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As he lays curled up wide awake, the streetlights outside the only thing illuminating his room, there's just one thing running through Robby's mind.
"And if it gets dark, you call me."
Robby hadn't taken the offer seriously when it was made. Had thought even less that he'd end up taking Jack up on it. At the time, he hadn't even known what this trip would look like. Hadn't been able to picture it beyond the freedom of finally riding away.
Turns out, a solo trip across the US can look a lot like drowning. And it's dark as shit at the bottom.
He's not even aware of what he's doing or what's happening anymore. He just feels cold and small and alone. It's Jack's worried voice that gets through the fog in his mind.
"Robby!" Comes through the receiver, and it doesn't sound like it's the first time. "Hey, brother, talk to me. What's going on?"
Robby inhales sharply, slamming back into his body.
You called Jack, his mind supplies, it got dark and you called Jack.
He tries to reply, to say something— anything— to ease his friend's concern. But the words get stuck in his throat, an ugly choked off sob the only thing that makes it out.
It doesn't sound foreign once it's past his lips. Has he been crying? He would know if he'd been crying, right?
As he's struggling for breath he realizes he's got no chance of convincing Jack he's holding up okay. He can distantly hear him regulating his own breathing, probably trying to pull himself together now that Robby's given signs of life.
"Where are you?" he asks him after a few moments, poorly trying to conceal his worry. "Are you safe? Are you hurt?"
The absurdity of the questions makes Robby start laughing hysterically. It sounds wet to his own ears, and it's difficult to keep it up, but he can't help it. He feels the little presence of mind he'd regained at hearing Jack's voice slipping through his fingers.
Jack huffs, then. A sound Robby's intimately familiar with. He can picture him, running a hand through his curls and messing them up, pulling at the strands on his scalp as he tries to keep his composure.
"Okay," he says absentmindedly, almost like he's talking to himself, "sure, we can get to those questions later. Let's go with something simpler, alright? Can you take a deep breath for me?"
Robby wants to laugh again at the request, but he finds he doesn't have the air for it. He tries to take a breath. It's kind of shaky, it doesn't settle in his lungs as it's supposed to and all too soon it's out again.
"Yeah, that was good," comes Jack's steady voice before Robby can spiral. "Try again."
Robby does.
They keep at it for a while. Until Robby can register the ache in his chest and the tear tracks on his cheeks. At some point, the embarrassment of this whole thing starts getting to him. How ridiculous, that all the hard work of his regular pictures and carefully worded texts comes undone by a call he doesn't even remember making.
Jack doesn't call him on it. Not on the too-cheerful texts or the trembling breaths or the way in which he's evidently not doing as good as he'd been pretending. He just talks to him. Asks him his questions— where he is, if he's hurt— and keeps right on talking after Robby answers.
Eventually, the exhaustion gets the better of him, and he drifts off to Jack's calm voice in his ear.
***
The insistent knocking on his door startles him awake.
He groans, the noise worsening his headache. And when willing whoever it is to leave him alone doesn't work, he gives up on the idea of getting any more sleep.
He spares a wayward thought to his appearance as gets up to answer the door. Given he's spending the night by himself in a motel in the middle of nowhere, he figures whoever's on the other side shouldn't have high expectations.
He makes his way across the room without any rush. He's almost positive he's not supposed to be out yet, so whoever is so intent in talking to him can wait the extra seconds.
He opens the door expecting a janitor or one of the other people paying for a room in this place.
"What are you doing here?" he asks disbelieving, powerless to the roughness in his voice.
Jack looks at him over the rim of his sunglasses like that's the dumbest question he's ever heard.
"What did you think was going to happen?" he asks.
"You came?" Robby reiterates, scandalized.
"You called." Jack answers, like that's all there is to it. Like that's in any way reasonable.
They stare at each other for a few moments. Jack clearly giving Robby time to try and process what's happening.
Eventually, he grows tired of the staredown, pushing past Robby and into his room. He throws his duffle bag on top of the bed without a care in the world. Like this isn't one of the weirdest things that's happened to Robby recently. And that's saying something.
He gives the room a cursory glance as he takes off his sunglasses, trying not to make a big deal out of the way he's taking stock of Robby's things.
Robby feels something like embarrassment settle in him anyways. Not only for the chaotic way in which he's got his things thrown around the room, but also because he's suddenly all too aware of what he looks like. He's wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes and his hair— which is definitely in need of a trim— can't be fairing much better. Never mind the mess that must be his face given all the late night crying.
Jack snaps him out of it by throwing him a water bottle. "Drink that."
For lack of something better to do— and not really wanting to keep thinking about any of this— Robby does as he's told.
He ends up taking sips of water as he watches Jack move around the place. Looking on in silence as he places a pile of clothes on top of the dresser and then delves deeper into the room to check out the bathroom. Robby's sure it won't be up to his standard— whatever that is— but then again, he has no idea what Jack's even doing here.
He puts down the bottle just as Jack comes back in the room, speaking up when he looks about ready to start picking through Robby's mess.
"What are you doing here, Jack?"
And there must be something in his tone he's not really aware of, because Jack freezes where he's standing.
"You needed help," he says, uncertain.
It sounds like he's not sure those are the right words to communicate what he means. Usually, Robby wouldn't mind waiting him out as he figures it out. But he's tired, and his fuse is short.
"That's not exactly news," he pushes back, annoyed. "In fact, I seem to remember those being some of the last words you said to me before I left."
Jack nods at that, as if conceding the point, before turning around and going to sit on the bed.
"It didn't sound like distance was achieving what you'd hoped it would," he says, looking straight at him.
Robby knows he's right. It's still not something he wants to hear. He can't help but look away, avoiding eye contact and the sincerity it always entails between them.
"It wasn't a nice call to get," Jack continues, and Robby grimaces as he feels the words like a physical blow. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you called— relieved as hell to be honest— but you scared the shit out of me."
He looks back at him at that, needing to see Jack's expression as he says it. He finds he never stopped staring, nothing but honesty and vulnerability in his eyes. It drains the fight out of him.
Defeated, Robby goes to sit on the bed besides him, their legs pressing together. He's left staring down at his hands, at a loss for what to do next.
"So... what now?" he rasps, blaming the roughness in his voice on the night he's had.
"Well," Jack starts, judgement clear in his tone. "First, I'm thinking you need a shower."
It surprises a laugh out of Robby. Releasing a tension he hadn't even realized he'd been accumulating.
"Nothing against you or your crisis, brother," Jack keeps going, knocking their shoulders together and then maintaining the point of contact, "but you look like shit."
Robby just continues to laugh, relieved that they still have this, even now.
Jack waits him out, nothing but seriousness in his voice when he speaks again.
"After that, I'm sticking around until you're ready to admit to yourself this isn't working." He says, looking into Robby's eyes, making sure he gets it. "Then we" he emphasizes, "are taking a flight back to Pittsburgh."
The unspoken part is loud, and it makes Robby look away again. Jack's not going anywhere without him. But the motorcycle is not welcomed back with them.
"That being said," he carries on, "you have five days to reach that conclusion before I ran out of people to cover my shifts. At that point you either come up with an excuse to give Gloria or I drag you on board a plane myself."
Robby's laugh starts up again. "Oh, are those my options?"
Jack smiles fondly as he looks at him and shrugs. "Well, I figure the threat of Gloria and her bureaucratic bullshit during your sabbatical will be enough."
It's scary how not wrong he is. But Robby doesn't think he'll need much convincing, he hasn't felt this at ease in weeks.
He rests his head on Jack's shoulder and they sit in silence for a moment before Robby gathers up the courage to say the words that have been running in circles in his head since he opened the door.
"Thank you for coming."
Jack wraps an arm around him and turns to kiss his head as he gives him a squeeze. "Always."
Robby closes his eyes, relishing in the physical contact.
"But seriously, please go take a shower."