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At the end of his shift, Robby pulls his phone out of his locker, unlocks it, and wades through a sea of notifications. Most of them are from Jack.
From: Jack 🫀
Just got up! Hope your shift is going well so far ❤️
From: Jack 🫀
You didn’t need to leave me breakfast
From: Jack 🫀
Brunch?
From: Jack 🫀
Regardless thank you and I’ve already eaten all of it 🙏
From: Jack 🫀
I’m thinking Italian on Thursday when we’re both off? Yes or yes? I’ll get it without you if no
From: Jack 🫀
Dinner will be in the oven. Eat it or I’ll hurt you
From: Jack 🫀
Bringing lasagna and if you don’t have any for me in front of me I’m going to tattle
From: Jack 🫀
And I’m tattling to me, so. Watch out here comes trouble
From: Jack 🫀
Here ♥️ Come out to the truck and eat with me, I got 22 minutes
The last message was sent only a minute before, and Robby almost drops his bag in his haste to get it out of his locker and slung over his shoulder. There really is just about one thing that could have him putting on mental horse blinders and striding as fast as he could out of the emergency room, and that’s Jack.
“Tell me you’re going home,” Dana tells him, on the way out herself. The automatic door stays open against her back, dinging once, twice as she keeps it open for him. “You need sleep in a bad way.”
“You’ll be happy to know I’m going right home and sleeping,” he assures her. “Even if I didn’t want to, I don’t think I have a choice.”
She exhales a laugh as she follows after him out of the ambulance bay and into the employee section of the parking lot. They both take note of the running truck as soon as they get out there, and the knowing look she throws his way speaks more than any words ever could.
“Tell him ‘hey’ for me,” she comments, shouldering her own bag as she splits off for her car. “See you tomorrow?”
“What's tomorrow?” he asks, and she swats at him. “Yeah, I'll see you. You get some sleep, too, alright? Look after yourself. A really great nurse once told me th—”
“Save it, I'm going,” she calls over her shoulder. Unlocking her car, she reminds him, “Go. Night shift is about to officially start.”
Robby doesn't need to be told twice, already moving for the driver's side door of their truck. The cabin light is on, and he's greeted with the familiar and warm sight of Jack in the passenger seat, an array of half-opened Tupperware containers on the dashboard in front of him, and his smile as he turns the radio volume down soft.
“Hey, stranger,” Jack greets him, pushing upwards to meet him over the console in a kiss. “How was it today? Anything dramatic?”
“Eh.” Robby throws his bag into the back and all but collapses in the driver’s seat, watching Jack reach out to start picking up containers and scooping contents into one of their travel bowls. Lasagna, green beans, garlic bread— his stomach growls just seeing it, let alone how good it smells, and Jack huffs a laugh. “Long.”
“Aren’t they always?” Jack pushes the bowl and fork into his hand. “Eat. There’s more at home if you’re still hungry after.”
Robby has already shoved a mouthful of pasta and cheese and tomato sauce into his mouth before he asks around it, “You eaten?”
“‘Course I did,” he replies. “What do you take me for? You?” Robby raises an eyebrow at him over his bowl, though he doesn’t slow down on inhaling the food. “Give me the highlights. Anything notable?”
Robby hums, biting green beans off in his mouth, teeths snapping through the pods. He runs through the night’s cases— the accidents, the overdoses, the attacks, the illnesses and injuries and every wounded soul that came through the door— and he hesitates in his quest to get as much food into his mouth as possible.
“Hey, don’t get away from me, now,” Jack warns him. “Already proud of you for being in here and not up on the roof. What happened?”
For a moment, Robby only chews through the bite in his mouth. The lasagna is good— Jack’s good at this, and it’s infinitely better than the sandwich he stole for him and left in the fridge with his name on it— but it’s difficult to taste it when he’s thinking too much about earlier.
It’s hard. He sees a lot, and still, sometimes, it gets to him. And when he sees the sudden losses— when he has to watch something like what he saw tonight, when he sees a man being told that his husband was killed so quickly on impact in an accident with a drunk driver that he couldn’t be saved by them, when he witnesses him breaking down in shock before he’s wailing, begging for his husband, calling his name with such grieved and horrible desperation that it still rings in his ears even now— it feels, sometimes, like it’s never going to get easier.
“Just— You know,” Robby says, tipping one shoulder in a shrug. “Drunk driver drove over the median, hit a car coming the other way. Didn’t see it coming. Guy lost his husband and just…”
The shift has been long, and exhausting, and he only stopped working on the accident victims an hour earlier. It still sits heavily inside of him, and he sets the fork down on the edge of his bowl, tapping at it as he swallows past the lump in his throat.
“You know—” he repeats, voice breaking, and shakes his head. “Shit. I’m tired, I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Jack says. Robby shakes his head again, and Jack tries, “Hey, babe. Look at me.”
For a long moment, Robby doesn’t move. It’s not until Jack reaches out, laying his hand over the back of Robby’s, that he shudders, a full-body wrack that feels like it takes something out of him with it.
It’s only then that he manages to lift his chin and actually look at him. There’s a second where he sees Jack dead; it happens sometimes, his mind’s eye superimposing him over any of the countless people he treats in a day, and tonight is no different. He is, for that moment, dead in an accident, taken in a split second, and Robby is the one left behind in grief, whole one moment and abandoned the next.
“You can’t fucking die on me,” Robby tells him, firm, even through his voice cracking and his knowledge that neither of them can promise this. They know, better than anyone, that anything can be over— that anyone can be gone— in a heartbeat, for no reason at all. “You hear me?”
Jack squeezes his hand, ring pressing warm between their skin.
“Loud and clear,” he promises. “So you better not go anywhere, either. I still got plans for you, hear me?” His hand pulls at Robby’s, guiding it to push his fork into the lasagna again, and he laughs. “Keep eating. I’ve only got twelve minutes left.”
Robby lets Jack half-feed him a bite of lasagna from his own hand, held by Jack’s, and it tastes a lot better than it had a moment ago.
“Tell me about the good ones,” Jack insists. “Who’d you save today, Superman?”
Though he rolls his eyes, Robby answers, “Had a kid come in today who fell out of a tree. No pulse when she came in, but she was talking and laughing by the time I left. Maggie Gutierrez.”
“Okay, hero,” Jack replies. “I’ll check in on her for you.”
The car is a low rumble beneath them, the radio a warm murmur. Jack shifts, turning in his seat; a moment later, his head is on Robby’s shoulder, his arm hooking through his, fingertips running along inside his wrist. He pauses for a moment, and Robby knows he’s taking his pulse. Whatever he finds, apparently, is satisfying enough, because he keeps stroking his forearm once he’s read it.
“I could fall asleep right here,” Robby murmurs, cheek pressed to the crown of Jack’s head.
“Don’t do that,” Jack tells him. “I’ll have you arrested for loitering.” Tipping up, kissing his cheek, he asks, “Want me to bring you home quick first?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Robby replies. “It’s only a few minutes, I’m awake enough for that.”
“Keep eating,” Jack encourages him, and Robby does as told, raising an eyebrow as he pushes in another mouthful of cheese with his left hand. “Just gotta get through to Thursday. Right? A whole day to just be people.”
Robby hums his agreement around his food. It’s only when his fork hits plastic that Jack takes it all away from him, but Robby can’t help himself. He still follows after him, pushing the bowl and utensils onto the dashboard as he shifts into the center console. His muscles protest, and he resettles, turning to the side, reaching out to run his fingertips over the curve of Jack’s shoulder, up to the nape of his neck.
“Hey,” Jack says again, quiet, and his hand cups Robby’s chin to draw him in for a kiss.
He still tastes like garlic and tomato and a little bit like toothpaste. Robby chases the deeper mint taste, letting his tongue slip along Jack’s, his hand on the back of his head guiding him closer, sandwiched there between him.
When Jack’s fingertips run through Robby’s hair, he’s soft at first, nails raking along— and then he grips at the side of his head, dragging towards the side, coaxing him into tipping his head. Robby gasps an involuntary whimper of a sound, swallowed down into Jack’s throat, and it’s only a second later that they’re apart again and Jack is shoving the center console up and out of the way.
“Three minutes,” Jack warns him, spilling into Robby’s lap. They barely fit, but he manages to bracket his knees on either side of his hips and seat himself on his thighs. It’s tight— Jack has to hunch over him, grabbing him into another kiss— but Robby doesn’t care. If anything, he prefers it this way, and clutches Jack closer, his hot and heavy weight keeping him grounded and tethered to the Earth.
Jack’s hand tracks up beneath his shirt, pushing his palm flat over his belly and up to his chest. He gropes blindly there, breaking their kiss to mouth at Robby’s throat instead. It’s been days since they had even this much time, and Robby groans, head falling back against the rest behind it.
A moment later, Jack’s phone vibrates in his pocket, buzzing and chiming out a clamoring tone at the same time as his alarm goes off.
“Get that thing off me,” Robby warns him, mumbled into Jack’s hair.
Jack only laughs at him, pushing a kiss to his cheek before peeling away. When he drops down into the passenger seat again, tugging his phone out to toggle the alarm off, Robby gets that sinking feeling he always does when they have to separate again.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Jack protests.
“Like what?” Robby argues. “I’m not looking at you like anything, what’re you—”
“Yes, you are, you look like I just kicked you in the heart, dick, and dog,” Jack insists, and Robby laughs. Jack’s hand meets his cheek again a moment later, turning him into another kiss— softer, close-mouthed, though not necessarily chaste. When they part, he says, “We’ll see each other tomorrow, right?”
“I think so,” Robby murmurs. “I’ll check the schedule at home.”
“Good.” Jack presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth before patting his cheek and separating. “Okay, you can clean this up.”
“Thanks for that,” Robby says, reaching out to start sealing containers.
“I make it, you clean it,” Jack says in return. “Get some sleep, babe. And don’t worry so much, okay? You’re good at your job. You always save lives. I’m sure you rocked your shit today like you do every day. Don’t think about anything but that.”
Robby gives him a skeptical look, asks with sarcasm, “What, about how awesome I am?”
“If that’s what works,” Jack replies, far more genuine in return. “You are awesome at this, Mike. Don’t forget that.”
His hand finds Robby’s, and they both squeeze in the same moment. When they push together, this time, it’s to wind into a tight embrace together. They’re sideways and sitting down and straining to do it, but they wrap up close, hug as hard as they can, and Robby feels some of the tension leave his body at the press and pressure.
“So’re you,” he murmurs into Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll remind you tomorrow.”
“I’m sure I’ll be glad for it,” Jack replies. “Hey— I gotta go though, babe. You sure you’re good?”
Robby nods against him, kisses his throat, separates from him.
“I’m good,” he says, and Jack tugs him in to hug one more time, kissing his cheek.
“Love you,” he says, lips brushing the shadowed scruff on his skin in a scrape. Robby smiles; Jack traces the shape of it with one fingertip.
“Love you,” Robby echoes. “Go, save lives. Tell Maggie hi for me.”
“Will do, Doc,” Jack replies, shimmying to hop out of their truck. Offering a salute to Robby, he’s gone a heartbeat later, bag bouncing against his back, jogging off towards the bright lights of the hospital, a beacon in the darkness, the lighthouse-keeper in so many ways.
Just before he vanishes inside, Jack spins on his heel, throwing a wave up over his head. Robby waves back— and when Jack blows him a kiss, he rolls his eyes, feeling his face warm up like he hasn’t been doing this for years, now.
Turning the radio up, Robby returns his attention to sealing up the containers. The sooner he can get home and wash this day off himself and get himself tucked into bed, between sheets that smell like the two of them, the better; he’s got another shift not so far out, and the more he sleeps, the closer he’ll be to seeing Jack again.
From: Me
Love you. You’ve got this
From: Jack 🫀
😘 ♥️