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Jack stepped off the elevator and into the reception area of the surgical wing, where Dr. Park was already waiting. Without so much as a hello, Park slapped Robby’s chart in his hand.
“Standard ORIF for a broken wrist,” he said. “Waste of my talent.”
“You owe me more than one favor,” Jack said, skimming Robby’s vitals and post-op x-ray. He pinched and zoomed the image, staring at the brace placement for a little too long before Park snatched the iPad back.
“He’s fine,” Park snapped, walking away. “I’ve had mothers look less worried about their kids, Abbot.”
At the nurses station, a kid not more than 20 smiled up at him. “Dr. Abbot?”
“In the flesh.”
“Dr. Robby’s awake and asking for you. Well, he keeps saying ‘Jack Rabbit,’ but uh, we think he means you.” The smile turned into a way too amused smirk.
“He’s still coming out from anesthesia, huh?”
The smirk went into a full on grin. “Oh yeah, they gave him the good stuff too. He can’t stop talking.”
“Great.” Couldn’t get the guy to string two words together on a good day, but of course this would get him going. “You want me to wait here while you wheel him out?”
“Nah, you can go get him. He’s still a little groggy.” The nurse hit a button under the desk and the big metal doors that lead to post-op swung open. “Through there and he’s in S12.”
Nothing to be worried about, not in the least, but Jack walked faster than usual down the long rows, going from medical detachment to something he couldn’t quite place. Any kind of surgery was not to be taken lightly, but this was Park, this was routine, and he still wanted to make sure Robby was okay.
Outside S12, Jack gave a courtesy rap against the wall. “You decent in there?” He pulled open the curtain, to find Robby at the edge of the bed, shirt off, blankets bunched around his waist. “Oh, boy.”
“Jack! Jack Rabbit. No, wait, that’s not it. Jack Abbot. That’s it.”
“Hey man, you doing okay?”
Robby gave him doped-up smile. “I am doing great, fantastic.” He held up his right wrist, which hadn’t been operated on. “No, wait.” Like a puppet, Robby dropped his right arm, held up his left. The wrist was encased in sparkling white plaster. “All fixed.” His eyes had that glassy, high-as-a-kite look. His hair, well, Robby’s hair was mussed and rumpled and damned if Jack didn’t want to gently smooth it back into place.
“Let me see that,” Jack said, turning Robby’s wrist around in his hand, like he had x-ray vision, and could see through the cast. Mild displacement that needed a small steel plate, two screws and 6 weeks to heal, but otherwise fine. He’d be on leave for a week, light duty for the next three and, silver lining of it all, off that damned bike for a lot longer. “You in any pain? Want to give me a one to ten?”
“Zero,” Robby said, waving the arm around to prove a point. It’d change in a couple of hours though, Jack guessed. “Dr. Lupia put me under. She does not skimp on the drugs.”
“I’ll bet,” Jack muttered, wondering if Robby needed to lie down a little longer, let the Remifentanil leave his system. “Think you can stand?”
“Hell yeah,” Robby said, sliding off the bed, sheets, blankets falling to the floor. At some point, he’d ditched his hospital gown. He was in boxers and the sad little hospital socks.“You’re my ride, right? Didn’t sign those HIPPA forms for nothing, Jack. Take me home.”
Jack bit back a laugh. “You want to put on some clothes first or give PTMC the full Chippendale’s experience?”
Robby frowned, staring down at his chest, which was bare to the elements. “Oh right.” He rummaged ineffectually through the stack of clothing at his side; sweat pants, t-shirt, hoodie, staring at each item like it was a foreign object in his life.
“Want some help?”
Robby shook his head, grabbed a t-shirt and flipped it around like a jigsaw puzzle piece before dropping it again, the logistical challenge of getting it over his head proving to be too much.
“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Jack said, stepping between his legs. “Arms out, Robinavitch.”
“I got it,” Robby said, but he clearly did not have it. He kept twirling the shirt around in small semi-circles, confusing arm holes and the collar till Jack finally grabbed it from his hand and stuck the damn thing over his head.
“Arms out,” Jack said, yanking them through with gentle efficiency. The last time he’d helped anyone get dressed had been his wife, when she was too sick near the end to do much of anything for herself. The shock of memory bounced around his head, through his torso, the way most of his emotions did. It was progress, he thought, that he didn’t immediately want to burst into tears. Instead, he thought of the mornings when he’d helped her slip into a favorite sundress or sweater with an aching gratitude. That they’d had that time, that he’d gotten to see her wear the things she loved.
“Let’s go,” Robby said again, making for the door, before Jack reminded him of pants.
These, Robby was committed to putting on himself. Knobby knees, hairy thighs, socks covering up those brittle ankles. Somehow, seeing Robby half-dressed was more intimate than seeing Robby naked. Naked bodies Jack could handle with a cool, clinical detachment, like a diagram in a medical text book. This was Robby unguarded, exactly how he looked wandering around his apartment in the morning, unarmoured, defenseless. Like he’d wandered out into a combat zone without a TAC vest.
“One leg at a time buddy,” Jack said, as he hopped around the bed before eventually tugging the sweats over his ass.
Jack held out the hoodie, which Robbie looked at with confusion. “Why’d I bring two shirts? I have my shirt.”
“It’s cold outside, man. Wear the hoodie.”
He swung his arms wide, in a big circle. “I feel hot.”
“You’re gonna feel cold in a few minutes. Put this on.”
Robby crossed his arms over his chest, offended as if Jack had challenged a patient diagnosis.
“You wanna wrestle? Is that it? Who do you think would win? Come on, one arm in,” Jack said, and Robby relented, shrugging it on, before slumping back on the bed, ready for his shoes. Instead of Crocs or slides, he’d worn boots, which he now insisted on tying himself with thick, uncoordinated fingers. In the interest of not being there all day, Jack crouched on one knee and tied the laces. When he got up back, Robby’s eyes were gooey with affection.
“My prince,” Robby said, with a giggle. “The slipper fits, Dr. Abbot.”
Jack blushed hard. “You’re so high. Come on, let’s go.”
Robby shook his head, an emotional pivot in his eyes. Anesthesia made people moody, Jack knew that. “I’m not high. I appreciate it, Jack. What you’re doing. Who else am I gonna call?”
Jack tugged at his arm, tried to lead him forward, but Robby closed his eyes, swaying on the bed. They stayed still for a moment, Jack’s thumb brushing Robby’s bicep. “They’re gonna want this bed back pretty soon,” Jack said. “Stay too much longer and they’ll charge you for late check out.”
Robby frowned. “Worst hotel room I’ve ever been in.”
“Nah, remember the AAEM conference in Miami? That hurricane almost blew out the hotel windows. There was flooding everywhere and no place else to stay. I think I slept in the bathtub that night.”
Robby grunted. “Miami. You roomed with Crus.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Robby yanked his arm away from Jack’s loose grip and hopped off the bed. “We were going to room together but you changed your mind, last minute.”
“What? I did not. Crus asked me first so—”
“No,” Robby was fired up now. “No, I asked you first, and you said, and I quote, “Yeah, sure, maybe.”
“I did not—”
He nodded like a bobblehead. “Maybe. Who says ‘maybe’ when their best friend—”
“You’ve got it so wrong, you know that. Big deal, I roomed with Crus. Why’s it still bothering you?”
Robby barked out a laugh, gathering up his wallet and keys. “No fair trying to get me to talk. I might be drugged up but I’m not, you know, drugged up.”
“Hey, you brought it up, not me. That conference was months ago. You’re still mad Crus asked me first—”
“I’m just saying, you’re my best friend, my emergency contact, the guy with HIPAA privileges and yet, you roomed with a resident.”
Jack threw up his hands, amused and also confused that they were having this fight again. For days after the conference, he’d gotten a cold shoulder till Dana had sat him down and explained that him rooming with someone else other than Robby at AAEM was akin to cheating. “For the hundredth time, you always say you’re coming and then bail at the last minute. You hate these things.”
“That’s not the point—”
“What is the point then?”
Robby shook his head, like he was coming out of a pool. “You’re using my uninhibited state to pump me for information. That’s gotta be an ethics violation.”
“Brother, if I wanted to, I could really take advantage of this situation and ask you any question I wanted. You should be thanking me for the amount of restraint I’m showing.”
“Alright, ask me anything. I’m an open book, I’ll start talking.” Robby sat back on the bed, the fight out of him, and Jack just sighed.
“Come on, Dr. Robinavitch. Post-op needs this bed more than you do. Let’s move.” Gently, Jack lifted him by the elbow and walked him down the hall, where the nurse handed over a packet of information on wound care, physical therapy sessions and pain management. Robby stood next to him, nodding, but Jack knew he wouldn’t remember much. Anesthesia was like that. A blissful state of temporary amnesia.
Another nurse, this one a student, appeared with a wheelchair. Robby recoiled when she gestured for him to sit.
“I’ll be fine, thanks,” he said, trying to walk away before Jack yanked him back.
“Hospital policy. You know the drill. Sit down, Michael.”
“Hey, you can’t order me around,” Robby tried to shake him off but tripped backward under his own weight. Jack had to lunge to catch his arm.
“You wanna let me roll you out of here with some dignity or you wanna crack your head open?”
“You’re enjoying this way too much, you know that?”
“Well, you’re making this a lot of fun. In the chair. Now.”
Jack wheeled him down the halls and all the way out to the waiting Uber that Robby refused to get in.
“Let’s walk,” Robby said, squinting into the sun. “I always walk home from work.”
“We’re not walking. In the car.”
“It’s a beautiful day, Jack. Fresh air, good for the lungs.”
Jack opened the door, tried to shove those long legs and swinging arms into the back seat. It was like arguing with a hairy toddler, someone so invested in their own sense of agency that they forgot to be practical. “Robby, damn it, forget the weather, this guy’s gonna charge me a waiting fee if you don’t get in.”
There was a brief struggle before Jack maneuvered him into the back seat, Robby chattering the entire time about Jack being pushy, bossy, overly concerned with Robby’s welfare. Jack had to buckle him in, which Robby immediately tried to undo. Kids were less trouble, Jack assumed as Robby clicked and unclicked his seat belt.
“Quit it,” Jack hissed, grabbing his hand to keep him still.
“He drunk?” the Uber driver asked from the front. “I don’t want no drunk dude throwing up in my rig. It ain’t even 10am!”
“He’s not drunk,” Jack sighed, “He’s just..confused.”
“I’m not confused,” Robby said, gripping Jack’s hand tighter. “This is the least confused I’ve ever been in my entire life.” He swept a thumb over Jack’s knuckles, turning a functional hand hold into something far more intimate. When was the last time he’d held someone’s hand like this. Not a memory Jack let himself relive. Years ago, at this point.
Jack tried to untangle their sweaty palms, understanding that disinhibition after surgery was a real thing, but Robby whined. A low, quick yelp that made Jack do a double take. Through the short ride, Jack kept his thumb on Robby’s pulse, counting the beats per minute. Slow, steady, nothing to indicate distress or even desire, just a calm, reliable beating of his heart.
“You’re a good friend, Jack Rabbit,” Robby said as Jack maneuvered them out of the car and through the doors of Robby’s brownstone. Third floor, no elevator, which Robby swore he never got sick off.
“I am a good friend, but I’m not a Sherpa. Come on cowboy, giddy up those stairs. I’m not carrying you.”
It was a comical display, Robby making a real effort to bound up the stairs only to lose focus half way through and stop dead in his tracks around the second floor landing. “I hate walking into an empty house,” Robby mumbled, mostly to himself. “Though, it wasn’t so great when Janey was here either.”
“Ended badly, huh?” Jack asked, prodding him to get moving again.
“Not badly but we kept it going well after it should’ve ended. Mostly for Jake. Still, it was rough coming home knowing it was going to end.”
He’d never really talked about Janey or Jake before, not directly like this. Their friendship, deep, compelling, the best thing in Jack’s life, had a clear boundary. Don’t talk about ex-girlfriends and dead wives, that had been the rule so far. Skirt around the dark stuff, pretend that they couldn’t see the edges of despair in each other, though sometimes it was like looking into a mirror. There was a lot that hadn’t been said, not yet. Jack wondered when he was going to find the courage.
“Sometimes it’s hard to rip off the band aid,” Jack said. “You miss them?”
Robby shrugged as Jack pulled out the key to the front door, something he’d acquired recently. “I miss being in Jake’s life.”
“He still holding Pitt Fest over you?”
“No, not like that, but you know, he can’t forget it. Neither can I.”
“None of us can, brother.” Jack nudged him through the door, and plopped him on the L-shaped sofa. The thing was huge and Jack had spent more than one or two nights crashed out on it.
“You seem to be doing a good job of it.”
Jack looked up from his phone. Meds needed to be ordered, groceries too. “What?”
More alert than he had been all morning, Robby met his eyes. “Maybe you didn’t forget. Maybe you’re just better at hiding it. MCIs don’t roll off anyone. But I’ve never seen you flinch in the ER. Run out with a panic attack. Not once. Seen you have a nightmare or two, but that’s about it.”
He flushed, realizing maybe he hadn’t slept as soundly here as he thought. “You know about those?”
Robby shrugged. “A little. You’re not a screaming, wailing kind of guy. Could see it in your face though. It was a Saturday, I think. You dozed off watching the Pirates game. Breath came fast, face really screwed up, eyes tight. Thought about waking you up, but I figured you’d hate that even more.”
It was like getting pantsed on the playground in elementary school. Robby wasn’t laughing and pointing though. He just rubbed his hands and turned those massive cow eyes Jack’s way, deep with empathy. They never talked about this kind of stuff. Kidded around a lot, talked shop, baseball, football, hockey, home improvement, beer, office gossip, but in the year since Janey left Jack had stayed in his lane. He didn’t push Robby and Robby didn’t push him. “Yeah, well, you got that right. Never wake someone up when they’re dreaming.”
“They happen often?”
Jack went to the kitchen, got Robby some cold water and made him drink. The nightmares were off and on, not on any schedule or rotation. They came in like the weather, clouds rolling in and out, depending on the day.
“Is that why you picked Crus to be your roommate, in Miami?” Robby asked, putting his glass down.
“Don’t start.”
“Crus swooped in and yanked that bed out from under me.”
Jack laughed. “Your bed? You had dibs or something?”
“I had right of first refusal.”
Now he was grinning ear to ear. “You’re jealous, Michael, is that it?”
“Yes,” Robby answered right away, nodding his head vigorously up and down. “No question about it. I was and still am, jealous. Dr. Henderson and Dr. Abbot, the night shifts resident bad asses, tearing up Miami.”
Jack snorted, helping Robby off with his shoes.“What do you think was going on in that hotel room?”
“Well, I’ve tried very hard not to think about that.”
This time, he laughed out loud, a little giddy. “Robby, you gotta know—”
“Rationally, yes, I know nothing was probably happening, nothing you know, physical,” he waggled his eyebrows up and down. “But he got more of your time than I did.”
“Yeah, whose fault is that?” He tugged off a boot, started on the next one. “I remember you being Mr. Popular, the hero of the hour after the MCI.”
“Not true. Dr. Jack Abbot, combat medic. Bringing field medicine protocol into the ER. I seem to recall what can only be described as groupies following you around, most of the time.”
“Christ, you’re full of shit.” He pulled off the other shoe, hopped up before Robby could make more cracks about Prince Charming. “Anyway, you get more of my time than anyone. I’m here all the damn time.”
“Not enough,” Robby said, walking his glass to the sink. “Shouldn’t be saying this and hopefully I’ll forget it all by tomorrow, but it doesn’t feel like enough, Jack. It never does.”
“Hey,” Jack went to him, trying to unravel the ethics of having Robby spill his guts under the influence. “I’m always around, you know that. Anytime.” Why was he flushed, heart thumping in his chest.
“It wasn’t even the thought of you having sex—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa me and Crus? Just because we shared a room together—”
“—that really got me. Crus got the Jack Abbot television commentary. The Abbot morning breakfast experience. Abbot in bed, with reading glasses and a book.”
Jack thought about telling him to shut up, to keep it all bottled up inside before they said something they couldn’t walk back. Before he said something that tipped everything between them over the edge, like marbles over a table.
“I thought it was just me. Hoped it was just me,” Robby said, making his way back to the sofa, and gingerly sitting back down. “That got the Jack Abbot experience. I don’t know, just the thought of you guys hanging out, watching TV, in bed—”
“We were not in the same bed—”
“—doesn’t matter if it wasn’t the same bed. It’s intimate, Jack! Watching TV with someone, late at night, for no reason—” He trailed off and shook his head, realizing he was rambling. “Stupid thing to get jealous about. Your TV commentary isn’t even that good.”
“Hey,” Jack snapped. “It’s hilarious and you know it.”
They’d fallen into a pattern pretty quickly, he and Robby, after things with Janey had ended for good. When they weren’t handing off to each other, or when they had days off, they met up for breakfast, dinner, and then watched a game or a movie, something on TV. If it was nighttime, Robby usually fell asleep with Jack’s voice as background noise. Sometimes Jack nudged him awake, sent him off to bed. Other times, he covered him with a blanket and let himself out. “Lock up behind you,” Robby had told him one day, handing him a key. Jack had stopped trying to make other plans, which wasn’t healthy. Don’t jump from one co-dependent relationship to another, his therapist had warned him, but Robby wasn’t a proxy for his dead wife. They’d met in a haze of grief, Jack hardly registering anything, anyone that wasn’t the medicine. It had taken two years for him to wake up and when he’d looked around, Robby had been there, solid, steady, his foundation.
“You’ll be happy to know, the TV didn’t get turned on,” Jack said. “We got into bed and stared at our phones.”
“Cold comfort,” Robby said, cradling his wrist against his chest. As the anesthesia wore off, so did the pain meds.
“How’s your wrist?” Jack asked.
“Hurts like a bitch.”
He checked his watch, guessing Robby could get another dose in 30 minutes. “Food first,” Jack said, digging through the fridge. “Then the drugs.” He pulled out eggs, cheese, a tomato and half an onion. “Omelets a la Abbot, coming up.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Robby watched him chop, dice, shred and slide the eggs onto plates. “You gotta be tired, Jack. You can leave, I’ll be fine.”
“Uh huh.” Jack grabbed hot sauce from the other side of the counter and splashed both their plates. They hadn’t talked about it, and Robby hadn’t asked, but in his pack was a change of clothes, lots of clean underwear. “You got me for the next 48 to 72 hours.”
“Not even a SWAT shift?”
“They know where to find me.”
“I don’t need you to stay,” Robby said, shoveling food into his mouth, mood swinging back into belligerence. In the ER, Robby was usually unflappable. Pour a little Remifentanil into his system though and he became a teenager, swinging between emotional and obstinate.
“Fine, you don’t need me to stay.” Jack kept eating. “You want me to stay?”
Who knows what Robby would have said, without the medication still lingering in his system. “Yes.”
“Then it’s settled. You got a new roommate for the next couple of days.”
Despite his busted wrist, Robby cleared their plates while Jack shook out two tablets, one antibiotic, one oxycodone, and held them out for Robby along with some Pedialyte. “Don’t stick that under your tongue, swallow.”
“Bet you say that to all the guys,” Robby mumbled before raising his hands in apology when Jack glared.
He parked Robby on the sofa and threw a blanket over him, heading for the shower. At some point over the last few months, Robby had added grab bars in the bathroom, had even started calling contractors to see if they could put in a bench.
He came out in clean clothes that didn’t have the residual odor of the ED, just as the groceries and food were delivered. He kept crutches at Robby’s place too. Not just the cheap foldable ones that hurt under his arms, but a solid pair he could spend a weekend on, if he wanted.
“Want some help,” Robby called, eyes on some home renovation show, not moving an inch.
“I got it,” Jack said, unpacking the food, loading the dishwasher. It was hitting noon, but the sun hadn’t made it up past the horizon. Low, weak, struggling to break through the winter in Pittsburgh.
“You want to eat again,” Jack asked, sitting down next to Robby, thinking sandwiches for lunch.
“No, tired,” Robby muttered.
“You want ice for the wrist?”
Robby shook his head.
“How about a heat pad? That might help too.”
“I’m fine.”
“How about some water?”
This time Robby huffed out a laugh. “Didn’t realize Dr. Abbot had such a strong mother hen streak.”
“Don’t you come from a long line of Jewish mothers? You should be used to this.” The smile on Robby’s face faltered just enough to let Jack know he’d stepped in it. He knew Robby had a dead mom, had guessed how it had happened, but he never pushed further. Item eight hundred on the list of things never to be discussed.
“Sorry,” Jack sighed. “That was a dumb thing to say.”
Robby waved it away. “I’m not used to having someone to mother me, I guess.”
“Had a grandmother though, didn’t you? You telling me she didn’t spoil the hell out of you?”
“It wasn’t the same. I was lucky, but still.”
“What happened?” Jack asked, the question coming out before he could reel it back in. “To your mom, I mean?”
Out of everything Robby had let slip, this he held onto like a vice. “Maybe some other time.” He took Jack’s hand and traced his fingers over Jack’s wedding band. “And maybe then you can tell me all about this.”
He’d moved to PTMC right after her death. Taken a month of bereavement leave and then realized he couldn’t walk through the doors of the place she died every day, for the rest of his life. He left most of his old life behind, friends, colleagues, went across the country to work at one of the best trauma ERs in the country. He’d met Robby on his first day, in the middle of a tension pneumothorax. They’d locked eyes, nodded hello, and got down to work.
“It’s no big secret,” Jack said. “Katherine died like a lot of women do. Breast cancer that metastasized into her bones.” It hadn’t been quick and it hadn’t been painless, and when Jack thought about those years, those days, the breath left his lungs.
Robby squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, man.”
He’d never wanted to burden Robby with his grief, knowing that Robby carried around more than his fair share. That’s what had bound them together, the foundational loss that only the miserable few knew. He brushed a hand through Robby’s hair, smiled when his eyes slipped close. “See, Crus never got this kind of treatment.”
“I fucking hope not,” Robby said. “This is my territory.”
The anesthesia had to be wearing off considerably by now. This was just Robby being a dick. “Territorial, huh?”
“Have to be, with half the ED lusting after you.” His eyes opened, and he waved Jack’s hand away, like he’d just thought of something. “Also, you’re an incorrigible flirt, you know that, right?”
“It’s my natural charm, I guess.”
“Shameless,” Robby muttered. “Have to beat them off with a stick.”
“Nah, I think everyone knows I’m spoken for.”
He’d heard the rumors up and down PTMC. There were prop bets, side bets, some that Jack knew about, most he didn’t. Had they kissed? Were they going out? Secretly married perhaps? Maybe just fucking?
Robby moved closer. “Are you?”
“I think so, right? Aren’t I? Spoken for.”
“I don’t know, you tell me.”
“Well,” Jack scratched his morning beard. “If I’m not, what the hell have we been doing the past few months?” It had never gotten physical, but that hadn’t really mattered to Jack. Showing up at Robby’s house every free night, sharing meals, spending hours together doing normal, boring shit like watching TV and taking walks in the park and shopping for groceries. That had meant more than fucking.
“I was wondering the same thing,” Robby said. His eyes were clear, they didn’t have the haze of a medically induced coma. “You balked,” Robby shook his head. “At AAME. Don’t pretend, Jack. You got spooked and decided to room with Crus, because you thought I’d force the issue.”
He couldn’t quite meet Robby’s eyes. “That’s not why.”
“It is why. And that’s okay. After that, well. I don’t want to make assumptions.”
“Assumptions? Brother, I have been here, sleeping on this sofa, more nights than in my own bed.”
“No one was stopping you from coming into the bedroom.”
Jack sighed, knowing he’d been stopping himself. Robby had left that door wide open, and Jack had always thought of the band around his ring finger. “No I guess not.”
It was Robby’s turn to apologize. “I’m not pushing. I just, if you were worried or, or confused about what I wanted—”
“No, I’m not.” The hand at his waist slipped below his shirt, caressing the skin. He brushed his thumb through Robby’s beard, remembering the morning of the accident. How all they’d gotten was a call from the EMTs at the end of his shift, saying, Dr. Robby’s been in an accident. The distance and training he’d developed as a doctor collapsed like a house of cards, and his first thought, before Lena and had told him it wasn’t serious, that Robby was fine, that he just slipped and fell on some ice, was that he couldn’t lose someone he loved again. “I’m just moving a little slow, is all.”
“That’s okay,” Robby said, fingers still doing their up and down dance along his side. “Slow is okay, slow is fine. Just don’t make out with anyone else.”
He snorted. “You really let your imagination run away with you.”
“I’ve seen how Mohan looks at you. Walsh too. You guys would have angry hot sex.”
“Seriously, how much time are you spending imagining me fucking other people?”
“A lot, okay? Like, an embarrassing amount of time. Thankfully, it’s sometimes pretty fun.”
“Christ, you’re a sicko.”
“In my defense, you look super hot without your clothes on.”
His face must have been bright red, the freckles deepening in color. “I’m not making out with anyone else. Certainly not Walsh or Mohan or Crus, though if I had to pick—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Robby snapped.
“I’d pick you,” Jack finished, “Every time.”
Robby leaned up, put a hand around Jack’s neck and began to bring their faces together. Jack stopped him with a gentle hand against his good wrist. “Whoa, hey, you sure you’re going to remember this tomorrow?”
“What? Yes, yes I’m sure.”
“I’m just saying, I don’t want our first kiss to be the product of some drug induced haze. It can take up to 7, 8 hours for IV sedation to wear off—”
“Oh my god,” Robby flopped back down on the sofa, grumbling that Jack was taking consent way too far. “I’m fine, not under the effects of any kind of narcotic or whatever.”
“Plus, you’re dog tired,” Jack said, knowing he was right. He didn’t want this to be something half remembered between them. Didn't want Robby waking up with no memory of this conversation. “Lie down, rest, I’m not going anywhere.”
He could feel the argument bubbling up under Robby but it fizzled out just as fast, because Jack knew his medicine and knew how long it would take a man of Robby’s size, Robby’s height to clear the effects from his system. He’d been out of surgery for four hours, Jack’s guess. Easily another three to go before Robby approached a stat Jack could call lucid.
“I think this is what they call mixed signals,” Robby said, but didn’t complain as Jack settled on the L-side of the sofa, falling asleep before he was even aware he was drifting off.
When Jack woke, Robby was up and wandering the kitchen, the light still the same gray as before. He couldn’t tell what time it was, but Robby looked better, more awake, more alert.
“You okay? You need anything?” Jack asked scrubbing a hand across his face.
“I’m fine,” Robby said, staring at him with a neutral expression. They looked at each other for a long moment, and Jack wondered if he’d dreamed the entire morning. The declarations and the confessions and the fingertips at his waist. What good way was there to ask, he so do you remember that part where we almost kissed?
Before he could say anything, Robby looked at his watch. “It’s been 8 hours and 7 minutes since I had my surgery. The most intense effects of IV sedation have all worn off.”
He crossed the room, crawled up onto the couch and smothered Jack with his weight. Balancing on his one good wrist and his aging knees, Robby pressed their mouths together, not in a soft promise, but a firm declaration of intent. Jack held him by the neck, and opened his mouth just wide enough for Robby to slip in the tip of his tongue. Like the little noise in the Uber, Robby groaned in appreciation. Jack opened wider till they were bruising mouths and nipping teeth, and twisted his body so Robby could lie on his side, taking the pressure off his hands.
“Too fast?” Robby asked, mouth pressed against his.
“No,” Jack said, talking into Robby’s mouth, already lifting up his shirt. “Too slow actually, way too slow.”
Robby’s face split into a wide grin that destroyed their kiss and suddenly they were stuck together, laughing, smiling, witnessing each other’s happiness.