Work Text:
Robby knows Jack is going to ask him something he thinks might lead to an argument about two days before Jack actually asks.
Their interactions are riddled with red flags: Jack suggests they order pizza instead of insisting on making some sort of superfood salad with ingredients Robby’s never heard of, he does the dishes even though it’s Robby’s turn, and throughout it all he keeps giving Robby these odd, concerned looks when he thinks Robby isn’t paying attention.
Robby’s stress level rises with every thoughtful gesture. Jack lets him pick the movie and he thinks, maybe he wants to force another camping trip on me. Jack drives across town to get Robby croissant from a bakery they both like and never go to because it’s so far away, and he thinks, Christ, what if he’s cheating.
It’s an intrusive thought, because obviously, Jack would never cheat. He’s got a weird code of honour, possibly installed in him by the military, which includes things like opening the door for women and Robby, and opening the car door for women and Robby, and walking on the street-side when walking with women or Robby.
Jack wouldn’t cheat, but Robby also knows that a ring isn’t a guarantee on feelings. Not forever.
When Jack finally tells Robby not to worry about doing the laundry because he’ll just do it, even though Robby’s hoodie is covered in blood, Robby’s patience snaps.
“Just say what you’re going to say, man. Stop doing this weird penance tour before you’ve even told me what the problem is.”
To his credit, Jack doesn’t deny that that’s what he’s been doing. He drops the stained hoodie back in the hamper and leaves the bathroom to join Robby on the couch, where he’s spent the past half hour ineffectively doing a crossword while trying not to freak out.
“Got a text the other day,” Jack says, sounding like he’s trying hard to stay casual. “From an old buddy of mine.”
“Army?”
“Uh-huh.” The silence stretches. “He’s going to be in town for a few days next week. I told him a while ago that he’s welcome to stay with me any time, but that was before-“
When Jack doesn’t say anything else, Robby finishes, “Before you started having a lot of gay sex?”
“I was going to say, before I got married again,” Jack says.
Robby considers this – both what Jack is saying, and what he isn’t. He’s never given it much thought, but he suddenly realises that he’s never met anyone from Jack’s past before, with the exception of his family. One time, shortly after he’d started working at the PTMC, Jack had taken time off to go to a veteran reunion somewhere across the country, but that’d been it. Robby’s not even sure if he’s still in touch with anyone.
Well. He knows now.
Instinctively, he starts to rub his hands over his face, but aborts the gesture halfway through. The downside of knowing all of Jack’s tells is that Jack knows all of his. He adopts a hopefully neutral expression instead.
“When does he arrive?”
“Monday. He asked if he can stay ‘til Thursday.”
Robby nods. Jack’s got Monday and Tuesday night off. That’s lucky. “Okay.”
“That’s it? ‘Okay’?”
“Yes?” Robby says, frowning. “I’m not going to be here anyway, so-“
“Hold up, hold up. Wait. What do you mean, you’re not going to be here? Where are you going to be instead? Is there a work trip I’ve forgotten about?”
“I hope not.” Robby pulls out his phone and opens booking.com. “I’m just going to get a hotel. Hey, what was our passw- oh, Google filled it in automatically. This is why our med students have so much trouble charting. Human brains are rotting as we speak.”
A hand darts out, taking the phone away from him. Jack drops it on the cushion between them. He’s staring like Robby’s grown a second head. “I feel like you’ve skipped a few lines of script, brother. Why are you booking a hotel?”
“You said your friend is coming over,” Robby reminds him.
“To stay in our guest room! Not to sleep in our bed.”
“That’s a relief,” Robby says dryly. When Jack doesn’t laugh, he sighs. “Look – I got it. Message received. I don’t mind crashing somewhere else for a few nights if it spares you telling all your army buddies that you’re dating a dude.”
After a long pause, during which Robby is starting to grow slightly uncomfortable, Jack eventually says, “We’re not dating. We’re married.”
“Yeah, well. Potato, potahto.”
“Robby. Do you really think I would invite someone to our home if I wasn’t comfortable with them knowing who I married? It’s our home, man. You’re not a ratty old couch I’m going to put in the attic so it doesn’t scare away the guests.” Jack squints at him. “Are you blushing right now because I told you you’re more important to me than a piece of furniture?”
“No,” Robby says defensively, turning his head so that Jack won’t see. It doesn’t work: Jack reaches out, grabs his chin and forces him to turn back around before darting in to kiss his cheek. Robby blushes harder.
“You’re ridiculous,” he declares. “Look, I’m going to tell Jenkins it’s inconvenient. It’s been about twenty years since I made that promise, anyway. He can deal.”
“What? No.” Robby sits up straighter. For the first time since they started this conversation, he feels clear-headed. “Don’t tell him that. Tell him he’s welcome to stay with us for as long as he likes.”
“Robby-“
“I’m serious. Hey, I’m sorry I freaked out. I’m over it now. Tell your friend we’re happy to have him.”
Jack studies him with the same level of intense scrutiny he usually reserves for patients. “You sure you’re not just saying that? Because it’s your house, too.”
“I’m sure.”
“And you’re going to stay here, too? You’re not going to sleep at a hotel or an AirBnB or under a bridge somewhere?”
“I’ll be here if you want me to,” Robby says.
Jack’s eyes flash. “I do want you to. Okay? I definitely explicitly want you to.”
Ducking his head, Robby mutters, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Jack repeats, satisfied. “Great. I’ll let him know. Now budge over, I’m going to help you with that crossword.”
“What happened to doing my laundry?” Robby asks.
“If I get all the blood out, are you going to blow me?”
Robby pretends to consider this. “Can I think about it?”
“No,” Jack says. “One-time-offer, baby. After this, I’ll just offer my services to someone else.”
“I’ll trade you a blowjob for laundry and dinner,” Robby says, and Jack laughs.
“And they say marriage loses its passion after a few years. They haven’t heard your dirty talk.”
“Nor are they going to, whoever they are. Unless you’re planning on offering my services to someone else, too.”
“Hot,” Jack comments. “Why are we still talking about laundry? I want to talk more about that.”
Robby gives up on his crossword. He puts his glasses on the coffee table and sees Jack’s eyes darken in response.
By the time they make it to the bedroom, he’s almost forgotten what started this whole thing in the first place.
*
Robby continues conveniently forgetting until Monday evening. Perk of working at an ED: there are almost always more pressing issues than one’s own personal drama. It’s hard for anything to measure up against someone bleeding out on a gurney.
On Monday, the shift is nearing its end when Santos asks, “Any plans tonight, boss? Want to grab a drink with us?”
“Who’s we?” Robby asks distractedly, his eyes fixed on Central 15. “Why’s Whitaker changing a lightbulb?”
“Maintenance guy said it’d be at least an hour until he could come in. Anyway, it’s going to be me, Donnie, Princess, Huckleberry-“ Santos breaks off. They both wince as in the background, Whitaker nearly falls off the stool he’s standing on. “That was close. So, are you in?”
“I can’t. I’ve got a…thing…Christ, that must’ve hurt.”
“You can totally bring Dr. Abbot,” Santos says. “Whitaker wants to pick his brain, anyway.”
“About emergency medicine?”
“About what it’s been like for him, being, like, openly queer in this line of work.”
“You’re openly queer in this line of work,” Robby says before remembering something. “Wait, I’m openly queer.”
“That’s exactly why he wants to talk to Dr. Abbot and not you,” Santos says mercilessly and jumps off the chair. “I’d better go check that he hasn’t concussed himself. See ya!”
It’s only on the train ride home that Robby allows himself to start worrying. Jack’s only mentioned the basics about this guy: they served together, he works as a police officer now, he lives in Montana, and he’s in Pittsburgh for a work thing. They haven’t seen each other in at least fifteen years, though Jack hadn’t been sure on the details.
Spending pretty much his entire life in one place, safe for his residency in Louisiana, has meant that Robby has never had the experience of moving on. Usually, people have moved on from him. The last reunion he went to, more than a decade ago, he remembers being in the minority of people in his graduation class who’d stayed in Pittsburgh. It’d felt shameful somehow, like everyone knew they were supposed to leave and he’s the only one who missed the mark.
Jack, on the other hand, has been all over. His family is from Ohio, he’d gone to New York to study at West Point, and then, of course, he’d done three tours before moving to Pennsylvania. His siblings, too, are scattered across the States.
As far as Robby can tell, Jack never goes to any reunions and doesn’t really keep in touch with anyone who doesn’t live in a 50-mile-radius. He doesn’t reminisce about his army days, doesn’t seek out veteran events.
So it’s odd, that Jack was so ready to invite this Jenkins guy. Not for the first time, Robby wonders what Jack told him, if anything, about their relationship. Is their marriage something Jack mentions to people?
The lights in their kitchen are on by the time he gets to the townhouse. Through the windows, he can see Jack standing at the stove, and the back of another man – broad-shouldered, dark hair – leaning against the counter. Jack is laughing. Right.
For one second, Robby imagines himself getting on his bike and driving far away until his chest feels less tight. But he’d been the one encouraging Jack to invite this guy over, and besides, it wouldn’t be very Jewish of him to be unhospitable now. He’s not a great Jew, anyway, but he doesn’t need more strikes against him.
“I’m home,” he calls out as he closes the front door and takes off his shoes, placing them next to an unfamiliar pair of boots. It smells good. Robby wonders what superfood awaits him tonight.
“We’re in here,” Jack calls back from the kitchen. He smiles when Robby enters. “Food’s almost done. Robby, this is Mike. Mike, Robby.”
“First time I’ve heard you use my first name, Abbot,” Mike says and shakes Robby’s hand. His grip is firm, self-assured. “Good to meet you, man. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Robby’s eyebrows had risen against his own volition when Jack first introduced them (Mike? Seriously?). Now, they rise further. “Have you?”
“Jenkins got here early,” Jack says from where he’s stirring the sauce. He’s wearing an apron, which somehow looks a lot cooler on him than it does on Robby. “Plenty of time to catch up.”
“Well, it’s good to have you,” Robby says. His smile almost feels real. “Make yourself at home. I’m gonna hit the shower before dinner, so don’t feel like you need to wait for me.” When he meets Jack’s gaze, he hopes his eyes convey, definitely don’t wait for me, I’m going to shower extra-long to give you two an excuse to eat without me disturbing you.
Jack frowns. “Of course we’ll wait.” What Robby sees in his eyes is, don’t you fucking dare. Robby deflates.
When he steps out of the shower, Jack and Mike are already in the dining room, which is only ever used for guests. They’ve got beers in front of them and appear to be mid-reminiscing about an anecdote, and Robby freezes in the doorway for just a second, feeling wrong-footed. The urge to get on his bike reappears.
Perhaps it’d be different if Jack brought friends home every week. But he doesn’t, and neither does Robby. This person, who invites someone to stay with them and spent half an hour last night getting the guest room ready, is as unfamiliar to Robby as Mike.
Dinner proceeds to be as awkward as dinners can be when two participants only have the third participant in common. Robby’s small talk skills aren’t great, and it doesn’t help that Mike’s gaze darts between them every time Jack isn’t paying attention, like he’s trying to figure something out.
When Jack’s phone buzzes with a call – “hospital admin, sorry, I’ve gotta take this” –, Mike pushes his empty plate away and leans back in his chair, his grey eyes speculative.
“So,” he says, “you’re married.”
“Yep,” Robby says carefully, wondering if Jack has, perhaps, overestimated his friend’s tolerance.
“Someone mentioned it the other day, but I didn’t believe it. These types of rumours are usually bullshit, and Abbot’s always been a private person.”
Robby takes a swig of his beer. “Well. You can believe it now.”
“I mean, Jesus, DADT wasn’t repealed until after we left the force. If that had happened five, ten years earlier, who knows what would’ve happened? Maybe he wouldn’t have married you. Maybe I wouldn’t have married Amy.”
Robby almost chokes. He’s pretty sure Mike’s just come out to him. Christ. Does Jack know?
“Perhaps not,” he says, trying for a neutral tone. “But he’d still have married his wife.”
“Sure. But after she passed? I never even knew he was into dudes. If I had…”
“Okay,” Robby says loudly. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
Mike isn’t even looking at him anymore. His gaze is distant, and so is his voice when he says, “You must’ve thought about it too, right? How can you be sure you’re the right fit for him?”
“I can’t. None of us can. We all just try our best to be functioning adults in a functioning relationship, and if that doesn’t work, we break up. That’s it.”
It seems like Mike’s finally realised what company he’s in, because his eyes widen and his expression morphs into one of regret. “Hey, man, I’m sorry if I overstepped. It’s just a lot to take in. The divorce was finalised a while ago and I…it’s just a lot.”
“No harm done,” Robby says, and stands just as Jack comes back into the room.
Jack looks at Robby, then at Mike, then back at Robby. “Everything okay in here?”
“Yup,” Robby says. “I’m pretty beat, though. Think I’m just gonna head to bed.”
“You sure?”
“Some of us have work in the morning,” Robby reminds him. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Jack is still frowning, but he pecks Robby on the lips, anyway, one hand gently cupping Robby’s cheek. The moment feels too tender for witnesses, and Robby knows the tips of his ears must be pink. “I’ll try not to wake you up later.”
“Good night,” Mike says politely.
Robby nods at him. “Night.”
*
The next morning, Robby fully expects Jack to still be asleep, since he’s back at work tomorrow and he doesn’t like changing his sleep pattern too much on his days off. Instead, Robby wakes to an empty bed and the smell of eggs and bacon wafting in from the kitchen.
“Mike up already?” Robby asks as he wraps his arms around Jack’s waist from behind and kisses him on the cheek.
Jack transfers the stripes of bacon to a plate before turning to face him. “I don’t think so. We went to bed pretty late last night.”
“So all of this is-“
“For the benefit of my husband, who’s about to work a twelve-hour shift.”
“Lucky me,” Robby says, and means it. “Any plans today?”
“A few.” Jack doesn’t elaborate. The eggs are finished, too; he hands Robby a plate and follows him to the couch in the living room, which is where they normally eat when it’s just the two of them.
They eat breakfast in amiable silence. Prior to Jack, Robby had tried to fill most of his adult life with noise – headphones in when he leaves the house, TV on when he’s at home. Obviously, there’s always noise in the ED. Jack, by contrast, likes the quiet. Robby still thinks there’s something psychotic about not listening to music when riding the subway, but he’s grown to appreciate silence in other areas of life by now.
“We might not be here when you get home tonight,” Jack says later as he watches Robby get ready. “Is that my hoodie?”
“It’s mine, actually. I’m stealing it back. Have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Text me,” Jack orders. “Tell me how your day is going.”
“I may not get the chance,” Robby says, which is true. He looks around the room. Where on earth has he left his keys?
“Text me after your shift, then. Or, you know, send a sexy selfie.”
“Coming from me, that’s an oxymoron. Aha!” Robby rescues the keys from where they’d fallen in the crack of the couch. “What?”
“How long until you have to leave?” Jack demands. There’s a strange look in his eyes.
Robby checks his phone. “Five minutes.”
“Good. That should be enough time.”
“For?”
“This,” Jack says, steps into his space, and kisses him.
It’s not the type of early morning, pre-shift kiss they normally exchange. Jack’s kissing him like he has something to prove, one hand on Robby’s hip, the other squeezing his ass. He’s grinding into him in a way that would feel purposeful, if Robby had any brain capacity left to think about it.
“Jack,” he gasps, trying to pull back, “we’ve got- wait- we’ve got a guest-“
“Who’s asleep,” Jack says with more confidence than necessary, considering neither of them know if this is true. “How much time now?”
“I don’t know – maybe two minutes?”
“Damn. I’ll blow you tonight, then. I’ll wake you up for it if I have to.”
Robby lets out a laugh, even though he really should be worried about the tent in his trousers. Their next-door neighbour already thinks they’re sexual deviants because of Jack’s yoga obsession. “Do I want to know what’s brought this on?”
“Robby,” Jack says, his voice oddly serious, “you’re fucking hot, brother. So hot I can barely think straight, sometimes. Any selfie by you is going to be a sexy selfie.”
Robby tries to look away, but Jack doesn’t let him, ghosting kisses over his cheeks, his temple, his mouth. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I know what I look like.”
“Fuck this,” Jack says, “I’m blowing you now. Get on the couch.”
“I’ve got work,” Robby protests, while Jack manhandles him to sit back on the cushions.
Jack doesn’t pause in his efforts to unzip Robby’s pants. “You always come in twenty minutes early. Be on time today.”
There are about a dozen reasons why doing this right now, at this time, in this place, is a terrible idea. Robby can’t think of a single one as Jack takes his cock in his mouth.
*
The high of getting a really, really good blowjob first thing in the morning lasts until about two hours into the shift, which is when three car crash victims are brought in, two of them 16, one of them 7. None of them make it.
Robby doesn’t get his first break until the afternoon. He takes a leak, allows himself thirty seconds of closing his eyes and trying to cope with the horrors of the world, and is on his way to eat something when he sees that the breakroom is occupied.
Robby isn’t insecure – department chiefs don’t get to be, really –, but Jack would probably say that he’s shy. Has, in fact, said so in the past, though luckily he’d said it when there weren’t any people around to overhear it.
Robby likes most of the people he works with. He’s just always a little surprised whenever anyone shows any sign that they like him. It’s been like that all his life, though it’s gotten worse since he became chief attending. He never forgets that he’s their boss. Hard to feel genuine affection for someone with that much power over you.
“Adamson was your boss,” Jack had said, the one time Robby had ever brought it up. “You never seemed to have a problem liking him.”
“That was different,” Robby had said, and had changed the subject instead of saying something like, Adamson wasn’t fundamentally unlovable, which he knows would just lead to an argument.
All of this is why he walks past the breakroom, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, and would’ve kept going if Mel hadn’t said, “Dr. Robby! Did you want to have lunch with us?”
Wincing, Robby turns around to find Mel and Whitaker looking at him expectantly.
Well. He supposes Jack did make him a sandwich.
“Did Dr. Abbot put that in there?” Mel asks when he carefully peels off the Post-it note from the wrapping. The note is a drawing of a one-legged stick figure blowing a kiss. “That’s cute.”
“Dr. Abbot likes to embarrass me,” Robby says, although he can’t bring himself to throw the note away. He puts it in his pocket instead and avoids Whitaker’s gaze.
“Can I ask you something?” Whitaker says.
Robby tries not to let his alarm show. “Look, kid, I don’t really do the whole Gay Pride rainbow song-and-dance, so-“
At that, Whitaker looks even more alarmed than Robby feels. “What? No, I didn’t mean that. I mean, just the fact that you call it that is- I mean, I’m good, thanks.”
“But you’re a great teacher to all of us,” Mel says encouragingly. “We all admire you so much. You’re an amazing doctor, and an amazing mentor-“
“Okay,” Robby interrupts, “stop. Rewind. Whitaker, what did you want to ask me?”
“It’s just that yesterday, one of the night nurses saw something, and she took a picture and sent it to the group chat-“
“I don’t remember that,” Robby says, frowning.
Whitaker and Mel exchange a glance. “You’re not in that, Dr. Robby,” Mel says.
“It’s more for the younger crowd,” Whitaker says, “you know, to bond- not that you’re not- but-“
Robby sighs. Jack’s going to love hearing about this conversation. “Never mind. Move on.”
“Anyway, people were just talking, and there’s been talk of a bet, although I don’t know if they went through with it-“
“It’s this photo,” Mel says and holds up her phone.
Robby gives up on his half-eaten sandwich and puts on his glasses, squinting at the screen, which seems tiny to him. Were phones always this small?
The photo shows two guys in a dingy bar, playing pool. It’s surprisingly high-quality – Robby never stops to marvel at technology these days –, but even if it wasn’t, he’d still have recognised Jack instantly. He’s bending over the pool table, taking a shot, and standing next to him, a beer in one hand, his other hand on Jack’s shoulder, is Mike Jenkins. They must’ve gone to the bar after Robby went to bed last night.
Robby takes the glasses off and rubs his eyes. “Okay? So?”
“So,” says a new voice from the doorway. Santos. “Is that guy, like, his cousin, or-“
“It’s one of Dr. Abbot’s old army friends,” Robby says. “He’s in town this week.”
“He’s hot,” Santos says, even though Robby is pretty sure she’s gay. “Right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Mel says, which, okay, that’s somehow more surprising coming from her than from Santos.
“Is he going to be here this weekend? Is Dr. Abbot bringing him to the game?”
“Probably not,” Robby says, trying to recall if Santos means the softball game or the basketball game or the football game, all of which are being organised on a bi-monthly basis for whoever wants to play and is off work that day, and all of which Jack likes to join in on.
His phone buzzes. It’s Jack, displaying an impressive level of intuition by choosing this moment to ask if he’s eaten lunch. Robby shoves the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and snaps a photo of the empty wrapper.
“Are you texting Dr. Abbot?” Mel asks.
“Ask him if his friend is single,” Santos says. “Huckleberry wants to know. What? Dr. Robby’s our attending. I’m not gonna lie to him.”
Whitaker looks to the ceiling. “Just kill me now.”
“If you get an answer from the big guy, ask him if he takes a two-for-one special,” Robby says and tries to throw the wrapper in the trash. It misses. He supposes this is why Santos didn’t ask if Jack’s bringing him to the game. “Everyone who isn’t seeing patients by the time I’ve finished counting to five loses break privileges for the next week.”
Predictably, everyone scatters. Robby stays seated just long enough to take a selfie, hitting send before he can start to feel self-conscious.
*
As expected, the house is empty by the time Robby gets home. Robby showers, then tries to have a frozen pizza for dinner– tries, because when he opens the fridge, he finds a Tupperware with rice and fried vegetables in there and a note that says, for you, with another stick figure amputee. This one is wearing an apron.
Sighing, Robby gives up on the idea of using Jack’s absence to gorge himself on something nice and ultra-processed. At least he gets to have a beer. Jack hasn’t banned that from the house yet.
He ends up falling asleep on the couch, which happens more often than not, these days. He wakes up sometime after midnight, blearily drags himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and falls into bed like a stone. Jack still isn’t home.
He’s in bed next to Robby the next morning, though. He doesn’t stir at the sound of Robby’s alarm, a sign that he’s had another late night.
Robby kisses his sleeping husband on the temple, then wanders into the kitchen, only to find the coffeemaker already on and Mike sitting there at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone. He clearly doesn’t need glasses for that.
“Morning. Did you sleep well?” Robby asks politely as he pours coffee into a mug and leans against the counter.
“Excellent, thank you.” Mike smiles at him with his very straight, very white teeth. He’s hot, Santos echoes in his mind. Is he hot? Does Jack think so? “How about you?”
“Oh, you know. Anything that’s longer than five hours qualifies as a good sleep in this line of work.”
A few seconds pass as Mike silently regards him over the rim of his cup. “I’m sorry for making things weird the other day,” he says at last.
“Hey, like I said. No harm done.”
“It was just a shock. He never mentioned you, not until he came to meet me at the airport on Monday, and suddenly it’s all, Robby this, my beautiful gay husband that, and I’m just supposed to be normal about that? I’m just supposed to pretend like it doesn’t suck that I’ve missed my chance?”
“Okay, you need to stop,” Robby says quietly. He suddenly feels very cold, even though he’s wearing a hoodie over a long shirt. “You don’t get to come into our house, sit in our kitchen, and tell me to my face that you want to fuck my husband.”
Mike’s smile disappears. “It’s just fucking unfair, man. After everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve suffered, after everything we’ve seen and suffered together, he shouldn’t be stuck dating a civilian.”
“I’ve seen warzones.”
“It’s not the same. You know it’s not. He definitely knows it’s not.”
“Stop,” Robby says. “I’m not going to ask you again. I’m sorry life after service hasn’t been what you hoped. Download Grindr, I don’t give a shit. But you need to move on.”
For a long moment, neither of them says anything. At last, Mike breaks the eye contact, looking down at his cup. “I’d better go pack my things.”
“I thought your flight leaves tomorrow.”
“I’ll get a hotel.”
Robby thinks about telling him not to, then doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I’ve got to get to work. You should stay until Jack wakes up, at least. He’ll want to say goodbye.”
*
“Trouble in paradise?” Dana asks him five hours into the shift when he’s walking past the nursing station to check on Mohan.
Robby stops short. “Why?”
“Abbot’s texted me to ask if you’re at work, which, considering he knows your schedule, is a red flag if I’ve ever heard one.”
Robby shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “What’d you tell him?”
“That I’ll happily give him proof of life and nothing else. The hospital doesn’t pay me enough for relationship counselling.”
“We don’t need counselling,” Robby says as he resumes walking.
“You say that now, but I’d better not catch you conveniently hiding when he clocks in later,” Dana calls after him. Robby gives her a thumbs up.
He wants to be annoyed that Jack’s pulling their colleagues into their personal drama, something Robby lectures everyone about on a monthly basis – you’re allowed to be friends, you’re allowed to date, you’re allowed to break up, but under no circumstances are you allowed to let any of your personal life bleed into your behaviour at work, he always says, and it’s never any use, because a hard-learned lesson of being chief attending has been that people, fundamentally, tend to behave like people –, but it’d be unfair of him, considering Jack probably texted him long before he texted Dana. Robby left his phone in his locker today.
He’s not hiding. It’s just that he’s genuinely unsure how Jack reacted this morning when he woke up and found his decades-long friend packing his bags, and if he allows himself to think about it even for one minute, he’s going to start panicking. He means what he tells everyone: he tries not to let his own personal life bleed into his workplace, either.
So he focuses on the patients, and he deflects when Whitaker awkwardly asks him if he’s okay, and he leaves his phone where it is, and he doesn’t think about a single thing outside the PTMC.
This works until 6:55 pm, when he finishes up with a patient and steps outside the room and right into Shen’s path, who manages to hold his alarmingly pink Frappuccino out of the way just in time to avoid spilling it all over Robby.
“Good reflexes,” Robby notes. Then he cocks his head, the memory of pouring over hundreds of rows on an Excel spreadsheet niggling in his mind. “Don’t you have today off?”
“I was supposed to, but Abbot asked me to cover for him,” Shen says, his cheerful tone indicating that he’s got no idea there’s any deeper meaning to that request. “Oops – you didn’t know? I hope I haven’t just ruined a big date night surprise!” He waggles his eyebrows.
A terrible sense of foreboding fills Robby a second before they round the corner and come in full view of Jack leaning against the nursing station, chatting to Dana. Behind Jack’s back, Dana makes eye contact and mimics zipping her lips, which isn’t as reassuring as she thinks, considering Jack is currently staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Look, it’s your paramour,” Shen says, once again demonstrating an impressive inability to read the room.
Robby winces. “Please don’t call him that ever again.”
“You about done here?” Jack asks when he’s close enough to be easily in earshot without shouting. “Ready to clock out?”
“We’ve got it covered,” says Shen, who’s still here for some reason. “Just did the handoff with Langdon.”
“I love not being consulted for these things, I really do,” Robby says sarcastically. “Do you guys even need me here at all? Should I tell Gloria to dissolve my position? It would save a lot of costs.”
“You’ve been known to contribute on occasion,” Jack says, but his face is still stony. “Let’s go.”
“Am I allowed to get my stuff from my locker first, officer?” Robby asks when Jack wraps an arm around his shoulders and steers him down the hallway.
Jack’s eyes, if possible, go a little colder. “So you remember your locker combination?”
“I sense a trap.”
“So all day today, when you didn’t answer my texts, that was a choice, then,” Jack says, just as they reach the lockers.
Robby avoids his gaze while he puts in the code and grabs his backpack and phone. He doesn’t reply until they step outside the hospital into the warm evening air – there’s no need to feed the rumour mill more than they already have. “I was at work.”
“Fine. You’re not at work anymore. You’re officially off the clock, and brother, we are having this conversation, whether you want to or not.”
Robby rubs his hands over his face. The cold he felt this morning in the kitchen with Mike is back, settling deep into his bones, a sort of full-body freeze that’s got nothing to do with the weather. “Okay. Fine. Okay. But- not here. At home.”
Jack studies him for a long moment. Eventually, he nods. “At home, then.” And then, despite his stormy expression, he still opens the car door for Robby.
*
The unfamiliar boots in the hallway are gone. Something inside Robby eases, realising that. He hadn’t realised he’d been worried that Mike would still be here until seeing the evidence that he’s not.
Still. That relief is nothing against the tight ball of anxiety in his stomach that’s been growing steadily with every minute of the drive home.
He’s never been good at arguments in his relationships. Historically, he’s always been a lot better at the going-radio-silent-for-a-week part, which none of his partners have really appreciated. Jack, who knows him better than anyone, and who’d watched his disastrous relationships from afar for six years before asking him out, has tried his best to break him of that habit.
“Look,” Robby blurts out before Jack can say anything, “I don’t know what he’s told you, but I just want it on the record that I didn’t throw him out, he offered to go.”
Jack crosses his arms. “I would have known that even if he hadn’t told me the same thing. Throwing people out isn’t really your style.”
Robby swallows. “Did he say anything else?”
“Oh, he said many things, believe me.” Jack’s studying him with that scrutinising-patients-look again. Then, when Robby looks away, suddenly unable to meet Jack’s eyes, Jack mutters, “Screw this,”, steps up to him and pulls him into a tight hug.
Robby’s arms come up instinctively to hold him closer, even as he asks, “What are you doing?”
“Hugging you,” Jack says. “You might be vaguely familiar with the concept.”
“You don’t normally hug me when you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” Jack says, and, when Robby snorts, amends, “Alright, so I’m a little mad that you didn’t answer your phone all day. And I’m mad that you didn’t tell me Jenkins was upsetting you.”
Robby extricates himself from Jack’s grip and steps back. “He wasn’t upsetting me. I’m not eight.”
“He must’ve done something to piss you off, though,” Jack argues. “From what he said this morning, I think I can wager a pretty good guess, but, you know, if you wanted to give me your version of what happened, that’d at least let me know if I was right not to punch him.”
“You wanted to punch him?”
“I still can,” Jack offers. “If you want me to.”
“I definitely don’t want you to.” Robby sighs. “It doesn’t matter, okay? He said some things, and then I also said some things, and then he said he’d get a hotel and I left for work. That’s all.”
“I’m going to hug you again,” Jack warns, and does just that. This time, he squeezes Robby hard enough to knock the air right out of him. “Robby, you know you can tell me anything, right?” he says when he eases his hold. “Partly because we’re married, and that kind of comes with the deal, but also because I care about you, man. Anything you want to say, any time, day or night, guest or no guest, I’m ready to listen.”
“I know,” Robby says honestly. “I just don’t think you’ll get much out of a word-by-word recital. What’s done is done.”
“Fine, but-“
“No, I mean it. And- just for the record, I really am sorry, alright? I feel like this whole visit has turned to shit because of me, which is exactly what I was worried about in the first place, and maybe if I hadn’t been here-“
“Then he still would’ve tried to kiss me,” Jack interrupts.
Robby stares at him. “He what? When was this?”
“This morning, after you went to work. It’s a good thing he was already packed at that point. So, since I assume your mysterious conversation didn’t entail you encouraging him to try and get me to break my marriage vows, there’s actually very little that’s turned to shit because of you, specifically.”
“Jesus Christ.” Robby shakes his head, trying hard not to picture Mike kissing Jack in their living room. “Aren’t we too old for this type of drama?”
“Much too old,” Jack agrees. “Did you know there’s a whole group chat at work that we aren’t part of? Under-forties only.”
“At least they still invite you to the softball game,” Robby says. “Me, they’re just counting down the days until they can drop me off at a nursing home.”
Jack laughs, but only for a second before turning serious again. “I know you know this, but I’m going to say it anyway. Nothing happened, and nothing is ever going to happen, with him or anyone else who isn’t you. You’re it for me, Robby.”
Jack’s right: Robby does know this, not least of all because Jack keeps telling him. Even so, he suddenly, absurdly, feels like crying. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely, man. It’s you and me.” Jack’s smile turns mischievous, which always spells trouble. “I’m just sad I missed you telling him off. Must’ve been pretty hot. Are you sure you don’t want to reenact it for me?”
“Nope,” Robby says decisively. “I want to have dinner and stop thinking about it, please.”
While Jack heads to the kitchen, Robby stays behind to take off his hoodie. He’s feeling warm again.
*
Five months later
This time, Robby clocks Jack’s behaviour within an hour. He waits until Jack’s back from taking out the trash, leans against the counter with his arms crossed and says, “So?”
“So?” Jack asks distractedly as he replaces the trash bag.
“So, what are you going to spring on me?”
Jack winces. “Please don’t tell me I contribute so little to this household that me doing a chore qualifies as a red flag.”
“It does when you look so guilty while doing it,” Robby says. “Just hit me with it.”
“There’s going to be a charity thing at city hall next month. They’ve asked a few vets to come, do speeches, that sort of thing. Two buddies of mine are going to be in town for it.”
“Well,” Robby says slowly, pointedly, “we’ve got a guest room and a couch. They can flip a coin for the bed.”
His jaw set into a grim line, Jack says, “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m doing it anyway,” Robby says.
Jack’s gaze moves to the kitchen cupboards, the curtains, the floor. “I’m not sure they know I’m married to a guy.”
“Do you want me to get a hotel?” Robby asks seriously. “Because that offer’s still on the table. I won’t be mad.”
“No,” Jack says without missing a beat. “I’ll let them know beforehand. They can take it or leave it, but if they take it, they can fucking deal. But- I can’t promise there won’t be any comments. Last time- I didn’t really think it through, last time. I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” Robby waits until Jack is looking at him. “I’ve worked at an ED for thirty years. I’ve heard just about every comment there is. I can take it.”
“It’s not that I want you to take it,” Jack says. “It’s just-“
“Jack. I understand. I know you have my back when it counts, okay? I know.” And then, because Jack still isn’t moving, Robby moves instead, pulling Jack into a hard hug and kissing the side of Jack’s head, like he’s done countless times before, like Jack has done countless times for him.
Robby hopes they’ll both get to do it countless times more. What was it he told Mike? They all just try their best to be functioning adults in a functioning relationship, and if that doesn’t work, they break up. He meant that; he still means it now.
He’s got a good feeling about this one, though.