Chapter Text
Therapy helped. Jack's therapist referred Robby to another specialist, Gene, a kindly man in his 60s who proceeded to call out his bullshit in no-nonsense, cut-to-the-quick, devastating terms. Robby admired it, actually. It took a lot of skill to slice that deep.
It helped. Or, at least, it made the desperate clinging thing in Robby's throat recede just a little, just enough to let him function.
It kept him moving.
***
When Gloria pulled him from central with a regretful sort of look, Robby just knew: whatever this was, it was going to piss him off. After all, Gloria merrily spanked him on a weekly basis; if she was regretting the conversation before it even started...
She took a breath and dove in. "This is going to sound crass, so know that I am aware of that when I say: you should encourage your team to publish about Pitffest. Whatever they want."
"Well, so long as you know it sounds crass," Robby drawled, letting a little bite shine through because fucking really?
Gloria sighed. "I don't like it, either, but the reality is that the shooting raised our profile. Donors are more open right now. They like giving money to things that make them look good, that they can talk to their friends about at parties. You're always on my case about our staffing shortage and you're not entirely wrong in that. I'm trying to get more money to fix it."
"And will that money go to nurses? Or to more administration?" he asked, pointed.
"To nurses," she said, sharp. "It would help me accomplish that if your people would put out a stream of topical papers, things I can bring to donors to show how we're advancing care. And to be less cynical for a moment, we faced one of the biggest mass shootings in the history of this country—second only to Vegas—and yet the death toll was vastly lower than most others. People want to learn how you did it. The guns aren't going away, Robby," she said, grim. "Every ED knows that they could be next. Help them prepare."
Robby sighed, recognizing the truth in that, even if the argument was ultimately to advance her larger agenda. The guns were certainly not going away. "I'll talk to them about it."
"Thank you," she said, crisp. "I'll check in mid-week."
"Looking forward to it."
Gloria huffed at that blatant lie, nodded her head, and made her way out.
Robby rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. "Fuck."
***
"Why shouldn't I do a paper on the REBOA?" Santos pressed, aggressive like she was.
Robby sighed and massaged the back of his neck with both hands. He'd talked to the doctors who'd worked Pittfest, pitching Gloria's request as a way to help prepare their colleagues for the worst, so of course everyone had leapt to help. Shen and Ellis were doing a paper on triage, Mohan was doing one on draining an intracranial hemorrhage with an IO drill, Shamsi had somehow convinced Javadi to do a paper on improvising chest tubes with endotracheal tubes, foley bags, and Christmas tree adapters, and Robby himself was doing one he was thinking of calling "Elusive Airways," covering three cases—the tactile intubation, the bubble intubation, and the controlled crike on the cop.
And now this. Santos had caught him at the end of shift, suggesting her insane plan to write up a case study on her unguided, unapproved, unhinged REBOA during Pittfest, like that wasn't a recipe for disaster. He'd pulled her into the empty Trauma 1 bay, just so everyone wouldn't overhear. "Gee, let's think," he said, matching her tone. "Because it's a surefire way to get sued? Both the hospital, and yourself personally, sued to hell and back. For starters."
Santos jutted out her chin. "I saved the patient's life."
Oh, the naivete. "If I can impress upon you one lesson here, it's that when it comes to people suing, right and wrong doesn't matter. Patient outcome doesn't matter."
From the clench of her jaw, Robby could tell he wasn't reaching her.
Which was when Jack walked in, apparently having showed up early for shift change, looking alert and refreshed, ready to face the night. Robby envied him that. "Something up?" Jack asked as the door closed behind him, his eyes skating over Robby, then swinging to Santos, a glint of knowing there.
"I want to do a case study on the REBOA," Santos said, that stubborn set to her face.
Jack rested his hands on his hips. "You like getting sued? Because lemme tell ya, sitting for depositions? Unbelievable pain in the ass. I'm talking hours of prep with hospital lawyers and that's before you even get in the depo to face off against some asshole in a suit that costs more than your monthly rent."
"Thank you," Robby said emphatically. He turned back to Santos, steepling his fingers together and pointing at her. "Not to mention the ethics investigations from, you know, everyone."
But Santos still wasn't backing down. "You said you wanted to help other doctors. The data behind REBOAs suck. Ours would be adding to the science," she insisted.
"And making a name for yourself," Robby shot back. "The intern who did a REBOA on her own, day one. Can you really say you're not looking for a feather in your cap?"
Santos huffed out a little breath, blowing a lock of dark hair out of her eyes, maybe offended, maybe just stubborn. "I should get recognition, because that was badass shit, but that's not the only reason. I'm right about the data."
Idly, Robby missed the days when she was still taking his measure, hesitance mixed in with her general aggressiveness. Apparently she'd decided there was no need to stand on ceremony and it was just fine to continue pushing back at him. If it was about patient care, fair enough, but otherwise...
Jack made a noise that grabbed Robby's attention. He looked over—
To find Jack's expression thoughtful in a way Robby knew. "You can't be serious," he muttered.
Jack tipped his head in a way that meant hang on. "She's not wrong about the data," he said, reasonable.
"Thank you," Santos said, echoing Robby from earlier, short and pissy. Jesus, this kid.
Jack looked to her, sharp, some kind of warning in it. "And Robby's not wrong about the legal risks."
"I can handle some lawyers," she said, arrogant as the day was long.
Jack snorted, actually derisive. "Yeah? Can you handle not getting hired by anyone ever?"
That finally pierced her swagger, Santos' face falling. "...what?"
Jack looked at her frankly. "You put out a paper saying that you went rogue, doing a dangerous procedure blindfolded without an attending's sign-off, no one will hire you. Even before you get sued to kingdom come, you'd be too big a risk."
Robby watched the conflict play out over her face, her ego at war with her practicality. Her bravado finally cracked, a little uncertainty shining through. "So I'm just supposed to move on? I saved her life."
Jack shot her a sympathetic look, then turned to Robby. "Hear me out?"
Ah, fuck. That usually preceded something Robby did not like. "Why do I feel like I'm walking into a trap?"
Jack smirked and ignored him. "Since Santos isn't wrong about the data, what if we could find a...palatable way to present the REBOA?"
"Oh, this oughta be good," Robby drawled, making a little proceed gesture.
Jack shrugged. "I oversaw the back half of the procedure. If we wrote the paper together and presented it as something she did have oversight on, that would solve the legal and ethical concerns."
"By lying," Robby deadpanned.
"Massaging the truth," Jack corrected, light. "In a way that doesn't affect the data or its usefulness. Of course, Santos would have to get on board with that version of events," he said, looking back to her, a little test.
Despite himself, Robby was curious how she'd come down on it. Was it just about ego for her?
Santos stared at Jack, blue eyes wide, like she didn't quite believe it. "You'd do a paper with me?" she asked, almost small.
In that, Robby could tell that Santos knew about Jack's publishing reputation.
Jack could, too. "Oh, don't start that," he groused.
Like she was ashamed of the slip, she snapped out of it. "Santos can totally get on board with that version of events," she said quickly, brisk and snappy. "So on board."
Jack tipped his head at her. Then looked to him, the look that expected a decision, but also knew what it should be. "Robby?"
Robby let out a frustrated breath, already seeing where this was going. "Do I ever say no to you?"
Jack ghosted a smile at him. "I like to give you the illusion of choice," he drawled. Then he turned back to Santos. "Write up a proposal, get it to me by the end of the week."
"Got it. And...thank you," she said, almost earnest. Then she hurried out of Trauma 1, like she was embarrassed by the genuine feeling in that.
Jack watched her go through the clear doors, considering. "I dig that one," he finally said.
"A baby doc who's smart and aggressive, with a big head and a sharper tongue? Of course you do," Robby scoffed. "Just...don't get us sued, all right?"
Jack smiled, shark-like. "Whatever you say, boss."
***
Jack's paper with Santos was, predictably, brilliant. When Jack thought it was in good shape, he sent it to Robby for review. Out of courtesy, yes, but also so Robby could have some input before it went to anyone outside the circle of trust. Robby opened it up at home, post-shift. After the first line, he went to grab a beer.
After the first paragraph, he went for the bourbon.
Jack's publishing got so much attention for a few reasons. First, he only wrote up the insane shit, so if you saw his name on a paper, you knew there would be something genuinely unhinged in there that you'd want to read immediately. Second, he was a legitimately good writer. He conveyed information clearly and concisely, precisely laid out, his arguments unimpeachable. He'd once attributed it to writing endless operation orders in the Army. Or as he put it, Try writing a document that simultaneously leads flag officers to their dicks without a map and stops testosterone-addled teenagers from blowing their dicks off with heavy weaponry. Only then will you understand crystal fuckin' clarity.
And finally, Jack's papers were hilarious. He'd be offering dry numbers about confidence intervals and p-values and then out of nowhere he'd hit you with a sly joke, black humor worthy of a soldier or scandalous sexual innuendo. The one everyone cited was a truly audacious '69' joke after some data that gave him the opening. Of course Jack ran with it, unrepentant.
His papers were just...fun to read. Informative, cutting-edge, wildly charming—much like the man himself. The REBOA one was no different, wry about the wisdom of doing it without ultrasound or X-ray, with a flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants joke, sans pants, that actually made Robby laugh aloud.
And incredibly, they made it sound like Jack oversaw the whole thing. Not by lying outright, but by implication. It was an aggressive procedure even with Jack signing off, but that was where his reputation actually helped; he was already known for doing crazy shit. Letting an intern do a REBOA with no imaging in the middle of an MCI? Well, that just sounded like a Jack Abbot special. It helped that the patient survived and amazingly had no complications—no ischemic or reperfusion injury, no thrombosis, no acidosis. As much as it rankled, Santos had done the right thing for the patient, even if it was in the wrong way. She'd gotten wildly lucky, too, but the patient had lived as opposed to bleeding out internally. That counted for something.
After Robby finished reading the paper, he shot Jack a text: you do this on purpose.
Jack's response came before he even set down his phone: anything to make you laugh, brother.
It warmed something in Robby, the soft place that belonged to Jack alone. It wasn't lost on Robby that Jack had taken his Santos problem and not only fixed it, but did it with ease, in a way that genuinely would help others. Robby joked that he never said no to Jack—not entirely true, but close enough—because the reality was...he could count on Jack. Jack made things better, rather than adding to the endless problems on Robby's plate.
He really made it very hard.
***
The REBOA case study was accepted into the Annals of Emergency Medicine—the most prestigious journal in emergency medicine—and promptly had everyone talking. Because of course it did. Even Robby got emails about it, despite having nothing to do with it. He couldn't imagine what Jack was getting. Gloria was thrilled.
But hell, if it got her off Robby's case, he'd take it.
***
And then, because Robby's life was the definition of fucked, the American College of Emergency Physicians wanted to give him an award at the annual Scientific Assembly.
"The recognition is great for us," Gloria told him just off central in the middle of his shift, like this was banner news and he should be happy to hear it. "They want you to do a more casual Q&A early in the conference and obviously an award speech."
"Saying what?" he asked, in disbelief. "Thank you so much, isn't it great hundreds of people got shot?"
Gloria's eyes flashed a warning. "I know you don't like it, but part of your job is comms. I let you duck out of a lot, but this one matters. So suck it up, choose a few of your team to attend, write some speeches, and play ball."
Robby breathed out, knowing by her tone that he wasn't getting out of it. He ran a hand over his forehead, trying to think. It had only been a few months; people's brittleness had just started fading. Even he still felt shaky, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. He stepped in a little closer, lowering his voice, aware of Princess and Perlah ever attentive, looking for gossip to spread around. "Pittfest broke these people. I can't ask them to go parade their trauma for all to see."
Because Gloria wasn't actually a monster, she inclined her head. "I'll go and represent the hospital on the panel with you. Choose one other doctor to join, someone who can present their paper, you can present yours, and that'll be that. Simple."
It really wasn't. Because there was the other thing. The thing where the mere mention of the ACEP conference sent Robby's mind instantly to 2015 in Sarasota. A night full of sticky heat and drinking ill-advised mojitos with Jack, who'd been flushed and glowing with a light sheen of sweat, touchable in a linen shirt and pants, their bodies a little too close at the bar, Jack's pinkie accidentally brushing his, Robby startling and pulling himself away from temptation—
"Robby," Gloria prompted, like he'd paused too long. He probably had, losing himself in the memory of that younger Jack, drunk and fond and impossibly enticing. Robby still thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't made a fool of himself that night.
But that was ages ago; it was irrelevant. So Robby gave in. "I suppose my trauma will suffice."
"Ever the martyr," Gloria said, a gentle kind of rebuke wrapped in her deadpan.
Robby shot her a look. "Your compassion knows no bounds." Then he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Look, can you at least talk to the organizers and make sure the award is not just to me? Everyone in the building contributed. I'll accept it for the team, but it should be awarded to the team."
Gloria softened. "It's a special award, not one of the yearly ones, so I'll see what I can do. Let me know who else should go by the end of the week."
***
"It should be Santos," Jack said after handoff, leaning up against the counter, posture loose and easy. He'd noticed Robby's distraction and asked about it, eyes so green and open, without the shadow of pain Robby sometimes saw and didn't know how to ask about. As usual, Jack had an idea, a plan, a direction this could go. As usual, Robby was desperately grateful for the fucking help...even if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"You want to send the intern? Why not a med student, Jack, jesus."
Jack shrugged. "If I thought they were right for it, I'd send 'em, but look. Santos' paper is getting a lot of attention—"
"Your paper," Robby corrected.
Jack waved an airy hand because he really did hate it when people fawned over his publishing. "She did it, I'm just there for plausible deniability. But it's a good story—the intern who saved the day with a crazy procedure. And, like it or not, Santos held up better than any of the other kids that day. She kept her shit together. If the panel is Gloria and you, both with decades of experience, it's interesting to include someone coming in fresh, too."
Robby paused...and really thought about it. Jack was right that Santos had held it together and wasn't as much of a wreck as some of the others. She felt it, he could tell, but she hadn't been broken by it in the same way as some. The way it had broken him. The kid was tough, he'd give her that. He could prep her on appropriate decorum for the panels and with other doctors—she'd internalized the legal threat, he knew—so it was probably doable.
Once again, Jack with the save.
Robby sighed and shot Jack a grateful look. "Any time you want to run the department," he offered, kind of meaning it.
Jack actually reared back. "Oh, fuck no. I will retire to Bhutan first."
Robby let his lips curl up. "At least someone recognizes my pain."
***
Of course Santos wanted to go, so Robby told Gloria, giving Jack's reasoning, and she signed off on it. And then Robby shoved the whole idea in a box because he was dreading it and it was months away, so there was no use being miserable about it until it was right in front of him.
***
Robby wasn't surprised by much, but when the hospital did actually start hiring more nurses thanks to the extra donor money, he had to take a second with it. He truly hadn't thought anything would get better.
Jack was the only one he admitted that to, watching the snow fall from under the covered ambulance bay, deep into the punishing Pittsburgh winter. It dusted everything in white, the world gone just a little slower, a little softer, quieter, because no one wanted to be out. Standing beside Jack and watching it come down, his breath fogging with every exhale, Robby felt almost peaceful. Enough to admit his doubts, anyway.
Jack tossed an amused look at him, his cheeks red from the cold. As was the tip of his nose, Robby noticed. It made something in him unbearably fond. "Maybe you shamed Gloria into it," Jack said, dry.
"I'm a jackass," Robby said, remembering how he'd questioned her on where the extra money would go. Suggesting she would just hire more administrators.
"Well...yeah," Jack drawled with a quicksilver grin. "But that's part of your charm."
***
And then, two days before the conference, Santos came down with covid. Because again, Robby's life? A joke.
"She obviously can't attend," Gloria said, finding him just outside the trauma bays. They had a cardiac case and a kid versus scooter TBI, but sure, this was the most important thing. "Abbot should sub in."
Robby's focus snapped to her. "I'm sorry?"
Gloria looked at him obviously, like he should have thought about this. "Abbot's the co-author on her paper, which I needn't tell you, got quite the interest. He can do the presentation and join us on the panel. Simple."
And just like that, Sarasota wasn't quite so irrelevant, the image of Jack drunk and happy and close enough to touch suddenly right there.
Robby shoved it aside, trying to think. Jack would hate this idea—because he found the attention annoying, so he'd loathe going to a place where he was sure to get more of it—even as the suggestion tingled through Robby. The conference was the better part of four days in San Diego and Robby had been dreading even the thought of it. But Jack had a way of making everything better, even if his presence inevitably had Robby wishing for more. Still, if Jack came along...
But that was no sure thing. "Let me guess: I'm the lucky guy who gets to tell him," Robby said.
"Heavy is the head," Gloria said, patting him on the arm. "I'll let the conference organizers know. I suspect they'll be thrilled."
Yes, because everybody knew of Dr. Jack Abbot. He of the bonkers case studies, the most-cited ED physician in the country, who eschewed attention and promotion and just wanted to focus on the medicine. His lack of public profile made him all the more intriguing, a kind of figure of legend. It didn't help that his residents went off to their fellowships and attending positions all praising his name. Some days Robby wondered if there was a weird cult thing happening on the night shift, but hell, he felt it, too. Some people just had that shine to them.
"Well, so long as the conference organizers are happy," Robby groused, but his heart wasn't in it.
Jack was coming along. If Robby could swing it.
***
"Fuck me," Jack muttered, the lines between his eyebrows crinkling as he frowned. "They can't just cancel Santos' shit?"
Robby had tipped his head at Jack after handoff, Jack reading him perfectly and joining him on the walk outside to the ambulance bay. It was only a little after 7, not yet fully dark, but the air didn't hold the thick summer heat anymore. Fall was making itself known.
Robby shrugged. "Gloria did not present it as an option."
Jack got that stubborn look, ready to argue some more, so Robby broke out the big guns: "And honestly, man, I've kind of been dreading it. Having you there wouldn't suck."
Surprise flashed over Jack's face, followed by sympathy, then something Robby didn't recognize. He looked out at the dying light for a moment, pursing his lips, and then sighed, one of the world-weary ones, like he was unequal to the task. Which was ridiculous, of course. Jack could handle anything.
Finally, he looked back to Robby, tapping his fist against Robby's shoulder twice. "Anything for you, brother."
It sent a wave of gratitude through Robby. Not for the first time, Robby thought about how he was so fucking lucky to have Jack in his life, even if it was just this.
But all he said was, "Thanks." Hopefully Jack got all the rest of it.
He usually did.
***
When Robby showed up for shift change, Jack seemed harassed, but not in the too-many-patients-dying kind of way. Robby raised his eyebrows at him after handoff, Jack leaning against the counter with a huff. "I managed to get Santos' seats on your flights, but there are zero hotels in San Diego."
"You can't just take hers?"
Jack rolled his head back and forth, the exhaustion clinging, hollows under his eyes like someone had pressed there and never let up. "She was planning to stay with friends. Nothing to take. And apparently there's some anime convention at the same time, which has literally taken over the rest of the city. Anime," he said, like what the fuck. "I might be sleeping on the beach."
Robby frowned—because that couldn't fucking happen—and then he remembered his own room. "Wait, my room confirmation said I got a double."
Only after he said it did Robby realize what he'd just offered, a dim kind of horror dawning. Every time he thought of the conference, he remembered getting too close in Sarasota, the worry that he'd let something slip, that Jack would find out how deep Robby's feelings went and would back off, put some distance between them, do the kind thing and take his presence out of the equation. And Robby was gripped with the fear of that, of losing this easy support, the trust and care, the one person he could rely on. He couldn't lose Jack.
Sharing a room with him would be a disaster.
Jack blinked slowly at him, like he was trying to follow that. The green of his eyes seemed duller this morning. Tired. "What?"
Tension tightened Robby's shoulders, nerves kicking his pulse up, but Jack was a smart boy; he knew what Robby was saying. So it wasn't like he could take it back now. Robby shrugged and doubled down. "Rooms just get allocated to the big groups and not all of 'em are gonna be singles. Maybe luck's on our side this time."
Jack snorted. "That'll be the day." Then he tilted his head, studying Robby more intently in that way he did sometimes, like he was trying to read something from his skin. Jack knew him so well, Robby was surprised it took any effort. But then, he had successfully covered his feelings for over a decade. Maybe Jack wasn't as good at reading him as he thought. "You don't mind? I'd get you wanting your space."
Robby hoped his skin wasn't flushing at having all Jack's focus on him. "I live alone, man. I got plenty of space." He shrugged, even as part of him tingled at the prospect of three nights with Jack in the same room. It was a fucking terrible idea; it was all Robby wanted. "It'll be fun. Like the summer camps I never got to go to."
Jack scoffed. "It better not be. I am not taking three-minute showers." But then he smiled his half-smile, the fond one that always lit something low in Robby's belly. "Thanks."
Robby swallowed against the flush he could definitely feel and just tipped his head. "Anything for you, brother."
***
Which was how Robby found himself checking in to the San Diego Marriott Marquis & Marina with Jack by his side, asking for two sets of keys. The hotel was gorgeous, all bright and light, right on the water, with its own marina for the literal yachts moored there. Needless to say, not exactly Robby's world, but hey. Someone else was paying, so he figured he could accept it.
As soon as he knew Jack was coming, Robby had quietly called the hotel and put in a request for an accessible room. To his pleasant surprise, they honored it, setting them up in a room overlooking the marina, with two queen beds and a balcony, fully accessible.
Robby turned to look at Jack as they walked in, both carrying their bags. Jack's eyes swept it—taking in the two queen beds all bathed in white comforters and pillows, the long executive desk and chair, another club chair in the corner, the navy carpet inviting, for all that it was industrial. He immediately ducked into the bathroom, checking out that setup, too. It must work because his lips were quirked up when he walked out.
Robby smiled to see it. "You want the window?" he asked, gesturing between the beds.
"You take it," he said, tossing his bag on the bed closest to the bathroom, then moving to the balcony's sliding glass door. Robby followed suit and headed after him, stepping out onto the balcony, a small round table and two metal chairs there, overlooking all the pristine white boats moored in the dark water below.
"Kind of unreal that people live like this, huh?" Jack mused, leaning against the red railing and squinting out at the yachts. Fall in southern California looked weirdly like spring, idyllic, more like a postcard than real life—all bright afternoon sun shining in the sky, cool breeze off the water, low-70s, and clear as a bell. Set against the sparkling waters and blue sky, Jack looked handsome and at ease, master of his domain.
Anyway.
Robby leaned against the railing next to him, taking a deep breath of salty sea air. "I guess we do get monofocused in our world. The hospital. Home. Rinse and repeat."
Jack nodded, looking over at Robby. "It's not a bad thing to pull ourselves out of that every once in a while," he offered, like a suggestion. In the bright sunshine, standing in a t-shirt this close, the freckles all over his skin stood out even more than usual. Unbearably human for someone who loomed so large in Robby's thoughts.
Robby tipped his head. "Better that you're here."
Jack's expression went almost tender, something flashing in his eyes, bright green in the sunlight. But then it was gone and he clapped Robby on the shoulder. "Sap," he said, heading back into the room. "C'mon. We gotta hang up our suits so they're not wrinkled."
Robby laughed.
***
Only it turned out, Jack was serious. He extracted one black suit and one light grey suit from his suitcase, hung them up, and then pulled out a literal clothes steamer.
Robby just stared. "I don't even know who you are right now."
Jack laughed, his smile bright. Robby got hit with that Sarasota memory again—Jack with his dancing eyes, teasing him mercilessly as they drank too many mojitos, younger than now, but smile exactly the same.
"Man, you would die at the uniform regs," this Jack drawled, humor lacing his tone. "You show up in wrinkled dress blues, god help you. I got this shit on lock. Seriously, hang yours, I'll hook you up."
***
Which was how Robby had the pleasure of watching Jack methodically steam the wrinkles out of his grey suit, a shade darker than Jack's, and then his charcoal brown one, a dark sort of brown, cooler than chocolate, not quite as formal as a true black. The sales woman had told Robby it matched his eyes. Jack was quick and precise, Robby's suits relaxing under the attention, like they wouldn't dare resist Jack's will.
"Damn if that doesn't look better," Robby murmured from the club chair, impressed.
Jack shot him a smug look. "Right? Everyone's gonna be looking at you, you know. You gotta represent. Gloria's trying to make us out to be respectable, not the hospital of last resort." Jack turned the steamer off and set it on the desk to cool, leaving the suits to fully dry out. "She gonna be at the welcome dinner?" he asked, throwing himself onto his bed.
It thrummed through Robby, admiring Jack all sprawled out, loose-limbed and relaxed, muscled arms on display. Wearing his black Carhartts and a t-shirt, it was nothing Robby hadn't seen before—hell, he saw it all the time—but somehow seeing Jack laid out on a hotel bed was different. He felt his own distraction, mind contemplating the pull of his shirt over his chest, but wait, what had Jack asked him?
"I'm sure Gloria wouldn't miss an opportunity to schmooze," he finally said, hoping Jack hadn't caught that moment of admiration. Robby needed to get his shit together.
Jack just tipped his head, accepting the point. Then he studied Robby, curious. "You write your speech yet?"
Robby had written twelve versions of his speech, every single one of which was awful. They all seemed self-serving or full of platitudes or impossibly short of the moment. "I hate every word I've written," he said on a rush of breath. "I might just say 'thank you' and be done with it."
Jack huffed a laugh, the lines around his mouth deepening, his eyes crinkling at the corners, looking lighter for it. "You'll never hear the end of it from Gloria. C'mon, there's gotta be something you want to say."
"Yeah, 'fuck you for making me get up here,'" he muttered.
Jack snorted. "Okay, other than that."
Robby rubbed his hand over his eyes, underwater on it, honestly. "What can you possibly say? What could even come close to the magnitude of it? 'This country is fucked, no one should have to do this?' 'Can we get some goddamn gun control?' 'How about some mental healthcare?' We all know it. And it ain't changing. So what do you say?"
Jack had softened as he spoke, nodding along in sympathy. "I get that," he said simply. Because he did. Of all the thoughts that plagued Robby, the fact that Jack Abbot just got him in a way no one else did, that stung the most. It seemed so unfair, to find someone this in tune with him, everything he wanted...but who couldn't want him back. Because Jack had a wife he'd buried and Tinder dates with dark-eyed women when he wanted to get laid and endless flirtations with all the cute girls who flocked to him just for fun, the consummate ladies' man. Men were colleagues, brothers, friends, nothing more.
It ached, a wound that wouldn't scab over, and it'd been over a decade at this point. Robby had expected that ache to fade. But it never did. Not even when he tried to lose himself in other people—Janey, Heather, even Brandon, though he'd kept that one to himself. And every time it ended the same: Robby too remote, too closed-off, unable to connect.
Robby figured...it must not be for him. Relationships, love, whatever. He was put here to heal others, he supposed. To be of service to those around him. A worthy calling, he knew, and one he embraced. But then there were days when it got to be too much, when he looked at Jack and just wanted, yearned for this thing he could never have. And he cursed the traitorous desire within him, the part that wasn't satisfied with a colleague, brother, friend. It should be enough. Most people didn't even get that. He should count himself lucky.
And yet.
"Robby," Jack said, louder than normal.
Robby's eyes snapped to Jack's face. Jack, who watched him with some kind of sharp glint in his eyes. "Where'd you go, man?"
"Sorry," Robby said instantly, grasping for what they'd been talking about. "Thinking about the speech."
Jack's expression softened, going understanding. "Just speak from the heart."
His poor, beleaguered heart. The problem was, nobody wanted to hear from that, Robby was damn sure. But he just quirked his lips and said, "Yeah." Because what else was there to say?
Jack sat up with a sigh. "I suppose we should get ready. What do you think the odds are the food's good?"
Robby snorted. "Convention food?"
Jack nodded, forlorn. "Yeah. God, there better be an open bar."
***
There was an open bar, to Jack's great relief. He went off to get them drinks while Robby took in the room, filled with doctors dressed up as they seldom were. Robby wore his charcoal brown suit coat over chinos, saving the full suits for when he'd be in front of a crowd. Jack had done the same with his black suit coat, looking sharp and sleek as he chatted with a woman at the bar. Because of course a woman had found him at the bar. It truly never failed.
Robby slid his eyes to the rest of the room, studying the mix of people. The welcome dinner was for speakers and panelists to mingle in advance of the packed schedule. Robby spotted a few people he vaguely recognized, but the reality was, with their schedules and everyone working in their own hospitals, he'd know people by name more than sight. They all had badges, of course, but that was always awkward, reading someone's name, especially when it was someone he probably should remember. It felt like his brain was too full these days, like he'd taken in too much and had no room for more.
Or maybe he was just tired.
"Dr. Robinavitch," a woman said from his right, Robby looking over—
To find a woman he'd never seen before approaching—mid-40s, long dark hair, dark eyes, wearing a royal blue dress that hugged her curves, but wasn't too revealing. Striking. She held out a hand. "Dr. Yvette Trenton, Flagstaff Medical Center."
Robby shook her hand, filling in the details: tier 1 trauma center in Arizona, nothing special. "Robby, please. Nice to meet you."
"Congratulations on the award. What you did during Pittfest was remarkable," she said, sounding genuinely appreciative.
"It was a team effort," Robby said, realizing this was just the start of it. He'd be saying this over and over again for the whole conference.
Maybe he should make a recording.
"We are only as good as our teams," she agreed, generous. "Speaking of yours, I hear Dr. Abbot is also attending the conference," she said, something interested in her voice.
Robby nodded. "Yes, Dr. Santos unfortunately got covid, so Dr. Abbot stepped in at the last minute."
"Such a shame," she said, not sounding like she thought it was much of a shame at all. "I was wondering if you could help me with more of a personal thing."
"If I can," Robby said, lost now.
"Would you happen to know if Dr. Abbot is attached?" she asked, a kind of delicate note to the question.
"Attached to what?" Robby asked, still not following.
Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to laugh.
...and then Robby got it. "...oh," he said, hearing the surprise in his own voice. Because she was asking if Jack was available, what the fuck. "Sorry, long travel day. Um." And what the hell was he supposed to say to that? His mind flailed for an answer, but in the end, the truth was easiest: "No, Jack's not seeing anyone right now."
"Good to know," she said with a pleased smile. "Thanks. Congrats again on the award; you deserve it." And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.
Probably off to go plan how to hit on Jack. Jack, who this random doctor wanted to have sex with. Here. At the conference.
Intellectually, Robby knew that was what people did at these things. Drunken hookups at conferences were common, though often denied, if not regretted. Robby had never partaken because that was not his speed, but Jack—
Well, Jack had no such qualms. And at an ED medical conference, he was basically a rockstar. He could probably have anyone he wanted. And he should, Robby insisted to himself. Jack deserved to get laid. Just because Robby was sad and yearning didn't mean Jack had to be. No, Jack shouldn't be. One of them should be happy.
It had just never occurred to Robby that he'd have to watch it up close.
Idly, he wondered if he'd even see Jack at night. The room issue might not have been an issue at all.
And then Jack was there, handing over a short glass with something amber in it, frowning at him. "You okay, brother?" he asked, concern there.
Robby debated telling him about Dr. Trenton...but hell, if she wanted him, she could ask him. "Yeah, sorry. Just people saying how remarkable I was during Pittfest."
Jack went sympathetic, but only just. "You were, though."
"You were," Robby corrected, feeling the truth of it. Robby had ended up on the floor of Pedes, but Jack had been a machine, powering through the chaos like it all somehow made sense. Maybe to him it did.
"We both were," Jack corrected right back, shooting him a demanding sort of look. Because they'd had this discussion on the roof that night and Jack had thoroughly won. He wasn't allowing any takebacks.
Robby raised a hand in surrender and took a sip of his drink—bourbon, as he liked. He shot Jack an appreciative look. "Yeah, I got you," Jack said, easy, reading him perfectly, as always.
Which was when Gloria appeared, looking happier than he'd ever seen her. "There you are. Everyone's asking about you. I'll make the introductions," she said like she was doing them a favor and not making a demand.
"How generous of you," Robby muttered, nonetheless following her when she gestured them on.
Beside him, Jack huffed a low laugh that curled clear through him, warming him from the inside out.
Dammit.
***
The dinner was as interminable as Robby expected. Everyone asked the same generic questions and offered the same praise, Robby having to repeat his line about teamwork ad nauseum. But he was on his best behavior because Gloria was at his side and she had gotten them more nurses, in the end. If that meant he had to put up with asinine fawning, well, there were worse things.
It helped that Jack was with him, all easy charm, joking with whoever approached them, handing Robby fresh drinks every so often to dull the pain. Once they got to their table, the food was even good—a shock, that—so really, the list of things he had to complain about was small. People showered him with praise, how terrible for him. Boo hoo.
After dessert was served, Jack leaned in. "You look ready to claw your own face off. Wanna beg travel and turn in?"
"Please save me," Robby said instantly, relief sweeping through him.
Jack laughed and patted his shoulder. "I got you."
***
Jack miraculously extricated them, Robby had no idea how and decided not to care, letting his mind empty as he followed Jack back to the room.
Once inside, he sank into the club chair, bowing his head in his hands, rubbing his temples tiredly.
"Man, you look wiped," Jack said, making Robby look up—
To find Jack unbuttoning his shirt, revealing more skin with every button he popped. He'd already lost his jacket—neatly hung in the closet—and here Jack was, undressing like it was no big deal. Heat instantly swept Robby, inevitably staining his skin. Fuck.
"I probably shouldn't have had all that bourbon," he said, clinging to the alcohol as an excuse.
Jack made an amused noise as he stripped off his shirt. He was fucking built, the absolute asshole, and totally comfortable in his skin. And why wouldn't he be? He looked like a fucking Greek statue. "My bad, sorry," he said, turning to hang up the shirt. His shoulders were obscene, all smooth freckled skin, two little dimples at the base of his spine, and Robby wanted nothing more than to lick over them, dig his fingers in, make Jack writhe and moan and call out Robby's name.
"I needed the analgesic," he said, idly admiring the play of muscle in Jack's back.
Jack snorted and looked at him over his shoulder. "You need to go to bed. Take the bathroom first," he said, nodding Robby on.
Figuring Jack hadn't led him astray yet, Robby went.
***
He changed into sleep pants and a threadbare t-shirt and did his nightly ablutions, carefully not thinking about what Jack looked like. Because...what was the point? It was just torturing himself.
He hadn't deeply thought about the realities of sharing a room with someone else when he'd offered to let Jack stay with him. The intimacy of it. How they would be in each other's space, as close as could be.
Robby knew it would be a disaster because of his own feelings, of course, but he hadn't thought about how it could be a temptation. Honestly, it hadn't occurred to him that he could want Jack more. That was his failure of imagination, really. Because now he knew what Jack looked like half-naked and how could he possibly forget it?
Even as he recognized...he'd have offered the room anyway. Because it was Jack.
When he came out, the blackout curtain was closed, the overhead lights off, only the bedside lamps on. Jack had changed into charcoal sleep pants and white t-shirt, a pair of collapsible crutches propped against his bedside table, his prosthetic set nearby. He looked up from his phone, turning it off and setting it aside as he grabbed the crutches and got up. "All good?"
"Yeah. I am going to crash," Robby warned, feeling the wave of exhaustion coming for him, probably a good thing. It would keep him from obsessing about Jack any more than he already was.
Jack smiled on his way to the bathroom, just so easy about everything. "Have fun with that."
Robby crawled into bed, shut off the bedside lamp, tugged the covers over himself—
And was out.
***
The sound of suffering woke him. Robby turned in bed, looking over to where Jack lay in the dark, quiet whimpers coming from him every few breaths, though he couldn't see him in the dark. Jack must be caught in dreams. Or a nightmare, it sounded like.
"Jack," Robby said, low, wanting to wake him, but without startling.
Jack made a soft noise, but didn't stir. So Robby turned on his bedside lamp to the lowest setting and got up, moving over.
The light cast Jack in a warm glow, but he looked like shit—pale and sweaty, forehead creased in sleep, curls askew, covers shoved down to show his white t-shirt a little transparent with sweat. "Jack," Robby tried again.
Still nothing.
He sighed and sat on the edge of Jack's bed, reaching out to rest a light hand on Jack's shoulder. "Hey, man—"
A hand shot out and gripped his throat, the world suddenly tilting as Robby found himself on his back on the bed, Jack looming over him, hand at his throat pinning him in place, face intense. It shocked the breath from Robby, a flash of fear that made his heart race, even as a tiny part of him thrilled at it, wanting to pull Jack in, on top of him, wanting to burn with him.
Robby shoved that very unhelpful reaction aside and forced out, "Jack!"
Above him, Jack froze, awareness leaking back into his expression—
He instantly pulled back, scrambling back on the bed, his face a picture of horror. Robby didn't think, just went on instinct, lunging for his arm and pulling him close, into Robby's body. "It's okay," he reassured, breathless. "Hey, it's okay."
"Fuck. I'm sorry. Fuck," Jack was saying, his eyes unseeing, trying to pull away, to keep his distance. "You don't have to—"
"Hey, c'mere," Robby said instead, getting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close, the solid weight of his body somehow reassuring. He could feel how Jack's chest heaved, heart racing under Robby's palm, their legs pressing together, so intimate it scattered Robby's thoughts. So he focused on Jack, on his distress. "It's okay," he said again. "You were having a nightmare."
"Fuck," Jack said again, remorse thick in his voice, finally seeming to focus. "Are you okay? Did I—" He reached for Robby's neck, but then aborted it, clearly thinking that Robby might not want him to touch there.
Robby grabbed his hand and brought it to his neck, letting Jack feel him. "I'm okay. I'm not scared of you, man."
"Maybe you fucking should be," Jack snapped, but he checked Robby's neck all the same, careful probing that searched for tender spots.
Robby ducked his head down to make Jack meet his eyes. "You'd never hurt me, Jack."
Jack dropped his hand, satisfied that Robby was fine, though remorse still clung to him. "Think I just did."
"No, just startled me, is all," Robby shot back, soothing.
Jack swallowed and looked down, the lines in his forehead prominent, shame curling around him. "Sorry," he said again. "I forgot where I was. Didn't expect anyone else to be here."
Robby nodded, getting that. "Does that happen often?"
Jack lifted his eyes, shrugging a little. "We've talked about the nightmares."
And so they had. But still. "Kinda seemed like a bad one."
"Yeah," Jack said, low. "It's—I think all the talk of Pittfest brought some shit up."
Surprise swept through Robby. Jack had never betrayed that it bothered him. Robby had envied him that, actually, that he could just be fine when Robby was a total basket case. "I didn't know it got to you," he said, careful.
Jack shrugged. "I know it's been weighing you down. Didn't want to add to it."
"Oh, hey. No," Robby said, flexing the arm he had around his shoulders. "Don't do that. If it's on your mind, you should talk about it." Because it couldn't just be Jack protecting Robby's feelings all the time. He didn't want that.
Jack met his eyes—his own bloodshot, green, so close—seeming to see that in him, then nodded. "It just reminds me of the war, you know? A deluge and you don't have enough supplies, so you do what you can, knowing that if you had more, you could save 'em. But you don't." He shook his head once, gesturing to the bed, his nightmare. "That was—I was back there, with the added joy of being under fire. I thought—" He raised his hand to press light fingers to Robby's throat again, remorse in his eyes. "Thought we were under attack. Sorry."
Robby caught his hand, gripping it tight. "Forgiven," he said, holding Jack's gaze.
Jack looked at him strangely, like he was a mystery Jack couldn't fathom. "You really not scared? I could fucking kill you, man."
"You won't," Robby said, certain of that on some gut-deep level that didn't even make sense, given how Jack had just put him on his ass like it was nothing. But Robby still knew.
Jack seemed to marvel at him a moment, eyes wide, like Robby was something inexplicable and new, not someone he'd known for over a decade now. "I wish I had that faith," he finally said, hollow.
Robby gripped his hand again—because that meant Jack was uncertain of himself, in a way he never let show, and Robby wanted to take that from him, soothe it away, because he was so sure. "You wouldn't hurt me," he said again, holding Jack's look.
"...I don't want to," Jack said and something in it shook.
Dimly, Robby got the sense that they were talking about more now—beyond the nightmares and unexpected wakeups—something buried deep, a secret fear whispered in the dark. "I trust you."
Jack sucked in a breath, his chest expanding—his body shifting against Robby, forcing his attention wider, making him realize that they were still curled around each other, that he was holding Jack's hand, arm wrapped around his shoulders as they leaned against each other in Jack's bed...and that was maybe weird? Except for the part where it felt perfect and all Robby wanted was to move closer, to have Jack push him back again and follow him down.
He gritted his teeth against the unbearable hotness of that fantasy and let go of Jack's hand, slowly pulling himself away, wondering that Jack hadn't tried to put some distance between them once he'd calmed. Maybe he was still shaken by the nightmare.
"You think you can sleep?" Robby asked, missing his warmth as he slid toward the edge of the bed.
Jack's eyes dropped to the bed between them, the widening distance. "Yeah. Yeah, man, thanks."
Robby nodded and stood up, increasing the distance even more. "Any time."
With that, he ignored every instinct screaming at him and went back to his own bed. To his cold, empty sheets.
Sleep. He'd just...go back to sleep. Absolutely.
***
Robby stayed awake for a long time. From the sound of Jack's breathing, he suspected he did, too. But neither of them said anything. Just listening to each other breathe in the dark. Somehow both in the same place...and a world apart.
***
When Robby woke—the morning light blurring around the blackout curtain, signaling a new day born—he looked over to find Jack gone, his bed neatly made even though the clock said it was barely 7am. He marveled a little at how quiet Jack could be, the thought sending a tingle through him, his cock half-hard from sleep, heavy between his legs. And, well. Jack wasn't here.
Robby sat up.
***
He jerked off in the shower, the heavy water pressure beating down on his back, bursts of sensation sliding through him—from there, from where he worked himself, from the image in his mind's eye. Robby thought back to Jack's hand at his throat, arm muscles bulging, Jack fierce and looming over him. He wasn't into pain and knew the dangers of choking too keenly to ever entertain that, it was just...the strength of it. Jack had taken control and dumped him on his back while barely conscious and Robby couldn't help the little thrill of that, even now, so many hours later.
He imagined it going differently, Jack turning it into something else, leaning down for Robby's mouth, hand trailing lower, down his chest, then between his legs, fisting Robby's cock as he pulled back to watch with glittering eyes. Robby would like that, he thought, Jack looming over him, his touch curling ecstasy through Robby's whole body, safe under his care. Even now, his cock pulsed at the thought, pleasure surging through him. Robby gripped himself tighter at the way he could see it, Jack's green eyes pinning him in place, drinking in Robby's gasped pleasure.
"C'mon, Robby," the Jack in his mind whispered, leaning down for his mouth—
Like that, Robby was coming, biting his forearm to muffle his whimper as he shot all over his fist, the orgasm long, relentless, slow rolling waves cresting ashore.
After, he trembled, sated and vaguely guilty, resting his forehead against the tile wall, the water still beating down on his back rhythmically, senses buzzing. He never let himself think of Jack like this, not into tormenting himself. But with their proximity—the intimacy—he couldn't help it...even as he knew nothing good could ever come of it.
Fuck.
***