Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The cold of the early morning embraced him from the moment he left his house. The cold seeped into his bones, it hurt to breathe, and yet Robby couldn't feel much more.

It was too early to go to work, if he happened to set foot in the hospital at this hour, Abbot would not stop bothering him, but just the thought of staying one more second in his empty bed, surrounded by his silent room, drove him crazy. So he went for a walk, praying that the city would be a little noisier than his room, but it seemed as if the whole world was asleep and he was the only living soul; he couldn't even enjoy the comfort of his headphones, ruined as they were thanks to his own clumsiness.

Robby fought back the urge to sigh, to bury his face in his hands, or to scream. The streets seemed familiar yet strange, as if he had just woken from a long sleep and was only now realizing how much everything had changed. Businesses he was used to seeing had been replaced by others, and buildings that had looked brand new just days before were now dilapidated and abandoned.

Was this the clarity that death brought?

Robby remembers each and every one of the patients he lost. Lately, those who came to mind most often were the ones who chose to end their own lives, those brought by other souls but whom no skill in the world could save, neither his nor anyone else's. He thought about them now, surrounded by decay and silence, and could only take a deep breath. He could only think that it was logical, it was even normal, that they would choose to end their lives if this was the image they saw every day, if the only thing they heard was the tired beating of their hearts. 

The park was another nightmare in itself. The sky hadn't yet turned blue, so the darkness and the cold gave it a sinister air that made Robby feel threatened, the trees seem taller, and the sound of leaves rustling together sounded like people whispering his secrets. He felt trapped in such a vast place; his heart began to race and his legs felt unsteady. He sat down on the first bench he saw and lowered his head.

It was on days like these that he wanted to start his sabbatical earlier. There was only one more week until it "started," but now that he saw the end so close, the days seemed more tortuous and longer, as if god were punishing him for choosing the easy path. He couldn't sleep more than four hours, he couldn't eat more than a few bites, and work was as unbearable as going home. He wasn't comfortable in his own skin—he was certain he never really were—but these days it seemed as if he had this itch underneath that had taken root without his consent that make everything cost him twice as much, things that were in his blood like teaching and helping seemed like herculean tasks, he didn't have the strength to let anything matter to him and he didn't have the faith to support anyone else. It was as if he had already left and only this strange man remained in his place, apathetic and useless, who didn't seem to do or say anything right. 

Robby lifted his head, seeing the sky begin to take a little of color, and felt nothing.

"Ah! You're awake!".

He closed his eyes, relief expanding his lungs. Finally, another sound.

"Are you alright, sir?".

The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was that the owner of the voice was young, perhaps a little too young to be awake at this hour of the morning. The second thing he noticed seemed to explain his situation: his large eyes were surrounded by dark circles and bags, as if he had never had a single good night's sleep in his life. Hell. The poor boy looked like a tired, lanky little cherub. His clothes were old and twice as big on him. Robby could see how half his shirt was tucked into his black pants, which seemed to be held in place only by the sheer power of an old black belt.

Even so, what caught his attention the most was that the boy had a cross in his hands, and a Bible on his legs.

How long has the boy been sitting next to him?

"I'm fine," he muttered, wincing internally at the roughness on his voice. "Just thinking."

The boy's eyes widened and his fingers danced nervously over the cross. "I apologize, I didn't mean to interrupt!".

Robby breathed a laugh. His clumsy gestures were almost endearing to him, considering that he had been just a second away from suffering a nervous breakdown. He couldn't be more grateful for the interruption.

"Don't worry about it." He waved a hand, smiling at the boy. "I could use a bit of company today."

The boy gave him a tight smile. "It's a rather gloomy day, isn't it? I thought that if I got up early to see the sunrise I would feel better, but I don't feel much more than tiredness."

"It's quiet," Robby agreed. He stretched his arm across the bench, sighing heavily. "I don't think I've ever heard the city so quiet as it is today."

"Well, it's barely five." The boy hummed, grabbing his bible. "But I know what you mean. I usually have my headphones with me, but now I have to set an example."

Robby raised his eyebrows. "An example? Are you a priest? A teacher?".

"Very close, I am a pastor." He raised his cross, laughing under his breath. "I just got my license and they ordered me here. I was supposed to be here on Saturday, but I couldn't help my nerves and arrived a day early."

A pastor. Robby could hardly believe it. Perhaps it was because he felt so far removed from god, but seeing a young man ordained within a religious organization always made him think they were wasting their lives. This wasn't the first boy he'd seen dedicating his life to the "Lord," they always received one or two fanatics at the hospital, and he and Jack always avoided being near them. It was like seeing a slaughtered sheep, and just looking at them made him nauseous with guilt, sorrow and fear. 

Despite his family's efforts and his own, Robby was never able to be a devout believer. He resented God in a way many would consider sick and self-centered, but he couldn't feel Him near, never could. He could pray for hours on his knees and still never feel anything; grace always seemed distant to him, and God's voice even more so. He couldn't imagine that a young man like this could "hear" his voice clearly enough to receive the call. The poor boy looked like he'd just come from a cult, how the hell could he educate and preach the word if it seemed as if god had abandoned him at birth?

"It's a little hard to believe, isn't it?".

Robby dragged a hand over his face. "Too obvious, huh?".

The boy laughed and even the sound was exhausted. Robby clenched his jaw as he felt a slight pang in his heart upon hearing it. 

"A bit," the boy said still smiling. "It's a little hard for me to believe too, you know? In fact, I was in my final year of a different degree when I decided to return to this vocation."

He moved a little closer, sliding down the bench, curious despite his best efforts. "What changed? Sorry for being so nosy, but it seems a bit bizarre to give yourself up to god at this age."

The boy raised his head to meet his eyes, raising an eyebrow. "How old do you think I am?".

"Twenty three?".

"You were almost there. I'm twenty-six, actually." The boy held his bible to his chest. "And what changed? I think not much really did. I think it was a combination of things that led me back to God. Between poverty, loneliness, and the death of one of my brothers, returning to God seemed like the most logical step."

"Logical?" Robby frowned, holding the boy's shoulder. "God left you in poverty, took your brother, and you thought it made more sense to go back to him?".

The young man gave him a sideways glance, a small nervous laugh died on his lips as he noticed his seriousness, and Robby should surely feel bad for making him nervous, but now he was truly indignant and couldn't let it go. 

He was usually the first to respect the decisions that everyone made, from his employees to his patients, he did not interfere in anyone's life or decisions unless it was his job or their decisions were a matter of life or death. But for these kinds of things, he didn't meddle. If Trinity wanted to switch to pediatrics, he wasn't going to stop her or question her, no matter how illogical it seemed. If Mckay wanted to get a divorce to start dating someone 20 years younger than her, what did he care? He wouldn't interfere in either of their decisions because he shouldn't and he didn't want to. And yet here he was, staring at a cherub whose name he didn't even know and asking him why he chose to serve a god who seemed to hated him.

He was so out of sorts today it was pathetic, the sun hadn't even risen yet for his mind to be so unbalanced.

"You know, one of my siblings told me the same thing," The cherub confide but he didn't meet his eyes. "He told me that he finally understood why I distanced myself from God, and that now he didn't understand why I chose to return."

"That must be the smart brother."

The kid meet his gaze, smiling at him softly. "I'll tell you the same thing I told him. My brother died in a farm accident because he was drunk, my poverty is because my parents abandoned me to the mercy of the city, and my loneliness is because I'm inept at socializing. Tell me, what does God have to do with any of this?".

"You say that they were the decisions of others and yours, but that there is no interference from God," Robby scoffed and shook his head, his hand still firmly on his shoulder. "But that doesn't cut it. Isn't he supposed to be there? Shouldn't he help you if you believe in him? Shouldn't things be better if you gave your life to him? You told me you distanced yourself, right? But you were still his son, shouldn't he at least had a little pity on you? A tiny bit of the mercy he boasts so much about?".

The cherub shrugged. "God gave us free will and a community so that we might help each other in times of misery, as a reflection of his goodness. If people suffer so much, it is because humanity is wicked, because it insists on living in wickedness and sin, not because God is selfish and deaf."

Robby narrowed his eyes. "You really believe that?".

"No." The cherub broke into laughter, shaking his head.

He stared at him for a second, absorbed in how his smile seemed to light up his face, how his eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, and for a moment he felt something more than the deep emptiness that had been his companion these past months. Robby could only laugh along with him, his hands seemed reluctant to let the boy go, and so he didn't. 

"You scared me," he said after his laughter died, messing his curls.

The cherub snickered, hiding his face behind the bible. "To be honest, I believed that for a long time."

"Did you? What broke the illusion?".

"Life," he smiled, his fingers tapping the bible. "You know, one of the deacon in my old congregation even told me that God created this universe and went to another one to continue creating, and that's why he doesn't hear us or see us, like at all."

"And that's one of the pillars of the community?" Robby asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Believe it or not, many people who go to church don't do it for God. Most go for community, to avoid being alone, to have a purpose."

"And you?".

"I couldn't keep paying for my previous degree, so that dream sailed away, and I think it's the only way I have to help people." The cherub sighed, resting his head on his bible. "I'm not very eloquent, nor do I believe that fervently, but I can offer some assistance, I can help people breathe a little easier. Or well, at least I know my mom does."

"So, more than a calling, it's like a kind of gift for your mother? Are you seriously going to dedicate the rest of your life to her?" Robby asked, his hold on the boy's shoulder tightening. "That's beyond ridiculous!".

"Plus, they give me an apartment to live in and I can eat twice a day."

Robby dragged a hand over his face. "I still think that's insane."

It was obvious there had to be more to the story, but Robby didn't press the issue. The sun was beginning to rise, and with it, his alarm, which was supposed to wake him up, vibrated in his pocket, indicating that his shift was about to begin.

He should move, he should start walking towards the hospital, but instead he settled more comfortably on the bench. "What's your name, kid?".

"Pastor Whitaker, now." The boy—no, Whitaker smiled. "Yours?".

"Doctor Robby, then—".

The cherub whole body turned to him and for once, he looked his age, staring at Robby with such admiration that stole his breath away. 

"You're a doctor!?" He exclaimed, holding his shoulder. "That's amazing!".

"Amazing?" He wondered, sighing. 

There was a time when he'd thought this way, when seeing a new procedure thrilled him and saving a life was the highlight of his day. Now he couldn't see what the hell he was talking about. There was nothing good about his job, it was stressful, exhausting, and unrewarding. He not only spent his days thinking about all the patients he'd lost and the colleagues he'd let down, but now every practice seemed boring. Tears no longer moved him, and all he could do was feel weary of everything.

"I hate to burst your bubble, pastor, but there's nothing good about this job." His unoccupied hand pat the cherub thigh and he smiled tightly at him. "I work in the ER, which means I see more bodies than people, half the time I have twenty different types of fluids on my uniform, and every catastrophe that happens goes directly into my hands, so I am responsible for every patient and doctor in the area."

The pastor pursed his lips. "I don't believe you."

Robby's eyes widened and he laughed. "What?".

"I mean," Whitaker stammered and paled, even he seemed taken by surprise by his outburst. "I'm not calling you a liar! I can believe the part about the bodies and fluid, but I don't believe you that there's nothing good about it. No offense, but you seem experienced. If you were truly so fed up with your job, why don't you quit?".

"I can't."

The pastor held his gaze and Robby wasn't sure he wanted to know what the boy was going to find. He didn't want this young man to see how tired he was, how empty he felt. He didn't want this man to see how disgusting he was inside, how rotten he was with all the decomposing bodies he carried within him. He didn't want those eyes to stop looking at him with admiration, he didn't want the conversation to end. So he looked away. 

"I just can't."

Whitaker didn't push and Robby pretended that he didn't want him too.

"Well, although it may be hard for you to believe, I would like to have your tiredness."

Robby felt a smile tugging at his lips, and he turned to look at him, unable to keep his eyes far away from him. "No offense, kid, but you seem too exhausted to say that." 

"But is true." He frowned, crossing his arms, his bible firmly over his chest. "I would have loved to have your experience, to complain about your work, to have even experienced a little bit of your life."

Suddenly something clicked in his brain, and his heart seemed to beat faster. The need to help people, to do something, even if minimal, to alleviate the pain of others—god, the pastor wanted to be a doctor.

"What year were you in before dropping out?" He tug on his ear, trying to ground himself with the touch. "Were you doing rotations? Residency?".

Whitaker sighed and chew on his lip. "I was supposed to start my rotations that year, but oh well, God had other plans."

He swallowed as he felt a certain old resentment bubbling to the surface. He pictured this pastor dressed in scrubs, a stethoscope in his pocket, and his hands covered in gloves. He pictured him at work, talking with Dana and working alongside Santos or Javadi. He pictured him beside him, teaching him, guiding him, and the hatred he felt for the divine injustice almost took his breath away.

"You still have time to come back," he ended up saying, the words he really wanted to say stuck on his throat. "I bet you make a good doctor."

The boy shot him a tigh lipped smile and hummed distractedly, his head fell to rest on the bench, but Robby still hadn't removed his arm, and the pastor noticed, a blush creeping over his face as he noticed Robby's hands all over him and he jumped out of his reach, putting distance between them. 

"Sorry, I didn't realize we were so close!" He exclaimed, holding his cross. "I didn't meant to hover—".

"Kid, don't worry." He cut him off, crossing his arms to stop himself from reaching back. "A pastor has to hug his sheep, right? Take this as practice for all those old ladies you're going to have to hug from now on."

Whitaker was nearly falling off the bench, but he still turned to look at him, laughing at his words. The sun shone down on him from behind, his hair turned golden, almost like a halo, and the sight made him freeze in place, as if he were truly seeing something divine.

At that moment he forgot about his bike, he forgot about his sabbatical and his job, at that moment he believed that if he raised his hand and touched his hair, perhaps he could hear the word of god—

But then his phone decided to cut in, the ringtone so loud in the quiet park filled him with annoyance that quickly turned into frustration when he saw who was calling.

"Jack," He barked, holding his phone with way too much more strength than necessary. "What do you want?".

"Me?" His voice sounded playful, and that only made him feel more annoyed. "Brother, didn't you see the time? Where the hell are you?".

"What?" Robby frowned, but as he glanced at his wristwatch he cursed, "Shit."

He heard a laugh over the line but a movement on his side make him remember he was in the presence of a servant of god. Robby covered his phone and turned to him, smiling apologetically. "Sorry about that."

The cherub waved a hand, obviously amused by his behavior. "Don't worry about it, it's something wrong?".

Robby shook his head. "Nothing that you have to worry about, give me a second."

"Robby?" Was the first thing he heard as he put his phone over his ear. "Are you still there or have you fallen asleep again?".

"I'm here. Listen, I'm gonna be a bit late—".

"A bit? Brother, you're already late, just tell me how long I'm supposed to cover for you irresponsible ass."

He sighed. "Just give me an hour—".

"An hour? Shit, I didn't know you still had any game, Robby." Jack laughed and he heard another giggled behind. "I thought your dick had already turned to ashes by this point—".

He hung up, ignoring the heat that his words put on his cheeks. He turned to the pastor; Whitaker was looking at the trees, smiling to himself, and impulsively Robby got up from the bench, walking until he was standing in front of him, obstructing his view.

"Pastor, what does your bible say about drinking coffee?".

Whitaker smiled brightened his face and Robby couldn't care less about time in the face of his enthusiasm. They walked together to a nearby cafeteria, the pastor never let silence invade their conversation, and for that Robby was more than grateful.

"What were you reading?" Robby asked as he ordered for the both of them, being generous with the pastries. "You were reading while I was lost in my mind at the park, right? What was the one upstairs whispering to you?".

The pastor shuddered at the words. "Please, if God ever speaks to me, I might die of fright."

Robby barked a laugh, receiving his order with trembling hands. "Shouldn't you be eager to hear him, to feel him close and all that?".

"Not really," he muttered, glancing around the small place and choosing, unsurprisingly, to sit on a table at the farthest corner. "I think god has said enough in the bible, you just have to look closely, immerse on his words and you will find whatever answer you have been looking for."

Robby glanced at the chair opposite the pastor and decided to sit next to him. He took a sip of his coffee and frowned as he remembered his words. "And? What were you looking for?".

He placed his Bible on the table and sighed with great emotion as he took a sip of his coffee, almost as if he had drunk the blood of Christ. "Nothing special, I was just looking for an interesting topic to present on Saturday, you know, for the sermon and stuff." 

"You were eager enough to come a day early but not eager enough to have a sermon prepared?" Robby snort, patting his back. "Has anyone ever told you that your priorities are all mixed up?".

"That's quite funny coming from you, considering we're both having coffee instead of doing our jobs." 

Robby felt his phone vibrate, probably Jack teasing him about his delay, and he couldn't help but smile. "God won't punish you for your laziness? I was under the impression that it was quite a sin."

"Ah, you're that kind of person."

"What kind?".

"The kind of person who believes that God punishes you for existing."

Robby paused, his hand clenching around his knee. "What do you mean?".

"Well," he said distractedly, munching over a pastry. "Some people think that everything they do is equivalent to a punishment from God. My mom was like that; if she got up a little late and her chores fell behind, God was punishing her for her laziness. If she ate a little too much and then had a stomachache, God was punishing her for her gluttony." 

"And you didn't."

The pastor held a laugh, his tongue swiping cream from his lips. "I believe that every action has consequences, directly or indirectly, but I don't believe that God has anything to do with them."

Robby frowned, crossing his arms. "You're a bad christian, then. As far as I know, I believed you guys thought that god was in every detail, that he has a masterplan for this world." 

"I mean, if that's your cup of tea, sure." He shrugged, grabbing a napkin and cleaning his hands. "I believe that if God is in every detail, he is a sadist and a tyrant. So I dont. I mean, God's is there, surely. But I don't believe that he wants us to serve him only out of fear of punishment. I don't want to believe that the god I serve hates me and wants to punish me just because I stray from his path in some way, whether it's because I'm drinking coffee instead of writing a sermon or because today I didn't wake up feeling grateful for being alive."

He felt that the bubble they had been in had turned into a prison in a second. His heart faltered at the pastor's words, both naive and painful. He couldn't believe what the pastor was telling him, it was inconceivable to someone who believed god was pushing him to the edge of the abyss, who believed god looked down on him with disdain and disgust. Whitaker didn't even seem to notice the atmosphere. To the pastor, it seemed like he was stating the obvious: the sky is blue and God doesn't hate you. But Robby could feel a weight in his heart, a longing when he saw him so calm and at peace, even with his sadness and tiredness, that he felt his fingers tremble. He wanted to be him, he wanted to be trapped here in this cafe with him until he found that same peace, he wanted to see him and talk with him until he cleansed himself of all the death and guilt he carried inside.

But he didn't say anything of that. Robby dragged a hand over his face, smiling as he saw the boy's full cheeks, cream on his lips. "I can ask for more if you want."

The pastor choke, Robby hit his back with a laugh. "No, I would never ask—! You've already spent enough—!".

He shushed him. "I'm going to do it anyway, how else can I convince you to meet me tomorrow?".

Whitaker raised his head and—damn, the doctor couldn't remember the last time someone had been so excited to spend time with him.

"Really?" He stuttered, grabbing his bible from the table. "I mean, I have to be at the church at seven to help the deacons, but if you don't mind seeing me earlier–".

Robby pretended to think about it, but quickly shook his head. "Or you can meet me for dinner. What do you think? My place?".

The pastor stuttered, but he didn't gave him time to blabber a no, grabbing a napkin, fishing for a pen in his pockets. Hurriedly he scribbled down his number, anticipation bubbling on his chest. "Here, write me and I'm gonna send you my address."

"But, I mean—the community–".

"They're gonna have you for the rest of your life." He dismissed. "They won't die if you spent a dinner with a lonely man, right? Isn't that like your job? Help the helpless, sick of soul and all that?".

"Yes?".

"Then do your job and help this man who is sick in spirit, pastor. I'll be waiting." 

"Just because you keep checking your phone doesn't mean you'll get a message."

Robby clenched his jaw, turning to see Dana looking over his shoulder. "You mind?".

"You're gonna yell at me too?" She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. "You know, it's not your team's fault that whoever it is hasn't text you yet."

"I don't know what you mean." 

Dana scoffed, walking back to her station and Robby just stood there, holding his phone, pretending he was reading something and not staring at his messages like an idiot.

It was past one in the afternoon and the day was as erratic as ever. Patients kept arriving, his hands couldn't go two seconds without blood on them, the relatives were as irritable and irrational as ever, his residents were having problems every minute, and yet there he was, wasting time looking at his dry notifications, still waiting for a damn message like some schoolgirl.

He sighed and glanced to his side, finding Perlah and Princess whispering to each other, looking at him from time to time. He glared back at them, weighing whether it was worth barking at them to get back to work or keeping his venom to himself to avoid Dana's annoyed glare.

He didn't know if it was because he'd had a good start that morning, but now every little thing got on his nerves, everything bothered him, from King's harmless questions to the looks Javadi gave Santos when she wasn't paying attention–hell, even the silly jokes that Jack kept sending him seemed like the height of stupidity; he felt like the whole hospital had conspired to annoy him and he was just one bad intubation away from getting into a fistfight with someone.

In the end, he decided it wasn't worth picking a fight with the nurses. He put his phone away, cracked his neck to relieve the tension, and turned around, looking around for someone he could help—

His phone vibrated in his pocket and his hands fumbled with it as he quickly took it out, smiling as he saw that an unknown number was calling him.

"Hello?".

"Hey! Sorry for calling," The pastor blabbed. Robby could almost imagine him playing with his cross and the beginning of a smile appeared on his face. "I know you said to text, but every time I took my phone something happened and—".

"Breathe kid." Robby chuckled, dragging a hand over his hair. "I'm glad you called, for a second there I thought you forgot about me or that Jesus kidnapped you." 

He heard a snicker over the line. "I'm not interrupting you, am I? I was afraid of catching you in the middle of an intervention too."

He glanced back just as the front doors burst open, raising his eyebrows as Santos rushed over to the EMTs with King, both of them already arguing about the patient as if the poor guy wasn't writhing in pain. He looked to the side, his eyes meeting Mohan's, and with a nod from her, she went to help them. "Nah, I'm not busy at the moment. What are you doing? Have you saved any souls today?".

"I wish." He heard the boy's sighing heavily. "I've been talking to some people in the community, testing the waters. You know?".

Robby hummed, looking at the girls and the nurses panicking on trauma two. "And, what do you think? Do you feel the holy spirit in them?". 

"I don't feel much of anything other than hunger." 

He tried to stifle a laugh, but he failed if Dana's glare from her station was any indication. "They didn't let you have lunch?".

"I didn't have time! They told me it was a small congregation, but it's like seven families with dozens of children—".

"Dr. Robby!" Mohan yelled at him, her hair a mess. "We could use a hand here!".

He sighed, glaring at her. "Sorry, kiddo. I have to go. But don't hesitate to text me, okay? I'll reply as soon as I have a spare second."

"Oh." Robby bite his lip at the sad tone, his fingers tapping his phone. "I'm so sorry, you must be incredibly busy—and I'm babbling again! Sorry, I'm gonna shut up now!".

He clenched his teeth as he heard the line went silent and Mohan paled. 

The rest of his shift passed so erratically and was filled with problems and unpleasant surprises that Robby couldn't pick up his phone until almost the end of his shift, only to feel an enormous disappointment when he saw that he didn't have a single message from the pastor. By the last hour of his shift, all the residents and nurses were avoiding him, throwing him glances with barely concealed curiosity and weariness.

Robby would swear he could hear the sighs of relief from the whole building when he walked through the doors, his included. 

The weight of the day drained away as he walked, his steps leading him almost unconsciously to the same park where he saw the pastor today. Almost, because he could do nothing but beg to return to that tranquility and lightness he felt this morning beside him. Almost, because as he sat down on the bench he felt desperately alone and pathetic. 

What was he doing? What was he doing sitting there at this hour of the night, praying for a complete stranger to appear by the grace of god? What did he think the pastor was going to do? He was a damn kid with a degree in theology and a couple of innocent, silly visions of a bible corrected by men, ruined by humanity. All the stupid things he said today can be supported by a couple of isolated verses, but they couldn't cover up all the misfortune that was in that book, how vengeful, selfish, and possessive god really was. The boy might have believed God was on his side with all his heart, but Robby knew the truth, he always had. So why was he so desperate to talk to him again and hear him spout such nonsense?

It was as if his treacherous mind was still searching for reasons to stay. It was desperate, a flailing grasp, but the boy had given him a certain lightness of mind he hadn't felt in a long time, had filled the silence with something more than diagnoses and the sound of the hospital machines.

He wanted that lightness again, he felt like he was drowning in that need and without wanting to or thinking about it, he picked up his phone and called him. The tone sounded once, twice, and by the third time Robby felt an embarrassing burning in his throat.

"Robby?".

He closed his eyes, sighing deeply. "Pastor, I'm starting to think you don't like me." 

"What–? Who wouldn't like you, Robby?".

A lot of people, everyone actually, even the few friends he still keep around doesn't like him very much. 

"You didn't text." 

It just slipped out, he truly didn't even think about mentioning it, and yet it still slipped out. He almost slapped himself, groaning internally. What the hell was he doing? Who the hell did he think he was? His girlfriend–? Wait—Could he even go out with someone? Did his god allow it? His religion? Or was he in the possessive clutches of heaven?

"Oh, sorry about that," Whitaker stammered, his voice sounded slow, rusty. "I spent the rest of the day trying to fix up the church basement. Trying to make it a little more pleasant? Or at least a little cleaner? I don't know if I managed it completely, I think before you called me, a rat was giving me CPR."

"You said they were giving you an apartment." Robby frowned, clutching his phone tightly. 

A yawn sounded from the other line; he could hear the rustling of the sheets, and color rose to his cheeks. God, the poor boy was asleep, and here he was, calling him like an idiot just for a second of peace. 

"I have to look for it first, and I don't know where to look." The pastor admitted quietly. "Besides, I don't mind sleeping here. I've laid my head in worse places."

"You shouldn't live where you work, it's practically inviting a psychotic break," Robby chided, narrowing his eyes.

"Sure," the pastor agreed easily, his tone dismissive and Robby glared at his screen. Brat. "By the way, did you have something to tell me, Robby?".

He hesitated. What was he supposed to say to him? It was pure selfishness. He called him only because he felt lonely and didn't want to talk to anyone who truly knew him. He avoided conversations with his friends for fear they would discover the truth about his sabbatical, for fear they would see him and instantly know what he was planning. He was afraid they would try to do something stupid like "save him." This pastor didn't know him, he barely knew his name; he was something new, someone he hadn't yet tainted with the filth he carried inside.

"I was just checking. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? And you'd better text me how your first day went." 

The pastor hummed unconvinced. "Alright, Robby. Good night."

He slept a little that night, the TV was still trashed, but at least he'd managed to find the speaker Jack had given him years before. The boring sound of a random pastor filled his room that night, and he thought it was a poor substitute for the pastor he really wanted to hear, but it helped him nonetheless.

He spent the whole day looking for reasons not to kill himself right there, from looking for a new TV, to cleaning it from top to bottom, trying to make a decent breakfast and lunch, but it didn't help much. Nothing seemed to help much anymore, and he had to tell himself over and over again that it was all about to end, that there was little left to do. 

Jack texted him all day, even though he repeatedly rejected his invitations to have coffee or meet up, he kept finding reasons to talk to him. It would be lovely if it weren't for the fact that with each message he felt suffocated, almost as if Jack already knew what he was going to do and was looking for loopholes in his logic and plans, looking for a way to make him stay—it was maddening.

The pastor texted him after he took lunch, just one word: disaster and he didn't text back, not even after he send his address and instructions. So until dinnertime, Robby sat around like an idiot waiting for him. The only distraction he had was making dinner, which was a hell in its own way. He wasn't Abbot; he didn't know how the hell to cook anything decent, or at least anything that looked decent, so he spent two hours watching tutorials and trying to make a simple sauce for some damn spaghetti. 

The worst part of all: he liked it, he even felt a certain pride when he saw the finished dish and a certain pleasure when he tasted it and knew he had done it perfectly—ah, shit, Jack was right, he did like it to cook. God, he fucking hated when he was right, he become insufferable. 

It hadn't even been ten minutes since he finished cooking when the doorbell rang. Robby froze in the middle of the kitchen for a second before running to his door, praying it was the pastor and not Jack deciding to pay him a visit. He watched the video of the entrance, his heart pounding, and he only found calm when a pair of tired eyes glanced at the camera, a shy smile on their lips.

"Whitaker," he greeted as he opened the door, smiling at the tired pastor. "You came."

"Robby." His smile grew in confidence, raising his gaze from the floor and Robby almost laughed when he saw a bit of lipstick staining his cheeks. "What?".

Robby hid his smile behind his hand, opening the door fully for him to step inside. "Popular with the ladies, pastor?".

The cherub didn't answer, he was looking from side to side, his mouth half-open and his eyes full of admiration. Robby didn't know what there was to admire about his old place. His "bachelor pad" had long since ceased to be his pride, but now, seeing the pastor admiring even the sofa cushions, he felt that old pride kind of resurface.

Robby let him admire the place, settling himself against the front door. The pastor looked like a teenager who had stolen his father's suit, the black jacket was twice his size, and the white shirt and trousers seemed to be the same ones he'd worn yesterday. Between that and the fact that his somewhat long blond hair was tangled, the doctor felt a certain urge to do something with his hands, though he didn't know what.

"You have a beautiful place, Robby," the pastor said, smiling at him as if he had hung the moon. "I guess saving lives gives you this."

A scoff got stuck in his throat, saving lives had only made him want to take his own, but he wasn't going to say that. 

"It was a mix of savings and money from my family, actually," he replied, approaching him and putting his arm around his shoulders, guiding him towards the kitchen. "But thank you, casanova."

Whitaker blushed and that caught Robby by surprise, almost tripping over the table. 

"Please tell me I don't still have lipstick on my cheeks." The pastor muttered, dragging a hand over his face. "Whatever the brand, it has to be expensive."

He made him sit down with a pat on the back, trying not to smile like an idiot. "You still have a little color in your cheeks. Are God's servants really that generous with their love? Or it's just with you?".

"The old ladies at church have always liked my cheeks for some reason, but this lady was half Italian or French, I don't know, she greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks—oh," he cut himself off as Robby put the pot in the middle, a delighted noise coming from his mouth. "Wow, that smells amazing!".

"I didn't know if you were vegetarian, fruitarian, or vegan, so I kept it as simple as possible. If you want something else, let me know and we'll order it, no problem." He fidgeted with a plate, staring everywhere but him as he keep putting everything in place. "If you're celiac or diabetic I also have—".

"Robby," The boy said between laughs, holding his plate with big round eyes. "I promise I'm not gonna die in your table tonight! This is totally fine, better than fine actually!".

He nodded, the tension in his shoulders releasing with his words. "I would have text you about all of this, but you didn't reply to the last one, so I assumed you were too busy to bother you."

Robby began to serve, trying to ignore the burning in his ears as he realized he was, once again, demanding attention from the confused pastor. 

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that!" The kid apologized as he received the food, his cheeks burning. "As soon as I texted you, a deacon mentioned to me that a rat walked on the feet of one of the few young men at the church."

"God forbid them from fumigating or something?" He asked as he sat in front of him, biting back an smile as he saw him already eating. Not even saying grace, huh?

The pastor held a hand over his mouth a smile tugging on his lips. "The truth is, it's a pretty neglected parish, it didn't surprise me at all. That said, I was grateful that he told me when everyone was already leaving, so I could start looking for it."

"Did you find it?".

"Yes, his soul returned to the hands of the creator."

Robby laughed, overjoyed at his playful gaze. "So, amidst all the chaos, you had fun!".

"Fun?" Whitake shook his head, he was already halfway done. "Two different babies vomited on me, an old man soaked my shirt with water, and the receptionist stained my pants with ink. Everyone cared more about whether I was married or had children than about the sermon I was giving!".

To be honest, Robby wouldn't have cared at all about the word of god if this pastor was the one preaching it. In fact, he was also curious about his marital status, but he tried to hold his tongue, playing with his food. "Give them time, by the third Saturday they won't even care if you're there."

"Don't give me false hope—" He frowned and for a moment stopped eating, looking at Robby with some embarrassment. "I mean, that's not right either! My duty is to guide them and take care of their problems and—".

Robby tutted. "Whitaker, it's normal to feel overwhelmed. This is your first "mission," right? It's normal if having to interact with so many people makes you nervous. Look at me, I've been working with people for years and I still have a hard time whenever there are more than ten people in my space."

He wasn't lying, every time a catastrophe happened that he had to deal with, every time a patient brought their whole family into their room, every time his colleagues went crazy and started some kind of reunion in the middle of the board, his heart raced, he was short of breath, and he felt like his own skin was sandpaper. 

"Some days are better than others, I'm sure you would get there, eventually." He added, if only to keep the boy from having a panic attack.

"But, what about you?" He asked, his food forgotten. "Did it get better for you?".

Never. Nothing has ever got better for him. It seemed that every day was the same in the worst way, as if all the bad things were repeating themselves in an endless loop but with different actors. He couldn't think of a single day in the last year where he had thought things could get better. He couldn't think of a single morning when he was glad to wake up.

The pastor looked at him, but not with the concern that Jack had, or with pity like Dana had been doing for months. It was the same look he saw every morning in the mirror.

It hit him then. "I didn't wake up feeling grateful for being alive," that's what he said yesterday and only now, staring intently at his face, could he realize that it wasn't just an example, that he wasn't just speaking to defend his god. He had overlooked the fact that the boy had become a pastor due to circumstances, not because it was his first choice. He hadn't grasped the gravity of the fact that the boy had lost his future because of poverty and grief.

Suddenly sitting across from him, telling lies like everything was going to be alright and get better, seemed like a worse sin than killing himself.

"Not really," he confessed, gazing at him and feeling absolutely defeated when he saw him sigh. "Do you know what I imagined when I entered this profession? I imagined myself in twenty years, gray-haired and bearded, with my partner at the time, both of us watching our son grow up. I imagined myself retired, feeling proud of everything I had achieved and done." 

Robby almost wanted to laugh at that, it was entirely too fantastical to ever entertain. "Look around you, pastor. Have you seen any photos hanging up? Do you feel that more than one person lives in this home? I invited a stranger over for dinner because loneliness is eating me alive, because I can't talk to my friends without them freaking out about my mental health. Tell me, do you think this is what God planned for me? Do you think this is "better?".

'Do you think he's proud of me?' He wanted to ask, but he thought it was pathetic enough that his voice had cracked mid-speech without asking such a question.

The pastor bowed his head, a tired smile on his face. "I asked my pastor the same question during my brother's funeral. I asked him if it was all part of God's plan that I spent those hard winter days sleeping on the streets, if he thought it was a test that I was so hungry I couldn't even sleep because of the pain in my stomach. You know what he told me?".

Robby shook his head, his hands trembling under the table.

"He started talking to me about Job." 

He smiled as if it were a joke and Robby felt a smile tugging at his face too.

"Most of the time when you ask questions like that, everyone talks about Job. What a good servant Job was, not cursing God after He had taken everything from him!" He breathed a laugh, hiding his smile behind his hand. "What does Job have to do with my sadness? With my sorrow and pain? Am I not supposed to question God just because he rewarded him at the end of his suffering? Am I supposed to accept this fate because it's for my own good?".

"Well, aren't you supposed to?" He asked, his fingers tapping on his knees. "In fact, I think you've already accepted your fate, pastor."

"Did I?" Whitaker wondered out loud. "I don't believe God dictates my destiny, nor do I believe he enjoys seeing me lose and cry. I don't believe he rejoices when I'm happy, nor that he sees me all the time. I believe God isn't where he should be, I don't believe he's proud of me."

"What's the point then? Why did you became a pastor?".

"By accepting this position, I accept that I am an entity that must take responsibility for the consequences of its actions, I accept that God is not here and that only I can help those around me." He shrugged, balancing his fork. "I accept that things won't get better with just hope and longing, I can't live dwelling on the future or what I've lost. I accept that only I can make things better, even if there are times or days when just thinking about getting up makes me want to jump off the bridge." 

Robby frowned, a burn on the back of his eyes. "So, according to your logic, I ended up like this because of my actions? God is never on our side like at all?".

"I don't believe God interferes or exists, but I don't believe he's rooting for our destruction either." He stressed, dragging a hand over his neck. "I also don't think everything is your fault. We're all responsible for our own decisions, and we make those decisions as a result of others and circumstances. I think part of your problem starts with you, but I don't think everything is your fault. I think you had bad luck—".

He scoffed, crossing his arms, but the pastor didn't seem offended, he looked almost endeared. "I believe your life can still improve despite what you think. I believe you are a good man, Robby, and that I was very lucky to meet you. You made my day better, yesterday and today. Thanks to you I was able to eat something other than instant ramen, and thanks to you I don't feel so ridiculous after today's disaster."

The pastor smiled at him, the warm light of the kitchen gave his curls a tinge of gold and his blue eyes seemed to swallow all light from the place. "I firmly believe that your life is just beginning, that you have the rest of your time on this earth to improve your life."

"I'm old, pastor. I'm old and tired," He hissed, closing his eyes to keep his tears in place. "It's too late for me."

He heard the pastor get up from his chair and a feeling of despair filled him from head to toe. He almost felt like he was running out of air as he imagined him leaving, so he continued with his eyes closed in a childish way, believing that if he didn't see him, it wasn't real. If he didn't opened his eyes he wasn't alone.

"Who says so?".

Robby almost fell off his chair when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes at the sound of laughter, and looked with, an unfamiliar feeling growing in his chest, at the smiling pastor.

"Where is it written that your life ends after twenty or thirty? Who's rushing you?" Whitaker held his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. "If I had only had time until I was twenty to try to improve my life, I would be living on the streets eating restaurant leftovers. I think you have a distorted perception of life and that's why you suffer."

Robby held his wrist as he raised from his chair, staring intently at him. "And what do you think I should do, pastor? Should I give my life to your God and your cause? Should I smile while losing a patient, while the relationships I have fade away?".

"Of course not!" He stammered, his cheeks burning as he tried to escape from his grip. 

"Tell me," he demanded, drawing the elusive pastor towards him. "What should I do to be happy? Tell me and I'll do it, because despite your kind words, I don't have time. I'm not twenty years old, I don't have your youth nor your faith. Tell me, what should I do?".

Whitaker stopped trying to break free from his grip, instead looking at him from under his eyelashes, his brow furrowed. "I don't know what you should do, you have to learn that yourself."

He clenched his jaw, fucking fraud. He almost believed him, almost had a glimmer of hope—

Robby let go of him and pushed him towards the table, but the pastor held his forearms, searching his gaze. "But I'm not going to leave you, Robby. I'm going to help you find it. We can look together. You don't have to do everything alone."

"You want to convert me?" He laughed, his hands holding his shoulders. "That's not gonna happen."

"Do you see a bible? Am I speaking to you in verses?" He raised his chin, holding his gaze. "What's wrong with wanting to help you?".

Robby searched on his eyes, looking for something that could extinguish the feeling that was blooming on his chest and what he found only seemed to fuelled it more. 

"Are you sure you want to help me? I'm not someone easy to deal with, I have been told that I can be too much."

Whitaker smiled, and it was a nervous thing, trembling on the edges. Robby didn't know why he found it endearing. "I'm sure."

Robby smiled, and something that seemed hungry settled in the back of his head at the sound of his voice. 

"By the way, can you let me go? I haven't finished eating yet."

He breathed a laugh as he let him go, watching as his face turned red and he scrambled back to his seat.

His sabbatical didn't cross his mind for the rest of the night.