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Inspiration from the songs ‘Yes, I’m Changing’- Tame Impala and ‘I Love You So’- The Walters.
Jack
Jack is not having a good day.
The fourth of July always freaked him out, the unpredictability of the fireworks, and as evident by how hard he tried to get Hiro to breathe, the unpredictability of stupid people’s actions.
He could vaguely feel a sharp twinge in his back, where a bullet grazed him, but he was also older then most of these interns parents. And anyway, Hiro was much more important than he was. Especially right now.
Jack pulls off his gloves, vaguely telling Gloria’s new hire they should get beers when he starts to feel it.
The adrenaline crash.
The lack of sleep, the anxiety. Everything he was shoving down to deal with Hiro. Jack notices Robby out of the corner of his eye but that just makes his chest ache more. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without Robby for three months.
Jack makes a round, making sure to say hi to everyone, before slinking off to an empty room.
Logically, he knows what he needs. Fluids, a bandage, and some sleep. But realistically, he wants to check on Hiro, and chat with Robby, and get back out in the field. And tear his fucking skin off because he feels like he’s going to suffocate.
Jack pulls the curtain, and starts taking his vest off. He turns the back towards him, and curses internally. He’s bled a lot more than he thought he did, it’s almost soaked through.
Finally, Jack sits down, paper crinkling under him.
His stomach twists at the thought of the wound on his back.
What if there is a bullet in him?
Jack closes his eyes, trying to breathe the way his therapist taught him.
He should get some help, someone to look at his back. Robby would do it, Jack knows he would. But Robby was stressed enough, at least that’s what Jack could assess.
And it’s just a scratch.
A graze.
Nothing to go making a police report, or a chart about.
Jack runs his hands over his face and lets out a soft breath. He can deal with this. It’s a simple bullet wound, nothing he hasn’t dealt with a million times. It would obviously be harder, given he is his patient, but he’s not getting anyone involved.
It’s embarrassing.
He takes another deep breath, grounding himself, before getting up to gather supplies. He’s in a trauma room, so he doesn’t have much to work with. But there’s enough. There’s always enough.
He would rather die than order an x-ray, so he can’t see if there’s a bullet actually in him, but he can clean the wound to make it easier for the unlucky soul who gets stuck with him.
Tears sting his eyes as he pulls on gloves.
He’s being such an inconvenience.
Hiro almost died.
Sure, Jack helped save him, but now he’s cowering in this stupid room, licking his wounds, instead of checking in on Hiro up in Ortho.
He sets himself up a tray, convincing himself that he’s allowed to clean a fucking bullet wound, but thinking it, and whispering it to himself, doesn’t make him feel any better.
He pulls his gloves off and throws them in the trash before carefully taking off his shirt.
“Fuck,” he hisses, as the fabric brushes against tender skin. He folds the shirt, placing it on top of his vest as he tries to remember exactly how long ago he was shot.
He knows it’s the fourth of July, maybe thirteen o’clock but it could still be noon.
Jack sits on the edge of the bed, paper crinkling loudly. The tray sits waiting for him to start working on himself.
He feels cold. And anxious. So anxious.
Jack looks over his shoulder, the wall staring back at him. He’s grateful that he pulled the curtain because he bets he looks horrible.
Jack turns his head back forward, his vision sliding in and out of focus. He brings his arms up and starts rubbing his palms against his forearms.
He’s cold. The hospital must have turned on the air conditioning.
Something glimmers in the corner of Jack’s eye and he turns his head, making eye contact with the tray he set up.
He did set that up. Right?
No one else is in the room. Jack looks over both his shoulders to make sure, the movement helping warm him up.
Why would he set up a tray? There’s no patients in the room. Oh. He hurt his back.
Jack snorts. How could he forget he got shot?
He unwraps an alcohol wipe, the scent making his head hurt.
Jack sits there, holding the wipe in his hands.
He closes his eyes, steading his breathing. He isn’t incompetent, he knows his own body, he can feel his body, where it hurts, what he needs to do to stop the hurt.
He isn’t lying in a desert bleeding out.
He’s in a hospital surrounded by people who can help him.
Jack jumps as the wipe falls from his hands. He looks down as it hits the floor, too small to make a sound. His eyes find his hand lying still, now empty. He shivers, the movement making his back ache.
He feels very, very tired. He should have slept, taken the day. Now, he’s sitting on a table, in a trauma room, half naked, staring at the floor like an idiot.
Jack folds his hands in his lap, defeating the purpose of the wipe’s sanitation, and straightens his posture, the movement sending a dull ache through his right shoulder. He shouldn’t be here, someone more important might need this room.
Jack takes a soft breath, and opens his eyes, just as the door opens.
Robby
Robby is not having a good day.
He hadn’t been able to breathe properly for a long time, his chest always feeling a little too tight, but today. Today it’s just a vice.
He had to admit, it was nice to see Jack come in. Not under the circumstances, of course, but it always made him feel better to see Jack, calmer. He was like the anchor in Robby’s ever growing whirlpool of chaos.
Robby looks up from Mohan’s chart. He’s taking over for her, while she sorts herself out, and realizes he hasn’t seen Jack in a hot minute.
“Dana?” Robby asks, glancing towards the charge nurse station.
“She’s in a sexual assault case, what’s wrong?” Perlah asks. Robby sighs.
“Nothing, just wondering if you’ve seen Abbot,”
Perlah shakes her head.
“He might have gone home, or he’s up with Hiro,” Perlah offers.
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m not worried about him,” Robby says, offering Perlah a gentle smile. She returns the gesture, and Robby uses that as his exit.
He looks back down at Mohan’s clipboard, keeping the corners of his eyes open for his friend. He’s heading to trauma for a mister Orlando Diaz, fainted on the job because of low blood sugar. A story Robby has heard a million times, especially for people who lost their insurance.
Robby knocks on the door. The curtain is pulled, and he learned a long time ago to knock and wait. Robby counts to fifteen in his head, giving Mr. Diaz plenty of time.
Robby exhales, Diaz probably left. Robby couldn’t blame him.
“I’m coming in,” Robby announces, opening the door. He shuts the door behind him, looking at the chart.
“Okay, so Dr. Mohan noted you’re having trouble with insurance-” Robby pauses. Unless he finally went insane, Mr. Diaz is not sitting on this bed. Jack Abbot is.
“You’re not Orlando Diaz,” Robby says, taking in the scene. Jack’s eyes widen.
His hands are folded neatly in his lap, and every muscle in his, very bare, shoulders, tense as his eyes focus on Robby.
Robby scans the room. There’s a tray in front of Jack, simple antiseptic materials on it, and clothes behind him. Robby assumes it’s his shirt, considering that Jack is shirtless.
“You’re not Orlando Diaz,” Robby repeats, slower, softer, watching Jack’s reaction very closely. Jack’s eyes brighten, like it just clicked that Robby was kidding.
“No, I’m Jack,” Jack murmurs, his shoulders dropping slightly. Robby nods.
“Mhm. You wanna tell me why you’re in here?” Robby asks, trying to gather any more information other than Jack is in some sort of shock.
“Um, I hurt my back, and I came to fix it,” Jack says, looking over his shoulder.
“Dd you tweak it?” Robby asks, walking around the bed, where Jack’s gaze falls.
“No, I got shot,” Jack deadpans. Robby pauses.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
Jack shakes his head and inhales.
“It’s just a graze,” Jack tries to reason. Robby scoffs.
“Sure it is, brother,” Robby pulls on a pair of gloves and gently touches the back of Jack’s shoulders. Robby turns Jack’s upper back towards him, there’s definitely a wound.
“It’s cold in here,” Jack murmurs. Robby clicks his tongue.
“That’s just shock,”
“No it’s not,” Jack says, turning his head.
“Stay still,” Robby huffs, resisting the urge to contaminate his gloves by shoving Jack’s head.
“I’m not in shock,” Jack says, quietly. Robby sighs and pulls off his gloves. He walks in front of Jack and cups his chin. Jack is pale, and his eyes are almost wet, like he’s about to cry. Jack never cries.
“I thought it was just a graze,” Jack whispers.
“It is,” Robby murmurs, “But you still need help, there’s nothing wrong with that,”
“I don’t want a show, or a chart,” Jack adds under his breath.
“Too bad, next time duck lower,” that earns a soft laugh out of Jack.
“I-I made a tray,” Jack says, gesturing to the supplies. Robby nods, wincing as he gets up. He really needs to accept his age and stop kneeling so often.
“That’s good,” Robby reassures Jack, grabbing Mohan’s clipboard. He’s seen Jack like this, in shock. He saw it when his wife died, when he went through one too many traumas, but it still freaks him out every time.
It’s like Jack shuts down, his brain acting on only simple intentions rather than meaningful actions, like it’s trying to keep him calm.
“I am going to go make you a chart and get some stuff, okay?” Robby says, laying his pen at the top of the clipboard.
“Stay here, do not drink anything,”
Jack looks at him.
“But I’m thirsty,”
Robby nods, sympathetically.
“You’re in shock, brother,”
“Oh,”
Robby can’t help but smile at Jack’s simple acknowledgement. Robby exhales and walks towards the door, dimming the light for Jack on his way out.
“Don’t leave, don’t lay back, and don’t throw up any questions?” Robby asks. Jack shakes his head. Robby is almost fully out the door when he hears Jack softly say,
“I’m sorry,”
Robby doesn’t look back.
“Whittaker,” he calls out, stepping into the chaos of the Pitt. Whittaker looks up at him, his eyes widening in that familiar, doe-eyed stare.
“Can you help me check on the rest of Dr. Mohan’s patients? She’s taking a minute, and Abbot decided he was going to go into shock,” Robby says, exhaling and giving the clipboard to Whittaker.
“Uh sure, is he okay? Is Dr. Mohan okay?” Whittaker asks, Robby can practically see the hamster in his head shaking with anxiety. Robby manages to give Whittaker a smile.
“Everyone is okay, Mohan should be back soon, if she’s not, I’ll take care of it,” Robby says gently, coaxing a smile out of his junior colleague.
“I always take care of it,” Robby adds, turning away from Whittaker. He grabs a tablet for Jack. Abbot seemed to have brought more than another problem for Robby, his presence fixed the computer system, which Robby liked to believe is a sign from some God.
Robby takes a deep breath. He’s being an asshole.
It’s not Jack’s fault that someone shot him. It’s not his fault that Robby is an emotionally constipated dick.
He takes another deep breath, a method Jack helped him perfect, before opening the trauma door.
Jack’s eyes meet his fast, before they soften with recognition.
“You were quick,” Jack murmurs.
Robby turns the lights back on, and sets the tablet down.
“For you, I’m always speedy,”
Jack snorts, and turns slightly, letting Robby have a clear view of his back. Robby pulls on a pair of gloves.
“How’s your temperature? Still feel cold?” he asks. Jack shrugs.
“No. I’m less confused too,” Jack says. Robby nods.
“Good, any pain?” Jack shakes his head. Robby hums, and starts cleaning Jack’s wound. He works in silence, which is good, he doesn’t exactly want Jack moving.
“I’m sorry,” Jack repeats. Robby pauses, just for a second, enough to let them both inhale in silence before Jack continues.
“I know you’re stressed enough, and I didn’t mean to add onto your pile,”
Robby just nods.
“You’re not a problem to me, Jack,” he says, gently. Robby unwraps a bandage, the crinkling echoing through the silent room.
“Are you excited for your trip?” Jack asks.
“I guess,” Robby says, shrugging. Jack doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t know how. Robby gets up, pulling his gloves off.
“Okay, you know the drill, change the bandage every so often, keep it clean, and dry,” Robby says, suddenly desperate to get out of Jack’s company.
“Will I see you before you leave?” Jack asks, deflecting Robby’s instructions completely. Robby swallows, and nods.
“Yeah, yes. You’ll see me before I leave,” Robby promises. Jack doesn’t smile.
“I better.”
Robby stares at Jack, before taking that as his out and leaving Jack with a small smile.
More time has passed when he returns to the land of the living, both Dana and Mohan are back up and running.
“How’s he?” Dana asks, peaking at Robby over her glasses. Robby sighs, setting the tablet down and running a hand over his face.
“Stubborn. It’s just a scratch, but he was in shock when I first checked in on him,” Robby says, exasperatedly. Dana snorts.
“Sounds a lot like you,” she teases. Robby presses his lips into a tight line, because he knows damn well that Dana is right. He would have been just as bad as Jack, if not worse.
“He’s going home to sleep before his shift, if he even comes in tonight,” Robby says, deflecting Dana.
“I’ll keep in touch with him, text him later tonight, unless you do,”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Robby asks, turning towards Dana.
Dana shrugs.
“Just in case,” she says.
Jack
He was able to slink out the Pitt on strict bed rest instructions.
He’s considering calling out. He isn’t feeling too great, and pushing his physical limits doesn’t sound very enjoyable today. Jack unlocks his front door quietly. He just needs to shower, get a few hours of sleep, and he’ll be fine.
Jack takes his leg off and grabs his crutches so he can move more comfortably. He goes through the motions, doing simple things, like changing into a soft sweatshirt, and starting some laundry. Enjoying the simple comfort of routine.
He considers making something he can eat, but he doesn’t want to risk throwing it up, so he just goes to his bedroom. He’s still cold, and he refuses to sleep without his fan so he digs through his drawers, looking for something light to put over his sweatshirt.
He lands on an old med school zip up, but it’s not his. It’s too big for him, the torso is too long. It must have been Robby’s.
Jack doesn’t care, it’s warm and it fits him well enough, that's all he needs.
Jack shuts his bedroom door and turns his fan on, before sitting his crutches neatly by his bed.
He could sleep for a week.
He puts his phone on his bedside table. He can sleep for a good two or three hours before showering and going back to the Pitt.
Jack turns onto his left side, avoiding his wound.
He’s out in a heartbeat.
It’s bright when he blinks awake. Blinding light pours onto him. And it’s hot. Dry hot, not sticky summer hot.
Jack sits up, looking around. Sandy dust clouds his vision, making him wince and tear up slightly. He holds a hand up, shading his face from the blinding light of the sun.
Jack coughs as the wind kicks more dust into his face. He feels like he should get up, find some shade, or some cover. Jack watches as more dust flies around him, the dark particles dancing against the blinding white background of the sky .
He can’t hear it, he figures he should be able to hear the wind but it’s silent.
Jack opens his mouth, to call out, to fill the silence but he can’t make a sound. Dust clings to the sweat building on his arms and forehead as Jack pushes himself up onto his knees.
He looks down, watching as he digs his hands into the soft sand of wherever he is.
He hears his name.
Someone calls his name yet their voice fades with the dust in the wind.
Jack tries to push himself up, but sharp, wet, pain in his leg stops him. Jack looks down, because maybe he’s caught in something. But he’s not.
There’s nothing there that he can get caught in. His lower leg is gone.
He digs his hands harder into the ground. He needs to get up, he needs to go. It’s so hot here.
He feels a pressure around his ribs, as someone wraps their arms around his torso and pulls him backwards. He tries to fight them, tries to scream for help, but he can’t.
He’s so dizzy.
He’s going to die out here.
Jack feels like his brain was replaced with mush. He opens his eyes, and is relieved to see that he’s safe in his cool, dark, bedroom. Jack lifts the covers, his leg is still gone.
Dammit.
He sits up, blinking slowly as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He opens his mouth and yawns softly, letting his body slowly adjust to waking up.
Multiple rapid bangs startle him.
His first thought is guns, that he’s still in the desert, and going to die.
His second thought is the front door.
Someone is at his front door.
Jack scrambles up, grabbing his crutches, and hobbling to the living room.
“I’m coming,” he calls, his voice low, and scratchy as the knocking continues. Jack fumbles a bit with the locks, but he manages to open the door, to a very upset Michael Robinavitch.
“Mike?” Jack rasps. He clears his throat as Robby lets himself in.
“Were you planning on coming into work today? Or returning people's calls?” Robby asks, his voice sharp with anxiety.
“I just took a nap,” Jack mutters, shutting and locking the door.
“It’s almost 10pm, Jack,” Robby groans, rubbing his temples.
“No it’s not,” Jack argues, hobbling past him. He needs to sit down. Robby follows him, without hesitation.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? I called you probably 20 times,” Jack just stares at Robby blankly.
“I just took a nap,” Jack murmurs. Robby groans and kneels in front of Jack, placing his palm against Jack’s forehead. Jack shivers at the temperature difference.
“Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” Robby asks, his voice soft. Jack nods.
“I was cold,” Robby sighs.
“I figured, you’ve got a fever,”
Jack exhales, leaning forward, and letting Robby pull him into a hug.
“I’m so tired,” Jack admits, his voice muffled by Robby’s scrubs. He feels Robby nod again as Robby’s hand rubs Jack’s back.
“You seriously slept for, what, seven hours?” Robby asks. Jack shrugs. Jack doesn’t know, he doesn’t really care.
“That’s gotta be a record,” Robby hums. They sit, Robby gently rubbing his hand up and down Jack’s back.
“You should go back to bed,” Robby murmurs, after a moment. His voice makes Jack jump slightly.
“I have to work, Mike,” Jack mumbles. Robby shakes his head.
“No, you have to rest. Come on, you’ve got one good leg, help me out here,”
Robby helps Jack hobble back to bed. Jack doesn’t fight him, not that he could if he wanted. His brain still feels like it melted, Robby happens to have that effect on people. Or so he’s been told.
Jack sits on the bed and watches Robby change out of his scrubs.
“Can I have my sweatshirt?” Robby asks. Jack shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself, and wincing at the twinge in his back.
“No. It’s cozy,”
Robby rolls his eyes.
“I don’t think any of your clothes will fit me,” Robby says. Jack shrugs.
“Then be naked,”
Robby throws his shirt at him. Jack smiles and lays back. Robby will find something, and if he doesn’t, he is more than welcome to go home.
As expected, Robby finds something. Jack knew he would. He’s sure he has some bin that’s dedicated to all the clothes Robby has left over the years.
Jack looks up as Robby kneels in front of him, again.
“I called you out,” Robby says, gently. Jack nods once, squirming under Robby’s gaze.
“You could get out of here, I should be fine,” Jack says. Robby winces as he gets up, and sits next to Jack, the bed dipping slightly.
“Well, I’m not risking it. And I like hanging out with you,” Robby says. Jack lays his head against Robby’s shoulder.
“The feeling is mutual,”
They sit in silence, staring at the dark wall.
“Let me get you some tylenol, then you can get back to sleep,” Robby says, getting up. Jack hates how much he misses the weight of Robby beside him, but he doesn’t miss it enough to call out after him.
Jack stays still, listening as Robby moves around his apartment with ease. He thinks of that saying, ‘not my house, but I know where the coffee cups are’. It makes him laugh because Jack drinks coffee out of a stainless steel mug.
And Robby knows where his mug is.
Robby
Robby wasn’t expecting Jack to just fall asleep.
Usually he would have to fight his friend tooth and nail to even consider a nap. But now, Robby sits on the edge of Jack’s bed, watching his chest fall and rise with every breath he takes.
It has been a long day. Robby tenses as he hears the echo of a firework, but he isn’t stupid. He made sure to give Jack earbuds. He would never risk triggering Jack, especially with everything else that’s happened today. That’s part of why he’s still awake, so he’ll know if Jack wakes up. If Jack needs him.
He’s also awake because his mind won’t shut up. His chest feels loose, in a way it hasn’t been in months. He can thank Jack’s clothes, laying next to Jack, and knowing that Jack is safe for the lapse in pressure.
He doesn’t feel like sleeping in Jack’s bed, it feels too intimate, even if they’ve laid together before. So Robby goes to Jack’s couch.
His head and neck aches with fatigue, it’s been that way for so long he barely notices, but in the quiet safety of Jack’s apartment, there’s not much to distract him. Robby sits on the couch, Jack’s couch, and lays his head in his hands.
He smells like Jack. The realization makes his head throb harder. He feels so safe here. Like he can breathe. And it is absolutely terrifying.
He takes a deep breath, refusing to get lost in his own anxiety. The point is, he can breathe. Jack can breathe. Jack is safe. Robby is safe. Everyone is fucking safe. So why can’t he accept it? What is he missing? What does he need to figure out?
Robby stands up, ignoring the slight dizziness, and goes back to the doorway to Jack’s room.
He peeks in, and Jack is still fast asleep. His breathing soft and rhythmic.
Robby watches him from the doorway, not daring to go closer.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Robby whispers, praying Jack still has his earbuds in.
“I don’t know why I feel like this,”
Jack doesn’t move, his breathing stays steady. Robby’s does not.
“I don’t know who I am, who I’m supposed to be. When you wouldn’t answer today-” Robby pauses, inhaling sharply.
“I don’t know who to be without you. What I would do without you. It’s so dumb. I’m a grown man, I should have myself figured out. I should know who I am.” Robby stills, his breath hitching slightly.
What is he doing? What is the goal? Trauma dump on Jack, who is still sick, mind you, and then what? Jack wakes up and they have a heart to heart that ends in sex and marriage and a happily ever after?
He has to be realistic. Robby inhales as steadily as he can, tears starting to slip down his cheeks.
“I need you.” he admits, the words nothing more than a whisper.
“I need you to pull me back from the edge, I need you to answer and let me take care of you when you can’t do it yourself because I don’t trust anyone else. I need you to love me as much as I love you,” Robby’s voice breaks on the last word, and he turns away, closing Jack’s door gently. Before Jack wakes up and hears him.
He’s a fool. A very tired, overwhelmed, fool. Another firework in the distance makes him flinch. Robby walks back into the living room, and fully lays on the couch.
He’s exhausted. He has to be, otherwise he’ll really beat himself up for crying.
He feels better.
It felt good to say that out loud, even if Jack wasn’t listening. His headache is duller, not daring to throb after his emotional outburst.
Robby should go.
He shouldn’t have said that, even if Jack is fast asleep, he shouldn’t have said it. Because saying it makes it real, and Robby isn’t ready. He isn’t ready to risk losing his closest friend.
Robby doesn’t remember falling asleep. But when he wakes up, he isn’t alone. He’s still in Jack’s house, he knows Jack’s house anywhere, even in the dark. Robby sits up, he must have laid down, but there's someone sitting on the floor by his head.
“Jack?” Robby asks, rubbing his eyes. The person turns their head, and Robby exhales as his eyes adjust to the dark.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Jack murmurs.
“You could have stayed in bed,” Jack says. Robby nods. Jack is wrapped in the comforter from his bed, and sitting on the floor, his crutches on the floor next to him.
“Did the fireworks wake you up?” Robby asks, searching for his phone.
“No, I woke up naturally, it’s almost 3.” Jack hums. Robby rubs his forehead, sitting up fully.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks. Jack nods. Robby yawns.
“I can get you some tylenol, if you’re up for it. Have you eaten anything?” Robby asks. Jack shakes his head. Robby sighs.
“That’s fine, I’ll make you something, and then try to get some more sleep.”
“How long are you staying?” Jack asks, looking up at Robby. Robby wishes it was morning, or he had a lamp on. He wants to see Jack’s eyes.
“Until you’re better,” Robby answers, softly. Robby gets up and stretches. Jack stays on the floor.
“I’m turning on a lamp,” Robby announces. Jack hisses in protest as warm light floods the room.
“I warned you,” Robby shrugs. Jack doesn’t move.
Jack just sits there. He’s bundled in his blanket, Robby’s sweatshirt, and his own sweatshirt.
“I had the best nap ever,” Jack says, stretching back against the couch. Robby smiles and walks into the kitchen. Jack has a pretty open apartment, so they can still see each other.
“Any dreams?” Robby inquires.
“I had one about the desert, but that was before you came,” Jack murmurs. Robby nods, shuffling through Jack’s cupboard.
“I was pretty out of it,” Jack hums. Robby leans against Jack’s counter, rubbing his hands down his face, trying to wake up.
“I can make myself something, you go lay down,” Jack huffs, shifting to get up. Robby sighs and walks back near the couch.
“You will trip and suffocate yourself in that blanket,” Robby groans.
“Then help me, Michael," Jack pouts. Robby helps Jack out of his cocoon, and folds the blanket on the couch.
“So needy,” Robby mutters, under his breath. He feels Jack swat his calf.
“I’m not wearing my earbuds anymore, you dick,” Jack scoffs. Robby laughs, helping Jack to his feet, and making sure he won’t wobble on his crutches.
“I needed that nap,” Robby groans, filling the silence as Jack centers himself.
“Amen, brother,”
They walk into the kitchen, Jack sitting at the table, Robby resuming his spot at the counter.
“So, what will it be? Soup?” Robby asks. Jack waits for another option and sighs when he realizes Robby isn’t giving him another. Robby smiles.
“Soup it is,” Robby hums, grabbing a pot.
“You’re a dick, Michale Robinavitch,” Jack states. Robby snorts.
“The biggest one you’re gonna get. Do you have tomato soup?” Robby asks, grabbing a can of chicken noodle soup. Jack scrunches his nose.
“Mike, tomato soup is gross. I don’t want a bowl of warm ketchup,” Jack says.
“Well excuse me,” Robby says, opening the can of chicken noodle soup. “Some of us like warm ketchup,”
Jack just shakes his head. Robby pours the can in, and lets the pot warm on the stove.
“You look tired,” Jack comments. Robby sighs.
“Thank you Jack. You truly are my dearest friend,” Robby grunts.
“You could have slept with me,” Jack says, softly. Robby turns towards the soup.
“You were sick, I didn’t want to invade your privacy,” Robby shrugs, hoping Jack will drop it.
“I don’t mind your company. You’re very warm,” Jack says, so casually it makes Robby blush as he stirs the soup. Robby hears Jack shuffle and get up, he doesn’t look back as he feels Jack wrap his arms around his waist, laying his head in between Robby’s shoulder blades.
“If I’d known that you’d get all flushed, I would have complimented you at work,” Jack murmurs.
“You’re evil. And you’re still warm, not in the good way," Robby says, setting his soup to the side spoon and turning to face Jack. The lamp from the living room brings out the green in Jack’s eyes as he looks up at Robby.
“Thank you. For being here, for taking care of me,” Jack hums. Robby nods, not trusting his voice. Robby’s hands tighten around Jack's torso, making sure he won’t lose balance. Jack’s eyes flick down, then back up to Robby.
“I’m okay, I can balance,” Jack reassures him.
“I know,” Robby says, but his grip doesn’t loosen.
“I know,” Robby repeats, letting Jack fully hug him.
Jack
Jack ate a whole bowl of soup, just for Robby.
It wasn’t a big deal, but he didn’t feel the best afterward. He still felt pretty groggy, and now with a stomach full of soup, all he wanted was to just take a nap. It was almost 4 o’clock so Robby was probably getting tired again too.
Jack had been pretty disappointed to find that Robby slept on the couch. Jack liked when Robby slept with him, because then his sheets would smell like Robby for a while, and that always made Jack feel extra cozy.
Robby is washing dishes, and Jack is watching him at the table, trying not to fall asleep. Jack yawns softly. He doesn’t want to go back to bed, yet. He wants to stay up with Robby, fuck, he just wants to stay up. He’s slept the whole night away.
Jack watches as Robby puts a bowl in the drying rack. His back is turned to Jack, but Jack can feel how tense he is. Even from six feet away.
Jack hobbles up, and Robby turns as he hears Jack’s chair scrape softly against the floor.
“Do you wanna go back to your bed?” Robby asks. Jack shakes his head.
“No, I want to stay up with you,” Jack murmurs. Robby sighs, and crosses his arms. He’s still wearing Jack’s old sweatshirt. It looks nice on him, it was always too long on Jack.
“I was gonna go back to sleep,” Robby hums, his voice low in a way Jack hasn’t heard in years.
“Come to bed with me,” Jack says, a little startled. Robby doesn’t protest, and they stand in the kitchen, Jack struggling to keep eye contact.
“Please?” Jack asks. Robby smiles, and lets out a sigh.
“Yeah, if it makes you feel better,”
“It does,” Jack says, leading the way into his room. His fan is still humming softly, neither of them had bothered to turn it off. They barely make it in the doorway before Robby’s hands move to Jack’s hips.
“Shit,” Jack exhales, gripping his crutches tighter as Robby leans down to kiss his neck. He won’t lose his balance, he refuses to. One of Robby’s hands moves to his lower back, supporting him. Jack feels helpless. He wants to touch Robby, to lift his head, so they can kiss, but he’s stuck to his crutches.
“Help me to bed,” Jack pleads.
“How is your back?” Robby asks, rubbing his thumb against the dip in Jack’s back.
“It’s fine, please Mike,” Jack tries again. Robby helps him sit down, setting his crutches against the wall. Jack sits on the edge of his bed, Robby kneeling in front of him. The only light in the room is from the lamp from the living room, and it barely brightens Robby’s eyes.
Jack cups his cheek, running his thumb against Robby’s skin.
“I think I’m in love with you,” Robby whispers. Jack pauses, his mind still lingering on the kiss. Robby isn’t meeting his eyes anymore, so Jack tips his cheek so their eyes meet.
“I don’t know what to do without you, what I would do if you weren’t around,” Robby says, reaching up to hold Jack’s hand on his face. He’s crying now, and Jack is too stunned to speak, to comfort.
Jack sits there, like an idiot, watching Robby slowly fall apart in his hands.
He pulls Robby up, so they're sitting side by side.
“I don’t want you to go,” Jack says.
“I’m so glad I got sick, that I have an excuse so you’ll stay just a little longer,”
“You should have told me earlier,” Robby mumbles. Jack shakes his head.
“You’re not mine to keep,” Jack says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Robby looks over at Jack, and Jack looks over at him.
“You’re a grown man, if you need to go, go.”
“What if I want to stay?” Robby asks.
“Stay here, or stay alive?” Jack clarifies, watching Robby’s eyes pull away from his.
“I don’t know,” Robby admits, shrugging slightly. They sit, their shoulders touching ever so slightly.
“Well. I think you should figure it out before you go on this trip,” Jack says. Robby smiles, and leans his head back.
“God, I have such a headache,” Robby complains. He looks over at Jack. Jack meets his eyes.
“I think I just need to sleep,”
“You should also chill out,” Jack suggests. Robby chuckles, as he gets up.
“That too. Bathroom?” Jack nods.
“It should be in the second drawer,” Jack says, knowing Robby will find the tylenol. Jack lays back, careful of his back as Robby takes the medication.
“For the record, I think I’m in love with you too,” Jack says, as Robby lays next to him. Robby groans.
“I think you’re full of it,” Robby huffs. Jack shifts, propping himself up on his elbow.
“I’m serious, you’re an amazing person, you have a great personality,” he teases. Robby laughs.
“Don’t patronize me, Abbot,” Robby huffs. Jack smiles, even though Robby probably can’t see it.
“Are you feeling okay?” Robby asks, his voice soft. Jack nods.
“Just tired, and kinda sore,”
“Well, I’ve got all day. I’ve actually got three months,” Robby says, opening his arms, and letting Jack press against his side.
“We’ll talk when I wake up?” Jack asks.
“We’ll talk when you wake up,” Robby confirms, pressing a kiss against Jack’s temple.
“I’m glad you wanna change,” Jack hums.
“Yes, I’m changing,” Robby murmurs. “I’m going to do better, for you, and for the hospital, and for everything that matters to me,”
“Good,” Jack sighs.
“You’re gonna change with me?”
“Yes, Michael. I’m changing too.”
The End.