Archive of Our Own

When there are some who have doubts, reassure them; when there are some to be saved from the fire, pull them out. (Jude 1:22 - 23)

*

Jack hooks up with Robby the night before they’re officially introduced.

He’s only just moved to Pittsburgh two weeks ago, and so far, his sightseeing has been restricted to the grocery store. His one attempt to go on one of those walking tours ended before he even left his car, for no reason other than that he remembered that his wife had liked doing them.

But he’s starting work tomorrow – new city, new job, new Jack – and it seems a little pathetic to do that without doing anything fun even once, before.

So he does something he hasn’t done in ten years. He goes to a gay bar.

Jack vaguely recalls there being a time in his life when he’d enjoyed this: getting a drink, sizing up the options, then picking someone and chatting them up, hopefully charming them into his bed. Now, his wedding ring a heavy weight on his finger that he still hasn’t been able to take off, not even for this, it’s feeling a lot less fun. More like betrayal.

He’s just finished his beer and decided to call it a night when someone says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you’re about to throw up.”

Jack laughs, mostly because he’s so surprised that someone dared say this to his face. “Man, that is not how you get laid.”

The bearded guy who’s joined him at counter smiles. He’s less bulky than Jack, but taller. Jack wonders if he gets asked to top a lot, then wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

“A good old bit of honesty not doing it for you?” the guy asks, the corners in his eyes crinkling.

“Nah, I’m enjoying this. Got anything else to say about me while you’re at it?”

“Nope, all done.” The guy holds out a hand, which seems a little out of place. “I’m Robby.”

“Jack. ‘Robby’, what’s that short for? Robert?”

Robby shakes his head. “Careful. You only get two more guesses before I take away your firstborn.”

Jack, who has never been able to resist a challenge, signals to the bartender. “Let me buy you a drink. I guarantee I’ll be able to guess by the end of the night.”

So he buys Robby that drink, and another, and another, before they end up tumbling into an Uber that takes them straight to Jack’s sad little apartment that he’s living in until the renovations in his condo are finished, where they then tumble into bed.

“Robin,” Jack gasps into Robby’s ear mid-thrust, and Robby doesn’t even bother not to laugh at him.

The next morning, Jack wakes to an empty bed, which isn’t surprising. The only thing he is surprised by is the little pang in his chest once he realises Robby has left. It’s not that he had any illusions about what last night was.

It’s just. It might have been nice to have breakfast together, or something. They’d gotten along well. Jack hasn’t made any friends in Pittsburgh yet, and he hadn’t really realised how much he’s missed that social aspect until he found someone he could have an actual conversation with.

Also, the sex had been really good.

But there’s no use crying over spilled milk, and so he spends his last day off in front of the TV before it’s time to go to work in the evening, since Jack volunteered for the night shift. He’s always liked working nights, even before his wife died, but now it became a necessity. If he can join SWAT during the days and work the nights, perhaps he’ll be so busy that he’ll manage to sleep without nightmares.

“Dr. Abbot,” Adamson says warmly as soon as Jack enters the PTMC. “We’re so happy to have you. I’ll be back in a minute, give you the big tour. For now, meet one of our other senior attendings, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Jack turns his head to follow Adamson’s outstretched finger, which is pointing at a tall, gangly man who’s exiting one of the trauma rooms. The man’s expression morphs into one of alarm at being obviously singled out, and then into horror once he makes eye contact with Jack.

Jack has a split second of being offended, before he realises exactly why his new colleague would be this displeased to see him.

Adamson quietly disappears. Get it the fuck together, Jack tells himself. He forces an easy smile on his lips.

“So,” he says. “Turns out you weren’t playing fair yesterday. How was I supposed to know that Robby’s your surname?”

“You weren’t,” Robby says, his eyes crinkling again. “You were the one who insisted on guessing.”

“Well, you might’ve warned me that it was a lost cause.”

Robby’s smile changes into something more private, something just for the two of them. “Now you know. I’m a lost cause.”

Jack takes it all in – his new place of work, this new colleague, who has now become the person in this city he’s known the longest and, arguably, the most intimate. He takes in that smile, which is amused and a little shy.

They’re going to be okay, he thinks.

*

It doesn’t take long for Jack to realise that it hadn’t been a usual occurrence, Robby going to a gay bar. Robby doesn’t really go that many places, period, especially not ones where he might meet new people.

“Is he seeing anyone?” he asks Dana. Technically, he’s off shift, which is why Lena has already left, but he stuck around today to get a chance to talk to the day shift’s charge nurse. He’s not sure yet if Dana and Robby are friends, but they’re friendly, at least.

Dana snorts. “Depends on how you define ‘seeing’. He hasn’t been serious with anyone since Janey, and that ended three years ago. Why? You looking to set him up with someone, Abbot? Foisting him off on some unsuspecting sister?”

“Only got brothers,” Jack says, partly because it’s true and partly to see what happens. There’s an implication there, if you know to look for it.

Dana either doesn’t, or she chooses not to, because all she says is, “Wouldn’t be any good, anyway. That man is more stubborn than my ex-husband, and he once drove us all the way to Canada because he refused to take directions.”

“Is that the reason for the ‘ex’ part of that?”

“That would be the cheating, the drinking or the temper, take your pick,” Dana says. “Robby’s not doing any of that, at least.”

“He hasn’t got a temper?” Jack asks curiously, because by now he’s worked here long enough to realise that that’s not quite true.

“Not like that,” Dana says, in a tone so final that Jack takes the hint and goes home.

It’s none of his business, he knows it’s none of his business, and yet he can’t help but think about it. Is Robby out at work? Jack would understand if he wasn’t. He’s not out at work. In any case, Robby strikes him as the type of guy who likes to keep his private life just that: private.

Except then, about a year after they hooked up, he gets to work just in time to see some random guy kiss Robby in the ambulance bay.

“Holy fuck,” he says to Harry the ambulance driver, who frowns at him. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? I mean, is that even allowed?”

Harry frowns harder and leaves, and when Jack walks past the nursing station a few minutes later, Dana pulls him aside to tell him that he’s not in the army anymore, like he needs the reminder.

“Look, you might be Captain Abbot to your veteran friends, but-“

“Major,” Jack says, because he hasn’t lost his leg for his country to lose a rank now, too.

“-but in here, Doctor Abbot, you’d better leave your prejudices at the front door,” she finishes. “Have a nice fucking shift.”

The rumour that Jack is homophobic spreads quickly, so that by the time Jack’s shift ends and Robby returns for the handover, everyone’s already giving him hostile looks.

“Whoa,” Robby says, whistling. “I’ve only been gone for twelve hours. What’d you do to piss off the nurses?”

“Not here.” Jack manhandles Robby into the staircase, ignoring Perlah’s stare that implies she suspects he’s about to commit a hate crime, where he collapses on the bottom step and buries his face in his hands.

“Jack?” Robby sounds a little alarmed.

“Who was that guy?” Jack blurts out, because he can’t not know. He’s been thinking about it all night.

“Who?”

“The one who kissed you.”

“Oh.” When Jack looks up, Robby is blushing. “You saw that? That was Dave.”

“You two must be pretty serious, if he’s meeting you at your workplace.”

To his surprise, Robby’s jaw clenches, the way it usually only does when dealing with admin. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I asked him not to do it again.”

“Because you’re not out?” Jack guesses.

“Because it’s not anyone’s business who I date,” Robby says, which, yeah, that’s about what Jack had figured.

“How’d you meet?” Jack asks, when what he really wants to know is, did you meet at the same bar we did? Did you hook up that first night, too? Why didn’t you walk out on him?

Robby shakes his head, still looking irritated. “My car broke down, and he stopped to help me out.”

“Next time you’ve got car trouble, call me,” Jack demands. “I’ll help you.” And he’s definitely going to do a better job than creepy Dave, who’s kissing Robby at his place of work and making him uncomfortable.

His dark eyes twinkling, Robby says, “Thanks. Now, are you going to tell me how you managed to become persona non grata while I was off shift?”

“Pass,” Jack mutters.

Robby shrugs and offers him a hand to haul him back on his feet. “Suit yourself. I’ll probably know within the hour, anyway.”

“Great.”

For one moment, Robby’s touch lingers, one finger stroking over Jack’s wrist where he must be able to feel his pulse, which is now rapidly ticking up. Then Robby smiles sheepishly and drops his hand, running it over the back of his head instead. “Get some sleep, Jack.”

*

After that one awful shift, no one ever brings Jack’s behaviour up again. Jack suspects Robby had something to do with it – he was probably right about hearing the latest gossip within an hour, and, knowing the truth, he’s too nice not to set things straight immediately –, but he never asks, and Robby never tells.

Dave sticks around, though, which feels like enough of a punishment that Jack would almost prefer being accused of homophobia again. He has, by now, been in the Pitt for long enough to have heard all about Robby’s 7-week-itch (to Jack, who didn’t even get seven hours, this time span sounds almost obscene, too good to be true), so he counts down the weeks – six, seven, then, impossibly, eight, nine, until he stops counting before he gets depressed.

Robby doesn’t bring him up a lot, but then Jack overhears Dana asking, “You bringing your man on Friday, cap?”

“What’s on Friday?” Jack asks, immediately stopping charting. He’s covering for Dr. Hill, so he’s on day shift all week, and this is the first he’s hearing of anything happening on Friday.

Robby rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“We’re going for karaoke,” Dana says.

“Oh? Who’s we?”

“No one,” Robby says, at the same time that Dana says, “A few people from work. You want to join us, Abbot?”

“It’s just that I can’t help but notice that I wasn’t asked to join these exclusive plans before now,” Jack says dryly. “Not exactly making a guy feel wanted here, you two.”

“Didn’t really seem like your scene, Major,” Dana says, her tone just as dry.

“Hey. Just because I’m an Army boy doesn’t mean I burst into flame upon entering a karaoke bar.”

Robby doesn’t quite manage to look him in the eye. “It’s not really a karaoke bar.”

“Well, now I’m confused,” Jack says, a little annoyed at this secrecy. “What kind of place is it, then?”

“Robby!” someone yells from the direction of the south wing.

Robby, either with the instinct of someone who’s spent his entire life working at an ED or with the instinct of someone who really wants to avoid an uncomfortable conversation, takes off running.

This leaves Dana and Jack, caught at a standoff until Dana says, “It’s a gay bar.”

“Oh.” Immediately, Jack feels wrong-footed. Whatever Robby said to the others, it’s never seemed to convince Dana.

“You’re welcome to come with us,” Dana says, “as long as-“

“-I leave my prejudices at the front door, yeah, yeah. I got it.”

Dana snorts. “You’d better. But what I meant was, as long as you can manage to meet Robby’s boyfriend without making it too obvious that you two hooked up.”

What, Jack thinks.

Distantly, he’s aware that he ought to be smart about this, but instead he just croaks out, “He told you?”

“Give me a fucking break,” Dana says. “He didn’t need to tell me, I’ve got eyes.”

Jack stares at her, speechless. He and Robby have become friends over this past year, but likely in the same way where new employees now meet him and wonder, are they friends or just friendly. It’s not even Jack’s fault; Robby is just that private.

And yet, Dana somehow knows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “If Robby does bring that guy, I’ll be perfectly charming.”

“Good.” Dana unexpectedly smiles. “Who knows? You might even like him.”

*

Jack was sixteen the first time he ever entered one of these places, back before they’d become gentrified and mainstream. He’d hooked up with a guy twice his age that night, who at the time had seemed desperately old, even though he was probably only around thirty. Good times.

That sort of thing is probably not okay anymore, he thinks as he pushes through the crowd to find his coworkers. He’d get cancelled or something.

Someone calls his name; Jack turns to see Jesse waving at him. As Jack makes his way over, he realises two things: one, while most people sitting at that table are almost definitely queer, they’re also all over forty, which makes Jack’s first time at a gay bar seem even more far away. And two, Robby has, in fact, brought his boyfriend.

Jack only saw Dave that one time in the ambulance bay. He takes a closer look now, just to see what sort of guy makes Robby go past the seven-week-thing. Dave’s got dark hair, clean-shaven, glasses. He’s wearing a nice shirt, a stark contrast to Robby’s hoodie, and his grip when he shakes Jack’s hand is annoyingly firm.

“Hey. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Cool,” Jack says, surprised. “Nice to meet you, man.” He probably ought to have said something along the lines off, I’ve heard a lot about you, too, but despite the sour look Dana is giving him, the truth is that he hasn’t. Robby doesn’t really mention Dave.

Dave’s got his arm around Robby, smiling as he says something that makes Jesse laugh. Robby nods at Jack and shifts a little in his seat, but Dave’s arm stays where it is.

“Look, babe,” he says, nodding at Jack. “He made an effort, too. I told you to dress nice.”

Robby frowns, but his eyes are sparkling with suppressed mirth. “My hoodie not good enough for you?”

“I’m just saying, everyone else bothered.”

Robby’s eyes dim. He doesn’t say anything though, just takes a sip of his beer. Jack first tries to catch his eye and then, when Robby steadfastly refuses to meet his gaze, tries Dana instead. At the far end of the table, Dana gives a slight shake of her head; Jack doesn’t need to be a mind reader to get that she’s telling him to shut the fuck up, like it’s Jack’s fault that Robby’s dating a bit of an ass.

Because Jack did promise, he stays quiet. He has a couple drinks, then gets convinced by one of the doctors who he thinks works in Pedes to sing a Dolly Parton song together, and when he returns to the table, feeling pleasantly buzzed, there are two more empty seats now than before he left.

“Where’s Robby?” he asks, unable to bring himself to ask after Dave.

“Stepped outside with Dave for a smoke,” Jesse says.

Robby doesn’t smoke, Jack thinks, but has enough sense not to say that. He sits down, but about halfway through his beer his patience snaps. “I’m going for a smoke, too. Be right back.”

It doesn’t take long to find them. The second he steps outside, he hears the argument.

“-don’t know what your problem is, Robby.”

“The problem is that you keep fucking- touching me in front of my colleagues even though I’ve now repeatedly asked you not to.”

“So what? We’re in a fucking gay bar, for God’s sake.”

“With people I work with.”

“Well, if you had any other friends, that wouldn’t be an issue, would it?”

“Is there a problem here?” Jack asks, stepping up to them and lightly knocking his shoulder against Robby’s.

Dave laughs. It doesn’t sound very amused. “Nope. Go back inside, we’ll join you in a minute.”

Jack doesn’t even glance at him. “Robby?”

Robby rubs a hand over his face. “He’s right, you’d better go.”

“You sure?”

“He doesn’t need a guard dog,” Dave snaps.

Instead of saying something there’s no coming back from, Jack nods at Robby and leaves. He doesn’t return to their table, though; instead, he heads to the bar and orders two shots, his eyes on the door.

A couple of minutes later, Robby appears, alone. Jack’s pretty sure that the only reason he came back is because he left his coat hanging over his chair, but that’s fine, he can work with that. He calls Robby’s name and waves him over, and when Robby warily approaches, he hands him a shot and clinks his own against it.

“So,” he says once he’s downed it, “is Dave waiting outside for you?”

Robby huffs out a little self-deprecating laugh that Jack never wants to hear again. “I doubt it. I ended things.”

“Really?” Jack asks, pleased despite himself. “How come?”

“It wasn’t working out.” Robby doesn’t elaborate, but based on what he overheard, Jack can take a pretty good guess. “Listen, I’m just going to head home, grab some sleep. Sorry for ruining the mood with my baggage.”

“No way, man.” Jack signals at the bartender for two more shots. “You’re already here, you’re newly single, and I happen to be an excellent wingman. Let’s get you laid.”

The self-deprecating laugh makes another appearance as Robby gestures down at himself. “Not to underestimate your wingman skills, but I’m not sure of your ability to perform miracles.”

“What does that mean?” Jack demands. 

Robby ducks his head and doesn’t reply, but of course, Jack already knows.

“Hey.” He wants to wait until Robby is looking at him, but Robby’s eyes remain steadfastly on the floor. “What are you talking about, brother? The evidence that you’re capable of a perfectly good one-night-stand is standing right in front of you, remember?”

Predictably, Robby blushes at the mere mention of them ever having been anything but colleagues to each other. “That was over a year ago,” he says dismissively.

“So?”

“You haven’t- I gained a few pounds, that’s all. Dave said I’ve let myself go, and, you know, he’s not wrong.”

Jack’s blood boils. For one long, dizzying moment, he wants nothing more than to storm out the bar, find Dave, and punch him in the face. But he doesn’t, partly because he’s not in the habit of hitting civilians, even if they deserve it, and partly because Robby is studying the ground again, his face red.

“Want to make a bet?”

Robby blinks. “What?”

“I’ll bet you fifty bucks that I’ll get you laid by the end of the night.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Bet against me then, big guy.”

“This feels wildly unethical,” Robby says, which tells Jack all he needs to know about Robby’s college experience. Definitely no frat, that’s for sure. It’s probably good they didn’t know each other back then. Robby would’ve hated him.

But he doesn’t hate him now, so Jack grins at him. “That’s not a no.”

“Your funeral,” Robby says. He sounds deeply exhausted – but, Jack reasons, that hadn’t been a no, either. In fact, it’d almost sounded like a yes.

Good enough for him, he decides, and downs the second shot, watching from the corner of his eye to make sure Robby follows suit. If he gets enough booze in Robby, perhaps his confidence is going to go up. Old frat rule.

*

Jack’s got Saturday off. On Sunday, he’s back to the night shift, which means that by the time he enters the PTMC, he’s already missed most of the gossip. Doesn’t matter; he last saw Robby Friday night, following a guy outside while flipping Jack off. Jack’s fairly confident he knows what the gossip is about.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Dana asks.

Jack’s answer comes without hesitation. “Yep.”

“It was the longest relationship he’s had since Janey.”

“Hey, I didn’t break them off. I just helped a friend get over his break-up. It’s called being a good person.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Abbot.” Dana takes off her glasses and sighs. “It wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven, I’ll give you that.”

It’s as much of an endorsement of his actions as Jack’s ever gotten from Dana, so he’ll take it.

One by one, the day shift clocks off. Jack does the handover with Adamson, who reminds him of the charity thing next month that Jack vaguely remembers deleting emails about, and when they’ve circled through all the rooms and the night shift staff has gone off to their respective patients and they’re alone, Jack dares to ask where Robby is.

The frown on Adamson’s face doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him in a while. That boy’s always getting himself lost,” he says fondly, the only person in this place who’s worked here long enough to still think of 47-year-old Robby as that boy.

Jack knows how much Adamson means to Robby, has heard the rumour that Adamson’s already recommended Robby as his successor once he retires in a couple of years, but still, this kind of dismissiveness grates on him.

“With respect,” he says, “Robby’s a senior attending, not a missing sock.”

Adamson laughs, which wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for. “That’s good,” he says, patting Jack on the arm. “Very funny. Have a good shift, Jack.”

In the end, Jack finds Robby in the ambulance bay, staring into the distance. The shift’s been quiet so far, so Jack stands next to him and knocks their shoulders together.

“You look like you’re disassociating, man. Want some advice?”

Robby smiles a little. “Are you going to tell me to get laid again?”

“Depends. How did it work out for you on Friday?”

“I owe you fifty bucks,” Robby says. “Unfortunately, he didn’t quite manage to fuck the existential dread out of me, but, hey, what can you do?”

Blood pools in Jack’s mouth all of a sudden; he’s bitten his tongue. “Did Dave?” he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

Robby laughs and shakes his head, shy again. “I’m a lost cause, remember? I did warn you.”

This is where Jack should laugh, too, but there’s a lump in his throat, choking every trace of amusement right out of him. Now you know. I’m a lost cause, echoes in his mind, overlapping with, that boy’s always getting himself lost.

“Jack?”

Jack blinks. Robby is studying him, his brows pinched together, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with Jack.

“Sorry,” Jack manages. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah,” Robby says quietly. “I’ve been there. Have you been here long enough to see a patient brought in by helicopter?”

“Couple of times, yeah,” Jack says, not sure where Robby is going with this.

“The doors to the roof are usually unlocked, did you know that? They’re not supposed to be, but people forget, and the janitor doesn’t check.”

The lump in his throat grows, until he has to swallow several times before he’s able to speak. “That so?”

“I go up there sometimes. Stand by the edge, look down. Remind myself of all the reasons not to jump.”

Abruptly, Jack pulls Robby into a rough hug. “I hope you know I’m one of those reasons, brother. You don’t get to clock out early, you hear me?”

“Jack-“

“Promise me,” Jack demands. “When you go up there, tell me. If I’m not at work or I don’t answer the phone, tell Dana, tell Adamson, doesn’t matter. Don’t just disappear with no note.”

For some reason, Robby looks like Jack has slapped him. All colour has drained from his face. “Okay,” he agrees shakily.

“Good. I’ll hold you do that.” Jack steps back, but then, following a sudden impulse, he hugs Robby again. “Also, I don’t give a shit what that loser Dave said to you. You haven’t let yourself go. You’re hot, okay? I know you’re going to get all shy on me now, but I just want it on the record that anyone would be lucky to have you. Okay. Now you can blush.”

Robby, predictably, blushes. That’s good, though. At least he’s no longer sickly pale.

*

As December approaches, so does the inevitable phone call from his mom, asking him to come home for Christmas. She tells him she and his dad would love to have him (half true) and that his brothers and their families miss him (a complete lie).

Back when his wedding ring had felt like more of an ongoing promise rather than a mocking reminder of all that could have been, his wife used to make him pick one holiday a year on which they’d go visit. Now, without her to scold him, he tells his mom that he has to work and half-heartedly promises to come to Ohio for Easter.

“Saw that you’re working the holidays again,” Robby says one day in late November, eyebrows raised. It’s Jack’s day off, and so they’ve gone to a bar for a couple of drinks. Naturally, it’s taken Robby no time at all to be judgy about Jack’s life choices.

“Pot, kettle,” Jack says. “Don’t think I didn’t see your name on that spreadsheet right next to mine, man.”

“Jewish, remember?”

“So you took time off for Hanukkah?” Jack asks politely, like he doesn’t already know the answer to that.

Robby drinks another sip of his beer. “Even if I’d wanted to, I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I’m not allowed to skip the hospital fundraiser this year.”

“That fundraiser lasts eight days? Shit, no one mentioned that.”

“Okay,” Robby says loudly. “You’ve made your point. I’ll put in a holiday request for Passover if it makes you happy.”

“Robby, I don’t give a fuck what holidays you celebrate,” Jack says, because it suddenly seems important to mention this. “I’m just worried you work too much. Take some time off, man. Before next April. Go on vacation.”

“Got no one to go with.” Robby wraps his hands around the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Vacations aren’t really fun on your own.”

“Okay, so I’ll go with you,” Jack offers before he can think about it.

Robby stares at him. “Are you serious?”

“Why not? Just two friends going on a trip together. What’s wrong with that?”

“Jesus,” Robby says under his breath and then adds, louder, “Fine, I’ll think about it. In the new year, I’ll think about it. But first we have to get through three holidays in the next four weeks, as well as that fucking fundraiser. I told them I’m not doing it, but-”

“But someone in admin realised that you’ve been an attending for over a decade and yet have never gone to this thing before?” Jack asks, amused.

Robby deflates. “Pretty much. Adamson asked me to give a speech, did you hear about that?”

“He likes you.”

“If he liked me, he’d let me stay home.”

Jack smiles, but really he’s thinking to himself, good. The more events and activities Robby commits to, the less likely he is to jump, if only because he doesn’t like going back on his word.

“Anyway,” Robby is saying, staring morosely at his empty glass, “I promised to stay for two hours and that’s it.”

“You should stay for three.”

“Why?”

This time, Jack’s smile is real. “Because I promised I’d stay for three. If you wait for me, we can go somewhere afterwards, get plastered.”

“The fundraiser has an open bar.”

“The fundraiser also has our colleagues.”

Robby laughs. “You know that I’m your colleague, right?”

“You don’t count,” Jack dismisses. “You, I’ll get plastered with any day, brother.”

*

Jack is uncomfortably aware that the last time he wore a suit was at the funeral.

The fundraiser is a black-tie event, always is, but he managed to dodge it last year. He probably would’ve been able to wrangle out of it this year as well – but then he heard that Robby was going, and suddenly it seemed imperative to see Robby in a suit.

He’s not wearing the funeral suit, though. That one is going to stay in the back of his closet until the day he dies. Just brushing his fingers over the fabric earlier had triggered an onslaught of memories.

Near strangers hugging him, over and over. His mom smoking, something he’d never seen her do before. His mother-in-law asking what the point of him being a doctor is if he couldn’t save her daughter. Whiskey burning his throat, both going down and later, going back up.

At his wife’s family’s insistence it had been a Catholic funeral, like Jack hadn’t lost his faith in God twice over. He remembers standing there, listening to the priest talk about a woman he’s never met, staring at the stained-glass windows picturing saints. They’d gotten married in this church. Different priest, same windows.

“And this one?” he’d asked, pointing upwards at the windowpane. “Who’s he?”

His wife had laughed and kissed his cheek. “Him, you’ll like. That’s Saint Jude. The patron saint of lost causes.”

“Excuse me?” Jack had said, mock-offended. “Are you calling me a lost cause?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s what my mom calls you behind my back.”

“Well, that’s almost a compliment, then, right?” he’d said. “She likes me enough not to say it to my face.”

“No, she just likes me enough,” his wife had replied, and kissed him again.

Now, years after that conversation, Jack dresses in a suit his wife had never seen because he only bought it yesterday, and wonders if she’d have liked Robby. If Robby would have liked her.

*

The event takes place in the ballroom of a 4-star hotel downtown, and Jack manages to avoid small talk with three coworkers before he runs right into Brendon Park, who’s glaring at a small group of guys in tuxedos at a nearby table. It takes Jack a moment to recognise the hospital’s CEO among them.

“Look at Norris sipping champagne pretending like the hospital isn’t broke,” Park says bitterly. “This is a fucking circus.” Then he narrows his eyes at Jack, looking him up and down. “You’re not going for the full officer get-up tonight, Abbot? I’d have expected you to try and show off.”

“I am showing off,” Jack says. “I look better in a suit.”

“If that’s better, then I’ll pass on seeing you in dress uniform. You hear they got Robinavitch to give a speech later?”

“Yup. Should be interesting.”

“Interesting to hear what they blackmailed him with, you mean.” Park fixes his withering stare on Jack. “Heard he lost the boyfriend, at least. That should save us at least ten seconds of awkward words of gratitude. We’ve had enough of those tonight; I mean, come on. I don’t want to hear about your wife or second cousin or whatever unless they know how to amputate, this isn’t the Oscars.”

“It’s crazy that they didn’t ask you to give a speech,” Jack says dryly. “With all this joyful attitude you brought tonight.”

Park scoffs and walks away without a word of goodbye, which is how every conversation between them has gone so far. For whatever reason, the only person in the ED Park genuinely seems to like is Robby.

“Glad you made it,” a familiar voice says behind him. Speak of the devil, Jack thinks, turns around, and promptly ceases to think at all, his mouth going dry.

The money spent on the new suit, the horrible flashbacks, the pain of sacrificing his free evening on this – all of it was worth it for seeing Robby in a tuxedo, fiddling with his bowtie, already blushing despite the fact that Jack has yet to speak a single sentence.

“Stop looking at me like that, man,” Robby says. “I don’t look that bad, do I?”

“No,” Jack manages to get out. “No, you look- excuse me.” He snatches a champagne flute off a passing waiter’s tray and downs it in one go. “Sorry. Something stuck in my throat.”

“You were about to tell me I’m not hideous,” Robby says, but for once, he sounds amused rather than self-deprecating. “You’re not hideous either, by the way. And unlike mine, your suit doesn’t look like you bought it in the last millennium.”

The funeral suit flashes through Jack’s mind again, followed by a more recent memory of browsing the racks, trying to find something that Robby would think looked good on him. “No, this is- it’s pretty old,” he says, desperately craning his head to see if he can spot another waiter.

“Well, you look good,” Robby says, so sincere that Jack’s heart twists with want. “Anyway, I’d better go find Adamson, he wanted me to talk to a few potential donors.”

“See you after your speech.” Jack says it just to see Robby grimace, which he does.

Once Robby is gone, Jack ditches the idea of more champagne and heads straight to the bar, where he orders (sue him) a beer. Whiskey would be classier, but he hasn’t been able to stomach that since- anyway, he’s always preferred beer, anyway.

Despite all the jokes, Robby’s speech actually ends up being pretty good. It might be the alcohol talking, but there’s something about seeing Robby on that stage, hundreds of people listening to him talk in that soothing deep voice, that’s a tiny bit of a turn-on. Robby should do audio books, Jack decides, or have a podcast, or do porn.

Christ. Clearly he needs to drink either more, or less.

He orders another beer, chats with a few attendings from other departments, one of which doesn’t remember his name, which he’d suspected before but which becomes glaringly obvious when he makes a joke about his prosthesis and the guy says, “Oh, right, you’re the leg guy.”

“It’s nice to be known for something,” Jack says, and excuses himself on the pretence of needing the bathroom.

Well. He supposes he’d rather be the leg guy than the dead wife guy.

He hasn’t really kept track of time, but it suddenly occurs to him that he hasn’t seen Robby in a while. He wasn’t in the restroom, and he’s nowhere to be seen in the ballroom, either. At work, Jack would know exactly where to search, but he doubts the doors to the hotel roof are unlocked, and anyway, Robby did promise to tell him, so it can’t be that.

He scans the room again, just to make sure, then decides he might as well check outside just in case Robby decided to start smoking after all. He’s only just stepped into the hallway when he hears it, far away, but still perfectly audible.

“Whoa, what are you doing?”

Robby. Using the exact same type of voice as when they’re 0.3 seconds away from a Code Hula Hoop.

Jack starts running, taking two corners and just rounding the third when he comes into full view of Robby, cornered against a wall, pushing away some guy who’s got a hand on his ass.

Jack’s vision blurs.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from him!”

The other man brightens at the sight of him, which to Jack seems almost comically suicidal. “Don’t worry, dude, he didn’t mean it. Just a little disagreement.”

“I wasn’t worried about you,” Jack says incredulously. “In fact, I couldn’t give less of a shit about you. Robby, hey, are you okay?”

“Yep,” Robby says, in the tone of someone who is clearly not. Of course he isn’t, Jack thinks, furious at himself. What’s wrong with him?

The guy takes a step towards him and then, seeing Jack’s face, steps back. “Just think about my offer,” he says. “If you decide your department needs that funding after all, you just give me a call and we’ll figure out a deal.”

“You have five seconds to walk away before I forget myself,” Jack says flatly.

After a moment, the guy seems to decide that Jack isn’t joking, gives them both an awkward nod, and leaves. The second he’s gone, Jack turns to Robby.

For a split second, he’s worried that after what just happened, his touch won’t be welcome. But then Robby practically falls into him, letting Jack take all his weight, burying his face in Jack’s neck, and all of Jack’s worries dissipate.

He hugs Robby back, as hard as he can, thinking vaguely that if he could just pour all his love for his friend into him like this, via skin-to-skin contact, maybe that would make Robby feel better.

“So,” he says eventually, muttering the word into where Robby’s hair is tickling his mouth, “you’ve got a choice. Want to hear what it is?” When Robby doesn’t reply, he goes on, “My leg’s hurting, so either we sit down in this hallway, or we go to a bar like we planned and sit down there, or we decide, fuck my leg, I can always just prescribe myself more pain meds, and instead I go find that guy from just now and punch him in the face. Your choice, brother.”

The little huff of laughter Robby lets out makes his stomach swoop with relief. “Are those my only options or am I allowed to suggest an alternative?”

“Does the alternative involve violence?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Robby says, like Jack had known he would. “I was going to suggest that we should just head home.”

Jack pulls back a little to be able to see Robby’s expression. “Are you saying that because you genuinely want to go home right now, or because you don’t like going out?”

“Those are the same thing.”

“They’re really not,” Jack says. “Hey, if you want to go, we’ll go. But I’m just saying, it might be nice to do something. It’s a Saturday night.”

“So really, when you said I had options, you meant that you’re going to talk me into whatever option you think is best,” Robby says. His smile takes the sting from the words, but Jack winces anyway. Is he doing the same thing Dave is? Pushing boundaries where he’s been explicitly asked not to?

No, he decides. It’s really not the same thing at all. If Robby thought he was overstepping, he’d say so. The fact that he hasn’t makes him suspect that perhaps Robby wants a friendly bit of pushing boundaries.

“Your choice,” he says pointedly. “I’m just giving my honest opinion.”

Robby laughs. “Fine, you’ve won. But if I’m hungover tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”

“We’ve both got the day off,” Jack reminds him. “Let’s celebrate our last chance to get shitfaced in peace before the holiday chaos starts.”

*

 By coincidence, the fundraiser is being held only a couple of blocks away from the gay bar they went to a few weeks ago. They’re both wildly overdressed, obviously, but that doesn’t stop a guy from running his fingers over Jack’s biceps while they’re waiting for their drinks.

“Are you on your own?”

“Nah.” Jack jerks his head in the direction of where Robby is sitting at their table, either texting someone or pretending to text in order to avoid potential eye contact. “I’m with him.”

The guy smiles. “Well, you can bring him, if you want. The more, the merrier.”

Now that Jack’s fully facing him, he realises this guy is definitely not 21. It’s possible he’s not even 18. And suddenly he feels very old, looking at someone who’s at least thirty years younger than him, who’s clearly managed to sneak into this place with a fake ID or because he knows the bouncer, and who’s now trying to hit on a guy over twice his age.

All of a sudden, Jack’s own first hook-up at a gay bar doesn’t feel that great anymore.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” he says. For half a second, he’s tempted to say something else, but the kid is already gone, disappeared back into the crowd.

For reasons he couldn’t explain even if he wanted to, Jack tries to spot him again, to no avail. That tiny glimpse into his own past is over.

He sees something else, instead. Over the bar someone’s put up a picture of a very familiar saint. Jack stares at it for a second, his wife’s laughter echoing in his ears.

Then he grabs the two beers the bartender just put in front of him and goes back to Robby, who frowns at him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s nice to know your pick-up lines haven’t gotten any better,” Jack says, clinking his glass against Robby’s. “Cheers.”

“Here’s to shitty pick-up lines.” Robby smiles. “Believe it or not, I met a guy last year who was actually into that.”

“Oh, I bet he was,” Jack says. “I bet he was great in bed, too.”

“He was passable,” Robby says, his eyes twinkling. “Barely.”

It’s nice that they can finally joke about their one-night stand. A good sign, probably. A sign that they really have become friends.

Jack’s eyes flit to that picture above the bar again. When they return to Robby, Robby is looking at him questioningly. Waiting for Jack to continue the joke.

Fuck this, Jack thinks.

He says, “You know, passable or not, I bet that guy really would have liked a repeat performance. I bet he’s been thinking about it all year.”

Robby swallows. “You think?”

“I know. And you want to know something else? I bet he would like to take you out on a date, too. Possibly more than one. Possibly quite a lot.”

Slowly, Robby says, “I’m not- I mean, you’ve seen how it went with Dave. I’m not- people don’t really like-“

“If you finish either of those sentences, am I going to feel the urge to punch someone again?” Jack asks, only half joking.

“My point is,” Robby says, undeterred, “that I’m not really great at the whole relationship thing. I’ve been told more than once that I’m kind of a lost cause.”

Jack shrugs. “So what?”

“Excuse me?”

“So you suck at relationships. Who gives a shit? Why not just try it out and see what happens? We aren’t the first people in our department who’ve hooked up. We wouldn’t even be the first people whose relationship crashes and burns. Anyway, who knows? It might work out.”

“You really believe that?” Robby asks quietly.

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Jack doesn’t have to think about it. “Absolutely, brother. One hundred per cent.”

The look in Robby’s eyes changes to something darker then, something hungrier. Jack knows even before Robby leans in that he’s about to kiss him. And suddenly he can see it all: the kiss, then buying Robby one drink, and another, and another, before they end up tumbling into an Uber and subsequently into bed together. This time around, he’s sure, he’s not going to wake to an empty bed the next day.

And who knows?

It might work out.