Archive of Our Own

“Dr. Abbot? Can you please help me?” Mel called, voice soft and a little uncertain, as always. Jack had come in a few hours early for no reason really, mainly just out of a desire to spend a little more time with Robby. He immediately pulled away from what he was doing for Mel. He had a soft spot for the girl, though how anyone could help but have a soft spot for her was something beyond his understanding. 

He followed her into her patient room, her hands fluttering like little birds while she spoke. “My patient, Mrs. Rivkin, uh- she doesn’t speak English and I think she’s speaking German- does anyone speak German here, or do I need to contact translation services?” 

He smiled at the old woman kindly, and she started speaking to him, which made his smile only grow. “That isn’t German.” He held up a finger to indicate just one moment and then he leaned out the exam room door, eyes searching for Robby, as always. 

“Hey, Google Translate! Need your help over here!” He called across the room, earning him a few dirty looks from some of the patients stuck in hallway beds. Robby headed over, a frown pulling at his lips. 

“I hate when you call me that,” Robby grumbled as he applied some hand sanitizer and followed him into the room. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you not to yell. This is a hospital, not a sports bar.”

Jack ignored that. Robby was about to forgive him for his transgressions. “This is Mrs. Rivkin, she doesn’t speak English. Can you help?”

Robby nodded, pulling on a pair of gloves and taking a quick once-over before introducing himself in Russian. 

“Try again,” Jack grinned, nudging him with his shoulder. “It’s your favorite.” 

Robby’s face transformed, his smile dazzling as he introduced himself again, this time in Yiddish. Mrs. Rivkin lit up as well, her delight overtaking her pain as she reached over to pat his arm. Jack smiled, leaning against the wall, utterly content to watch Robby in his natural habitat. He loved when Robby spoke any of the many languages he knew, but Robby was so uncomplicatedly happy when he spoke Yiddish. It was a joy to behold. 

After a few minutes of chatting, Robby reached out to pat her hand and turned to Jack and Mel. He listed out his orders to Mel as they left the room. 

“What um- what language was that? I thought it was German, but Dr. Abbot said it wasn’t.” Mel asked while inputting the orders on the tablet she was carrying. 

“Yiddish,” Jack explained. “Robby here speaks seven languages.” 

“That is a gross exaggeration,” Robby huffed, moving back to central. “I speak five languages.”

“Bullshit,” Jack argued. “I’ve heard you speak seven languages.”

“It is not bullshit! I can understand German because I speak Yiddish, I can understand Belarusian because I speak Russian and Ukrainian. Just because there’s enough overlap in the languages that I can hold a basic conversation doesn’t mean I speak the language. It would be like saying that someone who grew up in Italy speaks Spanish because there’s some overlap.”

“Robby, last week you explained a complicated medical procedure to a woman in German. You speak German.” 

“I do not speak German,” Robby groused, causing Jack to scoff. 

“Still, it's really cool that you can speak so many languages.” Mel said, a little hesitant to get between their bickering. 

“I’m a Soviet Jew, it would be strange if I didn’t speak multiple languages,” Robby said, putting his glasses on. “Now, I know you have patients to return to.” 

Later, Jack was working on his charting when Robby slinks up to the hub, leaning on the counter in front of his computer. “Mrs. Rivkin offered to make me honey cake, Yasha. Honey cake.” He said it like it was the most important, sacred thing in the world, which for Robby, it was. 

Robby’s grandmother was a honey cake devotee. It was her favorite food and she was always looking for excuses to make it. Most holidays had featured honey cake in his life, including holidays where it didn’t exactly make sense. 

Robby had tried to make it multiple times since her death, always falling to pieces half-way through and throwing the entire thing in the trash. Jack had made it once as a surprise and Robby had ended up crying because it didn’t taste like his grandmother’s cake and then cried even harder for not being grateful to Jack for making it in the first place. Jack hadn’t minded that he didn’t like it, but Robby was an expert in self-flagellation. 

“That’s great, Mishka,” Jack smiled. “Did you tell her about Yiddish group?”

“Of course I told her about Yiddish group.” Robby sounded genuinely offended that Jack would think he wouldn’t tell her. “She was very excited; her daughter works a lot, so I offered to take her myself. Philly’s too long of a drive for her to go all the time, but she wants to go once to see it.” 

Yiddish group was one of Robby’s great loves. Philly had experienced an explosion of interest in the language in the past few years, and Robby had joined a club where all the members tried to converse solely in Yiddish. Robby was the only member who spoke it as a first language; most of the other members were young American Jews who were used to it being spoken by their grandparents, but hadn’t grown up with it themselves. As such, he was a highly prized member of the group, easily able to teach and guide. 

All that aside, Robby hadn’t attended in months. He’d been so depressed since Pittfest that he had barely felt up to leaving his house, let alone the city. Jack had tried to offer that they could go together, but Robby had refused, saying that he preferred to spend their days off catching a sports game or seeing a movie. 

Jack had a fleeting worry that Mrs. Rivkin would be another pseudo-parental figure that Robby would adopt and then be devastated by when they inevitably died, but at this point, Jack was willing to accept anything that got him out of the house and into his hobbies again. 

Jack had taken a rare day shift as a favor, getting off at 7pm and making his way to Robby’s house. They both had the next day off. Barring emergencies, Robby always made sure that at least one of their three days off overlapped. Just one of the very few perks of being the boss. 

Jack sighed as when opened the door, the strains of DDТ reaching him, along with the sound of Robby cooking. It wasn’t that Jack disliked DDТ– truly he did enjoy the music– but somehow whenever Robby had it on, it always ended with them drunk, crying and clinging to each other while singing Это всё, even though Jack could barely sing the chorus, let alone the verses. That was just not the mood for today. 

With a smirk, he pulled out his phone and switched to Leningrad by Billy Joel. The result was immediate: a loud clunk as Robby hastily put down whatever he was doing, and a volley of Russian curses before he appeared in the doorway, hand towel thrown over his shoulder. 

“Turn that shit off,” Robby swore, scowling at him. His accent was thicker, the way it often was when he had spent the day alone, not putting up the almost perfect front he wore at work: just another doctor, nothing special about him at all. 

“You don’t feel represented by Billy Joel’s sad Russian clown?” Jack gasped, a hand to his chest in mock astonishment. “You should be grateful, he singlehandedly ended the Cold War with that song.”

Robby snorted, but didn’t dignify it with a response.

Jack wasn’t done, though. As he sat down to remove his shoes and prosthesis, he said casually: “I was thinking it could be our costume for Halloween this year: you can go as the sad clown and I can go as Billy Joel. It’ll be great.”

“Absolutely not,” Robby huffed. 

“It’ll make Dana laugh,” Jack sing-songed. As expected, that made Robby pause. 

“I do like making Dana laugh…” he trailed off, and when he spoke again he thickened his accent, playing it up in a way that always made Jack chuckle. “You must shave your head bald, Billy Joel.”

“Be serious, Mishik.” After checking over his residual limb, Jack transferred into his wheelchair and wheeled closer to him. “Remember that time I went to a new barber and he accidentally cut my hair too short? You looked like you were about to puke every single time you saw me– for weeks you could barely look at me.”

It had actually broken his heart. Jack’s favorite thing in the whole world was to spot Robby before Robby spotted him. Every time finally noticed Jack his eyes would soften and the tension in his shoulders would relax, like just seeing him soothed Robby. During the time without his curls, every time Robby saw him he would look so sad, like Jack had run over his puppy, backed up, and ran over it again. It had been unbearable. 

“I don’t understand why we can’t go as Hawkeye and BJ, like normal.” Robby groused, moving back to the kitchen. 

“Because we always go as Hawkeye and BJ and you always make me grow a mustache to be BJ but you never shave your beard to be Hawkeye. If you would go as BJ, maybe I’d consider it.” Jack complained, rolling after him. 

“You can’t be Hawkeye, you’re not Jewish. It's ah… appropriation.” Robby returned to the stove, stirring what smelled like a fantastic pasta sauce. Jack hoped it was filled with an ungodly amount of cheese and cream. Then, after a moment: “We could go as Radar and Klinger?” 

“Why, Mishik, if you wanted to see me in a dress, all you had to do was ask.” He was rewarded with the tips of Robby’s ears turning pink. 

He didn’t acknowledge that, didn’t even turn so Jack could see the blush that was undoubtedly spreading down his neck. “Put some decent music on and take a shower; dinner is almost ready.” 

That was enough for Jack, who was already scrolling through his phone. When the opening notes of Forbidden Fruit by The Band played from the speakers and Robby gave an approving hum, Jack went to go shower. 

After dinner– which had been an absolutely delightful fettuccine alfredo, just as Jack had hoped– they were sleepy on the couch as the last few minutes as the Bruce Springsteen biopic played. 

“I can’t believe they made a movie about Bruce Springsteen and didn’t include anything about Clarence Clemons.” Jack grumbled, leaning against Robby. 

“Perhaps they didn’t want to incite sexuality speculations about a dead man?” Robby posited, bringing a hand up to scratch Jack’s scalp. It was unfair how much Jack loved that. 

“They were kissing onstage in the 70s, man. Now’s not the time to play coy.” Jack grumbled, sinking further into him. The Thunder Road kiss was a big deal to Jack. As a closeted queer kid in a Catholic family in the late 70s and early 80s, the sight of Bruce Springsteen– American icon, adored by all– kissing a black man on the mouth on stage during tour after tour to the screams of thousands of adoring fans– in front of cameras, so public about it– that meant something to Jack. That it was okay to be the way he was. “They didn’t have to kiss, but not showing him at all is weird, that’s all I’m saying.” 

“Even if they didn’t show them kissing, they were not very platonic. Any time they were on stage together it was like Bruce wanted to ah, climb into his skin, I think is how the kids say it?” Robby said this part doubtfully. 

“The kids say what?” Jack sputtered, sitting up.

Robby’s face was bright red, like it always was when he tried to use the modern slang and got it wrong. “I think that’s what they say? I don’t know, I heard a teenage patient say that. It seemed to fit.” 

“It’s very evocative, that’s for sure. It is true that Bruce was very… clingy. Always draping himself on Clarence. But still, not including him at all…” Jack trailed off, shaking his head. 

Robby hummed in agreement, turning to nuzzle the side of Jack’s head, nose buried in his curls. “I’m going to bed, Yasha. Join me when you’re ready.”

“You’re leaving me with the dishes?” Jack gasped in faux affront. “You just use me for free labor. I’m being taken advantage of!” 

“I’ll take advantage of you any time you want,” Robby laughed, before leaving to make his way to bed. And oh, did Jack wish that was true. One day– soon, hopefully. Maybe. But in the meantime, Jack could dream.

Robby’s relationship with his religion was complicated, to say the least. On one hand, it was everything to him. Being Jewish in the late days of the Soviet Union was not an easy task and Bubbe had sacrificed so much for her faith– most of her family had been killed in pogroms early in her life– and still she never wavered in her belief. Robby had followed after her, joining her in her faith. 

Even when they came to America and the fear began to abate, he remained devout. He became a doctor because of tikkun olam: it was his way to heal the world. He bought a house with a yard for Sukkot. He kept Kosher even when it wasn’t easy. He celebrated each holiday to the best of his abilities, considering how demanding of a job he had. 

After Pittfest, something in him broke. It had been building for a while– after all, how much suffering could one take? The murder of Bubbe’s family, the Shoah, the fact that he and Bubbe had to flee their home, Katrina, COVID, the death of Jack's wife, the death of Adamson, the innocent people being killed in the name of his religion, and then Pittfest. What god could possibly allow this? How could it be borne? 

He stopped praying, he stopped attending services. He stopped celebrating all holidays, with the exception of Yom Kippur, but even that he attended with a burning anger, he went with the intention that he and Hashem could beg forgiveness from each other. A line from Ilya Kaminsky tucked tight between his teeth: “At the trial of God, we will ask: why did you allow all this? And the answer will be an echo: why did you allow all this?”

Still, he understood that it was a temporary anger, one that felt a little foolish. After all, Bubbe had suffered so much more than he had and she never wavered. How could he? What sort of spineless coward was he, that he couldn’t stand strong when his people had been suffering more and doubting less for thousands of years? 

He would return to it eventually, but for now he nursed his anger and grief, holding it close to his chest with a desperate grip, fingers dug in tight. There were still the other pillars there to hold him up: his work, his relationship with Jack, the safety of his home. 

Robby loved his home. It was his first big purchase after residency: a lovely brownstone with a yard, big enough for a family. It had been lovingly decorated. There had been a terrible day, six months after Bubbe’s death when he arrived home, looked around, and felt such heartbroken desperation for the little flat he and Bubbe had shared in Leningrad, warm and safe, furnished with all the things she had spent her lifetime collecting. 

They had sold or given away almost all of their belongings before they had left the Soviet Union, still he longed for the clutter, the sheer affection she had for her little things. So he had splurged: he bought a plane ticket home, with a plan to purchase things that reminded him of their home. He had walked the old streets, sat by the river Neva, stood outside the bright cathedrals and palaces and felt nothing but grief. The ghost of Bubbe was everywhere. He stood on the street outside their old apartment building, crying into his hands like a child when he heard a familiar voice. 

“Misha? Mikhail Robinavich? Is it really you?” 

He had looked up and found their old neighbor, Mrs. Levitina, standing in front of him, holding her shopping bags. 

“Mrs. Levitina,” he gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes in embarrassment. “Sorry about this. How are you?” 

“I’m good, Misha. What a surprise! You must come inside!” Before he could even respond, she had herded him into the building. The old paint, the rickety, terrifying elevator struck such a longing in his soul that he could barely breathe. 

Soon, she had him situated at her table with a cup of tea as she fussed around him. It had been so long since anyone had fussed like this, and with the familiar lines of her face, with her wrinkled hands, it was almost like sitting with Bubbe again. 

He caught her up on his life, what it had been like to flee, their trek through Europe. What life was like in America, how his schooling had gone. Mrs. Levitina held his hand the whole time, she cried with him over Bubbe’s death, and clapped with delight when he told her he was a doctor, telling him how she had always known he would prosper, how he was so smart. 

When he told her why he had come home, her eyes had grown wide. 

“Misha, Irina gave me some of her things! You can take them!” She insisted, already getting up. 

“I can’t take your things!” He had exclaimed, rising to follow her. “Bubbe gave them to you.” 

She waved him away, going through drawers. Her table quickly filled with Bubbe’s treasures: the plates painted with scenes from Russian fairy tales, hand-made quilts, some of the old paper cuts that she had spent endless hours toiling over, and then her favorite shawl. He held the shawl in his hands, unbelieving. 

“I think that’s all, aside from the rug and the hope chest, but I’ll need help moving those,” Mrs. Levitina said, studying the apartment. 

“This is too much,” Robby protested, cradling the shawl to his chest, tears rolling once more down his cheeks. 

“Nonsense!” She had said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll go talk to everyone she left her belongings with. We’ll get you your things back.” 

True to her word, for his entire trip, she took him from one home to another to collect Bubbe’s treasures. He sat at endless tables with people from his past, at times with laughter and with tears, as they reconnected and shared memories. Bubbe had been loved by so many people. 

He wasn’t able to get all of her things back, but it was more than he had ever hoped for. He had come home to haunt second-hand shops to find things that were similar, instead he had been allowed to bring Bubbe back from the dead, even just a little bit. 

Shipping it all home had been expensive and more than a little nerve-wracking but when it finally all arrived at his brownstone, it was worth it. All of it had been worth it. Now he ate his breakfast at her kitchen table every morning, his walls were adorned with her fairy tale plates, her papercuts and her shawl carefully framed and mounted. There was no room in his house where she was absent. 

There were also very few rooms where Jack’s absence could be found. When Robby had hung up pictures of him and Jack, and him, Jack, and Jack’s wife Shannon, Shannon had brought over a whole box of photos for Robby. Jack as a kid, pictures of his army days, pictures of Jack and Shannon’s wedding, pictures of their lives together before they met Robby, and pictures since they had become friends. It had brought Robby to tears, like he was part of their family. 

The second great change to his house had come when he and Jack grew closer. Robby loved having Jack in his house and didn’t want there to be any reason for him not to stay. When he realized that Jack normally used his wheelchair instead of his prosthesis around the house, he renovated his home to make it more accessible. 

Walls were knocked down to make rooms bigger, grab bars were installed wherever deemed necessary, the bathroom was completely gutted in order to install a walk-in shower with a bench, even more grab bars, and detachable shower heads at different heights. He had the kitchen redone so that the counters were lowered and he had ordered a custom stove to match, all so that Jack could cook while in his wheelchair. Robby benefited from this as well– taking his first shower while sitting down had been a revelation, and after stealing a wheeled stool from the Pitt, he credited the fact that he actually ate meals after work to being able to sit while cooking.

During the reno, he had asked his contractor how much it would cost to install an elevator, and while it was expensive, it had been a price Robby had been willing to pay. After all, what else was he going to spend his money on? He had simple tastes and aside from the occasional afternoon forays in record or bookstores, or the once-in-a-blue-moon antique fair trips with Jack, Robby didn’t really spend his money. It had all been saved and carefully invested with the focus of one who had already lost everything. He had more money than he would ever spend, and it was slated to be divided between Jake, Dana’s children, and a slew of charities when he passed. 

What was $70,000 when it meant that Jack could easily get anywhere in Robby’s home? The only thing that stopped him from pulling the trigger was the fact that Jack had sworn he would never visit again if Robby went through with it. Still, he thought about it often. Jack insisted that neither of them went upstairs ever, really, and if for some reason he did need to go up there, he could use his prosthesis or his crutch and the handrail. Robby just didn’t like the fact that there were places in his home that Jack couldn’t reach in his wheelchair. 

Robby always loved coming home, especially now that his home always contained Jack. Jack had come here after Pittfest and had just… never left. They hadn’t spoken about it, but it was the best thing to have ever happened to Robby. 

They had lived together before: Jack had moved in after Shannon’s death and had stayed until he had learnt how to live without her. He had moved back in during COVID and had stayed until Robby kicked him out. The day after Adamson’s death, Robby had the locks changed while Jack was at work. When Jack arrived home and couldn't get in the door, he had called the police for a welfare check. Robby didn’t like to think about those times. 

This time was better. Robby had been a mess at the beginning, but something had shifted. They had always been close and with the exception of COVID, when Robby moved into one of the upstairs bedrooms for safety, they had always shared Robby’s bedroom since it was on the first floor. They had never overlapped in the bed until after Pittfest. Now they shared whenever they could. 

Jack would go to bed earlier and Robby would stay up later when their days off allowed it. If Robby had the day off, he would get back into bed when Jack got home and nap with him for a few hours. They both slept better when the other was next to them. They would sleep close, warm and snuggled against each other. Robby had never been a cuddler, never able to fully relax around most people, but Jack had proven to be a wonderful exception. He loved being pressed close to him in the dark of the room. 

He was in a great mood when he came home from taking Mrs. Rivkin to Yiddish group. Robby had been worried that it would be awkward, since he had just dropped off the face of the earth post-Pittfest, but everyone had just been excited to see him and Mrs. Rivkin had charmed the group. 

He smiled as he came in, throwing his keys into the bowl on the entrance hall table before taking off his shoes. He could hear the chatter from ESPN and he knew he would find Jack situated on the couch, a medical journal in hand. It would be one that Robby had already read and Jack would be squinting at the notes Robby had written in the margins, trying to decode his scribbled thoughts. The stereotype was true about doctors having terrible handwriting and Robby’s had a tendency to be particularly difficult to decipher after growing up writing everything in Russian cursive. 

Jack smiled when he entered, looking up from the journal, just as Robby expected. His breath caught in his chest. 

“How was it?” He asked, reaching over to mute the TV and give Robby his full attention. 

“Mrs. Rivkin had a great time– everyone loved her.” Robby flopped on the couch next to him, scooting to be closer to Jack. 

“I bet they were excited to see you,” Jack said, patting Robby’s thigh.

“They were,” Robby said, smile small and pleased. “It was nice.”

“When do I get to go?” Jack had been begging to go for years and Robby had always refused. It was a conversational group after all– the entire point was to speak Yiddish. Jack knew little bits of Yiddish, but he spoke more Russian than Yiddish. That wasn’t the only reason Robby had refused though– he had been nervous to mix the two parts of his life. Perhaps it was time for a change. 

“Next time we both have it off, maybe.” Robby said, glancing at Jack out of the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah?” Jack asked with just a small grin, but it was enough to blind Robby like the sun.

“Yeah,” Robby agreed. 

“In that case, there’s dinner for you in the fridge.” 

Robby laughed. “Were you planning on starving me unless I agreed?”

“A man has to use every situation to his advantage and I’ve been trying to get an invite for years, Mishik.” Jack put his arm around him, hauling him close, and Robby dipped his chin towards his chest in bashful delight. “Now go heat up your dinner so we can get started on movie night.” 

Movie night was a sacred ritual: they had quickly found that they shared a love of classic films. Jack had grown up watching them with his dad, and Robby and Bubbe had gotten into them when they first came to America. The apartment they rented got terrible reception with the bunny-eared antenna, but when one of their neighbors moved into a nursing home, she gave them her entire collection of classic films on VHS. Over 200 films, most  of them in black and white. 

Jack liked romantic and screwball comedies, while Robby liked specific stars: Barbara Stanwick, Greta Garbo, Humphrey Bogart, Cary Grant in serious roles. Every year at Christmas he made Jack watch The Bishop’s Wife with him, and Jack would heckle Robby for his love of the film, considering he’s Jewish but he was just so charmed by Cary Grant’s portrayal of an angel. 

“What are we watching tonight?” Robby asked, sprawling on the couch and getting comfortable. Dinner could wait. “It Happened One Night? Libeled Lady? Some Like it Hot?” 

“It has been a long time since we’ve seen Some Like it Hot…” Jack tapped the controller against his chin. “How about next time we go to the cabin, we do a drag double feature: Some Like it Hot and then The Birdcage? Watch something modern for once.”

“I don’t know if you can consider a 30 year old film modern; I think we’re just old.” Robby teased, but after a moment’s contemplation– “We could go as Armand and Albert for Halloween.” 

“If you keep trying to get me in a dress, Robinavitch, I’m gonna develop a complex.” Jack said, squinting at him, the side of his mouth crooked up. 

“Maybe I was trying to get in a dress,” he protested, flushing pink. 

“Only one of us has the chest hair to play Robin Williams and it ain’t me.” Jack said with a shit-eating grin. 

“Or,” Robby said, carefully “We could go as Hawkeye and BJ, like normal.” 

Jack groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine! Fine, we can do the same thing we do every year. I am not growing the mustache, though.”

“Yes, you will,” Robby said, smiling like the cat who got the cream. 

“No, I won’t. It itches and it looks terrible on me.” 

“It looks great on you!” Robby protested, though he thought anything looked great on Jack... well, anything other than a short haircut looked great on Jack. 

“I look ridiculous.” He whined. “I’m not doing it.”

“Yes, you are,” Robby said with the assurance born of decades of a deeply intimate friendship. Jack could protest all he wanted, but they both knew he would grow the mustache, just as they both had known they would inevitably end up going as Hawkeye and BJ. Jack was incapable of not giving Robby whatever he wanted. Robby tried not to take advantage of that fact, but their Halloween costume was sacred. 

“Now go get your dinner so we can start the flick,” Jack said, nudging Robby’s side. “We’re watching The Thin Man.”

“Can’t we do After the Thin Man?” Robby wheedled. “Jimmy Stewart. Mental breakdown.” 

“My night to pick, Mishik. You can choose After the Thin Man on your night.” 

Robby sighed, but picked himself up off the couch to retrieve his dinner. Really, he didn’t mind, he liked The Thin Man, and even if he didn’t, he would happily watch the worst films ever made, just to have time in Jack’s company. 

Still, it had been a long day, and full from dinner and warm on the couch, Robby had mostly dozed off by the time William Powell said “Hey, would you mind putting that gun away? My wife doesn’t care, but I’m a very timid fellow.” He still registered Jack’s laugh next to him and smiled in his sleep.

Robby woke to a hand in his hair, nails scratching his scalp. He groaned, practically purring, and turned even more boneless on the couch. 

“C’mon, brother, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” Jack prodded. “You’re too old to sleep on the couch.”

Robby cracked open one eye. “Are you joining me?”

“Yeah,” Jack smiled, continuing to scratch Robby’s scalp. “It’s late enough it won’t totally fuck up my sleep schedule.” 

Normally Robby would continue to protest, would drag it out just because he was grumpy when tired, but the idea of Jack joining him was enough of a draw to curtail his bratty tendencies. He groaned, leveraging himself off the couch, immediately turning to spot Jack as he transferred from the couch to his wheelchair. It was unnecessary, Jack was old hat at these transfers, having done them thousands of times since he first lost his leg. Robby, however, worried.

They made their way to Robby’s bedroom, one changing while the other brushed their teeth. When they met again by the bed, Jack laughed. He was wearing a Fleetwood Mac shirt that he had picked up when they went to see the group in 2003, between Jack’s deployments, while Robby was wearing a Joan Baez shirt that he had purchased when they went to see her in 2018. Robby smiled back at him. 

“Do you think we go to too many concerts?” He asked. 

“No way,” Jack grinned. “We should go to even more, until our entire wardrobe is nothing but matching concert tees. And we have Springsteen in May, if you bail on me, I will fight you.”

“I would never dream of missing Springsteen,” Robby said, climbing into the bed. 

Jack checked that his crutches were by the nightstand before transferring into the bed next to him. He pushed the chair away, moving it to its spot against the wall. He sighed as he climbed in. Almost in tandem, they moved to the middle of the bed, curling up next to each other. 

Jack nuzzled into him for a moment, doing that funny Jack thing where he rubbed his forehead and cheek against Robby’s beard like a cat. Robby found it endlessly endearing. “It just feels nice,” Jack had explained the first time he had done it. 

After a moment, he settled down next to him. Arms slung over waists, Robby’s face in Jack’s hair, Jack’s face against his neck. A sigh of contentment. 

“Yashenka moy,” Robby murmured, leaning his head against him.

Jack’s answer came immediately: “Mishenka moy.”

My Jack. My Robby. 

They were words that had been spoken thousands of times: whispered into necks, exchanged over traumas, said across rooftop railings. It meant: I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re not alone. It’s just us. Take my hand. We’re in this together. It's you and me.

Simply put, it meant: I love you. 

It was the closest thing to wedding vows that Robby would ever have and meant just as much. 

The first time it had slipped out, Robby had panicked: it was too revealing, laying his beating heart out on the table between them. He had expected Jack to pull away, put up boundaries. Even if he didn’t know what moy meant in the moment, he would look it up and know. But Jack had just pulled closer, and called Robby his as well. It had become their thing, even after Jack had certainly looked up what Robby had called him. 

Robby had spent his entire life terrified. There was always a fear and a sadness in him, even as a toddler, but it only grew so much worse after his mother left. He was a knot of anxiety, terrified of the world, terrified of people, terrified of being abandoned. He stopped sleeping, would panic if Bubbe left the house even for the shortest of errands. He had panic attacks every day before school and would fall into Bubbe's arms, sobbing in relief when she came to pick him up.

There should have been clinical intervention young, but Bubbe was a Ukrainian Jew from a small shtetl that she had seen burnt to the ground, her family all killed in pogroms by the Red Guard in 1918. She had a deep distrust of institutions outside of her faith. So instead, she stayed awake with baby Mikhail, rubbing his back while he sat on the floor of the bathroom, staring at the wall and trembling. She sang prayers to him, encouraging him to sing along, his small voice halting and wobbly.

She took him to shul, and involved him in the community. She held his small, sweaty hand and gave him love. She did not downplay his fear, even though she had suffered so much more than he had. She sat with him and loved him so much that eventually, eventually he could feel safe with her. 

There were so few people he ever felt truly safe with: only Bubbe, Adamson, and Jack. He was never afraid when he was with Jack. Afraid of ruining the best thing in his life? Of course. But never, ever afraid of Jack, of being with him.

The safety of Jack and the comfort of the bed had a tendency to let down his guard so much that his feelings often rose to the surface without his permission. Once he had almost let “lyubimiy” slip out, something that would have damned him. He managed, quite inelegantly, to turn it into “lapochka” in a panic, though even that was too revealing. He had lied about what it meant when Jack had asked. 

He had told him it meant bunny, a pet name that could still be passed off as platonic and would have made sense– Jack’s grandfather had always called him jackrabbit as a pun on his name. Jack had accepted it without question. 

Robby thought he had gotten away with it and promptly forgot the moment in its entirety, until weeks later Jack had woken him from a dead sleep on the couch by pointing to the patio door and whispering “Lapochka,” with solemnity. Robby, delirious with sleep, couldn’t figure out why someone Jack called “darling” was in his backyard at one in the morning. A chill had gone through him, half certain for one terrifying moment that Jack’s wife was somehow outside, back from the dead, back to tell them all, she would tell them all. 

Then his brain rebooted and he remembered his slip-up and his subsequent lie. He got up and looked at the rabbit Jack was pointing to and tried to slow down his racing heart. Robby never confessed his lie and just hoped Jack never used the term in front of anyone else. 

It took another two months before their schedules aligned so as to allow Jack to come to Yiddish club with Robby, but that day had arrived and Jack was over the moon. Even better that he had convinced Robby to let him drive.

“Been a long time since I got a chance to take my best girl out,” Jack cooed, stroking the hood of his 1979 Ford F-150 Free Wheeling; a truck he had purchased second-hand when he was 17 and promptly named Diane. She had gone through significant refurbishment over the years– first to bring her in line with modern safety guidelines and then again to make her accessible so that he could still drive her without his prosthesis. 

“I did not invite you to join me just so you could flirt with your car,” Robby groused, rolling his eyes. “It’s not too late for me to go alone.”

“Don’t listen to him, baby; he’s just jealous of our love.” Jack met Robby’s eye and made a point to kiss where the door met the roof. Robby pretended to gag. 

The drive was great: it was a gorgeous day, an old Steely Dan tape was in the cassette player, and Robby was muttering curses in Russian about the other drivers. Jack loved long drives with Robby. He almost wished the drive would never end, that they could stay in this perfect bubble forever: sunshine, Diana’s purr, good music, and his best friend in the world. Today’s a good one, Shannon, Jack thought. 

Eventually they arrived in Philly and Robby directed him how to get to where the group met. They alternated between meeting in parks, restaurants, and various member’s houses. Today it was being held at the house of one of the founding members, a rabbi. 

“Last chance to back out,” Robby warned him, finger hovering above the doorbell.

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this that easily, brother.” Jack reached around him to press the bell himself. 

The door was opened almost immediately by a young woman with a broad smile. “Misha! Back so soon!” She exclaimed, wrapping Robby in a hug which Robby returned easily, not sinking back into himself like he did with most physical connections offered to him. She affectionately patted his cheek before peering around him. She gasped. “Is this the famed Jack?”

“Jenny,” Robby warned, suddenly bashful; his hands going into his pockets. 

Jack just grinned before sticking his hand out to shake. “He talks about me that much?” 

“You have no idea,” her smile was sly as she shook his hand, leaning in conspiratorially. “We’ve been trying to convince him to bring you for ages.”

“I've been trying to convince him to bring me for ages!”

“It’s a Yiddish conversational group. Jack doesn’t speak Yiddish.” Robby protested, blushing red. 

“Most of us don’t speak Yiddish. He can learn with everyone else. Now come in, come in!” Jack tried to catch Robby’s gaze as she led them inside but Robby was studiously avoiding eye contact. 

The meeting was a revelation: everyone was so excited to see Robby, all of them calling him Misha and pulling him into hugs. It was beautiful to witness. Jack couldn’t understand how Robby could ever believe himself unlovable when apparently there were whole rooms of people in this world who were always happy to see him. 

Surprisingly, all of them knew about Jack. He was practically swarmed with people, all excited to tell him how much Robby spoke about him, how long they’ve been trying to convince Robby to let him tag along. The fact that he didn’t speak Yiddish really didn’t seem to matter, while most of the conversations were held in halting Yiddish, there was always at least one person conversing with Jack in English. 

At one point, he begged out of a conversation with a younger member who was considering med school so he could refill his glass of water. He was outside of the kitchen when he heard Robby and Jenny talking about him. 

“Thanks for bringing him, Misha. Though I can admit, I get why you’re so protective of him. Those arms.” Jenny fanned herself, a smirk on her face at how much Robby was blushing. 

“I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re a lesbian,” Robby groused, sipping at a glass of wine. 

“Can’t a girl have an artistic appreciation for a nice set of muscles? I don’t have to like men to understand why you want to have his babies.” 

Robby choked on his wine. “I don’t- that’s not- no!”

“Oh my god, I was just joking but you totally want his babies!” She squealed, thumping him on the back while he coughed. 

“It’s not biologically possible,” Robby protested, clutching his wine glass like a lifeline. 

“It’s the 21st century! You have options.”

“There will be no babies. I’m 54 years old; I’d be dead by the time they graduate college.” 

“Don’t be so dour, you’re living until you’re 94, at least. Lots of time for you to have babies.” Jenny refilled his glass and Jack decided it was time for him to interrupt. 

“Who did Mishka get pregnant?” He asked, going to refill his glass. 

“No one. Yet.” Jenny grinned, all devil. Robby was practically purple in embarrassment next to her. 

“An ominous statement,” Jack stated, leaning on the counter close enough that his shoulder brushed Robby’s. Robby immediately relaxed into him, which only caused Jenny’s smile to grow even wider. 

Robby clocked it and planned a swift retreat. “Let’s get back to the living room,” he stated, putting his hands on Jack’s shoulders and steering him from the room. “Goodbye, Jenny.”

“Bye, Misha!” She called cheerfully. She sent Jack a wink, one that he chose to reciprocate. 

“Never should have brought you,” Robby whined, still pushing him forward. “Never should have come at all; these people are vultures. We could be watching a Pirate’s game and drinking beer on the couch right now.”

“Hey,” Jack said, turning to him. “I’m glad you brought me. I’m having fun.”

“That makes one of us,” Robby griped, but he still returned Jack’s smile.

Afterwards, Robby’s ears were still burning in embarrassment as they made their way back to Jack’s truck. It had been a good night: it had been wonderful to introduce Jack to everyone, but it had also felt so revealing, practically everyone had teased him about Jack and those that didn’t tease were unrelentingly earnest in their expressions of how thrilled they were to see Robby so happy. He felt like a bug, someone lifting the rock he resided under to peer at him. 

Jack, on the other hand, had a blast and was currently whistling as they walked back to the car. Of course, he had no idea about Robby’s predicament as most people– barring Jenny, the shit-stirrer– had been kind enough to speak to him in Yiddish, where Jack couldn’t understand. 

However, there had also been a lot of fawning over him in English, flirting with him on Robby’s behalf which he did not appreciate one bit. Lots of “Oh, he’s a doctor,” and Robby was summarily ignored when he pointed out that he also was a doctor, just so they could say how handsome he was, how strong. Jack, thankfully, just took the compliments at face value, not picking up on their intentions on Robby’s behalf. 

Back in the truck– thankfully, he had been spared from witnessing more flirting with Diane– Jack turned to him with a soft smile. 

“Thanks for bringing me, Mishik. I had a great time.” And okay, maybe the torment was all worth it just to see Jack happy. 

“I’m glad.” The words came out a little rough, emotion tightening his throat a bit.

“I was starting to wonder what I needed to do to get an invite. Was considering converting if it meant I could come.”

It wasn’t the craziest idea, actually. While Robby was currently on the outs with his religion, Jack, by nature of spending so much time around Robby, was already more observant than a lot of people he knew. He kept kosher because Robby kept kosher, even giving up his love of sausage breakfast sandwiches and his mother’s lasagna recipe, no matter how much Robby protested that it wasn’t necessary. 

He had never gone to shul with Robby, but he partook in every holiday Robby celebrated– he even had a favorite, Sukkot, because as he liked to say– “What red-blooded American man doesn’t like building a structure and eating outside?” Every time he went through the front door, he touched the mezuzah and kissed his fingers, just because that was what Robby did. When they went hiking, he would fill his pockets with stones he picked up along this way for when Robby went to visit Bubbe’s grave– “That way she can have a little bit of somewhere beautiful.” He had even started placing stones on Shannon’s grave– “So she can still share our adventures.” 

Of course, Robby’s musings didn’t last, because at that moment, Jack chose to ruin it. 

“Actually, that’s a great idea!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “We’re doctors– let’s head to work, we can chop off my foreskin right now!”

For a moment, all Robby could do was stare in blank horror. Then he started to laugh; great, helpless laughter that shook the frame of the car, making Robby breathless and bent over at the stomach, tears pricking his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, though he knew without a doubt that it had been with Jack. Only Jack could make him laugh like this. 

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you, lyubimy?” Robby gasped out, so overcome with laughter that he didn’t even realize what he had said at first. It was only when Jack stayed silent that realization dawned. His head snapped up, but Jack was just looking at him with such overwhelming affection that it took his breath away. 

“Been waiting a long time for that, lyubimy,” Jack said, pronouncing it perfectly as if he had been practicing. He reached his hand over to take Robby’s. 

“Jack-”

“No, listen.” Jack cut him off. “I love you, Mishik. I was just waiting for you to be ready.” 

“What if I had never been ready?” Robby asked, throat tight. He couldn’t help asking, had to know.

“You were going to be ready, but if you weren’t… what we have would have been enough. What we have is already more than I could ever ask for and certainly more than I ever thought I would have again.” Jack, as always, was trying for eye contact and Robby was helpless to resist him this time. “Let yourself have this. You can have anything you want, you only have to ask.”

Jack had thought when the time came, that he might have been nervous. It’s not often you confess your love for your best friend; it had only happened once to Jack before and he had been so nervous that he could barely get the words out to Shannon. He wasn’t nervous at all this time, not with Robby. How could he be scared of the most sure thing in his life? He had loved him for so long, quietly devoted and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Robby felt the same. 

“So what do you want, Mishik?” 

Robby held his hand tight, fingers a little clammy with nerves, but Jack didn’t care. Talking about things, asking for anything within a relationship was outside of Robby’s comfort zone. Jack could be patient. 

Eventually, Robby sucked in a deep breath, body tense, like he expected a refusal. Like Jack would ever refuse him anything. “I want you to move in.”

“Done.” Jack squeezed his hand. “I’ll find a realtor tomorrow and start the process of selling my condo. What else?”

“I want to date you. Proper dates.” 

“Easy. Name the time and place; I’ll be there with bells on.”

“I want you to quit the TEMs shifts.” Robby shrank away from him as he said the words, trying to tug his hand out of Jack’s. Jack tightened his grip, not about to let that happen. “I know- I know you like it, that you need the adrenaline rush, but I’m scared every time you go out. I can’t bear it if we’re doing this. My heart can’t take it. I’m sorry.” His voice was a whisper by the end, pulling into himself, avoiding eye contact, almost bracing for a blow. It broke Jack’s fucking heart.

“I’ll do it, but this is going to be quid pro quo.” Robby’s head snapped up, shock written across his face. Jack had said anything you want but he understood Robby had never had that before. “I won’t make you sell your motorcycle, but there will be conditions because my heart can’t take that death-trap.” 

Robby was already nodding. “Yes, anything you want.”

“You’ll only ride it in optimal conditions: daytime, sunny, no rain in the past 24 hours. No riding if rain is in the forecast or if the weather is under 45 degrees. No lane splitting, no passing in no passing zones, and you have to wear your helmet every single time you ride.”

“Deal,” Robby’s answer was immediate, not one flicker of hesitation. It made Jack’s heart warm. Just as he had the feeling, he watched as Robby closed up again, just a little bit. He averted eye contact, facing forward in his seat. Jack braced himself. “I want to put in the elevator.” 

“Why, Mishik? There’s no reason for it! We never use the upstairs anyway, and I can get up there with my prosthesis and my crutch, if I have a hand on the rail. It would be a waste of money and take up space in the backyard!” 

Jack was honestly a little impressed by how quickly Robby’s blush took over at his words. Still, Robby persisted. Wouldn’t meet Jack’s eyes, but still persisted. “There’s no reason for it now, but what if we have guests? Your sister with her kids or Jake or… or anyone else we have up there. What if you’re needed in the middle of the night?”

The penny dropped and a furl of absolute delight filled Jack. “Jenny was right! You want to have babies. That’s why you’re so insistent- it’s not about my sister’s kids at all. You want your own!” 

“You heard that?” Robby groaned, shaking his head. “Fucking Jenny. No, I do not want babies. As you overheard, I’m too old to be having babies. I lost the person raising me when I was in my twenties and it was awful. I wouldn’t subject any child to that. 

“Jenny said you were living until 94 at least,” Jack quipped.

“Jenny– despite what she might insist– is not psychic. I thought… maybe we could foster older children.” At his own words, Robby withdrew into himself. “It’s a terrible idea. We both work too much and I’m not just the ED chief, I’m on the board of directors. I don’t have time to raise children. It’s a horrible idea, forget I said anything.”

Jack reached out, tilting Robby’s face so he was forced to make eye contact. “Listen to me, Mikhail. We don’t have to have all the answers now. We can figure it out as we go along. I think fostering is a great idea and we can make it work. If we need to cut back on our hours or hell, if you want to retire, we can figure it out. We have time, baby. All the time in the world. We can revisit this conversation whenever you want. Understand?”

Robby nodded gently so as not to displace Jack’s hand. As if Jack was going anywhere, now.

“Okay,” Jack breathed. “So you want kids. What about marriage? Want to do this thing right?”

And Robby– in a perfect example of why Jack loved him so fucking much– immediately said “But what about Shannon?”

“This is a conversation about what you want.” Jack said gently. “But if it were up to me? I want to marry you. You wouldn’t be replacing her-”

And again, because Robby is perfect: “No one ever could.” He agreed.

“I think she’d be happy for us. She always loved you so much; she would be happy to know it was you.” Jack’s voice was thick, tears pricking his eyes, and he was gratified to see tears collecting in Robby’s eyelashes as well. They had both loved her so much; not in the same way, but there had been so much love. That love never went away.

“I want to get married.” Robby whispered. “Will you marry me, please?”

Jack grinned, happy as he had ever been. “Yes, I will marry you. We can go down to the courthouse tomorrow, Dana can be our witness.”

Robby was already nodding, a broad smile on his face. “Wait- what about your sister? She should be there.”

“Good point. How about we get married in a month? That should be enough time for her to get time off of work in order to come down.”

“A month would be great.” Robby agreed. “Do you want a honeymoon?”

“Two weeks in Bali, definitely.” At Robby’s less than enthused expression, Jack laughed long and loud. “No, maybe just a week at the cabin?”

“A week at the cabin sounds good.” Jack laughed again at the look of sheer relief that swept over Robby’s face. 

“Do you want to go down to the courthouse or should we do a religious ceremony? I know you and god are on the outs, but this will be your only wedding.” Admittedly a bit presumptuous of him to say, but Jack was never letting him go. 

Robby didn’t mention it, instead he pulled away and opened the door to the truck, almost falling out of it. Jack hurried to follow, for a moment he was unsure what had gone wrong. But when Robby marched back towards the house they had just left, knocking on the door without hesitation, Jack grinned.

Rabbi Felix opened the door, peering out at them. “Is everything alright, Misha? I thought you had already left.” 

“Will you marry Jack and I?”

Jack almost laughed at how fast Felix’s eyebrows rose as he looked between them. “Now? You work fast, Robinavich.”

That did make Jack laugh. “Fast!?” He called, incredulous. “It took him 30 years!”

Robby turned to throw him a look. “Do I need to remind you that you were married for 15 of those years?”

“Maybe I’m a polygamist.”

“You are not a polygamist.”

“I could be a polygamist!” 

“You were raised Catholic!”

“Oh, so Catholics can’t be polygamists now?”

“Yes!” Robby scoffed. “I’m not an expert, but even I know that adultery is one of the big sins.”

“So’s sodomy- you want to argue about that one too?”

Robby blushed deep, mouth opening and closing for a moment. “You can’t say that in front of a rabbi!” He took a steadying breath. “This is a pointless conversation. You are not a polygamist.”

“Wow,” Jack whistled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I never thought I’d see the day when Mikhail Robinavitch is religiously intolerant.” 

“I’m not being intolerant of your religion, I’m intolerant of your bullshit.”

“Now my religion’s bullshit? I think I need to contact Gloria. This is discrimination.”

“Don’t you dare-”

“Oy gevalt!” Felix cried, pure agony in his voice. He clapped his hands together. “Boys! Focus!”

Robby’s face flamed, inclining his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Felix sighed. “I will marry the two of you, however I do have a condition.” 

“Anything,” Robby said. “We’ll pay whatever you want.”

“That’s not my concern. If the group finds out that I married the two of you and they didn’t know?” He shook his head as if overcome at the very thought. “I must keep the peace. You’ll have to tell them ahead of time.”

Robby looked into the distance for one moment before shaking his head. “Fuck it. Everyone’s invited.” He turned to Jack. “We’ll invite everyone from work, too.”

Jack whooped in delight. He would have been fine if it had just been the two of them, but it would make their work life significantly easier if their coworkers were allowed to attend. 

“Call me tomorrow and we’ll work out the details.” Felix said, starting to close the door. He paused and then came onto the porch to wrap Robby in a hug. “Mazel tov. I’m happy for you, Misha.”

The walk back to the truck was pure heaven. Jack looped his arm through Robby’s and it was perfect, having him so close. He gets this now, forever. There is no more fear of scaring him off, everything was out in the open. 

“We’ll have a party afterwards with all of our friends.” Jack mused, bumping his shoulder against Robby’s. “You’ll dance.”

“I will,” Robby said, bumping him back with a pleased little smile. 

“What should be the song for our first dance?”

“As Time Goes By.” The answer is immediate. At Jack’s surprised look, Robby explained. “Years ago, we were drunk and watching Casablanca. When Ingrid Bergman said “Play it again. Play As Time Goes By.” You made me get up and dance with you. It’s one of my favorite memories.”

Jack remembered that night, now. Shortly before COVID– it should have been the beginning of their romantic relationship; they had drifted closer and closer every day. Gazes lingering, more intimate than ever. But then reports started coming out of China and the world came down around them: a war neither had experienced before or could have ever prepared for. A flood that swallowed everything. 

Still, the memory was golden: him and Robby close, noses brushing cheeks, breaths mingled. Jack drunkenly humming along to the song in Robby’s ear. That night, Robby had looked at him like Jack had invented the world just for the two of them.

When they got back to the truck, Jack realized something. “We’re getting married but we haven’t even kissed yet.”

“I’m saving myself for marriage,” Robby quipped.

“Bullshit,” Jack said, crowding him against the truck with a smile. “That’s not happening.” 

Robby raised a judgmental eyebrow. “Now who’s being religiously intolerant? Maybe I’m the one who needs to call Gloria.” 

“Go ahead, call her. Tell her we’re getting married.” Jack couldn’t help but sing-song the last two words, he was just too happy. He pressed Robby against the truck and leant up to kiss him.

It wasn’t a particularly good first kiss, both of them smiling far too much to actually accomplish anything, but when Jack pulled back, he let out a whoop of utter delight. 

“Absolutely worth the wait,” Jack grinned, peppering Robby’s face with little kisses as Robby laughed.

“Yeah?” He asked, pressing a soft kiss to Jack’s mouth.

“Definitely.” Jack said, doing his strange little cat-like nuzzle. Robby smiled. “I can’t wait to do this every day for the rest of our lives.”