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Jack figures it out on a Thursday when Robby coughs up a dandelion in the middle of arguing with some jackass EMT about IV placement. He kicks it and it skitters over to the institutional baseboards. When Jack goes back to find it later - to convince himself it really happened - it's gone.
He finishes his shift and then tosses and turns, flipping between his own horrible, sick feeling because Robby is sick - Robby has -
But then the relief, and the guilty happiness, because this is fixable. This is fixable because Jack loves him, too, and of course it's Jack, it has to be. They've been on this path for a while now – maybe the entire time.
Ten years ago, after a breakup with Kevin or Gavin or something else with a "v", Robby had sat on Jack's couch loose-lipped from whiskey and said something about love that they both knew meant "Jack". Jack had been married and straight, as far as either of them knew. Robby had broken the moment with a self-deprecating joke, and in the morning, Robby let Jack hug him and Jack let Robby blame the alcohol.
They didn't talk about it directly again. Robby met Janey. There were years where it sat so quietly between them that Jack could almost forget about it. Other times – lately – not so much.
So of course it's Jack.
It doesn't only seem obvious to Jack, it turns out.
The next day, Dana corners him first. "You gonna do something about this?" she says, nodding over at where Robby is continually clearing his throat, like he's got a catch in it, while listening earnestly to a patient's adult daughter.
"I've got him."
"So this glacial shit's gonna stop?"
"Trust me, Dana."
Parker's the only other person to directly mention it, and she wasn't even there when it happened.
"So is this good for the ego? Or is it terrifying?" she asks, and she knows him and she listened along to his stuttering gay awakening last year, so he knows what she's asking.
"All good."
She peers at him closely. "No dipping your toes in, huh? Straight off the high dive."
"You know me," Jack says, mostly to have something to say in the face of her earnest concern.
"I do," she says, shaking her head. "You'll be married again in 6 months. Never even got to take you to The Pink Room for 80s night."
Unsurprisingly, Robby is the only person in the entire ED who doesn't want to talk about it.
"You saw me cough once, Jack," he says, before Jack can say a single word. "That's hardly enough for a differential."
"You coughed up a flower. Pretty indicative."
"A weed. One weed. Could be stress-induced, could be transient."
Jack doesn't even dignify that with a response, just raises an eyebrow, pushing a little bit more firmly into Robby's space. They're facing off, now, arms crossed.
"Even you don't believe that," he says.
"Hanahaki cases remit all the time. I've got an appointment, okay? Let's not overreact." But there's something tight and uneasy in Robby's expression, at odds with his tone.
Jack steps closer, unfolds his arms to run his hands down Robby's biceps, bracing. Squeezes.
"You know you're not alone in this. For any of it." he says.
Robby smiles, thin. "I know." But the unease doesn't bank and Jack doesn't know what to do with himself when Robby walks away.
Over the next few days, Jack keeps trying, just leaving openings - "You know you can tell me anything, right? Anything, Mike - it'll be okay." And he just gets back, "I'm not ready to talk about it."
Okay, he thinks. Okay, maybe Robby needs time. Maybe he's still not quite ready for a serious relationship, and how could anything between them be anything but serious?
Too much bald emotion aimed his way tends to make Robby bolt, so Jack has been careful. Still, these past months, as they've been circling closer, he's gotten less subtle about what he wants, where he's at. He'd taken Robby for omakase two weeks ago and called it a date. Sure, Robby had rolled his eyes, but he walked back to Jack's car with Jack's hand on his back and showed up to help Jack assemble his new bookcases the next day.
Jack has been flirting with him shamelessly. Robby's been flirting back. At some point, Jack stopped wondering if they were in love and started wondering when they were going to acknowledge it.
Not yet, apparently.
But weeks pass - weeks. And Robby is coughing more now. Jack waits, at first, for something. An invitation to dinner, maybe – he keeps giving him openings. Or for Robby to turn to him over beers one night, suddenly serious, or self-deprecating, or with half a smirk and a light, "Think we've waited long enough?"
Robby does not do those things. What he does, instead, is roll into work with bigger under eye circles each progressive day, wheeze his way through handoffs, and cough a single, slimy dandelion head directly onto the toe of Jack's favorite work shoes.
That's about when Jack ditches the subtle approach.
He latches his fingers into the back of Robby's hoodie, re-routing him into the men's room with a sharp yank. Robby bangs his elbow on the doorframe and yelps out a, "Fuck," and Jack rolls his eyes.
"You're fine, and we are talking about this."
"I'm going to have a bruise, and we are medical professionals who respect privacy around sensitive health information, so no, we're not." He's rubbing his elbow, wincing one eye almost totally closed from the sting.
"I don't understand why you're doing this."
"Doing what?" And there he is. Avoidant Robby, blinking at Jack like he's genuinely confused.
Jack gestures frustratedly into the space between them. "Pretending this isn't happening."
"I'm not pretending anything," Robby says. "But in retrospect, I'm not even convinced the origin is respiratory. Could be GI."
"Mike." It feels like that should be the start of something, but Jack has no idea what else to even say.
"I do have GERD," Robby offers.
"You have hanahaki."
"Probably."
Jack could scream. "Then why aren't you doing anything about it? Take what you want." He means me. I'm right here; talk to me, take me.
Robby looks away. "It's not that easy… The person… they're – not local."
"What?"
"It doesn't matter. You don't even know them."
Jack blinks. Twice. Hard. "You expect me to believe that you're this in love with someone I've never even heard of? Your mystery girlfriend lives in Canada? That's what you're going with?"
"No, not Can– it's someone from med school, okay?" Robby says, and winces as soon as it's out.
"You only talk to two people from medical school. Denise is a lesbian and I was at Paul's second wedding –" Jack's just getting geared up, but Robby holds up a hand in surrender, and Jack pauses.
"Okay, Jack. Okay."
And Jack gives him the grace of stopping there, debates trying to touch him right now, a hand on the shoulder, something, because Robby looks so tired and defeated. But he lets him have his space, instead, and after a moment offers, quiet and sure, "What are we even talking about here, Mike? I know it's me."
And Robby scrapes both hands into his hair, tilts his head back toward the ceiling, and for a second, Jack thinks, maybe, finally…
And then Robby says, "You're wrong, Jack." And before Jack can react, he's through the door and back out on the floor.
The next day, Dana sidles up to him at the hub before she heads out.
"You done anything about that situation yet?" she asks, gesturing at where Robby is coughing into his elbow just outside of Central 3.
And Jack sighs and rolls his eyes skyward. "He says it's someone from med school."
Dana snorts without looking up from the tablet in her hand. Before she can reply, Robby's right in front of them, trying to subtly shove a crumpled tissue into his scrubs.
Jack holds out his hand, and Robby blinks at it for a moment. Then, "Don't be gross," he says.
"I'm a doctor. Still single buds?"
"Yes," Robby says shortly, and Jack would love to take his word for it, but he absolutely can't trust anything Robby says right now, so he makes a grab to check for himself.
"So, med school, huh?" Dana asks, and her timing is as perfect as always because Robby is distracted by trying to play keep-away while still looking dignified. "What's her name?"
Robby scowls, finally getting the tissue deep into the pocket of his scrubs, and Jack's not actually going to grope the man at work, so he backs off.
Still, he can't resist teasing. "Michelle? Diana? Ruthene?"
Robby looks incredibly put upon, and Jack does love him pissy. "What kind of name is Ruthene?"
"I don't know – she's your girlfriend."
And the way Robby storms out of the ambulance bay doors, shoulders around his ears, would be kind of funny if he didn't start coughing the second the cold night air hit his lungs.
Ruthene sticks, and Jack would love to take credit for that, but it's mostly Dana. It doesn't take long before the name stops referring to Robby's imaginary girlfriend and becomes code for the hanahaki itself.
"How's Ruthene?" Dana asks when Robby trundles in to start his shift.
He doesn't even look at her, eyes firmly on the board. "Still kicking."
Santos is charting nearby. She glances up, first at Robby and then directly at Jack, who just shrugs.
Her eyebrow goes up, but she turns back to the screen in front of her. "Glad to hear it, boss."
Jack's off for three after that, and he doesn't hear from Robby beyond a lackluster 'haha' in response to a photo of his neighbor's pug wearing winter boots and a thumbs up when Jack asks how the cough was. Still, that's not unusual when their schedules are opposite.
The vibe is okay when he gets back to the ED after his weekend - a little bit tense but not catastrophic. He wants to know how Robby's doing but Dana's not around to ask and he's not going to feed the gossip by asking Princess or Santos.
Still, the question gets answered anyway when he's shoving his coat in his locker and overhears Mohan ask McKay, "How's Ruthene today?"
McKay hums. "A little worse, I think. But he's holding up okay." She glances up and clocks Jack, then aims a short nod in his direction.
Mohan turns, too, cheeks lightly pink when she sees him, and Jack closes his locker and moves on quickly. The last thing he needs – the last thing Robby needs – is everyone they work with staring at them as they finally get their shit together.
It takes him an hour to pin Robby down, which is frustrating because he can hear him. Just the timbre of his voice – once or twice a faint cough echoing down the hall – but every time he heads in his direction he arrives to find Donnie or Lena or a toddler puking truly horrifying quantities but no Robby.
He finally catches him in the ambulance bay, tucked out of sight of the door, shivering and trying and failing to suck on a cigarette – Jesus Christ, Michael.
"Are you trying to burn the flowers out?" Jack snipes.
Robby's head snaps up and he looks for all the world like he's 16 getting caught with a joint behind his grandma's garage.
"Weeds," Robby corrects. "The best my body can do is fucking weeds."
Jack hates it, the disgust in Robby's voice, like there's something wrong with his scrappy, stubborn love.
"You know, the dandelion is known to –"
"I swear to god, Jack, if you give me some floriography bullshit right now I will go tell Lena you said the q-word."
Jack huffs. Then he holds his hand out. "Gimme. One of us might as well enjoy it."
Robby hands the cigarette over, careful to turn it for Jack, their fingers brushing. And Jack doesn't want it at all, suddenly – not when he can hear the little hitch on every one of Robby's inhales.
He tosses it aside.
Robby's still there, shifting his weight a bit, hands gripping either end of his steth like he wants to flee but he hasn't fled yet and so Jack goes for it, tries again.
"How's Ruthene?"
Robby makes a production of rolling his eyes, but his feet stay planted. "Kept me up half the night, actually."
"Coughing? Any blood?"
"No blood. Some coughing. Mostly just hard to get comfortable. Every time I roll onto my back, I feel like I'm suffocating and jerk back awake."
"She sounds annoying."
"Persistent," Robby says, eyes meeting Jack's for a long moment before they dip away.
"No blood is good."
"Yeah. You know hanahaki can take years to progress."
"Yeah."
"Years, Jack."
For a moment, all Jack wants is to grab Robby. Shake him, pull him in. Because he gets it: there's no rush. Robby needs more time. But he's been reaching, since all this started, and Robby keeps stepping just out of range. And Jack was already moving slow and careful, letting Robby's heart-attack coffee in his kitchen be enough, because Robby was over all the time to drink it. Letting his goodnight texts be enough. He's been fine waiting for Robby to be ready. But now waiting involves watching Robby suffer.
Jack's about to push, to insist, when a siren starts wailing close enough to be concerning.
Robby is turning before Jack can say another word.
Robby's off the next two days. Jack gets a few looks – Parker quirks an eyebrow but whatever she sees on Jack's face leads her to drop it before she says a word. He passes Whitaker in the breakroom at shift change and Jack cannot imagine what energy he is projecting, honestly, because the kid starts with, "You know sometimes on the farm – I mean, some horses are just skittish and, I mean, it's a slow – I mean…"
"I don't have horses," Jack enunciates as precisely as he can, no nonsense soldier voice, and thank god that's the end of it.
Dana doesn't do anything, but Jack thinks her side eye is more pointed than usual. She does rub his back, though, on her way out the door.
When Jack comes in after Robby's next shift, Dana's goodwill seems to have evaporated.
"He looks like he's been awake since Clinton was in office," she says. "Doing his best Batman impression." She jerks her chin up toward the roof. She doesn't say, "I thought you said you had him," but Jack hears it anyway.
Jack spends too long at his locker. It's his job to go find Robby on the roof - he knows it's his job and he wants the job. But tonight he has no idea what to say.
He's been trying to give Robby space – he thinks he's been very fucking good about giving Robby space, actually.
And giving Robby space sucks. Jack misses Robby's feet somehow always landing in his lap while they watch movies. He misses Robby's soft face when he wakes up just in time to catch the credits. He misses Robby calling him on his drive home, on nights they don't hand off to each other.
Jack wants to give him space. He wants to give him time, if that's what Robby needs. But he can't keep doing it while Robby gets sicker. He cannot, for the life of him, understand why Robby is choosing this.
He gets in the elevator, no operational plan in place but determined anyway, and he's just glad Dana is gone so he's not worried about her judgement.
It's a cold, clear night, the sun long gone and city lights twinkling on the horizon. Robby's leaning on the railing, eyes closed, and he looks okay - great, beautiful, the breadth of his shoulders lights Jack up - until he starts coughing and spitting harshly onto the ground.
The door clangs closed behind him before Jack figures out what to say.
"I'm fine," Robby says, wiping at his mouth. There are two dandelion heads on the ground beneath him. He sees something in Jack's expression. "I'm fine, Jack. It's not your problem."
Jack is at a loss. "You know," he starts carefully, with no idea what he's going to say next, "Sometimes, on the farm, when you get a new horse..."
Robby doesn't interrupt and frankly, Jack realizes, he was counting on it. He trails off instead.
"When you get a new horse…?" Robby prompts.
Fuck.
"I don't know," Jack says helplessly. "I don't have horses."
Robby snorts.
"Something about not chasing it, maybe? Or, you can lead a horse to water…?"
"Hmmm." Robby turns back to look out at the city like he's really thinking about that. "I'm the horse here?"
"Apparently."
"Jesus Christ."
Jack moves forward, ends up resting next to Robby on the railing, forearms touching. He wants to tangle his fingers in the sleeve of Robby's fleece, but he doesn't. He would have, six weeks ago.
"It's really not your problem, Jack," Robby says eventually. "I'll be fine. And no – I still don't want to tell you who it is."
Jack's looking at the lights crowning Gulf Tower when Robby says that, and something goes funny in his brain for a second, takes him offline, because Robby wanted time. That's what Jack thought. Not yet.
But Robby isn't fumbling obvious lies right now, and he's still talking like Jack doesn't know who Ruthene is.
Jack looks over at him then. Robby is looking back, all big eyes pleading for respite, full of chagrin, and Jack suddenly, sickly suspects that they've been having two different conversations for a while now.
Eventually he says, "Why haven't you told her? Ruthene, I mean."
Robby looks pained. "I don't want to talk about this."
Jack follows his earlier instinct, lets his fingers twist briefly into the cuff of Robby's fleece before he pulls back. "I know. Tell me anyway."
Robby shakes his head like it's hopeless. "What would be the point of telling her?"
"You don't think she'd want to know?"
"Why? It would make her feel terrible. She can't make herself feel something she doesn't feel."
"You don't know that."
Robby makes a frustrated sound. "I'm telling you – if she knows, it becomes her problem, too. Every time I cough, she gets to wonder if it's her fault, and she can't cure me."
Jack goes still for a second, because all this time, he thought Robby was protecting himself. But he's protecting Jack.
"But what if she can?"
Robby passes one hand over his eyes, annoyed. "You're so fucking stubborn, you know that? It's been ten years, Jack. If you were ever going to love me, I think you would have by now."
Robby sounds so pissy that Jack could laugh, if he didn't want to cry. He can't formulate anything for a long moment, just reaches his hands out for Robby's sleeves again and slides his hands down until he's holding both wrists.
Robby's head is bowed, looking for all the world like he's just been told doomsday is nigh.
"What do you think the last six months have been about, Michael," he asks, "if not love?"
"Sure," Robby says, but he shakes his head as he says, dismissive.
"I know it took me a while to get here. But I take you on dates because I want to date you. I touch you all the time because I want to touch you." Jack squeezes Robby's wrists, shaking his arms slightly. "And I had no idea you didn't realize, Robby, I swear…" he trails off.
Robby's eyes close, but not before Jack sees something complicated flash through them.
"And I don't want to presume just because you're sick, but I love you and I think you love me, too. And I am a doctor. So let me cure you."
Robby lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. He's still not looking at Jack. "Jesus Christ."
"What?"
"Nothing." He scrubs a hand over his face. "Just – Jesus Christ, Jack."
Jack squeezes Robby's arms again, inches closer. He'll wait for the yes, but he's not backing down this time.
After a long moment, Robby finally meets Jack's eyes. "You're that sure? That the treatment will work?"
"Yeah." Jack doesn't even think about it.
Robby studies him for a few seconds and Jack just lets him, steady. Then Robby inches closer, too.
It's Jack who closes the rest of the distance. His hands move to Robby's beard, fingers scratching lightly through it. Robby's eyes are wide when Jack kisses him.
It's soft at first. Jack pulls back barely an inch, just enough to look at him, and Robby follows.
Jack groans and kisses him again.
When they finally stop, Jack rests his forehead against Robby's, looks down to where Robby's fists are still clenched in the front of his jacket.
"Well, goddamn," he says, breathless. "You, um - you're good at that."
Robby snorts.
"Shut up, I can't think right now."
Robby takes a breath, gearing up to respond, but then he pauses, brow furrowed. Exhales and does it again, deeper this time. The corners of his eyes soften.
"Jack…" he says, voice soft.
"Yeah – yeah, here." Jack grabs for the stethoscope around his neck. "Let me."
Robby lets go of Jack's jacket with one hand, using it to unzip his fleece, and Jack slips the bell underneath. "Deep breath for me."
It's clear. Jack slides the bell over and prompts Robby again – same thing, no wheeze, clear breath sounds.
Jack looks up and finds Robby watching him. He must already be smiling, because Robby asks, "Yeah?" before he can say anything.
"Healthy lungs," Jack says, slinging the steth back around his neck, "but we should have imaging confirm –" but he can't finish the sentence before Robby is pushing him back, up against the railing, mouth lush and insistent and fingers tugging Jack's curls.
By the time they make it back to the ED floor, Dana's in fine form.
"I've been covering for you for 20 minutes," she says, glaring at Jack, but the corner of her mouth can't quite stop twitching upward. Jack runs a hand self-consciously through his hair, in case it's crazy. Robby, the traitor, has already high-tailed it to his locker, since his shift is over.
Things don't go back to how they were before the hanahaki – how could they, now that they're finally having the same conversation? But the next week looks a lot like what Jack had pictured, back when he was trying so hard not to spook Robby. Robby's feet are back in Jack's lap on movie nights. The heart-attack coffee starts disappearing from his kitchen again. Sometimes, Jack wakes up to a text that just says, "Come over." So he does.
Two weeks later, Robby rolls in for his shift after spending the night in Jack's bed. They go over the board, but before he can head out Jack gets pulled into a MVC and then an 86 year old with chest pain rolls in, and he's been there way too long by the time he's shucking gloves and finally heading for his locker.
He's crossing the floor when he hears Dana and Robby, bullshitting by central. Robby cuts off in the middle of a complaint about Gloria with a cough, single, but harsh and loud.
"You good, Cap?" Dana asks. "How is Ruthene today?"
Robby catches sight of Jack just then and raises a judgy eyebrow.
"He should be heading home by now," he says. "Get out of here, Abbot, your shift ended two hours ago."
Jack flips him off on the way to the locker room.