Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

2025 (September 15^th)

Robby’d heard the gossip— every conceivable version there could be. The med students would whisper, or the nurses side eye and confer; there might have even been a betting pool among the residents. Hell, even some of the other departments have made comments before, hypothesizing the meaning of the black band that lived on Jack’s finger.

Jack had a wife at home.

Jack’s wife died in a car accident.

The wife left him after their child passed away.

There was no wife, and Jack only pretended in order to beat off hopefuls without resorting to a stick.

The wife was someone high-ranking, a forced secret because her job was so much more important.

Jack simply liked tungsten.

The last one was as close to the truth as any of them would ever get, Robby discovered— Jack did like tungsten and the fit and material had been picked because of its durability and resistance to scratching or bending. No matter what his tours tried to do to him, at least the ring was ensured to survive.

And it certainly had survived, unmarred and as pristine as the day Robby slipped it onto Jack’s finger. And it certainly had fared much better than Robby’s gold counterpart, with its scratches and slight dent on an edge right over the end of the inscription inside. And it certainly lived on Jack’s finger, out in the open for anyone to see that yes, Jack was taken, even if Robby knew that wasn’t quite right either.

It wasn’t as if Robby could correct anyone anyway— he had no idea what Jack even wanted anymore, and Robby wouldn’t out them like that, even if it hadn’t ever been a secret in the first place. But at this point, only Dana was left of the old crew that would have known Robby and Jack had been married, let alone divorced, and it seemed like Jack intended to keep it that way.

So Robby heard the gossip, never one to chime in, even when inquiring minds tried to cajole him into giving an opinion.

It wasn’t like he would know where to even start if he ever chose to speak.

*

A familiar low whistle caught Robby’s attention, and he looked up to see Jack had slipped in at some point and was staring up at the board with a squint in his eyes. His backpack was slung over a shoulder, nearly slipping off before Jack absentmindedly adjusted it and finally tore his eyes away to come around the hub.

Robby offered a wry grin and lowered his reading glasses further on his nose to keep Jack in focus. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck and tugged, willing some of the tension to ease even knowing that he wasn’t going to be successful until he had a shower at home and could actually lie down.

“Yeah, well. Take it up with Gloria if you have a minute. The boarders aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.” Robby took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before rubbing an eye, knowing it wouldn’t actually do anything for the strain, nor that it was good for the health of the eye.

Jack snorted, already shaking his head as he dropped his bag on the floor of the terminal next to Robby, nudging it under the desk. “No, thank you,” he drawled. “That is firmly not my job. I’ll just pick up the slack like I always do and call it a night.”

A small smile tugged at Robby’s lips, despite himself; he’d learned to appreciate these moments of banter and camaraderie as they came, telling himself that he was lucky to even have this much.

“Let me finish this one and I’ll give you the grand tour,” Robby said, gesturing to where he was charting, but Jack was already waving him off with a knowing sound, letting Robby get back to work.

It wasn’t long after that when Robby saved his files and shut his terminal down. He glanced around and didn’t immediately see Jack, but he barely stood up to go hunt him down before Dana said, “North 2.”

She hadn’t even looked up from her clipboard, which only made Robby more in awe of her uncanny knowing abilities.

“Thanks. Go home.”

Dana waved him off, still without looking, “I’m leaving in precisely two minutes.”

Robby huffed a laugh, “A valiant goal. Go home.”

When Dana didn’t deign to respond, Robby set off towards the patient room, not surprised that Jack was already familiarizing himself with Robby’s cases.

“I see you’ve already met my relief,” Robby said as he entered North 2. Jack wasn’t even rifling through the clipboard in his hand, clearly chatting with Mrs. Kowalski.

“This hospital sure prioritizes the best-looking doctors,” Mrs. Kowalski said, barely able to keep her eyes off Jack.

Robby chuckled and clapped Jack once on the shoulder, “Only the best for our patients.”

“So tell me about why I have the honor of taking care of you tonight?” Jack asked smoothly, offering her a winning wink.

Mrs. Kowalski was blessedly brief and succinct, letting Robby take over with her current plan, catching Jack up to speed. He wanted to be done with today and go home, but he couldn’t deny that shift change was one of the best times of his day, getting to do rounds with Jack and get him current for his shift.

Jack didn’t write anything down, so used to committing details to memory and knowing the charts would be updated for him to add to later. They were about to move on to the next room when Mrs. Kowalski made a surprised sound, drawing them back into attention.

“What’s that?” She asked, pointing towards Jack, gesturing low.

Jack looked down at himself, and Robby could tell that he automatically assumed she’d somehow noticed the leg, opening his mouth to explain it away. But Mrs. Kowalski beat him to the punch, shocking the room into silence as she spoke.

“That’s a wedding ring. What is a handsome, married man such as yourself doing here so late at night? My dear, you cannot be away from your wife like this— beds get cold and lonely, and you don’t want to be stuck here only to let someone else slip in there.”

“Oh,” Jack shifted his weight back, caught off guard by the insistent barrage of assumptions.

Robby assumed Jack’s next words were going to play it off, some made-up reason, or deflection, but he suddenly couldn’t breathe anymore, the air in the room stifling and oppressive as his chest grew tight and his skin began to prickle with a cold sweat.

“I’m going to— good night, Mrs. Ko—” Robby knocked his shoulder into the door frame in his haste to leave the room as fast as he could, blindly making his escape. He almost ran into one of the new night shift med students, but he barely spared a muttered apology as he sought out an empty room.

Jack found him in the family viewing room, closing the door behind him quietly. Robby didn’t look up from where he had his arms outstretched, leaning against the wall with his head hanging down, forcing his breathing to come out slowly and reasonably. It’d been a while since their current stalemate had gotten the better of him, and the feeling of wrongness crawling through his veins was uncomfortable and unwelcome. It didn’t help that Robby didn’t want to be here at work this week for other reasons— it was as if the universe was coalescing to fuck Robby over this time of year, every goddamn time.

He knew he just needed a minute, let it pass, and so it would seem, did Jack.

There weren’t any platitudes offered, no are-you-okay’s because Jack knew damn well that Robby wasn’t okay. But nothing could be done anyway, so instead, Jack asked, “Got any plans for the weekend?”

A hitch stuttered Robby’s breathing at the banal question.

“I’m working this weekend.” Robby refrained from rolling his eyes because Jack knew the schedule.

“You don’t work on Friday,” Jack pointed out calmly.

Robby huffed a humorless laugh into his bicep. “That’s not the weekend.”

“Close enough.” They could argue semantics all day long; Robby would never tire of it, which was a tidbit Jack certainly knew about and liked to exploit.

Robby breathed deeply, feeling his heart slow down a fraction and the warmth return to his extremities. The obvious distraction worked like a charm, and Robby held onto it like a lifeline, letting himself get tugged back to shore.

Bending his elbows, Robby did a wall push-up and finally turned around fully. Jack was leaning against the door, arms crossed like an additional shield of defense against anyone who might intrude on Robby’s desperate need to pull it together.

Mirroring Jack’s posture, Robby leaned back against the wall and crossed his own arms, grabbing at his elbows as he took another deep breath. He couldn’t quite meet Jack’s piercing gaze, though Jack didn’t call him out on it.

“I’m going to PittFest with Jake. He’s been begging to go, and I surprised him with tickets last week.”

Jack gave an interested hum, and despite himself, Robby looked up to see there was a supporting smile on Jack’s face.

“That’ll be a great way to spend the day. Sounds like fun.”

Robby quirked a half-smile, believing it but needing to embrace it better. “Yeah. Jake seems pretty excited, and it’ll be good to bond a bit more. High school’s been keeping him busy.”

Jack’s smile stayed on his face, though Robby recognized it as the bland one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. A bit of silence stretched between them then, and Robby almost broke it to ask what they were doing here right now.

Instead, Robby slipped both hands up to his neck and ruffled the hair at his nape. His breath was back under control and his heart no longer felt like it was ready to bore a hole through his chest, though the tightness remained— that tension never quite seemed to dissipate, no matter what Robby did.

“Go home, Robby,” Jack spoke, and when Robby opened his mouth to argue, he continued to speak over him, “I can figure out the rest of your cases without you. You deserve some rest.”

Robby was tired of arguing, honestly, and Jack was one of the few people that he ever conceded to anyway, so Robby only nodded and accepted the out for once.

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” The words came out stilted and awkward, but Robby didn’t bother trying to make them sound better.

He must have looked stable enough, though, because Jack finally pushed off the door and uncrossed his arms. “I’m off most of the week, so I won’t see you until the weekend. Have fun, okay?”

Robby stayed put, not quite ready to leave the room yet. He nodded in acknowledgement, though dropping his gaze. “Yeah. Thanks. Enjoy your days off.”

Jack hesitated at the door for a moment, but he seemed satisfied enough that Robby wasn’t about to fly off the handle.

When Jack left to go start his shift, Robby brought his hands up to wipe his face, feeling the vicious vindication of a good rub as he scraped against his beard and rubbed his eyes hard enough to see red splotches behind his lids.

He’d give himself a few more minutes here and then go home. He just wanted to pretend a little longer that his heart didn’t still ache.

2018 (July 15^th)

Robby stared blankly at the papers. They were neatly stapled together, and there seemed to be far fewer sheets than he might have imagined— if he’d ever imagined this scenario at all, which he truly hadn’t. Of all the possibilities that could have crossed his mind, this hadn’t even come close to the realm of reality.

In bold letters across the top of the first page read, ‘Application for Dissolution of Marriage’ followed by a simple parenthesis with the single word, as if anyone reading the title could have thought it meant something else: (Divorce).

“Where did you even print these?” Robby asked without thinking, tripping over the fact that Jack had been stuck in this hospital, in this room, for the past thirteen days. The discharge process was underway notwithstanding Jack’s refusal to work with the physical therapy team, utterly unwilling to entertain the notion of movement past getting from the bed to the toilet; even then, Jack would rather crawl than use the crutches or wheelchair, and ignored any hands that tried to support him.

He couldn’t imagine where Jack found a printer.

“Asked a nurse,” Jack replied, dry and uninspired. He wouldn’t look at Robby, his eyes downcast on his lap, where his hands were carefully still, clasped and refraining from even fidgeting. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, jeans already on, but while one leg hung down towards the floor, the other cut short right after the knee, the pant leg rolled up and clipped so the excess material wouldn’t flap around.

“Oh.” That made sense. Though Robby was certain that the request had been carefully planned; blackmail seemed more likely than flirting, given what Jack’s mood had been recently, but even then, Robby couldn’t begin to guess at what Jack could have possibly leveraged.

Something as simple as pity was the obvious answer.

“There’s a pen on the side table,” Jack commented, the suggestion pointed even when being void of emotion. Jack was void of emotion, like he’d mostly been since coming stateside, really.

Robby would have killed for something. Anger, rage, denial, bargaining, anything but this empty acceptance. He wasn’t sure Jack had even made direct eye contact with him since he woke up in this bed, which was so far removed from anything Robby had ever experienced from him. The desolation was unsettling.

Hell, Robby would have welcomed sadness, tears and sobbing, ugly crying or the fucking hitch of a breath while trying to stop the deluge, but Jack’s eyes had been dry— red-rimmed and bloodshot— but dry.

“I don’t…” Robby started, his eyes snagging on the pen that sure enough was waiting on the side table. He looked at the papers in his hands again, shoved there in a rough manner; Jack had been careful to avoid touching Robby directly, which Robby hadn’t failed to notice. Clearing his throat, Robby tried again. “I don’t want to sign these. I promised you that I—”

“I want you to sign them,” Jack interrupted, his affect flat. Still, he refused to look at Robby, delivering his lines rotely, memorized for a play he didn’t give a shit about.

The fear that had been present in Robby’s chest since he got the call began to sluice through Robby’s veins again; the feeling of being too late, too late, bloomed in Robby’s chest, regardless of his attempts to try and forcibly tamp it down the past two weeks, having actual, living proof that they hadn’t been too late.

“Jack, you’re going home today. There’s a learning curve here that’s going to take a moment, and I know it’s scary, but we can work on—”

“I’m not going home with you.”

The words stopped Robby in his tracks. What?

“What?” Robby’s mouth was dry, like Jack’s eyes. It felt like cotton swabs absorbing all moisture instantly, and the reproduction of saliva halted.

“I’m not going home with you,” Jack repeated. “And I’m not going to be married to you anymore. Sign the papers, and you can leave.”

Robby’s knees buckled and the floor threatened to swallow him whole. A faint ringing began in his ears, and Robby couldn’t remember the last time he got tinnitus. The papers in his hands began to crumple from how hard Robby was gripping, and he uncurled one hand to bring it to his face, swiping it down over his cheek and mouth, and rubbing his eyes.

His wet eyes.

How was it that his eyes were wet while Jack’s were dry? It didn’t make sense, but Robby didn’t have a single ounce of energy to begin unraveling possible differentials.

“Jack, you just went through a trauma. This is a trauma response.” Robby latched onto a shred of his experience and knowledge— he knew medicine, he knew the human body. He knew what PTSD was, how it worked. He knew Jack, and how this was an open-book case of survivor’s guilt— self-flagellation at its finest. This was self-sabotage, an implosion that was taking Robby with him, which Robby literally saw coming in some form, even if it hadn’t been this particular scenario.

He'd spoken with therapists, other doctors, social workers, the fucking VA, and had known the specifics of Jack’s recovery were going to vary in their presentation but be entirely predictable. Jack had every fucking reason to lose it, to struggle, but Robby had promised he’d be there to pick up the pieces. He fucking meant that promise.

“I’m fully aware of what I’ve gone through, Robby. You think I don’t know? I was there, I remember.” Jack’s voice was still empty, that void swallowing any hint of life, stealing Jack from Robby in real time.

Jack unclasped his hands only to smooth down his jeans once before interlocking his fingers again— the movement barely reached his knees.

“Then let’s give it some time. You’re recuperating now and need to process, which is going to suck and—”

“Am I not meant to be regaining my autonomy? Or are you going to take that from me as well? I only have so much left to be taken, but there are still pieces that can be quartered off.” Jack had never interrupted people before, and Robby was taken aback. Jack always listened and allowed people— Robby— to finish their sentences before responding. That Jack was jumping in like this was startling and new, and ringing so many warning bells in Robby’s head that he didn’t know if the peals were louder or the tinnitus.

Robby breathed in deeply and locked his knees when they threatened to buckle again. “Jack, I just meant that this is a really big decision and we don’t have to rush anything to—”

“Maybe I haven’t been clear enough,” Jack spoke over Robby. “I cannot be your partner. The man who said he’d love and hold you died in a hole in the desert. Let him go, Robby.”

The first instinct was denial, followed closely by anger, because like hell was Robby going to let Jack go. “Jack, you’re still alive. You’re here. And I’m here. Just… let me take you home and we’ll get through this. Together.”

A horrible sound escaped Jack at that—a humorless snort, a sound of muted surprise or indignation. He followed it up with a muttered and barely audible echo, “We’ll get through this.”

Jack then lifted his head and finally, finally met Robby’s eyes. The connection stabbed through Robby, unexpected, and then stole Robby’s breath at the absolutely foreign look on Jack’s face. There was nothing there, hardly anything recognizable from the man Robby loved.

“You’re not going to have a husband one way or another. I’m giving you the choice of having a living ex or a dead one.”

Robby heard the words, detached and cold. Fear permeated through Robby again as his mind finally forced him to put the name to the diagnosis: Jack was suicidal. This was depression on a level Robby had never seen before in a loved one.   

The realization wasn’t even made in retrospect— Robby had known how Jack was slipping away, how fucked up everything was. He didn’t know the specifics of what Jack had gone through, but knew enough to know that Jack wished he were dead. But it was like Robby’s mind had tried to shield him from this reality, that Robby wasn’t even enough for Jack to want to live.

“Sign the damn papers, Robby. And let me go.” Jack dropped his gaze back to his lap, and Robby felt the break in eye contact like a slap to the face. He couldn’t breathe.

His mind was racing, too many thoughts at once. He could put in the order for a psychiatric hold, force Jack to stay in the hospital, figure out a medicine regimen that would work, get Jack on an even keel. He’d speak with Jack’s doctors, work with the therapists; he’d figure this out.

He was halfway through making his decision to step to the left and simply reach for the call button to summon the doctor when Jack said, “The last page has my discharge papers. Says I’m A&O times four. If you try to go against me, I will never forgive you.”

Robby’s breath left him, and the fear tripled. Fuck, Jack knew him, knew what Robby was thinking, was planning. And he’d gone and gotten all his T’s crossed and I’s dotted, so that Robby would look like the asshole if he argued.

Even though he’d only be arguing for Jack.

Fuck, when did shit hit the fan so spectacularly? He was supposed to be taking Jack home. Their home.

If Robby forced Jack to stay, he risked losing Jack forever.

If Robby let him go, he risked losing Jack forever.

He didn’t know what to do.

“H-how…” Robby sucked in a breath, not feeling like he was getting enough oxygen. He didn’t know what he wanted to ask, what he could beg for, what words would make Jack see reason. Was it Robby who wasn’t seeing reason? Did he fuck up somewhere?

“If you love something, let it go, right?” Jack quoted, the words sounding wrong coming from his mouth.

Suddenly, Robby wanted to throw up. He couldn’t catch his next breath.

He didn’t know when he’d picked up the pen, but it was somehow in his hand. There wasn’t a conscious decision, only a vague knowing of it happening, and then there it was: Robby’s signature occupying the space under Jack’s, a finalizing stroke that should have come with the end of the world.

And yet, the world still spun. The hospital outside the door kept running, sounds echoing across the linoleum floor. Robby had missed so many shifts already, knew he’d have to pick up doubles when he got back. He hadn’t planned on going back anytime too soon, knowing he’d be taking care of Jack, but suddenly, in black ink not yet dried, he was now available to return to work.

That didn’t make sense.

Even if it was what Jack thought he needed, what he wanted from Robby.

Even if Robby could feel his heart breaking in real time.

The papers were tugged out of his hands, and Robby blinked rapidly before realizing Jack had taken them back.

“Thanks. You can go now; I’ve got a ride.”

“What…?” Robby’s throat was closed, sticking uncomfortably while only barely letting in a thin stream of air. “That’s it? I sign them and…what, we’re done? Go our separate ways?”

“That’s what divorced means. We’re done.”

Robby tried to hold onto the moment a little longer, but a flurry of activity suddenly happened as a nurse came in to chat with Jack about his discharge. Robby watched numbly as Jack was helped into a wheelchair— and fuck, just seeing that was bizarre, when Jack had refused coming near one for the past week.

Nothing felt real anymore. Maybe this was all a dream and Robby would wake up back in his bed, Jack next to him, whole and happy and looking at him with that glint in his eyes, love shining so brightly it almost hurt to behold.

Jack didn’t even look back at Robby as he was wheeled out of the room.

Robby’s legs finally failed him, and he collapsed onto Jack’s hospital bed, still warm from his body heat. Without thinking about it, Robby’s hands curled into the unmade sheets, hoping to hold onto something, anything left of his husband.

Ex-husband, now, apparently.

Robby didn’t realize he was crying until the tears splashed hotly against the backs of his hands, knuckles white from where they fisted the sheets.

2025 (September 19^th)

“We got shots fired… sounds like an automatic firearm.”

“Copy, code red. We have shots fired. Location?”

“Control, it’s coming—” a crackle sounded, distorting the next few words. “North on Point State Park. We’ve got a report saying right before Fort Duquesne Bridge. Wait for confirmation on location. Eyes on the shots coming from just south of the bridge? Possibly on the boulevard.”

Screaming over the radio made the next few words inaudible before the radio sparked again and another officer spoke, hurriedly. “Control, we have an active shooter. We have an active shooter inside the fairgrounds.”

“Officer, repeat. Did you say shots are coming from inside the fairgrounds?”

Another voice chimed in, staticky. “Shots fired from inside the park, northside. There’s many people down, stage left, be advised. I’m forming a strike team on Commonwealth, west of Place Park. I need five officers on me.”

“How many shooters have been identified?”

“Control, unknown at this time, we have…” screaming made the high-frequency squeal over the wire.

Jack tuned out the rest, knowing it was going to be chaotic while they figured out the logistics of stopping the active shooter or shooters. This was going to be a bad one, and the Pitt was about to get inundated with victims within the hour. He grabbed his phone off the charger, glad that he’d managed to plug it in this morning before he crashed hard, and reached over to snag his prosthetic from the side of the bed.

Slipping on his liner, Jack was already thinking about his go-bag, glad that he’d recently stocked up on CAT tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, and LMAs, always for just in case; mentally reviewing his inventory was a surefire way to slip into his medic headspace. Because that was what he was going to walk into those emergency room doors as— not a doctor, but a medic.

Fuck, it’d been a while.

His heart beat steadily and he wondered why he felt himself growing calmer as he shoved his leg into the prosthetic and tightened the valves. Standing, he leaned from side to side, working out the kinks on automatic, and stretching once before finding a clean scrub top to pull over his shirt.

As he picked up his bag and tugged it over his shoulder, Jack suddenly faltered as he realized that this was the end of shift for Robby; there was absolutely no way that Robby was going to be heading home anytime soon, not when it was going to be all hands on deck. Jack wouldn’t have been surprised if he got the call to come in for extra help anyway.

This was supposed to be Robby’s day off, dammit. The man hardly ever took time for himself, not since before COVID, so this was supposed to be an easy, fun day for him. He deserved some fucking happiness in his life for once, and yet now he was no doubt going to be in the thick of it.

With all those new med students, too. Jesus Christ, what a mess.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as Jack realized where Robby had planned to be today, and suddenly, Jack was viciously grateful that Robby was working instead, right where he’d be safest.

Grabbing his keys to the truck, Jack shifted his weight to accommodate the bag and headed towards the garage, feeling his thoughts run through, one after another. Scenes and imagined visions unhelpfully permeated his mind’s eye, and Jack really didn’t know what he would have done if Robby had come in on a stretcher, one of the victims.

Or worse, if he never came back from PittFest at all.

Jack got in the truck and started the ignition, smoothly reversing the truck out of its parking spot and following the well-worn path towards the hospital.

Maybe the mayhem at the Pitt wouldn’t be that bad.

(It would, Jack knew from hearing the dispatchers that this was going to suck.)

Maybe there wouldn’t be that many victims.

(There would be. Even a single shooter could do unspeakable damage, and PittFest was supposed to break attendance records this year. Statistically speaking, there were going to be many victims in the path of stray bullets, let alone pointed ones.)

Jack found his parking spot in the employee lot, taking advantage of the handicap area that he seldom used out of spite. Walking back towards the sliding doors of the Pitt felt like a world apart from this morning— it was amazing what a good meal and sleep could do for sanity, and Jack was grateful that he felt put together enough to face this head-on.

Robby was immediately apparent, turned towards the crowd of nurses and doctors in the middle of giving some sort of pep talk. Jack wasn’t going to interrupt, but Robby finished up quickly with a call to reconvene in five minutes, and like a fucking sixth sense, turned towards Jack immediately.

“Brother, I am so fucking glad to see you.” Robby’s arms were around Jack so fast, hugging with a heavy grief that had Jack wondering what the fuck kind of day this already had been.

Hugging back with the hand not clutching his bag, and squeezing hard, Jack said, “Heard it on the police scanner. How many are we expecting?”

Robby broke off the hug, not quite self-conscious, but clearly remembering where they were, and replied with a grimace in his tone. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good.”

2018 (July 2^nd)

This was a goddamn nightmare.

That was the only explanation for this yawning abyss of confusion and sick reality. Robby was asleep, and this wasn’t happening.

His feet moved, one step at a time, shoes squeaking slightly against the linoleum flooring; hospitals were the same anywhere he went, and Walter Reed wasn’t any different. He followed the directions he’d been given, not sure if he made any actual sense to the nurse when he came in asking what room he needed to go to.

Because Jack was here. Jack was here, in the hospital, and not in the desert. Because, apparently, the desert chewed him up and spit him out, making him land in a patient room. Robby kept tripping over the memory of standing at the hub when his phone went off again, but this time he had a moment to actually see who’d been incessantly calling him, only to hear a corporal on the other side of the line tell him that Jack Abbot was stateside with a medical discharge about to sever him from the Army.

That was it. That was all Robby got. Nothing else past the fact that at least Jack was breathing, last he’s heard, but absolutely no further details on what the fuck happened, and what Robby was about to find behind a door and a curtain.

“Jack?” Robby asked, unable to find volume enough past a whisper as he stepped fully through the door. A glance towards the whiteboard confirmed he was in the right spot, but the body on the hospital bed didn’t feel like Jack. Not his Jack.

“Are you Dr. Michael Robinavitch?” A female voice startled Robby as he recognized a familiar head of curls— more salt among the pepper since he’d last seen him. Jack was facing away from the door, away from Robby, and didn’t even shift when Robby came in.

“Doctor?” The voice asked again, and Robby finally tore his eyes away to see a young nurse capping a marker; she’d been right next to the whiteboard, clearly having been adding updates, and he hadn’t even registered her.

“Uh,” Robby’s inhale was quick, as he tried to process anything about the moment. “Just, just Robby…is fine. Just… Robby. Is he… is he…?” He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, wasn’t sure which word he wanted to use. He meant to ask if Jack was awake, but his mouth kept wanting to form the word ‘alive’ despite knowing the answer to that question.

Cement seemed to glue his shoes to the floor, after his feet had unfailingly led him here. Jack wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving? The quiet beeping of the heart monitor promised Robby that Jack was alive, still breathing— unassisted, thank fuck— and his stats looked fine at first glance.

“Dr. Robby, glad to meet you. On the next-of-kin list, you were listed as Jack Abbot’s husband. Is that correct?”

Robby swallowed hard around a lump forming in his throat. Jack still wasn’t turning toward Robby despite the normal volume of the conversation.

“Yeah— yes. That’s correct.” Robby tried to step forward, but he still couldn’t unstick his feet for some reason. Shouldn’t he be rushing forward? Grabbing Jack’s hand, any part of him he could? Feel for himself that his fucking husband was alive?

“You hear that, sweetheart? Your husband’s here. That should brighten up your day a bit.” The nurse said, and Robby felt his eyebrows crease until he realized she was talking to Jack.

“I… Can I—?” Robby gestured uselessly towards the bed, and the nurse nodded warmly.

“Sure thing.” The nurse wasn’t even in the way, but she stepped closer to the wall, ostensibly to give Robby more room.

Suddenly, Robby was moving, feet almost tripping as he tipped forward and caught himself as he closed the distance to the bed— only a few feet had separated them.

“Hey,” Robby whispered, hand coming down to find Jack’s— IV line taped onto the back and leading up his arm and over the side. “Jack, it’s… it’s me, Robby. I’m here.”

The touch was warm, yet another bit of proof that Jack was alive, alive, alive.

Jack didn’t so much as twitch. A white bandage covered his left temple, obscuring some of his eye, and another was taped expertly at the junction of his neck and shoulder, disappearing under the hospital garment and sheets that were pulled up to his chest. With the obvious injuries on that side, Robby figured it was fair that Jack was facing the opposite side, so Robby squeezed Jack’s hand and walked around the foot of the bed, eyes drinking in every inch of Jack.

As more of his face came into view, Robby’s heart pounded harder in his chest, realizing that Jack’s eyes were open and staring off to the side.

“Jack?” Robby asked, blindly reaching for the rolling stool that was next to the bed and bringing it close enough so he could sit on it. Robby found Jack’s other hand— blessedly free of IVs— and squeezed it. There were some cuts and scrapes on Jack’s face that Robby noted. “Hey, it’s me. It’s Robby.”

Jack’s eyes slid towards Robby at that, but they were unfocused and dead. There wasn’t any of the light that Robby was used to, almost as if Jack were a husk, a shell of himself. The sight was jarring, and for a moment, Robby wondered if he’d entered the wrong room and this wasn’t even Jack; the lack of familiar warmth and life made the man before him nearly unrecognizable.

But no, this was Jack. This was Jack. Jack, who only spared enough of a glance towards Robby to note him— not even making actual eye contact, but instead staring past him— and then dismissed him. 

With effort, Jack turned away from Robby, shifting so he was staring at the door Robby just came in from, and he pulled his hand free from Robby’s with a solid tug, bringing it up to his chest to defend himself against some threat— against Robby.

And not a single word slipped past his lips to explain anything.

Breathing in deeply, Robby rolled his chair back, towards the foot of the bed to give Jack a bit of space— obviously whatever he’d gone through had been bad, and Robby didn’t even know where to begin to untangle the mess of facts that landed them here. Still desperate for some kind of connection, to let Jack know that he wasn’t alone, Robby brought his hand down, intending to offer comfort by laying a hand on Jack’s foot under the covers.

The moment Robby let his palm come down, however, he realized he’d miscalculated somehow, and he pressed against the mattress by accident. The unexpectedness had Robby glancing away from Jack’s bunched-up shoulder that tried to cover his face, and down to the foot of the bed, where the movement of the sheets suddenly brought into stark light that there was something wrong.

Something was completely wrong.

Robby stared, trying to will himself to understand why he only saw one lump where Jack’s foot tented the sheets; Jack wasn’t completely on his side to explain away what Robby was seeing, simply turned away, so why was there only one foot?

Robby’s fingers inched out, seeking what was clearly missing, but denial had Robby incapable of accepting what his medical mind had already guessed. He managed to swipe across empty space until he touched Jack’s foot— his left foot, somehow skipping an entire right foot that was gone— and before Robby could wonder at what possible optical illusion could have caused that, Jack flinched and finally curled the rest of the way over, pulling his foot from Robby’s grasp, and hiding himself completely from view, paired with a pained groan.

“Dr. Robby,” a voice startled him again and he belatedly remembered they weren’t alone in the room. Mutely, Robby forced himself to look away from Jack’s form on the bed and raised his eyes to where the nurse was— still by the whiteboard, looking at them with pity and understanding on her face.

Robby didn’t want either of those directed at him right now, but he said nothing.

“Dr. Robby. Do you mind if we step outside for a moment? I can catch you up on your husband’s case, and we can let Jack rest a little bit. How does that sound?”

It sounded less like a request and more like a gentle order to get out of the room, but Robby didn’t call her out on it.

He didn’t really say much of anything as he stood and followed her out the door, watching blankly as she pulled the curtain closed before closing the door gently. He didn’t say anything as she led him to what must have been a family viewing room of some kind— he didn’t read the placard on the outside.

Really, he didn’t know what to say as she told him that, while she didn’t have all the details, she could to catch him up on what she did know, and Robby almost hated the fact that HIPAA extended to him in this case; with each new word, Robby wanted to cover his ears to block out the truth.

Not when he learned that Jack’s envoy had been ambushed, hit with some IED’s that killed the majority of his squad— mostly medics transporting the wounded back to base. Jack had been among the few survivors who had been taken as hostages. The nurse apologized when she said she didn’t know what the classified information surrounding his capture was, but that based on evidence of Jack’s body, he’d been subject to several types of apparent torture on top of the mangled foot injury he’d sustained during the initial blast.

It seemed that no one had given Jack medical attention until he’d been recovered, and again apologies were provided because she didn’t know how that’d been managed— if he’d been traded or rescued or even escaped. By the time a doctor was allowed to treat Jack, the sepsis had almost killed him, and the only way they’d been able to save his life had been to amputate not only the injured foot, but the affected surrounding tissue and bone, meaning that they’d taken a third of his leg.

By the time she stopped talking, Robby had nearly convinced himself this was a nightmare again.

It didn’t seem real that Jack had been taken, had been what— a fucking prisoner of war? Robby was going to hunt down someone in the fucking Army for a better explanation than this story filled with holes, not that he particularly wanted to fill them.

Jack had been taken, and now he was back. But what had they taken from him? A leg and what else? What else?

The nurse stared at him for a few moments, letting him absorb the barrage of information she’d flung at him, feeling like a bomb had gone off.

Immediately, Robby had to stifle a huff of humorless laughter at the metaphor; if anyone had first-hand experience with a bomb right now, it was Jack, lying in a hospital bed a few doors down.

Bringing both hands up to his face, Robby swiped hard, catching eyes, cheeks, and mouth before he let himself compartmentalize. This was just another case, and Robby knew how to work those. Jack was alive. Jack was here, home. Jack was injured and needed help, and Robby knew how to help.

“Okay,” Robby finally said, finding his voice; it sounded stronger than he thought it should be, but he was used to faking it until he made it. And he would make it through this— both of them would. He’d make sure of it.

“What are the next steps, then? What does he need me to do?” Robby settled, focusing on having a goal now. He’d vow to do whatever it was that Jack required, and then some. He’d take time off work, he’d figure it out.

He’d get Jack back on— well. Maybe not back on his feet, but get him to where he needed to be. Wherever that was.

Robby could do that. Robby would fix what he could, and they’d get through this to see what waited for them on the other side.

2025 (September 19^th)

“Hey, is he okay?” Emery gestured towards Robby’s retreating figure, and Jack did a double-take to Robby’s position, his concern for whatever the fuck was going on with Robby trying to break through his compartmentalization of today’s whole shitshow.

“Yeah.” Jack reached up to take off his safety glasses. “He’s just tired. I think we all are.” Even as he said the words, he didn’t believe them, knowing this wasn’t Robby tired.

Jack hadn’t lied to Dana earlier— he’d never seen Robby like this before. Not even when Jack had thrown his worst at him.

“Holler if you need us,” Jack said offhandedly, already in the middle of leaving the trauma room, ready to actually let night shift take over. He hoped to hell that another emergency didn’t pop up in the time it took to actually get the hell out of dodge; he wasn’t sure how many times he could say ‘bye’ without actually leaving.

“I won’t,” Emery sing-songed back at him, making him quirk a smile in reflex. He fucking loved verbally sparring with her, and knew their tense relationship baffled many of the residents; civilians truly never understood the rivalry between military branches, nor did they understand the brand of humor that got instilled in each soldier on day one of boot camp.

Stepping out into the hub, Jack automatically went for the hand sanitizer and caught Robby already in a conversation with Dana about something or other. Jack tried not to eavesdrop and made his way to an empty terminal, intent on charting as fast as he could so he could leave, and with any luck, take Robby with him; after the past few hours, Robby needed to go the fuck home, but knowing him, he might accidentally get swept into another case, and Jack was determined to not let that happen.

Sure enough, like fucking clockwork, Parker rounded the hub and immediately started hounding Robby, trying to pull him into some case.

Pride filled Jack’s chest as Robby, for once, deflected and delegated to John, brushing Parker off. The delivery probably could’ve used some work, but it was late, and he was obviously tired, so Jack smoothly stepped in.

“I got this,” Jack spoke up, grabbing Parker’s attention as he got up. He’d drag Robby out of here later if he had to.

*

There was no fucking sight of Robby, which should have been a good thing. The best case scenario was that Robby went home, but that was highly unlikely. Not only would Robby never bail without checking in with Jack, but a glance at the lockers— and a not-inconspicuous tampering of a lock to see inside— showed Jack that Robby’s backpack was still here, which meant he was somewhere in the building.

Walking back to central, Jack had his eyes peeled in each room to see if Robby had slipped in one, but it was now mostly night shift going about, clearly having a good handle on the fallout, with little day shift sticking around. He caught sight of Jesse at a terminal, looking like he was on the verge of leaving, and Jack had to do a double-take because he thought Jesse had left.

“Shouldn’t you be gone?” Jack called out to him, catching his attention.

Jesse looked up and offered a sheepish smile, a little too tired to reach his eyes. “Forgot something, but then I’m gone for sure.”

Jack nodded. “Have you seen Robby anywhere?”

Jesse squinted as if recalling the memory and said, “He was with Dana in the hallway earlier, but I think they’re gone now.” He gestured towards where the wall of frontline heroes was, and Jack wasn’t surprised in the least that Robby had hung out there for a moment. Neither he nor Dana were there, though.

“You’re looking for Robby?” Donnie asked from behind Jack, coming towards the hub to put a clipboard away. He also looked ready to head out.

“Yeah, you’ve seen him?”

Donnie’s face went tight, a serious tone shifting as he replied, “He was with Leah’s parents earlier. Not sure where he went afterwards, though.”

Jack grimaced. That definitely wouldn’t have been an easy conversation and could have been the cherry on top of this shitshow of a day. A gut feeling told Jack that Robby hadn’t come back out onto the floor after that— not after the tenuous emotion he had in his speech to the team earlier. Robby was still in the building, but he would have wanted some space to process a sliver of everything that’d gone down.

“Thanks, man,” Jack said, clapping Donnie on the shoulder.

“No problem.” Donnie didn’t let Jack go far before saying, “Hey, I’ve got a cooler full of beer that needs some love. We’ll be at the park if you wanna join.”

Jack turned back enough to say, “Sounds great, thanks.”

There wasn’t really a conscious thought of where Jack was going, halfheartedly scanning around as he walked to see if Robby might materialize somewhere. He thought about where he would go after a rough shift, and he suddenly remembered this morning— what felt like a lifetime ago.

Jack found himself striding towards the elevator, and the doors opened even before he got there, like some kind of kismet; really, it was only a respiratory therapist coming out, but Jack would take what he could get, and slipped inside, pressing the highest floor like routine.

At the very least, the roof seemed as good a place as any to check.

Stepping out of the elevator, Jack’s leg dipped, his weight briefly kicking out at the hip, and Jack gave a quiet groan as he took a moment to regain his balance and shake out the prosthetic. He frowned because it didn’t usually act up this early in a shift— even if it was technically his day off— but he figured the past couple of hours had been a bit stressful.

The next few steps were smoother, and then Jack mentally cast the discomfort aside as he pressed the push-bar to the roof access door.  Sure enough, Jack barely had to go far before he spotted a figure by the rails, outline matching exactly the one he’d been looking for.

As he trudged closer, however, Jack realized that Robby was on the wrong side of the rails, and a bolt of fear struck through him like lightning. Today had clearly been a tipping point of some kind of Robby, and Jack had no fucking clue what that meant or where they’d be tomorrow.

But first, he had to make sure there was a tomorrow to even see, and Robby was acting in a way that Jack was too familiar with, which didn’t inspire much confidence.

God, Robby wasn’t supposed to have even been here on today of all days. And yet, here he was. Atlas holding up the world.

The fact that Robby was here, on the roof where he knew Jack liked to contemplate life and death, scared Jack, but it also meant Robby knew Jack would find him. Whether subconsciously or not, that had to be a lifeline he was allowing himself here, and Jack was going to grab it and hold firm.

Each step forward was a compulsion, and right as Jack was trying to figure out how to approach Robby, he suddenly found himself saying, “You’re in my spot.”

The word vomit after that was instinctive, and Jack wouldn’t have been able to remember half of it, gun to his head, but at least it got Robby off the roof. 

2018 (July 31^st)

Heart hammering, Robby ended the call and gripped the phone so tightly he thought he might snap it in two. His lungs were too tight in his chest, and he forced himself to inhale deeply, knowing that he was closer to hyperventilating than was wise; he needed to think, which meant he couldn’t catastrophize.

Pushing his anxiety down deep where it couldn’t touch him, Robby slipped the phone into his pocket and walked out of the locker room hallway. He walked briskly towards the hub and asked, “Where’s Adamson?”

Dana looked up from over her glasses and took in Robby, and he vaguely wondered how stressed he must have looked for her not to make a quip and instead say, “South 20. Stevens needed a hand.”

Robby nodded in acknowledgment and immediately headed off, grateful that he wasn’t stopped on his way around the floor. He found the room, and saw that Adamson was supervising Stevens as the med student struggled through suturing a gnarly calf— dog bite that had taken its pound of flesh.

Adamson glanced up when Robby opened the door, and immediately did a double-take when he seemed to realize this wasn’t a social visit.

“What’s up, Mike?” Adamson asked, putting a hand on Stevens’ shoulder and murmuring, “Keep it up, I’ll be right outside.”

Distantly, Robby knew that Stevens would probably freak out at being left alone with a skill he hadn’t yet mastered— he was the type to need his hand held more than the others, but he made up for it by working twice as hard. Within a month, Robby knew that he’d be the best at suturing on the floor, but until then, the kid’s personality was going to spiral him down without eyes on him at all times.

Robby waited until Adamson stepped out of the room to say in a low tone, “I need to go. Personal emergency.”

Both of Adamson’s eyebrows raised at that. “Jack in trouble?” There was only one reason Robby would ever leave mid-shift, and Adamson knew damn well that Robby’s life outside of work had imploded this month, leaving him struggling to pick up the pieces.

“The VA just called me,” Robby said, nodding quickly. “They weren’t really supposed to, but I guess Jack never actually updated his next-of-kin or medical proxy forms, so my name was still at the top. They’re worried about Jack— he’s missed every single appointment and hasn’t been seen since the first visit, the day he discharged from the hospital.”

“He’s still in D.C.?” Adamson asked, angling his shoulders in to shield Robby from a passing nurse.

Robby grimaced; he hadn’t known where Jack was these past couple of weeks, and that lack of knowledge grated on him. Going home to Pennsylvania without Jack had felt like a betrayal on a level Robby had never experienced before. “Apparently. They gave me his address, saying they’d gone by his place but no answer, and they were going to do a wellness check next if I didn’t have any luck either.”

The address given was some halfway house the VA had helped set up for Jack until he found a new place, but it didn’t seem like Jack had done much work on that front.

Adamson nodded knowingly. “That’s a four-hour drive. Best head now so you don’t get stuck in traffic.”

Gratitude swept through Robby at the easy acceptance and grace Adamson extended so effortlessly.

“Thank you. I think I can get there faster if I take the bike.”

Adamson immediately made a negating sound in his throat, and his eyes narrowed disapprovingly. “Don’t even think about it. You’re already going to be breaking some speeding laws on your way there, which is bad enough.”

Robby opened his mouth to argue, but then Adamson said, “And anyway, how do you think you’ll bring Jack back? Riding bitch the whole way?”

The casual profanity rolling off of Adamson’s tongue was enough to take Robby aback, but then he let what was said actually impact him, and he realized that Adamson had a point; if there was the slightest chance that he could bring Jack home, there was absolutely no way Jack would be able to handle riding the bike.

“That’s a pretty big ‘if’,” Robby mumbled.

Adamson reached a hand forward, settling it on Robby’s shoulder. “I think you’ll figure out a way to make him listen.” The follow-up squeeze had Robby feeling a little better.

“Guess we’ll find out. Sorry to bail like this.”

Adamson squeezed again and then softly pushed Robby. “Go. We got this.”

*

The sun was slipping past the horizon by the time Robby found himself cruising into the neighborhood where the address he’d been given claimed to be. The area was utilitarian, neither nice nor run-down, but an impersonal collection of apartments, four stories tall.  

Jack’s unit was on the ground floor, with flaking paint along the frame of his front door; Robby stared hard at an uneven patch as he waited in silence. Knocking six times in a row had Robby’s knuckles feeling sore from how hard he’d been pounding, but the only noise he’d earned was the next-door middle-aged neighbor peeking his head out to cuss Robby out for being so annoying. He was intimidating enough that Robby quickly apologized, but the continued no-show at Jack’s door was worrying him enough that Robby continued to knock on the door, even after the neighbor retreated back into his place.

“Jack! Open up, it’s me, Robby.” There wasn’t an insignificant chance that Jack would refuse to open the door because it was Robby, but he didn’t think Jack would be that petty.

Again, too-quiet stillness met Robby’s calls.

Robby wasn’t entirely sure what else he was supposed to do— if Jack wasn’t home, then where the fuck would he be? The VA said he wasn’t answering any calls or texts, and they had no idea where else to try him; Jack hadn’t given them anything to work with regarding habits or hobbies, let alone any potential haunts to check.

A niggling thought tried to squeeze through his consciousness, telling him that Jack might have been lying dead just beyond this door, but he refused to linger down that trail. His heart pounded a little harder, though, in spite of his best attempts, and he refused to leave without proof that Jack wasn’t here.

Without knowing what else to do, Robby pounded on the front door again. “Jack! C’mon, man.”

The sudden bang of a door startled Robby, and he turned in time to see the neighbor storming out of his unit towards Robby. On instinct, Robby backed up and brought his hands up, though he wasn’t entirely sure what sort of defense he’d be able to actually do— the guy might have been shorter than Robby, but he was compact and looked military; no doubt he was set up here by the VA as well, and Robby was definitely disturbing his peace.

Robby opened his mouth to apologize or try to diffuse the situation, but the man ignored him and went straight to Jack’s door, something black in his palm. He was grumbling something under his breath, but Robby caught words like, ‘fucking useless,’ and ‘no decorum,’ and a string of expletives that Robby was almost impressed by.

“What are you…?” Robby began to ask, but trailed off when it became immediately clear that the man was picking the lock on Jack’s door. Only a few seconds later did a click sound out and the door swung inwards.

“Will you shut the fuck up now?” The man growled towards Robby before stalking to his unit again. The door slamming closed behind him was loud in the shared patio space.

“Thanks,” Robby said a little too late. The acknowledgment was all he had to spare before he turned his attention towards Jack’s place, taking in the fact that the place was dark. Maybe Jack was out.

If he were, maybe something inside would give Robby a clue as to where he’d gone. Walking into the apartment, Robby realized the encroaching darkness of night was making it hard to see, so he flicked on the lights and was met with a pitiful sight. The living space was so barren that Robby almost wondered if Jack had even stepped foot in the place, but in the corner was a sweater Robby recognized as Jack’s, and in the kitchen, there were a few empty cans of beer that Robby knew Jack typically drank.

A strong smell permeated the place, and a sweep of the kitchen revealed some takeout boxes with rotting food on the counters and sink, moldy fruit in the fridge, and nothing else. Apart from the kitchen and living room, there was only a bedroom, and a walk-through told Robby that Jack was definitely not here; the bed was stripped, leaving the mattress bare, and the sheets were lumped off the side of the room, along with a few articles of clothing and the pillows. Robby couldn’t figure out why they looked to be lined up, but when he shifted, he realized that they sort of made the corner of the room into a kind of nest— defensible if someone was behind the makeshift trench.

The bathroom was a mess with towels strewn everywhere, toiletries littering the counters, and prescription bottles opened with pills spewing out haphazardly. Robby recognized the SSRIs and NSAIDs, but despite the disorder, Jack was nowhere to be seen. The idea of Jack overdosing seemed wildly absurd, but Robby realized he didn’t really know for sure what Jack was capable of anymore; he could have taken some pills and gone somewhere else to die.

Finding himself back in the living room, Robby once again was at a loss. He drifted towards the counter where he saw a discarded pile of solicitation notices next to what looked like the apartment lease agreement. Robby’s eyes drifted over the papers, not really sure what he was looking for, and he was about to put the papers back when his eyes focused on the amenities that the unit offered, including rooftop access.

A sick feeling rose in Robby’s stomach. Why was it that it seemed more plausible that Jack go up there than take a few pills down here? Robby wasn’t sure why, but his heart began to pound in his chest, adrenaline flooding unexpectedly, and he knew he had to go check.

Stepping out onto the patio, Robby glanced around and realized that there weren’t any elevators, but there was an outside staircase that spanned the four stories. Again, Robby tried to tell himself it was highly unlikely that Jack used the stairs in his condition, but without hesitation, Robby found himself climbing the first landing.

With every step he took, Robby fought an internal battle, his mind unhelpfully supplying the idea that he was about to find a dead body, while his logical mind tried to reason that there would have been signs that someone had jumped recently. By the third floor, Robby was breathing hard, the summer heat getting to him and making him sweat through his shirt— the humidity was disgusting down here, making his skin sticky and tacky. On the fourth floor, Robby barely had to look around before he found the last stairwell that was clearly labeled as the rooftop access.

Each step up the last flight was nerve-wracking, and Robby wasn’t sure he was panting only from the exertion. Opening the door to the roof, Robby was grateful that the city’s lights were enough to illuminate his surroundings in a dim glow, because his eyes were drawn to the dark shape along the ledge that clearly didn’t belong there.

“Jack?” Robby called out, his feet moving forward without thought. “Jack!”

Crumpled against the inside wall of the ledge, Jack was curled on his side, his head resting on his bicep and his arm propped up to cover his eyes. Robby dropped onto his knees next to Jack, two fingers tucking into Jack’s neck to feel for his carotid.

Just as he felt the unmistakable beat of a heart pounding, thready but present, Jack gave a low groan and shifted away sluggishly.

“Jack, what happened?” Robby asked, eyes scanning over Jack’s body, trying to assess as quickly as possible; the lack of good lighting made it difficult to see details, but a hand on Jack’s forehead, and a brief check had Robby realizing that Jack was definitely too warm, though he wasn’t quite feverish.

“C’mon, baby, talk to me. Are you hurt? Can you speak?” When Jack didn’t answer, Robby asked, “Did you take something?”

Jack groaned again, but shook his head at that.

“Okay. Okay, that’s good. Can you sit up for me? C’mon, I’ve got you.” Robby tugged and shifted to get into a better angle to leverage Jack into a sitting position, mindful of Jack’s leg. Almost as if on cue, the security lights on the roof turned on with a low buzzing, flickering as they sputtered into life. The resulting light wasn’t much to go on, but it did help Robby see that Jack was in terrible shape. His lips were cracked, his eyes half-lidded, and there were red marks along his cheeks, nose and forehead, the skin beginning to peel already. Robby situated him against the wall of the ledge, avoiding the railings above, and continued to check over Jack’s body. Palpating against Jack’s stomach earned a flinch, but that could have been hunger, judging by the lack of edible food in the apartment; Robby wasn’t sure how long Jack had been up here, but it’d certainly been enough hours to miss a meal or two.

Jack’s clothes were dry, which sent off more warning bells; Jack was far too dehydrated and sunburnt— he needed liquids and to be checked over more thoroughly.

“Do you know where you are?” Robby asked, grabbing his phone and turning on the flashlight.

Jack flinched away from the light when Robby checked his pupils, but he mumbled, “Roof.”

Robby nodded. “Okay. Okay, that’s good, baby. Can you tell me why you’re up here?”

There was a half-hearted movement as Jack lifted his hand up, though he barely had the strength to do much more before he let it drop on the floor again. With a rasping sound, he said, “Too…high.”

Robby glanced up towards the ledge, though he couldn’t see over the edge. “Yeah, we’re on the fourth floor. It’s a ways down.”

Jack scoffed, the sound dry and sandpaper rough in his parched throat. He made the same motion with his hand again, gesturing up, and Robby raised his gaze again.

With a start, Robby realized what Jack actually meant. His eyes landed on the railing, and Robby did the quick mental math to understand that the ledge and the railings were both too high. Jack hadn’t been able to climb over the barriers, not with his leg.

Robby had to close his eyes and breathe for a moment at that implication. He’d almost been too late two-fold, and the pit in his stomach was threatening to rebel. When he opened his eyes again, he took in Jack, who was staring off at some distant point to Robby’s side. That Jack's face was devoid of emotion— no anger at his failure, even after the effort to fight with four flights of stairs— told Robby that Jack was too depressed for fury. He was too depressed to live, and though dying up here from the elements wasn’t his first choice, Jack had been willing to if he had no other way to end his life.

Robby’s fear was spilling over into anger quickly, but that wasn’t going to help in this situation, so he swallowed it back down and forced himself to take steady breaths. There were too many things to tackle at once, but Robby knew where to start.

“You’re coming home with me.” He could fix some things now— food, water, and shelter were the first things Robby could control. He’d figure out the rest as they went.

Robby stood long enough to shake out his legs and then he got in position to swing one of Jack’s arms over his shoulder. “C’mon. I’ve got you.”

Slowly, Robby managed to get Jack standing, taking the majority of his weight against his side. Jack was mostly limp, barely holding himself up, but it was a start. In fact, Jack didn’t say another word as Robby carefully led him down the flights of stairs, taking breaks to let Jack catch his breath. Jack didn’t so much as move after Robby got him situated in his car, seatbelt fastened and waiting while Robby quickly packed a bag with the meager belongings Jack had in the apartment.

Jack didn’t argue when Robby swung them by a gas station and got a variety of drinks and water— high in electrolytes— as well as real food and a few bananas. Jack didn’t fight Robby when told to drink or eat, quietly doing each task after having submitted to Robby’s more thorough check-over that resulted in getting burn cream rubbed into his face and arms, and Chapstick applied to his cracked and peeling lips.

In fact, Jack didn’t do much at all, which Robby wished he could consider as a blessing, but knew well enough that it was much more terrifying than that because Jack was empty.

Even asleep on the passenger seat, Jack seemed hollow, missing so much more of himself than a leg.

Robby had his arm propped up against the window, and he leaned his head against his fist— knuckle to his temple to stave off a headache— and watched the lights of the road go by as he set them on 270 north. They wouldn’t be home until the early hours of the morning, but at least they’d be home.

2025 (September 19^th)

Jack refused to look away from Robby’s retreating form.

The lighting in the park offered its warm glow in intervals, keeping Robby in sight for now, but an itch under Jack’s skin had him realizing it wasn’t enough to keep watch this time; Robby had seemed fine enough these past few minutes— hell, he’d even laughed at one point— but Jack could tell that the humor had been tinged with a nameless incredulousness. Something exhausted, for sure, but feverish in a way that Jack instinctively knew was a façade; a flimsy wall that was poised to come crumbling down with a clever enough wind.

Jack knew Robby, and this was not a Robby who was okay. None of them were fine by any means, but Robby’s demeanor was something else completely. Jack knew what it was like to be adrift, at rock bottom with no clear sight of how to scramble back to shore; right now, it felt like he was staring at a mirror as Robby popped his ear buds in and walked the familiar path to his home.

“You want another?” Donnie asked, snapping Jack’s attention back to the group. The Javadi kid was sipping her beer slowly, and she kept sneaking glances towards Mateo— no doubt trying to be surreptitious about it and failing obviously, which made Jack hide a smirk at the prospect of the new generation and their crushes. Princess looked like she was starting to fade fast, and Samira was beginning to sway on her feet. Donnie had another beer in hand and held it out towards Jack in offering.

Shaking his head, Jack finished the dregs of the can in his hand and then crumpled the aluminum, satisfied with the way the warping metal sounded. “I’m good. I should probably be heading out anyway.” He tossed the broken can towards the trash can at the end of the bench, and offered a fist in victory to Mateo’s low whoop when it made it inside.

His words seemed to act as the catalyst to disband the group, first with Mateo offering to walk Javadi to her car, and then Samira and Princess deciding to head towards the bus stop together. As Jack began the process of slipping the prosthetic back on, Donnie hopped off the bench and stretched before turning back towards Jack and silently extending an arm. Jack didn’t blink as he caught it, clasping their forearms together, and letting Donnie pull him up from the bench in one smooth move.

“Thanks,” Jack said lowly, patting the ball of Donnie’s shoulder twice.

“Just doing my duty to the local elderly community,” Donnie replied smoothly, staring at Jack for a beat before he couldn’t hold it in and grinned cheekily.

“Ooh, you better watch yourself. That’s twice in one night someone’s made the mistake of thinking I’d need a cane to whoop some asses. Third time’s not going to be the charm, I can promise you that.”

Donnie laughed at that, shook his head and brought his hands up in surrender. “I know when to pick my battles, and I’m retreating now.”

Jack picked up his backpack and slung it over a shoulder, saying, “That won’t help you next time you’re on with me. Like the elephant, I never forget.”

Donnie snorted and opened his mouth to give a retort, but he clearly thought better of it and shook his head again. “Have a good one, Abbot.” He extended the handle of the cooler and rolled it in front of him as he headed towards the parking lot.

Suddenly alone, Jack shifted the backpack again and set his feet towards the path Robby took, intending to follow him home. Something told him that Robby shouldn’t be alone tonight, and Jack was going to listen to that voice. He’d given Robby plenty of space lately, to the point where he was beginning to think it was too much space; Jack knew that Robby pulling away was Jack’s own damn fault, knew how awful he’d been and how hard he’d pushed Robby away for so long. But getting rebuffed was one thing, and this wasn’t about trying to get back together— this was about making sure Robby didn’t do a swan dive over the side of the roof. Jack knew the condo complex and was well aware that the railings were a joke, and Robby knew how to climb pretty damn well.

Finding him tonight on the roof of the Pitt, with nothing in between him and a windy end, had been alarming enough, and Jack sure as hell didn’t want to tempt a repeat tonight or any other night. He’d never seen Robby so desolate and lost, so obviously at the end of his rope, and Jack knew he’d played a not-so-insignificant role in getting Robby there; maybe not recently, not actively, but it killed Jack to know that he’d been egging Robby on in some form or another, adding straw after straw to his back without seeing the cracks that were starting to form.

He hadn’t been there when Robby needed him most— at first on purpose, by specific design, and then as a result of Jack’s stubbornness and wake of destruction. But he was here now, and he knew what to do. On the other side of things, Jack had the perspective that Robby needed, and like hell was Jack going to sit idly by and let Robby struggle alone.

The irony of that desire wasn’t lost on Jack.

*

The key to Robby’s place— their place, really, not that Jack had lived there in years— still hung on his car’s key fob; Robby had never asked for the key, and Jack never had the thought to return it. Letting himself into the condo was easy, like stepping into worn shoes, and Jack’s eyes immediately scanned the room, only to find Robby sitting on the couch, still in his scrubs, looking lost, exhausted, and broken.

Empty.

Any vestigial good humor that Robby had managed to scrape together for himself at the park was gone, leaving behind a shell that raised his eyes to Jack coming through the door, muted surprise in the crease of his eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” Robby asked, sounding subdued and like he wasn’t actually that curious to know the answer; the question was miles away from that morning when Jack himself had asked it to Robby at the end of his shift. Jack knew that coming here had been the right choice because Robby being a shadow of himself was just wrong.

Jack closed the door behind him and walked further into the once-familiar space. “I’m here to be in your corner, brother.”

Confusion warred with tiredness, clear on Robby’s face, as Jack approached him. There wasn’t any follow-up conversation— Robby seemed tapped out in the face of Jack’s reasoning— so Jack said, “C’mon. Let’s get you washed up.”

Robby allowed Jack to pull him up, his body heavy and weighed down with more than exhaustion. Jack found himself narrating absently as he pushed and guided Robby down the hallway and towards the bedroom, letting his voice fill the empty air.

“Just a few more steps, almost there,” Jack murmured, coaxing Robby through to the ensuite bathroom. “Shower will feel great.”

It was truly a mark of how out of it Robby was when he simply let Jack undress him. Jack took his time, sliding the sweatshirt off Robby’s shoulders, and smiling reflexively when he finally took in what Robby had been wearing; it was sweet to know that Robby still loved the soft thing enough to wear it out in public. Jack could remember the surprise on Robby’s face when Jack had immediately gone to the merchandise stand and bought the first thing he’d seen after a drunk girl had spilled her tray of four beers all over Robby, and he’d needed something clean to wear. The festival prices were ridiculously expensive, but it’d been so worth it to see Robby take off his wet shirt and accept the sweatshirt in thanks, a high blush coloring his cheeks in a way that had Jack falling for him hook, line, and sinker.

The only logical thing to do at that point had been to grab Robby by that very sweatshirt, tug him in, and kiss him right then and there. Even in that moment, Jack had known that while this might have been their first kiss, it certainly wasn’t going to be their last, not when Robby had brought his hands up to Jack’s face and pulled him in tighter, opening his mouth for Jack so sweetly.

Rubbing his thumb over the Beers of the Burgh logo, Jack was achingly gentle as he folded the sweatshirt and set it aside on the counter before turning his attention back to Robby and helping him out of his scrubs. They went on top of the sweatshirt, to be washed later, and soon Robby was standing naked, looking lost in the middle of the bathroom.

“C’mon.” Jack led Robby to the shower— the sight of the zero-entry and grab bars they’d installed years ago brought a familiar ache to Jack’s chest, but he ignored it as he poured Robby inside.

“Think you got it from here?” Jack asked, watching as Robby stared at the faucet for a beat too long. But Robby absently nodded and then reached forward, grabbing the handheld showerhead and facing it towards the corner before turning on the water to the warm side.

Feeling confident that Robby was at the very least working on automatic and unlikely to drown himself, Jack stepped back and left him to it. He swiped the work clothes from the counter and stopped by Robby’s dresser long enough to steal a set of clean clothes for himself— the pants would be too long, and the shirt a size too large, but they’d work well enough. He made his way to the laundry room, where he threw Robby’s clothes in the wash and stripped off his own scrubs to join in. He preferred a shower, but that would have to wait until later, so he put on Robby’s clothes and set the laundry going.

Jack found himself in the kitchen soon after, and it was habit to go through the fridge and figure out a quick meal. By the time the pasta was cooked, some frozen shrimp boiled and almost-wilted spinach sautéed, Robby came out into the living room, clean and hair still wet. He was in sweats and a soft-looking sleep shirt Jack recognized, and Robby came to a stop at the threshold of the kitchen, looking puzzled.

Jack didn’t let him stew for long, telling him, “Dinner’s almost ready. Go sit down.”

And without fanfare, Robby did as he was told.

True to Jack’s word, it didn’t take much longer to drain the pasta and throw everything together, adding butter and milk to cream the concoction. Jack spared a glance at the dining table to see Robby sitting forlornly in his chair, staring at the midpoint of the table, looking pitiful. Jack hoped a good meal might help mitigate some of that darkness, and Jack cracked pepper over the pot before adding salt, and bringing it over to Robby.

For once, Jack didn’t feel the need to fill the silence, and he quietly gathered utensils, plates, and glasses, along with water, and set everything down. Robby watched listlessly as Jack served him a plate, but it took until Jack told him, “Eat,” for him to pick up his fork.

Slowly, methodically, Robby ate. Jack watched him for a few minutes, and he was pretty sure Robby wouldn’t have been able to tell him what he was eating if Jack asked him. Robby was far too quiet, no longer caring enough to even ask questions, and fatigue made it almost look like Robby was melting in his chair.

Forcing himself to eat, Jack didn’t let his gaze wander, eyes stuck on Robby and the off-kiltered atmosphere that emanated from the man.

Without considering any alternative, Jack made the decision to stay.  

2018 (August 17^th)

“Fuck off,” Jack groaned, a hint of bite in his voice that was muted from sleep. He refused to open his eyes, and even pulled the top sheet over his head, hiding from Robby the best he could.

“No can do. We’re leaving in twenty minutes. We can pick up some dim sum on the way back, if you want.” Robby tried to make the trip out a little more enticing with old favorite go-to meals, even if Jack’s taste in food had disappeared since coming stateside. He ate mechanically, furiously, practically offended that he needed to, but at least he put down whatever Robby gave him.

“Go fuck yourself,” Jack said, sounding more muffled from where he pressed his mouth against the pillow.

Robby ignored the insult this time, instead walking around to their closet and pulling out clothes for Jack to wear, laying them over the back of the chair next to the bed so they were within easy reach whenever Jack was ready to sit up. The space between the bed and the night table was bare, so Robby took a step back to angle his head and found that sure enough, the crutches were lying under the bed— they were deep enough from the edge that they must not have merely fallen down from their resting spot.

Sighing, Robby got on his knees and reached a hand to grab them both, pulling them close and careful not to bang them as he freed them from their hiding spot. His knees popped as he straightened out, and he leaned the crutches against the night table.

“Up and at ‘em,” Robby said again, eyes tracking over Jack’s lump of a form on the bed where he’d resolutely remained still. Robby hoped that Jack would one day stop fighting him so hard, but this didn’t seem to be shaping up to be that day quite yet; Robby had to remind himself that it was okay, that Jack’s recent attitude was normal and expected, and in all actuality, something that Robby had wanted.

For a solid week after bringing Jack home, Robby had feared he would come home to a dead body. The depression that had permeated the house had been a nearly tangible thing, and Robby had prayed for something to change, for Jack to find a sliver of life and just fucking hold on.

But like every genie’s twisted benevolence, Robby’s wish came true with caveats and unintended side effects. Jack no longer held that awful, empty cavern inside, but he’d filled it with rage and malice, directing the majority of it towards Robby without impunity.

Every last drop of anger, resentment, frustration, and unfairness that Jack finally felt was unloaded onto Robby one way or another. It seemed that Jack’s new obsession was to make Robby’s life a living hell, to match the one he found himself in. It made cohabitating so incredibly hard that Robby was sometimes blindsided by the cruelty leveled against him, never before knowing Jack to be mean.

But at least the anger meant that Jack was alive, and with Robby. He’d take that over being a widower any day.

“It’s half-past noon, Jack. Can’t sleep away the whole day.” Robby tugged the top sheet down, faster than Jack could catch it, and earned another string of low curses from Jack. Robby took the abuse, eyes raking over Jack in his daily check-in on his physical health; the stump no longer needed to be bandaged with the scar healing nicely, but the surrounding tissue was still inflamed and swollen. No longer red, and nowhere near infected, but slow to heal.

Robby didn’t get to take in more details than the first glance before Jack turned over and bent his left leg to hide the other, clutching his pillow so tightly that his knuckles paled. The sheets below him were slightly damp with leftover sweat, and Robby winced, knowing that the air conditioning worked great in this room, and that Jack’s internal temperature was still out of sorts, making him overheat when he slept.

“Want a quick shower before we head out?” Robby asked, already bracing himself to literally drag Jack out of bed.

A derisive snort sounded loud in the room, and Jack turned his head enough to speak clearly, “Quick? Sure, let me hop the fuck over. Shouldn’t take long.” He burrowed back into the pillow. “Get the fuck out, I’m sleeping.”

Jack absolutely would sleep in all day if he could, particularly because the past few nights they’d begun to see nightmares and insomnia crop up, stealing precious sleep from Jack. He’d always been a night owl, but Robby could see how uncomfortable Jack was with falling asleep and staying asleep. Robby wouldn’t mind letting Jack stay in bed if it weren’t such an escape for Jack.

Hence, the VA meetings that Robby insisted Jack attend, since he flat-out refused therapy.

“Not a chance, brother.” After Jack had reacted somewhat poorly to Robby slipping their usual pet names in conversation, Robby had fallen back on older habits from when they’d first started trusting each other; at the very least, Jack allowed that familiarity and didn’t snap his head off with a reminder that they weren’t together anymore.

Robby powered through and sat down on the edge of the bed, getting into position to help lever Jack up. When he reached out a hand to Jack’s shoulder, however, the contact made Jack flinch and let out a shaky breath. His body curled up like a pill bug, shying away from Robby.

“Jack?” Robby asked, stilling. His stomach dropped as he realized they’d stepped on a landmine here.

“I’m fine,” Jack snapped, though he said it through gritted teeth.

Robby took in the tightly-wound posture and how Jack tucked his head down to his chin and to the pillow. Jack typically cringed away from sounds, not touch, so this was new. Pitching his voice low and soothing, Robby began to recite, “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe, and you’re at home. You’re in bed and—”

“I know where I am,” Jack bit out, and though he clearly meant to have confidence in his tone, there was a wobble in his voice that Robby was starting to learn meant Jack was stuck between reality and memories. That was happening more and more often, and Robby worked to find tricks to tug Jack back to shore, though he sometimes found himself sticking his foot in his mouth.

“Okay. That’s good. Go ahead and lick the pillow for me and tell me what you taste.”

Robby could practically see the confusion rise in Jack at that. A vague quirk of a smile tried to tug Robby’s lips, particularly when Jack’s body lost the tension it’d been winding itself in, making him go loose and soft.

“What?” Jack asked out, voice incredulous. Robby would take that over his hesitance, though.

“What does the pillow taste like?” Robby asked, fighting to stay nonchalant. He wasn’t sure if Jack would actually do it or not, but the point was that the ridiculous request worked to bring him back to the present moment.

Robby couldn’t quite see from this angle if Jack’s eyes were open, but there were several silent heartbeats before Jack uncurled and turned to level an unimpressed stare at Robby.

“Get the fuck out of my room.” There was an attempt at a snarl, but it fell flat with the remnant confusion. Robby didn’t point out that it was technically his room too— there hadn’t been anything to think about when Robby set Jack up in the master bedroom after he’d brought them home, and he’d taken over the guest room to give Jack his space.

“Gladly. But you’re coming with. C’mon.” This time, when Robby reached for Jack and got a hand around his shoulder, Jack didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, Jack let himself be tugged, doing the bare minimum to help as Robby practically manhandled Jack into sitting. Fortunately, he drew the line at getting dressed, changing his shirt on his own, and pushing Robby away the second he took the offered pants.

Robby stepped back and crossed his arms to supervise, ready to jump in if Jack asked.

Not that Jack would, but Robby stayed close by anyway.

By the time they made it to the truck, Jack’s mood had soured even more, bitching at Robby when it started to rain lightly. But he let Robby help him into the passenger seat— albeit refusing eye contact the whole time and then snapping his mouth shut the moment he was situated, fully intent on giving Robby the silent treatment for the whole ride.

Robby took Jack’s irritation in stride, turning on the radio to have some background noise as he drove them the fifteen minutes it took to get to the VA. Pulling up into one of the handicap parking spots, Robby caught the grimace from Jack; they’d only gotten the placard two days ago, and Jack hated it. The rant that Robby had endured after that had been long-winded and full of so many expletives that Robby almost wished he had started a counter.

But Jack had been unable to hide the relief he’d had at not having to traverse the length of the parking lot, which only made him shut down faster. Now, his anger was a quiet, oppressive storm cloud that matched the ones rolling above them— the overhead of the building roof extended to their parking spot with how close they were to the wall, which meant that Jack wasn’t going to get wet getting out.

Robby refrained from pointing out the convenience of the placard, knowing when to let sleeping dogs lie.

Still, Jack’s seatbelt remained fastened, his posture stiff but with no sign that he was planning to get out of the truck. He was five minutes late to the meeting, which wasn’t too awful in the grand scheme of things, but Robby knew how grating it was for Jack to not be there on time— or early, as the military habit had been beaten into him— even when Jack hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. Refusing to go in now was Jack’s stubborn streak coming in hot, even though he kept stealing glances at the time with anxiety as the minutes began to crawl by. The contradictory attitude still threw Robby off, and he had to mentally note to try and get Jack out of the house sooner next time, if possible.

“Want me to come with?” Robby asked. He always asked, even when he knew what the answer would be.

“I don’t want to be here,” Jack said flatly, eyes sliding towards the clock again.

Robby nodded. “I know.” Out of every mine, trip, stumble, and fuck up they’d worked through the past few weeks, this was one of the few things that Robby wouldn’t negotiate on.

When Jack didn’t answer, Robby continued, “You don’t have to talk. You don’t even have to listen. But you have to go.” The words were becoming rote, but Robby held onto them, knowing that just showing up was the first step forward. If he could help Jack over a single hurdle, then it was one less thing to worry about.

Jack inhaled sharply and then rolled his eyes before clicking the seatbelt free and opening the door. He grabbed the crutches angrily and shuffled out of the truck, letting the door slam behind him. Robby watched as Jack limped towards the front door, making sure that he got inside okay.

He’d even managed to stay dry the whole way there.

Robby pulled out his phone and navigated to the book he’d been reading lately— a self-help book on complex PTSD and veterans that he hoped would help give him some pointers on where to go from here. He was still getting accustomed to the new 20pt font size that he’d recently changed to, telling himself that the stress of the past couple of months was catching up to him and he didn’t need reading glasses yet.

That was the excuse he gave himself as he re-read the same paragraph three times before turning his phone off and taking a moment to rub his face, feeling tired in the middle of the day. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to go back to work at the end of the month, not when he didn’t know how to actually help Jack.

2025 (September 20^th)

Jack walked out of Robby’s room, confident that he was passed out and unlikely to wake any time soon. Today had been… rough.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Jack took a moment to lean against the opposite wall and simply breathe. Robby hadn’t argued when Jack marched him to bed, drawn back the covers, and gently bullied him inside. Instead, Robby had simply lain down, turned over, and within a minute, was passed out— his breathing almost immediately getting heavy with almost-snores that squeezed Jack’s heart in familiarity.

Straightening up, Jack wiped a hand over his cheeks and mouth and began to putter around the house. He’d told Robby earlier that night that he’d planned on going home to sleep for a few hours and go back to the ED, but he wasn’t scheduled to go back in until the next night, and the team had everything under control when they’d left hours before. There wasn’t a need to go back, even with Jack’s desire to be in the thick of chaos and control what he could.

Instead, he’d found where he was most needed, and the calm that came with that knowledge helped him make his next few decisions. Jack cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and put everything away before realizing that Robby’s organizational skills had slipped greatly since Jack had lived there. The pots and pans had no order, and Jack found appliances that didn’t belong in the cupboard over the stove, but were supposed to be under the kitchen island, so Jack took it upon himself to fix the kitchen.

After that, Jack’s internal clock sent him back to the laundry room, and the washing machine didn’t get the chance to sing its too-long song before Jack was moving the wet clothes into the dryer and setting that on. While he was there, Jack decided to clean up the closet that held detergents and cleaning supplies, knowing Robby was awful at throwing expired products.

Of course, by that point, Jack was wide awake with a second wind, so he decided to make the most of it and tidy up, using some of the cleaning supplies that he’d found. Robby kept the place in good shape, but Jack slowly brought it back up to his own standard, wiping grime and dust buildup from the bookshelves, lamps, kitchen, tables, and chairs. The home gym was exactly the same as the last time he saw it, so Jack figured he’d do a cursory clean of the little room, refusing to think about how most of the equipment in there had been purchased because Jack had used it.

The hallway bathroom took about an hour to reorganize and clean up, mostly because he kept getting distracted by some of the new things he found in there— some feminine products, lotions, and hair supplies that had to have been left there at some point. Jack couldn’t quite imagine Robby buying them just to have.

Or maybe he had— Jack didn’t know anymore.

Eventually, Jack made his way to the guest room, where he had to take a moment to sit on the bed and stare at the boxes he found in the closet; he didn’t remember leaving so many things behind, but apparently, he had, and Robby had packed them all away and kept them, even after all these years. There was even a spare set of crutches that’d been tucked in the corner. Not wanting to dive deep into whatever revelations that might have divulged about Robby, Jack began to unpack the boxes, setting up camp in the room. It was odd to think about how Robby had also spent time in here, and Jack wondered how often actual guests used this room.

Jack migrated back to the kitchen around 5:30 am and set the coffee pot going. He figured a good breakfast was needed, so he made a mean scramble, adding peppers, onions, and tomatoes before raiding the spice rack to give the eggs a kick. On a whim, he also cut up an apple he found in the fridge.

Fresh groceries would be delivered later this morning, so Jack didn’t feel badly about finishing some of the leftover produce, having ordered everything fresh for the rest of the week.

When Robby came out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and beelining towards the coffee pot, Jack plated the food and waited for the questions to come. Robby blinked blearily at him when Jack offered him a mug and a fork.

“Go sit down and eat,” Jack told him, watching Robby take the first sip of coffee.

A vicious wave of déjà vu hit Jack when Robby once again did as he was told and sat at the table where Jack had set his plate. Robby ate his breakfast and drank his coffee, and Jack stared at him expectantly, half-heartedly picking at his food.

Jack tried to decipher the man in front of him, not quite sure if Robby was as empty as last night, but knowing there was still something so fundamentally wrong. It was as if a luxation had occurred, and Robby was too tired to slide his life back into place, leaving Jack grappling with what felt off.

“I’ve got a shift now,” Robby finally said after he finished his plate and coffee.

Jack nodded, though he was suddenly struck with the desire to shake Robby. “Okay,” he said instead.

And then Robby left.

He got ready for work— a new set of scrubs, and a fresh sweater that Jack didn’t recognize— and he left.

Not a word about what Jack had done all night, or why Jack was even still there. There hadn’t even been a proper goodbye, nor curiosity about whether Jack would stay. He’d just left, face set into a grim line to prepare himself to get through the next work day, despite the fact that he had to still be exhausted, and hadn’t processed a single fucking thing from yesterday.

Jack cleaned up the kitchen and went to the guest room, feeling more wrong-footed than usual.

New normals were all good and fine, but nothing about this felt like it should be normalized. Unfortunately, Jack felt his own exhaustion finally pulling him down, so he took a shower and wiped the night off, grimacing when he found blood on his arm that he’d missed earlier, and wondered which victim it had belonged to.

Getting into his own clothes felt comforting, if confusing, but Jack decided he’d think about it later. With any luck, he’d have some kind of plan in place before he did handoff with Robby later today.

2018 (September 2^nd)

Robby startled into consciousness with a bright blast of pain on his shin and a scream’s echo lodged in his ears, disorienting him in the dark before he managed to catch up.

“Get down!” Jack screamed, thrashing beside Robby, and then a steel arm banded across Robby’s chest, pinning him down hard on the mattress.

“Jack,” Robby said, his voice clear and sharp for all the way the edges of his mind still lingered in confusion. He distantly wondered if bruises would crop up on his chest, and knew he’d get one on his shin— Jack must have kicked him.

“Shut the fuck up, they’ll hear you,” Jack hissed, and suddenly his weight was covering Robby, pressing solidly until Robby struggled to catch a full breath. A random thought formed in the back of his mind that Jack was being unfair— he’d just been screaming, but he was telling Robby to be quiet? Almost immediately, the thought dissolved into an understanding of what was going on, even if the sudden adrenaline coursing through his body was making his thoughts go too fast.

“Jack,” Robby repeated, hands coming up to grip what he could, hating how the dark made everything into amorphous shadows, not helping in the least to focus on his surroundings.

“I can’t— fuck, I can’t hide you. I— don’t let them take you,” Jack stammered, his voice losing volume and letting out a tremble. “Fuck, oh god, fuck!”

Like a switch, Jack began to pant and moan— sounding pained and fearful— and Robby felt something solid press against his chest; a beat later, and Robby deciphered hair, and knew Jack had his face plastered against Robby’s collarbone, his mouth open against skin so that his teeth scraped slightly.

“Jack, breathe. You’re in Pittsburgh. It’s September— 2018.” Robby wasn’t sure if Jack needed the year, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. “You’re home. You’re with me, Robby.” Finally knowing where Jack mostly was in relation to himself, one of Robby’s arms wrapped around Jack, embracing back just as hard, while the other flung out to the side to blindly find the fucking light switch.

“It hurts, fuck! I can’t move my— where’s my…” Jack trailed off into a harsh groan, and Robby’s sides pinched with hard fingers digging in— the usual tickle reflex was completely surpassed with how hard Jack curled into him.

Robby managed to find the switch, and the room was flooded with light, making Robby wince at the sudden brightness. He willed his pupils to adjust fast, while he tucked his free hand back onto the mattress and pushed up, taking Jack with him.

“Jack, it’s okay. It’s okay, we’re safe. We’re home.” Robby’s mouth was on automatic, and despite Jack’s desperate clinging, he at least let himself be tugged up into a somewhat sitting position. His breathing was coming out too fast, though, and Robby could hear the occasional whine that crawled out of his chest.

“Robby,” Jack gasped, his forehead knocking right back onto Robby’s collarbone after the jostle— and now Robby knew he’d definitely have a bruise there as well, with Jack no doubt having a matching one on his face. Jack didn’t seem to notice, his fingers scrabbling along Robby’s sides to find better purchase.

The relief of Jack recognizing him— back with him, even if other memories or pain clouded his reactions— was staggering and Robby squeezed him reflexively, trying to offer more comfort and stability. “Yeah, it’s me. It’s me, baby, I’m here. Can you breathe for me?” Robby didn’t even feel bad that the pet name slipped out; if anything, Jack seemed to latch onto it, tipping his head back, searching for Robby.

Most of Jack’s body was on Robby, so every shift and movement was felt immediately— all the uncomfortable and awkward angles and pressure from limbs tangling. Robby didn’t give a fuck, would take Jack’s elbowing and knocking knees any night, if it meant he could offer comfort back, because Jack’s pained grunts were coming out harsher and louder. His breathing also refused to improve, edging into nearly hysterical gasps and chokes that Robby could practically feel.

“Jack, breathe with me. C’mon, feel me, feel this.” Robby grabbed one of Jack’s wrists and tugged it up to his chest, willing Jack to calm for a moment so he could reorient himself.

That plan failed almost immediately, because Jack twisted on top of Robby, legs kicking out— one foot made contact with the bone of Robby’s ankle, but its twin never appeared. Of course it wouldn’t— it wasn’t there.

Through Jack’s panic, he seemed to realize this, and moaned raggedly, snatching his hand out of Robby’s grasp and launching forward, arms coming around Robby’s frame. Almost immediately, his fingers dug in frantically, practically clawing at Robby’s back.

“It hurts,” Jack whimpered, tucking his head into Robby’s shoulder and neck, and began to sob.

Phantom pain, Robby thought distantly, as definitions and examples read from various sources flitted through his mind quickly, like flipping through pages of a book. It’d never gotten this bad before, but the nightmare preceding it probably hadn’t helped.

“I know, baby. I know. I’ve got you, I’m here,” Robby murmured, his own arms like a vice around Jack, holding him as tightly as he possibly could, as if he could hold all of the pieces together.

There was nothing to say, nothing to do but let Jack’s surge of emotion run its course.

Nightmares and flashbacks were becoming a common part of their lives now, with Jack waking up screaming more and more nights. Robby had rushed into the bedroom each time, trying to wake Jack up, bring him back to reality, and help him calm down every single time, and had ended up falling asleep with Jack still in his arms more often than not after each episode.

Knowing how much Jack always hated sleeping alone, the past couple of nights Robby started going to sleep with Jack in their bed again; they didn’t talk about it, and Jack certainly didn’t ask for it, but he also didn’t kick Robby out. Robby had thought that maybe Jack’s nightmares would ease once his body knew he was next to safety again, with the couple of nights since sharing the same bed again luring them into a false sense of security when Jack slept through the night for once.

But of course, that wasn’t how trauma worked, and Robby should have never let his hopes get too high or allowed his ego to inflate so much that he thought he could be enough to combat a fucking flashback.

Sluggishly, their combined heart rates began to ease. Robby calmed down first, letting his body begin to catalogue the aches that formed— entire areas throbbing in varying intensities. He was too warm and sticky with sweat, a combined effort, but the air conditioning kicking on had goosebumps crawl along his arms.

Jack’s breathing took ages to get under control; his crying was sporadic and stuttered, sounding like he was desperate to try and hide it but failing every time. Robby felt the hot streaks of tears along his throat, and only cradled Jack’s head closer to him, helping shield him from the world despite it only being the two of them in the room.

The fingers at Robby’s back relaxed and began to droop down, settling first against the pillows at Robby’s back, and then shrinking back until Jack tucked them closer to his body. Robby might have thought he meant to pull fully away from Robby, but his fingers snagged along Robby’s shirt, keeping a point of contact.

When Jack began to sag tiredly against Robby, quiet and chest rattling with shaky, but deep, sighs, Robby slowly coaxed him down.

“C’mon. Let’s lie down. I’m still here, I’m not going anywhere.” Robby’s voice was shot, sounding thick and hoarse to his own ears even if he hadn’t been the one screaming. Morbid curiosity had him glancing at the radio clock on his nightstand, telling him that he really only had about an hour and a half before he was supposed to get up for his shift, but he put that aside and helped situate Jack so Jack was lying next to him again.

Jack went where Robby moved him, becoming a heavy deadweight, but at least he was tucked up against Robby, head resting against Robby’s bicep. Like this, it was easy to feel and see when Jack shifted to bring his right leg up, and his hand absently went down. Robby watched lethargically as Jack’s palm rubbed over his own thigh and knee, inching lower and lower to his stump. Jack hated touching himself there and avoided it when possible, and it must have still been bothering him a lot for him to do so now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Robby asked, hearing the words softly hang in the stillness of the aftermath.

Jack didn’t answer for long moments, only letting his hand creep further and further down until the fingers began to massage the leftover tissue; it’d healed quite nicely, the scar neat, though tight. Robby hadn’t dared to offer a hand there yet, knowing how intensely Jack felt about it, so he didn’t know how thick the scar tissue was, only guessing at the texture; Jack had lotion he was meant to use to help loosen and moisturize, but he hadn’t opened the tin yet.

Just when Robby thought Jack was going to ignore him, Jack shook his head, his hair tickling the underside of Robby’s arm.

“Okay,” Robby murmured, pressing a kiss on the top of Jack’s head. “That’s okay.”

Robby closed his eyes, but neither of them fell back asleep before his alarm clock went off.

2025 (October 4^th)

Robby didn’t even blink at Jack moving in, and Jack knew Robby’s non-reaction was fucked up on a few different levels.

He knew that he shouldn’t have waited for Robby to speak up, to ask questions, to demand answers from Jack, because he was honestly still waiting. But Jack also hadn’t quite found the right moment to talk about Jack’s permanence in the guest room either— why bring it up when his presence had been accepted so blatantly?

Robby wanted to push through his issues, wanted to ignore them, really, and there was no forcing that man to deal with anything he didn’t want to deal with. So Jack took it upon himself to try and ease the burden where he could, with the hope that he could lay the groundwork for Robby to follow and lead himself down the path of self-discovery or recovery, whichever one would actually help him.

Both, really, if Jack was being honest.

They still operated on opposite shifts, and life went on almost as normal; in fact, some days it felt like Jack was the only one who could see the cracks that Robby desperately tried to hide and paint over. Hand-offs in the mornings or evenings didn’t see a change, with both of them highlighting the priorities and passing on cases like normal. Even their banter and small talk remained the same, which took Jack aback for the first few days, having a sort of double-vision of Robby at work versus Robby at home.

The emptiness Jack had seen in Robby the night of PittFest hadn’t gone away, but it hadn’t been as prominent as it’d been then, which Jack attributed to the fact that Robby was really good at pretending he was fine, even if he broke that mirage on occasion. No one else seemed to notice any change in Robby, which made Jack feel a little insane; he wondered if Dana might catch on when she came back from her leave of absence next week. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be the only one worried about Robby.

At home, Jack took over meals, falling back on old habits far too easily. When Robby hadn’t said a word about the new groceries in his fridge, Jack quietly took charge and kept them fed, making a point to have easy leftover meals that Robby could take to work if he ever let himself have an actual lunch break, and dinner ready for him to eat when he got home. They rarely coincided their days off, which meant that they didn’t actually spend all that much time together.

But when they did, Jack did his best to encourage Robby to reach out for help.

“I’ve got a therapy appointment on Thursday,” Jack mentioned during breakfast; typically, Jack didn’t mind working the weekends— there was always a resident that wanted a free day during that time and Jack’s life usually let him step in and offer a shift swap— so a Saturday without work for either of them was a novelty, and Jack wanted to make the most of it. Robby didn’t seem to have any plans, and Jack absently wondered if that was because he usually would have gone to play basketball with Jake on mornings like these; as far as Jack knew, Robby still hadn’t been able to get in contact with Jake, being ghosted with a cold shoulder.

Robby lifted his gaze to Jack, chewing a sausage, and looking nonplussed at Jack’s non-sequitur.

“Do you want to come with? I’m sure Logan can give you a great referral.” Jack tried to be nonchalant, but he knew he failed when Robby broke the eye contact quickly, picking up his coffee and draining the last quarter in a rush.

“I’m good. I’ve got a shift that day anyway.” There was still food leftover on his plate, but Robby pushed his chair back and began to pick up his area, apparently done with the meal.  

Jack narrowed his eyes at the blatant lie— he’d seen the schedule and Robby had a swing shift that evening to help cover a hole in the week, letting him have the morning free. Taking a deep breath, Jack let Robby walk away from the table, knowing better than to push the issue; Robby would deflect and put up higher walls if he felt cornered, which was the opposite of Jack’s goal. The fact that he even allowed Jack to talk about therapy in the first place was a tentative win, and this was a minefield that Jack needed to navigate with care.

“I can ask Logan for the list. I’ll leave it for you to look at later,” Jack said, trying to find the right approach that didn’t put undue pressure while simultaneously making a point.

Robby didn’t answer, focused on putting away his plates in the dishwasher.

Jack stood up then, his own plate finished, and brought it over to Robby, silently handing it over when Robby reached out expectantly.

“Anything you want to do today?” Jack asked, trying to gauge Robby’s mood; he obviously wanted to avoid any subject of therapy, but Jack wasn’t sure if Robby was going to be distant now.

When Robby began to wash up the pans Jack had used earlier, Jack wondered if he was going to get the silent treatment, but then Robby surprised him. “I saw Oktoberfest was this weekend,” Robby mentioned, trailing off after a moment.

Jack immediately knew why; a festival like that so soon after PittFest was probably not a good idea right now. Knowing where it’d been held in past years, Jack also knew that going downtown would also be unwise; he thought he’d heard whispers of the festival getting cancelled this year, but it seemed like they had decided to go forward with it.

“Wanna celebrate it here? I can pick up a variety, and we can taste-test and judge the beer ourselves.” The spirits store Jack favored tended to stock some international brands and he was sure they could find some interesting options. Not that alcohol ever solved anything, but Jack wondered if Robby needed to get a little buzzed and let himself relax— being at home would be a good first step.

Robby scrubbed the pan clean, rinsed it, and set it aside to dry before picking up a towel and drying his hands, turning to face Jack.

“Sure. Let’s do that.” The reply was uninspiring, sounding like Robby was simply humoring Jack. The attempt at keeping things looking normal was a bit more blatant now that Jack knew what he was looking for, but Jack didn’t know what else to do.

Hell, maybe if Robby was a little drunk, he’d accept a phone number to talk to someone.

Jack nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

2018 (November 29^th)

The physical therapy office was an open-floor layout, tastefully decorated walls with bland prints of nature interspersed with certificates and licenses of the therapists, presumably. A few of the frames included various diagrams of the human body— skeletons and muscle tissue figures, all labeled with each corresponding part— hung on muted, contrasting painted walls. The light blue and soft yellow colors were probably chosen, Robby thought, to put patients at ease during their arduous recovery.

On one end of the room, a row of standard exercise machines faced the floor-to-ceiling windows, though Robby could see each machine had its own screen for entertainment as needed. The floor in between had many lines of tape in strategic lines that were obviously distanced to help with exercises. Along another wall were a few vinyl-covered massage beds that looked to be adjustable for whatever the patient needed, a variety of stretching bands, and chairs.

There were a lot of chairs in the office, actually, with Robby and Jack sitting in one each.

In front of them were parallel bars for people to balance on as they walked, anchored into the floor, and feeling like an elephant in the room, staring them down, as Jack’s doctor explained the prosthetic in her hands.

“Do you have any questions for me, Jack?” Dr. Ruiz asked placidly; she’d been really good during the fitting process, knowing how appreciated it was to provide technical terms and not sugar-coat hypotheses, and when to give Jack time to process, directing information to Robby instead.

Jack was mute beside Robby, staring at the prosthetic with hollow eyes. He’d swung between seething hatred and impotent resignation throughout the past few weeks whenever he’d met with the doctor and physical therapists, seemingly intent on making everyone’s lives a little harder when he refused to cooperate with basic exercises and tests for identifying which prosthetic would be best for his disability. It was almost as if Jack truly thought he could ignore the problem away if he only closed his eyes and stuck his fingers in his ears, and Robby wanted to shake him on occasion.

“I think we can just go for it and see?” Robby answered when it was clear Jack wasn’t going to participate heavily in this conversation. Jack had already rolled on the liner over his stump and knee, reaching mid-thigh, which had taken a while to complete solely due to Jack’s reticence. Dr. Ruiz had walked him step-by-step on how to turn the liner inside out, the best way to fit it over the residual limb, and roll it on in a way that avoided air bubbles forming that could irritate Jack’s skin.

He had khakis on for accessibility purposes— the one time Robby asked if he wanted to bring sweats in case he got cold, Jack flipped him off and refused to speak the whole ride here, though he did put on the sweater that Robby had conveniently left over the back of the sofa.

Jack raised his eyes and glanced towards the room at large, and Robby knew he was clocking the two other patients with appointments— an elderly woman was slowly stretching one of the bands on the wall, and a teenager with a wrap around a knee and in a volleyball school sweater was on a sitting bike machine with earbuds in, looking out the windows. No one was paying attention to Jack, but Robby knew he was still uncomfortable with the number of people who could witness this moment.

“Fine, get it over with.” Jack didn’t look at anyone as he said it, and Robby felt Ruiz’s eyes glance towards him to check in. Robby met her gaze and nodded, knowing it was better to take Jack at his word than ask him if he was sure— Jack seemed likely to shut down if anybody questioned him right now.

“Alrighty, then,” Ruiz began, clapping her hands together. “I’m going to scoot forward and put the prosthetic in front of you, Jack.” She always narrated what she did, which Robby knew Jack was conflicted about; it was obvious that she had experience working with tetchy patients, and Jack hated the fact that her approach worked on him.

Jack nodded once, a sharp motion that had his chin jutting out for a moment before he brought his attention forward again. It didn’t look like his focus was on anything particular, but it was a start. Ruiz was on a chair with wheels, and she slowly rolled forward until she did as she’d said she would and placed the prosthetic in front of Jack, letting it stand on its own so that it felt like a puzzle piece slotting into place— a space that’d been empty was suddenly complete again to the eye.

“Go ahead and raise your leg a bit for me, Jack,” Ruiz said. “Flex your knee a bit. A forty-five-degree angle is perfect, there you go.” Jack silently followed her instructions, movements slow, but at least he was playing along. “Alright, you’re going to push inside slowly. Relax, take your time. Good.”

Jack let out a shaky breath, but Robby could see how the stump fit perfectly into the prosthetic.

“Let’s stand up a moment, okay?” Ruiz said, standing and offering her hands out. Jack took one and levered himself up, going sideways for a moment before he regained his balance and straightened out. “I’m going to bend over and roll up the sleeve for you, and check the fit as I go. Let me know if anything pinches or hurts or feels off, okay?”

Robby saw the death grip Jack had on Ruiz’s hand, and Robby quickly stood, stepping closer and offering his own hand as an alternative so Ruiz could do her job. Jack’s breathing began to come out in short exhales, but they managed to get him to transfer his grip to Robby’s hand; almost immediately, Robby had to give mental kudos to Ruiz and her poker face, because Jack’s hand was squeezing so hard that Robby could actively feel the circulation cutting off with every second.

“Breathe, Jack. You’re doing great,” Robby murmured, bringing his other hand up to grip Jack’s elbow and offer more support. Jack gave another sharp nod, but stared hard at some point past Robby’s shoulder. Ruiz gave another moment to ensure Jack was stable before bending down and reaching her hands forward to start rolling the outside liner of the prosthetic over Jack’s knee and thigh. She was methodical, careful to ensure the silicone was flat and no wrinkles appeared.

Robby glanced down to check her progress, and when she finished rolling it up and backed off, Robby looked back at Jack’s face and was instantly alarmed. Jack’s face had gone white, blood drained, and eyes bugging out.

“Jack? Jack,” Robby tried to get his attention, voice shaking slightly at the sight before him.

“I… I don’t—” Jack stammered, his breathing picking up in a familiar way that told Robby a panic attack was coming.

“Let’s sit down. It’s okay, Jack. Breathe.” Robby tried to guide Jack back into his seat, but Jack stiffened, his body growing tense immediately.

“Go ahead and sit down, Jack,” Ruiz tried, picking up on the sudden change in atmosphere. She reached a hand forward to help steady Jack— the same as Robby— but that was too much for Jack and he twisted away. The suddenness of his actions had him veering off to the side, and Robby tried to follow, but didn’t have the right leverage in that moment when Jack ripped his arm out of Robby’s grasp and tumbled to the floor, landing hard and taking the chair with him.

“Jack!” Robby cried out, catching himself so he didn’t fall over as well. Beside him, Ruiz backed up a step with her hands raised, recognizing that Jack had reacted poorly to her and not wanting to aggravate the situation further.

Jack was in constant motion at that point, ignoring the way the chair toppled on top of him; instead, Jack scrambled away, his left foot propelling him as he made traction along the carpet. The right prosthetic looked gangly and unwieldy as it followed suit, dragging along limply until Jack hit the wall and sat up. Back to the wall, he was in a defensive pose, hands coming up over his head so his forearms protected his face.

“—off, get it off, get it off,” Jack repeated, choking sounds coming out of his throat. He kicked his right leg, then again and again, each time getting more violent when the motion didn’t shake him free.

“Jack, c’mon. Stay with us. I’m right here, I’ll help you,” Robby told him, springing into action and coming to a stop right in front of Jack.

Jack shook his head, and he kicked his leg harder— the prosthetic foot thudded dully against the carpet when Jack managed to get enough lift.

“You gotta stop kicking, Jack.” Robby reached a hand out and placed it on top of Jack’s thigh, trying to get him to stop moving for a moment, and he tried not to think about the fact that this was technically the first time he’d touched Jack’s leg since he’d lost it. Jack didn’t seem to hear him, repeating his pleas to get it off— Robby recognized that Jack wasn’t here at all right now. Whatever flashback he was struggling through had been triggered by the prosthetic— putting it on, standing, Robby didn’t know. Hell, maybe the feeling of the silicone wrapped around him was too claustrophobic and Jack couldn’t handle that right now.

“I’m going to help you take it off, Jack. You gotta work with me, though. Look at me.”

Jack kicked again, and his left leg slipped up and down along the carpet. Robby could see that past Jack’s arms, his eyes were squeezed tight, mouth dropped open on too-fast breaths, and he shook his head automatically.

“Jack,” Robby said sharply. “You’ve gotta stop moving. Look at me.”

Jack paused long enough to peek through his arms, and Robby took the break to slide his hands up over the liner, catching the edge and tugging down. He tried to go slowly, knew he needed to roll it down, but Jack chose that moment to start kicking again.

“Eyes on me,” Robby repeated as he thoughtlessly shifted his position and brought his knee to Jack’s hip, pressing down to pin the limb for a moment. Robby didn’t stop working, hands going as fast as he could to pull the sleeve down towards the prosthetic.

“Take it off, take it— off, I can’t move, I can’t— take it off!” Jack moaned, legs still trying to kick out at the same time. Luckily, Robby managed to get the sleeve down the rest of the way and Ruiz was there to help— her fingers grabbed the foot of the prosthetic, and Robby wrapped a hand around Jack’s knee to immobilize him long enough to let Ruiz pull him free.

“Almost done, baby, hold on.” Robby shifted his weight and focused on the inner liner still on Jack’s leg, knowing the liner had to come off, too, before Jack could begin to calm down. The only problem was that Jack still tried to kick, so Robby had to keep him pinned a little longer to slip a finger between the liner and skin and catch an opening. The fit was tight, and Jack’s fighting didn’t help in the least, so it took Robby a few tense moments to get the right angle and momentum before he could roll the liner all the way off.

“There, there, Jack. It’s off. It’s off, you’re okay.” Robby took his weight off of Jack and was immediately kicked for his efforts; granted, it was with the right leg and didn’t hurt, but it still took Robby aback. “Jack, it’s off. C’mon, breathe with me.”

Jack shook his head behind his arms, tucking his chin down to his chest to make himself a smaller target. Robby dodged the next ineffectual kick and quickly changed positions so he could sit against the wall, parallel to Jack.

“I’m here, Jack. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” Robby’s arm came up and around, and Jack only resisted for a moment before he let himself fold, tucking into Robby’s side as he gasped and shuddered, sobs catching in his chest. His arms stayed up and around his head despite Robby holding him, but Robby wasn’t going to begrudge him his defenses.

“That’s it. We’re okay, we’re fine. Breathe slow for me, it’s okay.” Robby tucked his chin down so his mouth was pressed against Jack’s hair, and he spoke quietly, but firmly, knowing that Jack did best with a steady anchor to bring him back to the present.

Robby wished the world beyond them could’ve disappeared— anything to give Jack space and dignity to fall apart and put himself back together again in private— but he was acutely aware of where they were and who was there. Ruiz righted the chair and made the prosthetic leg disappear— a good call in case the sight triggered Jack again— and brought a water bottle and towel, setting them within reach of Robby. The elderly lady was saying something across the room, and Robby only caught enough to know she was asking her physical therapist about them, wanting to help if she could. The teenager on the far end had paused her exercises and had an earbud in her hand, and her head craned around the seat to watch in silence, eyes wide with concern and fear.

Two other staff members, plus the receptionist, also floated along the periphery, though they seemed more adept at the situation; the receptionist ensured no one in the waiting room or incoming patients came to the back, and one staff member found a blanket somewhere that they added next to the water bottle. At the very least, the staff seemed professional in dealing with episodes like this, if their smooth cooperation and quiet communication was any indication, and Robby remembered why the VA recommended this place to its members.

The minutes felt endless, dragging on as Jack’s body shuddered against Robby’s, and his harsh breathing filled Robby’s ear. Robby kept up a quiet litany of words, reminding Jack of where they were and what was going on, trying to give as many markers of reality as possible. The blanket went on Jack’s lap because Robby knew Jack would want it less for the warmth and more for hiding his leg from the world.

Slowly, Jack regained his calm— breaths slowing, body easing— and with it, apparent embarrassment.

“Oof, okay,” Robby mumbled under his breath when Jack pulled back and pushed Robby away.

At least Jack’s arms came down— after he vigorously scrubbed his face— and he silently accepted the water bottle Robby handed him, but he kept his head down and refused to meet anyone’s gaze, let alone speak.

Dr. Ruiz, who had ended up cross-legged on the floor a few feet away, facing the pair, said with the patience of a saint, “We can debrief later on, if you’d like. Figure out what we can improve on so we can avoid unpleasant moments.”

Beside him, Jack breathed a quiet, but emphatic, “Fuck,” letting that be his only contribution to the conversation.

Robby answered, “That sounds like a plan. When can we reschedule?”

Ruiz offered a soft smile, and they slowly worked out the details of how to move forward. 

2025 (October 27^th)

Something vital broke in Robby during PittFest.

Not in a way that affected his work, as far as Jack could tell, but there was something missing in his essence, a lack of feeling or heart; Jack couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

The change wasn’t as obvious as a limb cut off, but it looked like it hurt all the same.

Robby did his job, came home, ate what Jack made for him, and made small talk that circled the drain until Jack called time of death and sent Robby off to bed. There was a concentrated effort on Robby’s part to try and return to normal; Robby was holding onto a façade of normal, but it wasn’t.

Jack living here, with Robby, was proof that things weren’t even close to being normal, and there was tangible avoidance of unpacking that particular reality. There were allusions to normalcy, conflicting in its presentation, but Jack simply went with the flow.

On the one hand, Robby refused any conversation surrounding going to therapy, which had Jack puzzled. Robby had been adamant that Jack go to his own counseling when he was struggling, so this switch-up felt odd. But then again, it was so like Robby to throw everyone for a loop with his stubbornness. Jack’s assessment was that Robby’s snub of therapy was probably a type of denial; PittFest had made it abundantly clear that Robby had a problem, but accepting that reality was a different type of beast. Robby was always one to figure things out on his own, so he probably had it in his head that he could work this himself.

Always such a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do type of person, Robby.

Even Robby scheduling himself a double two days ago, knowing that Jack had taken the day off and wouldn’t be at work, had been a Band-Aid stuck on a gaping wound. Granted, it was one Jack had caused himself by pushing Robby away in the first place, and he knew he literally didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to their anniversary; he didn’t blame Robby for not wanting to be around for it or talk to Jack about it.

But on the other hand, Robby was allowing Jack into his space. The fact that he hadn’t kicked Jack out to the curb meant that on some level, Robby knew he needed help, even if he wasn’t willing to ask for it yet.

He sat down on the couch next to Jack and watched the mindless movies Jack put on for them after dinner. He let Jack take over some chores. He considered Jack when he stopped by the food cart that sometimes set up outside the hospital— only during the day, much to the night shift’s chagrin, because they had the best gyros Jack had found in Pennsylvania.

He started to literally lean on Jack, first when he was too tired after a shift and was lost in the kitchen, water bottle in hand from the fridge and exhaustion pouring off him as he stood frozen, unsure of what he was supposed to do until Jack pushed him towards the bedroom. Or when Robby sat down heavily on the couch, a little too close to Jack, and his head shifted from being tipped back on the cushion to loll onto Jack’s shoulder.

And then, Robby started falling asleep when they were together. The couch was the most frequent and logical place— Robby never really made it past the first twenty minutes of any movie Jack put on. But Robby wasn’t above nodding off at the dinner table on occasion, only startling awake when Jack flicked a bean or piece of rice in his direction and he excused himself to go to bed.

At first, Jack only noticed that Robby had nightmares because of the times he fell asleep on Jack on the couch— sleepy twitches that grew sharp and frequent, claiming Robby’s rest obviously when Robby’s forehead creased, pinching into a frown.

It was natural for Jack to smooth a hand over Robby’s thigh or forearm and murmur soft platitudes until the creases eased. It was natural to take Robby’s hand and squeeze, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, and watch Robby’s body relax again. It was natural to wake Robby up when nothing else worked, and coax Robby to head in for the night. It was natural to make sure Robby laid down, tucked under the covers, and watch as his breathing eased out into something measured and more acceptable to Jack.

It was natural to start sleeping in Robby’s bed and be there to either stave off the nightmares or tame them into a manageable blip in the night.

Neither of them talked about it; Jack didn’t ask, and Robby didn’t argue, still too numb to whatever Jack did.

“Robby,” Jack murmured, turning on his side to face Robby’s prone form. They’d gone to bed only a half hour ago— their days off matching up more often now that they had a few new transfers come in to help plug holes in the schedule. Robby had been quick to fall asleep, while Jack opted to read, knowing his body would take a little longer to get with the program from sheer habit, even though he’d purposefully stayed up all day.

“Robby,” Jack tried again, reaching a hand over and resting it on Robby’s shoulder. Robby had fallen asleep on his stomach because his back had been bothering him earlier today, and the gentle stretch of the position brought some relief. Unfortunately, that relief was being marred by whatever nightmare caught Robby in its grip, making his limbs twitch sporadically and his eyebrows draw together.

Robby didn’t wake, but the touch and Jack’s voice made him stir enough to inhale deeply and turn onto his side. His eyebrows were still furrowed, though, so Jack let his hand slip up and over Robby’s neck, squeezing once before letting his touch lighten. Still moving up, Jack smoothed Robby’s hair and used his thumb to stroke over Robby’s exposed eyebrow before gently circling right where the muscle was tightest.

The breath Robby let out then was deep and long, the tension flowing out of him palpably.

“There you are.” Jack kept his voice low, soothing, and he stroked Robby’s face one more time before pulling his hand back.

Even unconsciously, Robby didn’t appear to like being bereft, because almost as soon as Jack retreated, Robby’s hand followed. Jack smiled wistfully and caught Robby’s hand, letting him know Jack was still there.

“Yeah, okay,” Jack mumbled, the day finally catching up to him, too. With his free hand, he reached up and turned off the reading lamp on the headboard, letting the night envelop them. “Bedtime, I know.”

Turning onto his side so he could face Robby, Jack closed his eyes and tried not to think about the fact that they’d fallen asleep just like this hundreds of times; Robby’s hand in his. His thumb automatically found Robby’s pulse point, letting his heartbeat lull Jack to sleep.

No, neither of them talked about their strange stalemate, but Jack didn’t care. Not when slowly, Robby began to reach for Jack in the dark.