right things, of course he did, wading into Jack’s grief, holding him back or pulling him forward.
“I know you’ll get through this, you’re strong, Jack.” He didn’t always feel so strong but Robby always convinced him of it. Despite the therapists and the grief groups, everything always sounded better coming from him.
Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to go back the Pitt, wasn’t sure if he could stand to. “You don’t have to rush, I understand if you don’t want to,” Robby had said with a gentle smile, “but it has been really lonely without you.” That cut through his still healing armor, the first thing that had.
After his first shift back, a beer in the park, just the two of them. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Where would you be without me?” Jack had said. Robby laughed, and Jack smiled.
“Nowhere, brother, nowhere.”
Robby was there, every day, every night, in the inbetween times. Every good shift, every bad one, Jack just had to get through it and he’d find him on the other side.
“I’ll keep showing up if you do.” Jack’s certain Robby didn’t even realize he’d said something that Jack would still be holding onto like a talisman now.
“Do you need me to come over?” A phone call in the late afternoon of a day off, Jack too alone with his thoughts, Robby talking him down from the other end of the line.
Jack had said no, “I’m fine”, talked him out of leaving his shift, but Robby had come over anyway when he was done. They’d drank beer and then whiskey, watched a Penguins game, listened to music until it was too early in the morning and Robby fell asleep on his couch.
The touches came like nothing; a hand on his back, a shoulder against his, a hug that was as natural as anything could be. Robby doesn’t like being touched, one of those things he doesn’t talk about, but somewhere along the way Jack ended up on the other side of that wall around him. Jack was aware of it at first but when it became their new normal he stopped even thinking about it.
It came to him gradually like a tide rising until he was already head and shoulders under the water. Robby wasn’t a constant, he was a necessity. Without him it felt like something was missing. But it wasn’t just need, it was want. He craved every word and look and touch; wanted it as badly as he’d ever wanted anything. This wasn’t what friendship felt like, too many steps past that line and then more.
He’d known love before and it was the only thing that could compare; and it is that kind of love, the same as he felt for Leslie. He doesn’t want the distance of friendship, he wants to be kissed and held and fucked. Anything and more and whatever Robby could give him, would give him.
But that’s where it all fell apart: he didn’t know if Robby wanted the same. From the moment Jack realized he had started watching, listening, trying to see if there was anything there, ready to grab onto any hint or slip that would give away that Robby felt even the tiniest sliver of the same. But he never found it. As far as he ever saw Robby wanted nothing more out of their relationship.
‘I won’t let this ruin everything.’
Jack knew that, as clear as knowing he loved Robby he knew that he could never say it. He needed him too much to let the want destroy it all. So he’s stayed silent so long that the feeling has settled into a part of him, a simple fact that lives underneath every word and look and touch.
And now he doesn’t think it matters if he says anything at all.
-
He wakes up hungover for the first time in years. His phone battery is on 10% and the CD is repeating itself for what’s probably the 5th time. It’s been 14 days since Robby’s last text. Jack wishes he didn’t care, could hate him, it’d make everything hurt less.
-
The next text comes at midnight on August 13th.
<<It keeps raining>>
Jack mutes the TV though he’s not sure why. The sound of M.A.S.H. cuts off and the room goes quiet. He stares down at the message until several minutes have passed. Robby sends:
<<In fort macleod next town over. Can’t do buffalo jump >>
Another few minutes; Jack doesn’t answer, the phone feels heavy in his hands. Another chime, another text:
<<Pointless in the rain>>
‘Is that what’s stopping you?’
As soon as Jack thinks it guilt and sorrow drop down on him like a weight.
‘I didn’t mean that, fuck, I didn’t mean it.’
<<Motel?>> he writes back. Banal, unimportant, but it says he’s here, that Robby’s not talking to no one.
<<Yeah>> the reply comes back quick, <<place called sunset>>.
Jack pulls up search and looks up ‘sunset motel alberta’ and clicks on the first link to a travel site.
<<Looks like a nice place>>
The next response is a picture taken from the corner of a room: in the center is a bed with a brown floral spread, two cracked leather chairs to the side, mustard colored curtains hanging crooked in front of a small window, and a singular sconce placed way too high up on the wall.
<<Cozy>> Jack sends.
<<Damp>>
Jack can hear the aggravation through the screen, almost makes him laugh. .
Robby sends: <<You’d hate it here>>
Jack does laugh and it feels so goddamn good. He imagines some vague Canadian wilderness, forced into a dingy motel because of a never ending downpour, busted up and tired from riding a motorcycle across country. He’s not actually sure he would hate it, especially not if it was with Robby.
<<Is that why you didn’t ask me to come along?>>
‘Maybe I could meet you there, maybe prove you wrong.’
<<No>>
The word looks so stark there in black and white.
<<I’m not bad company>>
<<I know>>
He can’t hear the tone of Robby’s voice, can’t tell if he’s being teasing, trying to be light hearted, or if he means to sound as solemn as it comes across in type. The circles roll across the bottom, stop without a response. Jack’s heart sinks further as the minutes drag out. Robby’s decided he’s done, that they’re done, and he’s going to go back to radio silence like the last three times, and Jack’s going to go back to waiting.
‘Say anything. Say something stupid, something boring, just say something.’
He’s talking to Robby, he’s talking to himself. He’s going to lose whatever tenuous thing they have going here. Springsteen, tires, rain – as insignificant as they are they’re knots on the rope Jack’s trying to hold onto. He doesn’t want to be the only one, he needs Robby to be on the other end and he’s still scared he’ll let go.
He feels so alone here. ‘Mike this is killing me.’
<<I miss you>> Robby says.
The words hit dead center; an arrow, a knife, a punch.
<<I miss>> he accidentally presses send too soon, <<I miss you too>>
If the conversation were out loud the silence that follows would be deafening, Jack’s ears are ringing with it. It’s the most honest thing he’s said in a month and a half; he wishes Robby could hear it.
It’s all just pixels, words on a screen. This is why they don’t fucking do this. This is why they say everything face to face, that’s when it’s easy, this bullshit isn’t supposed to be necessary. But Robby ran off and left him 2000 miles away. This is so fucking frustrating and it’s Robby’s fault and he hates it.
<You miss me so damn much why’d you leave>
He wonders if Robby watches the bubbles scroll, if he’s waiting for an answer with needles in his fingers, if his chest tightens when the text doesn’t come because Jack deletes it.
His heart’s beating too hard, he can’t believe he even dared to type it.
<<Goodnight>> Robby says.
<<Goodnight>> Jack says.
-
‘You better have not meant goodbye’
-
Jack’s known he’s in love with Robby for a long time. It’s like being in love with both an anchor and the sea; the tether stretching between them goes both ways. The summer is passing and with every day he’s become more certain Robby doesn’t feel it. Probably never has. Jack hasn’t ever held onto hope, that’s not the right emotion, but the wish that things were different is fading.
He might not come back, something Jack’s been fighting not to accept. He doesn’t know what ‘not coming back’ even means, not completely, it could mean something else. That’s what he tells himself. He’ll find out someday when Robby walks through that door or Jack gets a phone call from someone he doesn’t know. He’s still holding his breath.
-
There’s an endless parade of patients and Jack leaves too late and comes back too soon. He gets four hours of sleep, comes back and works 15, sleeps five and comes back early. He needs to be somewhere and he has nowhere else to go.
-
His phone tells him the text was sent at 10:50 p.m. August 16th, it’s 7:38 a.m. August 17th now.
<<Still here>>
Jack goes to the park, sits down on their usual bench and drops his bag next to him; it’s sunny today in Pittsburgh. His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. It’s early in Alberta, Robby’s probably not even awake.
<<In buffalo jump?>> He sends anyway.
The reply comes in seconds. <<Yeah>>
“Still here” – screw Buffalo Jump, still here.
‘Why are you awake – is it still raining – are you still in the motel – what’s next – are you staying…’
Before he can decide Robby says:
<<I’m sorry>>
The world narrows down to the phone in Jack’s hand. He types fast with shaking fingers.
<<Why>>
His pulse is a drum, loud in his ears.
<<Everything>>
That’s exactly what someone would say from the edge of a cliff. This terrible looming moment Jack’s been fighting so hard not to believe in is in black and white in his trembling hands. He’s going to lose him, he’s truly going to lose him and he doesn’t know what to say. There’s a thousand things he hasn’t said, a thousand more he could, and he’s fucked up by not saying any of them and what would even matter now–
But Robby texts first:
<<I shouldve called>> one line, on the next: <<You told me to>>
Jack stops falling, lands in the middle distance where there’s still something to grab hold of. He’s almost dizzy.
<<You still can>> it’s on his lips, almost speaks it out loud.
<<Better in person>>
‘So come back’ – say it Jack, just say it–
<<Come back>>
He’s sure his heart stops.
<<Ok>>
And then it starts again.
-
The heat finally dips below 80 degrees. When Jack goes to work that night everyone says “what a relief”. The night is slow, the Pitt AC still sucks, Jack gets distracted and when Dana comes in at 7 a.m. he’s surprised.
“Lose track of time?” she asks in her semi-amused way.
“Guess so.” He looks out the window of the ambulance bay doors and sees sunlight.
“You’ve got tonight off, yeah?” she asks, taking Lena’s seat at the desk, “Or are you going to go play SWAT soldier again?”
He shakes his head, “Not today.” He looks around the bullpen, at the stream of patients and doctors. It’s still missing something.
“Good, go home,” she says, “get some sleep for once.”
He gives her a half smile, a teasing look that says ‘maybe’ that she scoffs at. She hasn’t asked about Robby in weeks though he knows she’s still worried, but he doesn’t tell her. Robby texted him, he’s finally realizing what that means.
He goes home, eats, watches half a rerun of a Pirates game, and goes to sleep. The alarm goes off at 5:30 p.m. like always; he does pretend to keep a schedule. He works out, showers, dresses in something that isn’t scrubs or fatigues. He doesn’t bother with the leg when he’s staying home on a day off, which is a rarity, but he’s got nowhere to be except here.
He checks his phone to see there’s no new notifications. It doesn’t matter; the words are there: “Come back”, “Ok”. If Robby meant it. There’s still doubt swirling in his head, he can’t shake it and he knows it’s for good reason. He’s choosing faith, even if that means October. It’s not like he hasn’t been waiting since the Fourth of July.
-
It doesn’t take until October, it only takes until 1 a.m.
The knock on the door is soft, barely loud enough for Jack to hear from the living room. A thrill of anticipation jumps up into his throat as he picks himself off the couch but anxiety muscles its way in as he walks to the door.
It hits him now that he doesn’t know how this will go. It’s been six weeks and he’s felt everything there is to feel about Robby leaving but he hasn’t thought about what it’d look like when he came back. If he ever came back. There’s no reason they can’t be exactly the same, act like nothing’s changed and none of it mattered, that it was all on the surface and the real version of them underneath is untouched.
He looks through the peephole and sees in the distorted image that it is Robby and Jack realizes for a second he was convinced it wouldn’t be, that he couldn’t have made it back this fast. 2000 miles, little more. Jack rolls his shoulders, takes a breath.
‘There’s no reason this can’t be easy, is there?’
He opens the door, shuffles back on his crutch for it to swing, and smiles his best ‘your friend Jack’ smile. “Hey, welcome back.”
Robby’s in his jacket, wearing his gloves and boots. He looks up from his feet, meets Jack’s eyes and it washes over Jack the way it always does.
‘You have no idea, do you?’
“Hey,” Robby says and he sounds like he’s been drowned out by the bike for the past six weeks. “Wasn’t sure you’d be home. Figured I’d try here before-” he gestures over his shoulder as if pointing to the Pitt from here.
“Night off,” Jack says, “you’ve got good timing.”
Robby nods, turns over the helmet in his hands that he doesn’t need to be holding. For a split second Jack hates the thing, blames all of this shit on it for some wild reason. If it had done its job from the start then none of this might’ve happened.
“Got a couple hours somewhere but otherwise drove straight through.” So he’d come here without stopping at his place. Jack’s sure that must mean something but he doesn’t know what.
“Wanna come in?”
Robby looks exhausted, a different kind of tired from a long shift, more like weary. So much for that sabbatical – Jack bites back the joke.
“Yeah, sure.”
Jack moves aside and Robby steps in like he has hundreds of times before. Jack closes the door behind him, takes in the sight of Robby in the hallway, looking as familiar as he always does, even covered in road dust.
Robby doesn’t need an invitation to hang his jacket in the closet after he’s stuffed his gloves in the pockets, puts the helmet on the floor beneath it. He hesitates for a moment before shucking his boots and tucking them under too. He’s got on jeans and a flannel button up, without shoes the look feels unfinished.
“Drink?” Jack asks already heading towards the kitchen. He needs one for himself, might as well get two.
“Sure,” Robby says again, stepping into the connecting dining room. He puts a hand on a chair but doesn’t pull it out. He’s hesitating again and Jack notices.
Jack’s tempted to pull out the whiskey, or what’s left of it, instead gets out two beers from the fridge and knocks the caps off before slotting the necks between his fingers. He moves with his crutch on his other arm, practiced in this specific operation, and sets one of the bottles in front of the chair Robby still hasn’t sat in.
Jack sets his own beer down across from him, takes a seat and leans the crutch against the table.
“Sit down man, you’re making me nervous,” he says with a laugh that he hopes doesn’t give away how anxious he actually is.
Robby finally does but Jack’s watching too closely, there’s a stiffness to the action that there usually isn’t when there’s sports on the TV and Chinese food on its way. It twigs something in Jack’s head that sits in tandem with his coming straight here. Robby picks up the beer and takes a drink, taps it back on the table, watching as he does it.
“How was it?” Jack asks before he knows he means to. “Buffalo Jump, I mean.” He needs to break this silence, shake the oppressive way it’s pressing down on the back of his neck. He’s surprised how he actually does want to know the answer.
‘It’s only because you came back, otherwise I wouldn’t give a damn about the place.’
“Pretty,” Robby says, looking up from the beer. The overhead lamp casts a soft glow in his eyes.
“Pretty as Michigan?” Jack asks, lighthearted as he can manage.
That shakes Robby out of it if only a fraction of a fraction; his shoulders relax and he falls back against the chair incrementally. He gives a smile and a breath of a laugh and the tightness in Jack’s chest eases.
‘See, we can talk like we always do.’
“Took you a while to get there, you stop a lot on the way?” Jack takes a sip of his own beer, barely tastes it.
“Yeah, I guess,” Robby says. “Parks and museums.”
“Hall of Fames.”
A smirk as he drinks. “Sorry I didn’t steal you anything for you.”
Jack makes sure he smiles extra wide at that, shakes his head. “All good. Wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the whole three months in a cell.”
It’s apparently the wrong thing to say; Robby presses his lips together as he returns his gaze back to the beer in his hand. “Didn’t even make it the three months, only managed a month and a half.”
“A month and a half is still-” Jack shrugs because he doesn’t know what a month and a half is. Not ‘good’ as far as he’s concerned.
Robby frowns, shakes his head, clearly at himself. “Came running back to this place after six weeks. I always do. I always fucking do.”
“You need it as much as it needs you, that’s not a bad thing.” He’d said that, the day Robby left; it’s one of those things he’s not sure was even the right thing but here he is saying it again.
“I don’t want to fucking need it.” There’s genuine anger seeping into Robby’s voice. “I wanted to be fucking…free of it. Be able to leave it all. Not look back.”
Jack’s skin must be hot from how his nerves are starting to hum. “Leave it all? Everything?”
“Everything,” Robby says sharply, puts the bottle down hard like punctuation.
“It’s a lot to leave behind,” Jack says but he can’t make his voice sound as confident as Robby’s.
“You mean all that beautiful stuff? Hilarious stuff?” he gives a laugh with no amusement in it. The light in his eyes has turned into white beads.
“Yeah,” Jack says lamely, “Lots of things.”
“Does that really keep the demons away?” Robby leans forward and Jack stops himself from leaning back. “Huh Jack? ’Cause I don’t think it’s working.” There’s still anger there in his tone but the questions are earnest, the admission honest.
Jack chokes. There’s a spotlight on them and he’s supposed to be performing the Great Jack Abbot Show again but he’s fucking it up. He’s supposed to be helping, that’s what he does – he helps, and he’s supposed to help Robby. He wants to help Robby more than anyone. But he’s spent six weeks thinking of every goddamn thing he should have said and everything he can’t say and he’s lost in the waters.
“Mike, you just need some help,” he sounds pathetic to his own ears, “I’ve done the work, you can t-”
“Jesus Christ Jack!” Robby falls back into the chair, shakes his head, “Enough with the therapy speak! I need-” he swipes at his mouth and Jack notices the tears on the verge of falling.
‘What? What do you need from me?’
Desperation is making his chest hurt, his brain on fire with it.
‘Tell me what to fucking say.’
“I want something honest,” Robby says.
The dam breaks.
“Honest? You want something honest?” his voice comes out too loud, “You first! Honest question – why’d you come back?”
Robby isn’t taken back by the outburst, he looks too damn tired and still so miserable and it’s driving Jack crazy. He opens his mouth but Jack cuts him off.
“Why, Mike? Cause when you left you were going to drive off a fucking cliff.”
“I was planning on it, yeah,” Robby bites back and there’s the anger, there’s something.
This hits so much worse than Jack thought it would, hurts as bad as it ever was going to. He really wasn’t intending on coming back. He really meant to leave everything, everyone. And he didn’t want to look back.
“Then why’d you listen to Badlands?”
“What?” This throws Robby off, his expression turns confused, “Badlands?”
“Yeah,” Jack nods a little too manically, “why’d you text me about Badlands? Why’d you text me about Michigan, about your flat tire?”
“Why’s it matter?”
‘Because I want it to matter.’
“Why’d you keep texting me if you wanted to leave everything behind?”
Finally, for once, Robby doesn’t have anything to say. Jack should be happy about it, it only hurts worse.
“Why’d you tell me that you missed me?”
Silence breaks the sound. Jack realizes all of his muscles are tensed, pulse quickened in his veins, his whole body is pleading for something.
“Because I did,” Robby says. “I meant it. Didn’t you?”
“Of course I meant it,” it’s a stupid thing to even ask, “Goddammit you have no idea…”
“No idea about what?”
‘No idea how-
Fuck’.
“How much I missed you,” it feels like he’s dragging the words out, pulling them past a throat that wants to strangle him. “How much I want you here.” His eyes are prickling, he realizes Robby’s not crying but he is. “You said you should’ve called, but you know why I never did? Because I was scared out of my mind that you wouldn’t answer.”
Robby doesn’t have a response to this, Jack knows it’s because he’s right.
“And I was scared-” he stops, exhales, “that I fucked up and said everything wrong but if I said what I wanted to say it would make it worse, or that it wouldn’t matter anyway.”
The anger and bitter hopelessness is gone from Robby’s face. He’s watching Jack like he’s looking for something. “What did you want to say?”
Jack laughs, almost hysterical, exasperated with himself. “Stuff I’ve been wanting to say for a long time.”
“Like what?” Said like a demand.
“Jesus, Mike.” He swipes a hand across his face; it does nothing to erase the tear tracks. “How about ‘I need you’?”
“Jack– I ne– ”
“No, don’t,” it comes out harsh, “It’s not the same.”
Robby tries to speak again but Jack can’t let him, not now, not when he’s finally finding the words.
“You don’t need me half as much as I want you.”
There, it’s out; ripped from his heart and thrown into the space between them. He doesn’t know how it should feel because he’s never let himself think of this moment, even the thought a threat, but it doesn’t feel like anything at all. He’s between emotions, a static numbness in his head and limbs. Even the overwhelming stillness in the room doesn’t touch him.
It doesn’t look like Robby knows what to feel either, his face unreadable. Maybe it’s confusion, maybe it’s the shock before anger, or disgust. Robby might hate him and Jack’s sure he’s ruined it like he’s always been afraid he would. He might finally see through all the years and realize that Jack’s been harboring this secret, these feelings that shatter his vision of their friendship.
He’s expecting the rejection and the walls are up, but they’re failing.
Robby’s expression changes, tentatively questioning. “What do you mean?”
The first thing to break through the static is fierce frustration. Robby’s going to make him spell it out, of course he is. Wasn’t that enough? He’s going to force him to cut out even more of himself and present it to the one person he never wanted to see it.
“You know what I mean, Mike,” too aggravated to hide it, “I want...more between us. Not just what we have now, not just friendship.”
Robby pauses, gaze shifting to the middle distance, clearly not focused on him. Jack doesn’t have to guess what’s running through his head: it’s everything Jack’s been scared of.
“You should go,” he can hear his own surrender, “We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s pretend this never happened.”
‘Please.’
But Robby doesn’t move. Jack might actually beg him to go because he can’t stand it anymore.
“When I left, I wanted out.” Robby talks hesitant and slow like it’s his turn to excise part of himself and lay it on the table, “I wanted to feel nothing. I wanted to leave this all behind, I thought I’d be able to. I thought I could leave you too.”
Jack surprises himself when he speaks, “You couldn’t.”
“Christ, Jack, I only made it to the next state before I had to text you,” he shakes his head as if at himself. “I missed you from the start.”
A beat, watching Robby gather himself, the next part is serious.
“And I came back,” Robby answers the question, “because you asked me to. I wanted you to.”
For a moment there’s nothing, just their breathing; Jack wants to look away but he can’t make himself.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Jack says and means it, “and that I said it wrong the first time.”
Jack sees sadness there but not quite the same kind. “You didn’t, I just didn’t listen.”
Jack sees it’s the truth and a piece of guilt detaches itself from his soul.
“Jack,” the name comes out in a hush, “I need you too.”
A rush of blood to the head, “Not like that, not like I– ”
“Yes,” Robby cuts him off, emphasizes the word, “exactly like that.” He sighs, says softly, “Sorry it took me so long.”
Electricity surges through every nerve and Jack’s going to shake into pieces on the floor. Every minute that’s ever been between them rushes up to meet him then falls away, the world stripped down to right here, right now. He’s overwhelmed, dizzy, speechless.
What comes out is, “You want me to want you.”
It takes a second before it hits him. A grin spreads across Robby’s face.
“Is that a song lyric?” he asks.
Jack smiles helplessly, “Maybe it is.”
They laugh and for the first time in years the weight lifts. Against all the hope Jack never let himself feel, it’s not ruined. He didn’t destroy it, he’s getting everything and it’s better.
“What now?” he asks.
Robby’s smile falters, voice shakes, “I’m…not fine. Besides you, this.”
“That’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” Jack puts every ounce of reassurance he’s capable of in the sentiment, because it is okay. “It’s you and me, isn’t it?”
Robby’s looking at him and Jack feels like he’s being seen but it doesn’t make him feel flayed open. Anticipation buzzes like electricity.
Robby picks himself up from the chair, deliberate in the motion, and Jack’s breath catches when he comes around the table, stops to stand in front of him. He reaches out a hand and Jack takes it, lets him pull him up. His arm comes up around Jack’s waist, keeps him balanced as Jack slides his own around his shoulders.
And Robby kisses him. It’s everything Jack could have wanted and didn’t know he could have. Every stupid thing he told himself and everything he never said culminating in getting exactly what he wants. It’s not fixed, there’s still so much they have to deal with, but right now it doesn’t matter. He kisses back and it’s exhilarating and all encompassing, and it’s easy.
-
<<Got badlands playing>>
<<Good choice. My place tonight?>>
<<Sure>>
<<Don’t take the bike>>
<<Ill get you on it someday>>
<<Not in a million years>>