Chapter Text
"I'm sorry, the person you are calling has a mailbox that is full and cannot accept any messages at this time—"
Jack hung up the phone with force. Another futile attempt.
"Nothing?" Dana asked.
"No."
It had been a month and a half since Robby left for his sabbatical, and Jack's once-a-week check-ins had turned into a daily thing, thanks to his complete failure to establish contact.
Jack's hand rested on his hip as the other dragged down his face.
"Maybe it's a good thing we haven't heard from him?" McKay offered. “Means he hasn’t done anything stupid.”
“Or could mean that he has,” Jack replied, bitterly.
"Bastard's been gone for a month and a half!” Dana’s voice carried distress as she paced. “Didn't even tell us where he was going. He could be anywhere—"
"Are you talking about Robby?" Victoria Javadi perked up.
They glanced over at her.
"We know where he is.” She said, and then paused, to correct herself. “Well, the general area of where he is, anyway."
Jack grew interested. "How?"
A minute later, Javadi led him to Samira Mohan and Dennis Whitaker, who were sitting in the common area. They looked up, startled by the militant expression on Abbot's face.
"Javadi says you guys know how to locate Robby."
At this, Victoria at least had the decency to look shyly at the floor as Samira and Dennis shot her a glare.
"We— uh—"
Samira sighed, putting out her hand. Dennis sighed too, reaching into his pocket for his phone, and handed it over. Samira motioned for Jack to come closer.
He leaned in over her shoulder.
"The day before he left,” Samira started explaining, “he told Whitaker some really sus things. So we decided… well, it was kind of a split-second decision, to slip Dennis' AirTag into his wallet before he left."
"Air Tag?"
"It's a tracker," Dennis provided. "Lets us follow his general location from my phone."
"So you know? Where he is?"
"Well…" She zoomed in on the phone. "He's somewhere off the Florida Keys. None of us have really heard of it before…"
"Florida?"
"An island near it. In the Caribbean. If you search up his exact location—" She copied and pasted the coordinates from Whitaker's phone into the safari and held it up for Jack to read.
"Kokomo?"
"I know. That was our reaction as well."
"What the hell is he doing on a tropical island?"
"Maybe the sabbatical was always meant to be just a vacation after all?"
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
"Aruba, Jamaica, ooh, I wanna take ya— Bermuda, Bahama, come on, pretty mama—"
The song crackled from the crappy little radio hanging off a rafter of the beach hut. The bar sat right at the edge of the beach, a wide thatched roof of sun-bleached palm fronds rising to a point overhead like a great straw hat, held up by whitewashed wooden posts. White lattice railings wrapped around the deck, and beyond them the sand ran pale and hot, down to clear and turquoise water.
Tourists in swimsuits sat hunched over the counter on wobbly bamboo stools, and the whole place smelled like sunscreen, rum, and freshly cut pineapple.
Robby was working the blender, singing along to the chorus.
"I can't believe you haven't gotten tired of that song yet," you said, brushing past him with a crate of pineapples and mangos on your hip.
Behind the bar, bunches of green bananas and whole coconuts sat piled beside the liquor bottles, and hibiscus flowers stuck out of an old glass vase by the register.
"Don't think I ever will," Robby responded. He poured the drink into a cup, placed a cherry on top with a little yellow umbrella, and served it up.
"Enjoy," he said, sliding the piña colada across the counter.
He turned to find you standing directly in front of him. You rose up on your tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips.
"What's that for?" he asked, a smile spreading across his face.
"I like seeing you happy. You look good," you said, moving around him to wipe down the counter where a customer had spilled a drink.
"A far cry from the guy I was when you met me?"
You shook your head, chuckling his way. "You said it, not me."
Robby's eyes followed you. You looked like a goddess in your bikini, sarong knotted around your waist, the afternoon sun catching your skin through the gaps in the palm roof. The breeze off the water rustled the fronds above him, warm and salt-heavy.
He didn't want to leave this place. Ever.
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Jack grabbed his bag from the carousel. The only way to catch a ride to Kokomo was on a small airplane from Florida, and after an eight-hour flight with a layover, he was itching to catch a break.
The airport was a single open-air terminal with ceiling fans spinning overhead. He caught a salamander darting up the walls. The air outside felt thick, and humid.
"Where to?" he asked.
Samira Mohan and Dennis Whitaker stood together, staring at Dennis’ phone.
"He seems to be at a place called Villa Lindas…” Samira said, “We were only able to get two rooms on short notice, but it says we should be able to get a taxi from the airport easily.”
They looked up. There were no signs for a taxi pick-up anywhere.
You were perched on the bar counter, bare feet swinging, watching Robby wipe down the bar after the mid-day surge.
"You're not working tonight, are you?" you asked, sipping the mixed berry smoothie he’d made for you.
"Nope. You?"
You shook your head. "Wanna go to Cocoloba?"
You and Robby frequented the local nightclub, but it always ended in a nasty hangover the next day. He always swore to himself he wouldn't go back.
But your eyes brightened as you asked, searching his own, lip jutting out slightly in a pout. His hand came up to grab your chin softly. "You know I can't say no to you."
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
"Woah." Samira's eyes widened as the golf cart carried them through the villas. Palms arched overhead in a green tunnel, bougainvillea spilled hot pink over every stone wall, and the sound of birds calling to each other were heard all around. She felt like she was in a movie. The last tropical vacation she'd taken was a family trip when she was fifteen. It didn't compare to this.
"No wonder we haven't heard from him," Whitaker mumbled.
"I wouldn't even want to think of the Pitt if I was spending every day here,” Samira agreed.
Jack stayed quiet, his face stoic. Yes, the place was beautiful, and under other circumstances it would have been enjoyable. Right now he was worried about what condition they'd find Robby in. He didn't know what to expect. The last time they'd seen each other, Robby had been a cry for help that Jack had failed to answer.
They were dropped off in front of their rooms.
"How about we take a minute to freshen up? Reconvene here at…” It was six now. “Seven?" Samira suggested.
"Are you guys sure this tag will take us to Robby's location?"
"We would've come all this way if we weren't," Dennis replied.
They did so. Samira came out in a strapless, short blue dress. Whitaker had on shorts and an open button-down over a white tank.
Jack had on a black t-shirt and cargo pants. He hadn't really taken the whole tropical thing into account. When packing, he'd done so with the mentality of a search-and-rescue mission, not a vacation.
"Which way?" Jack asked.
"Uh, guys… we have a problem," Whitaker said, because as soon as he opened the GPS, Robby's location appeared to be moving away from the resort, undoubtedly by car.
"Can you tell where he's headed?" Samira questioned, leaning in to the device.
"Won't know until he gets there," Dennis said.
"Should we get a taxi?"
"You remember how that went at the airport?"
Apparently, the locals weren't big fans of tourists. The villas had quite a few, of course, but the island seemed to run on people with their own boats who made the short trip from Florida to Kokomo by water, docked at the villas, and stayed the weekend.
It took Jack, Dennis, and Samira an hour of standing on the roadside before a kind older local took pity on them and made an effort, in broken English, to ask where they wanted to be dropped. Jack left him a hefty tip.
Which Samira later looked up and reported, "Dude, you just paid him the equivalent of $500 in their currency for a fifteen minute car ride."
Jack shot her a look at her use of "dude." Her eyes dropped and her cheeks turned red in return.
"What do we do?"
Dennis' stomach growled. He chuckled nervously.
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
You and Robby were in the middle of the dance floor. You were a couple of drinks in already, arms around him, as you swayed to the beat of the song under the strobe lights.
Your eyes lit up when you spotted your favorite person making rounds. It was the server who passed by with a tray of free coconut-flavored rum shots in test tubes.
You grabbed two, handing Robby one and interlacing your arms together. Before you took it, you noticed the way he stared at the casing.
"What is it?" you shouted over the music.
"The tubes," he shouted back, "remind me of the ones we use at the hospital."
You laughed. He joined in. You brought your hand up to tip his shot to his lips, then tipped your own head back to take yours.
After you shake off the shudder that came from the way the shot burned down your throat, you threw your arms over Robby, hands cupping his cheeks and crashing your lips together.
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
"He doesn't seem to be coming back," Whitaker said. They each scarfed down burgers they'd ordered at a beach hut they'd found– a little thatched-roof place perched over the sand.
"Should we still try our hand at finding him?"
Jack plucked the phone out of Dennis' hands. The guy at the bar spoke English, so he went over. "Excuse me, do you know how I can get to this place?"
"Oh! Cocoloba!" the bartender exclaimed with a heavy accent. "You Americans looking for a fun night out?" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
Jack's eyebrows rose. "What is it?"
"A nightclub! A good time. You can take the lovely señorita out dancing," the guy said, looking over at Samira, who blushed in return.
"We're looking for a friend who's here. Do you know how we can find transport?"
"Sure, sure, I have a friend who can take you. But it'll cost you."
This search-and-rescue mission was going to leave Jack Abbot insolvent.
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Jack, Samira, and Dennis arrived at the nightclub at ten. Their ride was a two-person motorcycle taxi and the back of some guy's motorcycle. When the guy suggested Samira ride with him, Jack stared him down and escorted her to sit at Dennis' side while he climbed onto the guy's bike himself.
Samira was receiving a lot of attention.
Jack's eyes swept over the entrance of the nightclub. It was theatrical, in a way. Designed to lure in what tourists did visit the island. Neon lights buzzing pink and electric blue invited you in. The outline of a palm tree was lit up in green. Once they were inside, a long hallway led downstairs and opened into a huge warehouse-type nightclub.
It was packed with people. Some looked local, the rest were tourists.
They had no idea how they were going to locate Robby.
"Should we divide and conquer?" Dennis asked.
Samira's eyes were following a woman who passed them offering shots. They declined, but her eyes followed the tray longingly.
"We should. But Whitaker, stay with Mohan," Jack said. After watching the lingering stares she got from every guy in her vicinity, he wasn't taking any chances.
"You have signal, right?"
Dennis and him both checked, and they agreed to shoot each other a text if they caught sight of Robby, or meet at the entrance by midnight if they didn't.
The moment Jack left, Samira tracked down the woman offering shots.
"What are you doing?" Dennis asked her, following close behind.
"Look, I know we're here for Robby, but I haven't had a vacation in years! I haven't had a drink outside of the occasional post-shift beer. We're in a tropical location, we spent money to be here. We should at least feel able to have one drink while we look for Robby!"
Dennis watched as she tipped her head back. She didn't even grimace at the burn.
━━━ . °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Your back was pressed to Robby's chest, his arms engulfing you, his head resting on your shoulder as you moved to the music. You laughed as he made some comment about having seen someone in passing who looked like one of his residents.
It was utterly ridiculous. You both burst out laughing.
You grinded against him, and he pressed his lips to your jaw as you moved. His lips moved to your ear, muttering something delicious about what he was going to do to you later.
You turned around to face him and tipped your head back so he had a better opening and his lips could take over yours.
"Robby."
Robby didn't hear his name being called the first time.
It took Abbot another try. Meanwhile, he took in the sight of his friend– the one he'd been worrying about nonstop for the past month and a half– in a linen shirt, khaki shorts, and open-toed sandals, making out with a young little thing in a tiny little outfit.
Robby's head snapped up when he caught Jack standing there in his peripheral vision.
Jack's arms were crossed over his chest, eyebrow raised in his direction, and it could only mean one thing.
You got a lot of explaining to do.