Chapter Text
Robby likes the warm summer air on his face, although it barely offers any relief. He’s still too hot. Jack is practically plastered to his side, whether leaning into him, needing support, which he never does, or something else.
Something else. Robby can’t linger on that for long. He really can’t grasp much in his state. He’s not actually falling down drunk like he cautioned Jack on earlier, but he’s close. He knows the Pittsburgh streets fairly well, choosing to walk to PTMC when he can, weather permitting, but it’s all a little blurry and unfocused around the edges. It could be because Jack is warm against him. He smells like whiskey, his laundry detergent, and deodorant, and it’s a little too much. It’s addictive. Robby really could get used to Jack leaning on him for support in more ways than one.
“Are you trying to make me stumble or look more drunk?” Jack keeps nudging into Robby’s side, unnecessarily, “leading” him to his apartment building.
Jack finds this hilarious, craning his head back to laugh, stumbling. A drunk Jack is always overly happy. Touchy. And also beautiful. Robby can’t stop looking at him, and drinking him in like he hasn’t drunk enough over the past few hours, nearly missing a step on the sidewalk. Jack is still laughing. He looks uninhibited and also handsome, more than usual.
Robby knows he’s staring. His brain isn’t supplying much besides: “I could look at him every single day and not get sick of it”. Huh. Even with the heavy levels of alcohol inside of him and swirling around in his brain, he thinks that may be the first time he’s ever thought that. That he’s wanted someone so badly, and wants them by his side all the time.
No. Jack is his friend. His best friend. He can’t want anything else. Robby tries to get his high walls back up and securely in place.
Jack is still chuckling as he slowly looks over his shoulder at Robby. Their walking has significantly slowed. Jack’s profile is absolutely stunning in the moonlight against the backdrop of a smattering of stars overhead. Even under the shitty street lights, he can tell the younger man’s cheeks are red. Radiant. Robby can’t look away.
“So, you are drunk?” A delightful tease in Jack's words. Robby wonders if he’s ever sounded like this to Brandon or some other guy who’s flirted with Jack. His stomach suddenly seizes up. He thinks of the upcoming bachelor auction. There’s a bad taste in his mouth. Push it down. Jack: That's all that matters now.
Robby’s smile doesn’t feel as genuine as it should. “Yeah. You pushed those shots on me. Now you’re, like, veering me into the road.”
Jack leans into his side and cackles. He can’t be mad at the younger attending when he’s so sappy and carefree like this. He’s greedy to see all sides of Jack. Robby takes in the other attending.
He’s leaning into Robby. Robby is maybe a bad or good friend when he leans into Jack’s delicious warmth and smell. He nearly closes his eyes, getting a whiff of what others probably have gotten before: the everyday Jack smells, and how incredible it is. How he is. Jack doesn’t have to do anything at all. He just needs to be him, and that’s the greatest thing. The only thing.
Robby shouldn’t, but he thinks, again, of how lucky Jamie was. It gets him right in the feels, which is a lot easier when he’s worn down by beers, whiskey, and Jack’s hot breath expelling onto him, stirring him up.
Jameson was extremely lucky, but so was Jack. Robby never felt jealous during their brief, yet joyous engagement and then marriage. He may have been a little surprised they moved fast on things, but he was legitimately thrilled that Jack found someone. That they found each other.
When did it change to something more aligned with jealousy? Robby subtly, or not, eyes the man in question, who is almost painfully digging into his right side, getting him a little sweaty for a multitude of reasons.
Jack’s face is tipped back. The tantalizing column of his neck is exposed. All the veins and tendons, and bursts of freckles, are on full display. Robby wants to track every single one of them with his lips and tongue. To chase the sweat off of Jack’s skin. Jack smiles an over-the-top, goofy smile, periodically closing his eyes like he’s loving life. Yeah, Robby is jealous of that, too. Maybe the younger man doesn’t need anyone despite saying he’s lonely. Maybe he doesn’t need Robby at all. Not even to make him happier, if that could even happen.
They stumble into each other and around the nearly deserted city streets. Thankfully, there are scant people around. He doesn’t want to get hit with a public drunkenness citation when they’re both supposed to be respectable doctors who work at the same hospital. Jack huffs out these delighted laughs that still stir Robby’s heart. He knows it’s from the alcohol. He can’t cling to anything but Jack. Not onto something like hope.
Somehow, they get to Jack’s building. At one point, Robby pushed through the alcohol sludge and desire in his mind to finally direct Jack down the right street. It should irritate him, but Jack is better at hiding just how intoxicated he really is. He’s always so laser-focused and has always had an excellent sense of direction. It’s almost refreshing to witness the younger man needing assistance.
Jack is wobbly and keeps missing his pocket. Robby hasn’t seen him like this in a very long time. He thinks it was a holiday party quite a few years ago where they, stupidly, had an open bar. Jack constantly had a drink in his hand. Something dark and expensive-looking. Jamie was draped over his arm. They were all over each other with PDA.
Robby’s eyes slide to Jack again. Who is Jack now without Jamie? The thought is looming and huge. No, Robby knew him before he met Jamie. It was only for about a year. He was dating Crissy. Jack was single. Somehow, Jack entrusted Robby with his sexuality secret. Jamie was single. The rest fell quickly into place like it was all meant to be.
Jack giggles, face red, missing his pocket, and presumably, his keys again. This is not the put-together and sharp physician Robby is used to seeing in the Pitt. Even when he hides behind all the dark humor and crude jokes, he takes his job very seriously. Robby often forgets that Jack is an amputee by how quick he is. He also forgets that his friend is shouldering the very weight of the world on his shoulders by the multiple tragedies he saw from war, and then again when he lost Jamie.
His friend keeps cracking himself up.
“Jesus, you’re more wasted than me. How does this always happen?”
The holiday party. Beers after work with coworkers. Jack seems to always slide under the radar until he’s completely shit-faced, letting the cat out of the bag, and then it’s too late, like a storm unleashed. Like he’s keeping the control until the last possible moment, and then he can’t hold it in anymore.
Robby isn’t thinking when he crowds Jack’s personal space and slides a hand into Jack’s pocket. They’re nearly chest to chest. Jack’s smells are intoxicating. The younger man looks up at him. Even with his glazed-over eyes and red cheeks, Robby sees the thread of trust there. It’s all a little suggestive and too much, too soon. Robby can feel how hard his heart is thumping. Can Jack somehow see it through his thin t-shirt? Can he feel it?
“Where are your keys?” Robby has to say something to break the tension of practically manhandling Jack, snaking his hand into his too-tight jeans pocket, and hating how he feels Jack’s warm skin trapped behind layers of clothing. It feels like entering the Garden of Eden. Stepping over the velvet roped-off barrier to something very much closed off and forbidden.
Jack keeps wobbling and swallowing hard, seeming to be at a loss for where to put his hands. Robby knows the feeling. The other man grows weirdly quiet. Robby steals glances at how Jack’s chin is still tipped up, his Adam’s apple very much on display.
“Did you forget them?”
Jack shakes his head, eyes darting away. His cheeks look even brighter. Did Robby feel a tremor go through Jack, or was that something else?
Through all the lust and confusion, and both of their heavy breathing, Robby finally finds the keys.
“Your jeans are so tight.” It’s a struggle to get them out. Jack starts laughing again. It switches to a giggle. It’s cute. God, he is so far gone for him. Robby steadies Jack, who leans into him a little too fast, and then they both stumble, laughing, while Robby is practically sideways.
“Fucking, hell. How am I more sober than you right now?” Robby keeps a sort of steady hand on Jack. Sure. He’ll hide behind that pretense. He lingers, as he so often does. Jack laughs again. Then Jack meets Robby’s hand on his arm and squeezes. Robby hates the thrill that goes through him.
“I am drunk. I am. I–just–” Jack inebriated sounds charming. He’s trying to hide it, which endears Robby more, as he steers them to the direction of the complex entrance.
“It always sneaks up on me. I didn’t mean to.” Robby nearly smiles at Jack’s little pout.
“It’s Brandon’s fault.” Robby nearly has them to the door, even with how Jack is swaying and now humming under his breath. He forgot that Jack gets more vocal when he’s like this. He has a pleasant singing voice. He’s afraid of pointing it out and that the other man will stop.
Was Jamie used to this? A happy and clingy Jack who likes to sing when he’s tipsy? Robby shoves the painful thoughts aside.
“You really don’t like him.”
Robby sniggers, and Jack leans into him more. Then Robby nearly gasps. Jack is practically clinging to him.
“You do. Don’t hate Brandon.”
Robby shakes his head, words escaping him, simultaneously juggling Jack and trying to open the door.
“It was all of those 'free shots', which probably weren’t free. Did you even check your receipt?”
Jack’s warm breath is suddenly on his shoulder. Robby tries not to react. It’s difficult. His arm is around Jack’s back, sort of propping him up. Jack isn’t to the point of not being able to stand. All of it raises some questions in Robby’s mind, there and gone like they’re flickering in and out. Everything is too heightened and also slowed down at the same time for him to parse much out.
“Robby,” Jack says in a sing-song and low voice. It’s cheerful. It’s also sultry and kind of risky. It raises goose bumps on Robby’s arms. How can one word elicit so many meanings and feelings? Has Jack ever said his name like that? Well, the moniker he goes by now. It’s no longer “Michael” or “Mike”. He doesn’t hate “Rob” as a nickname that Jack has been using more recently. It’s sort of nice that they have their own thing. Yeah, friends do that. Friends.
“You’re so…” Jack trails off and settles on sighing. It’s a pleasant sigh, with some kind of soft feeling on the exhale. Everything Jack does is fascinating.
“I’m so what?” Robby feels the back of his neck heat up and prickle as he finally gets the door unlocked, Jack plastered to him.
Jack nuzzles into Robby’s neck, and a treacherous flare of heat licks at Robby’s belly.
“Oh–ok.” Robby hates how shaky his voice is. His legs are jelly. His mind voids out. He’s a doctor. He’s used to things like this. Human contact and taking care of people are his job. Why is it all different-feeling now?
“I’m going to take you to your apartment and then I’ll Uber back.” Jack is more wasted than he let on. Robby cannot be around him right now, however intoxicated he is as well. He shouldn’t have agreed to meet him in the first place. Then all those shots. It always catches up with Jack. It did for him, too.
“What?” Jack sounds panicked, gripping the back of Robby’s t-shirt tighter. Robby finally gets the door open, refusing to look at his friend.
“Robby, no.” Jack sounds a little more sober, and his words have an edge. Robby still can’t look at him as he leads them to the elevator.
“It’s late. I should go. A walk home will sober me up.”
Jack’s face is close to his neck again. Robby nearly flinches away from Jack’s inviting smells and his warm breath on his throat. It implies too much, and Jack doesn’t even know what he’s doing. It’s harder to push his intrusive thoughts aside.
“Sit with me for a little bit?” He hates the slight plea in Jack’s voice.
Robby barely refrains from cursing, or leaving Jack’s space entirely, or something juvenile he’ll regret. So he grits out, “Alright” instead. He does need to make sure Jack gets to his apartment. They can’t have a faux-argument outside or in the halls. It’s too late. He doesn’t want to wake up any of Jack’s neighbors.
Jack seems unwilling to be led to his apartment when they’re out of the elevator.
“What is going on with you? You can’t walk?”
Jack makes a displeased noise like a whine from the back of his throat. Robby tells himself he dislikes it.
“I can,” Jack grumbles, easing off of Robby. Robby misses his warmth immediately. “‘S hopin’ you would carry me.” Even with his slurred words, he sounds kind of adorable.
Robby can’t help but chuckle. “Ha! Maybe twenty years ago. My back isn’t what it used to be.”
Jack leans against the wall facing Robby. His eyes are hooded and fond as he smiles.
“I’ve seen you lift patients, Rob. ‘strong.” Jack smiles demurely.
Robby sort of rolls his eyes, remembering, even in his alcohol-soaked brain, that Jack didn’t like his earlier “Whatever” brush off.
“You are.” It’s the sing-song lilt to Jack’s words again. Even inebriated, Jack can see through him. It’s almost impressive.
Robby continues to playfully shake his head and roll his eyes as he unlocks Jack’s apartment. He’s only been here a handful of times over the past few years. He understood the reasoning behind selling him and Jamie’s house after his passing. It held too many memories.
“You never said what I was. You stopped yourself.”
He feels Jack’s radiating heat on his back. He immediately thinks of how Jamie always used to come up behind Jack and hold him close, his longer arms easily slipping around Jack’s slimmer waist. Jamie used to hug him a lot. Why does Robby want it? To know what Jack feels like? To bury his nose into his curls and to slide his hand under his shirt to feel his tight muscles and skin? It makes him feel sick despite the shivers it brings him. He can’t want that. He isn’t a replacement for Jameson. Jack only sees him as a friend, and that’s exactly what he needs right now.
Jack stumbles a little, nearly knocking into Robby.
“I dunno.” Jack’s voice is quieter. “Everything, Rob. You’re everything.”
Robby’s cheeks and neck flush without his permission. It’s stupid rambling from his drunk friend and nothing more. Jack doesn’t know what he’s saying. Robby shakes his head again as he methodically slips off his shoes.
“Don’t worry ‘bout that. C’mere,” Jack takes Robby’s hand and unceremoniously tugs. Robby just barely gets his shoes off and nearly topples into Jack from the sudden movement.
Robby briefly takes in Jack’s neat-as-a-pin apartment with nothing out of place. The police scanner dutifully by his recliner. The magazines and newspapers neatly stacked on the coffee table. It’s a little endearing and frustrating how old-school Jack is.
He allows himself to be led to Jack’s kitchen.
“I have beer or bourbon. I think we should share ’em,” Jack hiccups.
Robby slows Jack by squeezing their still-linked hands. Oh no. This is bad. He likes Jack’s hand in his. How his hand is wider and a little smaller than his. How their hands feel together interlocked. Jack finally looks at him.
“I think we’ve had enough.”
Jack ignores him, reaching up to grab the Maker’s Mark out of the cabinet, anyway. Robby feels a tinge of pleasure go through him. It’s his favorite brand. Did Jack buy it for Jamie? Was it a gift? Did Jack think of him? No. That can’t be.
“Just a little. Here,” Jack hasn’t let go of Robby’s hand as he tugs him along to the couch. Jack’s expectant tone and words work on him.
Robby would be completely lying if he hadn't thought about this scenario. Going out with Jack and coming back to his place, but not with Jack in the bag, where he won’t remember anything tomorrow except an exceptionally horrid hangover. This isn’t right.
Jack sits them down on his couch, brown liquid sloshing around in the Maker’s bottle. He clumsily works at getting his jeans up. Robby sees the predicament Jack is in and takes pity on him. He crouches down and lifts Jack’s tight jeans up.
“Fuck. You wore the tightest jeans possible.” It’s difficult getting them up and over his prosthetic. Robby has a maddening half-second thought of requesting Jack strip out of them. He doesn’t even ask permission as he starts removing the prosthetic for Jack. He can do this for him. To make him comfortable. It’s the doctor in him, wanting to help.
Jack laughs breathily. Robby pretends he’s unaffected.
“Yeah, I did.”
Robby steals a glance up at Jack, whose face is red, his eyes glazed over, eyes still seeming like two tracker beams in the lower light of the living room. His eyes look strangely lucid despite his words.
Robby’s gaze catches on Jack and kind of stays there. It’s not the first time it’s happened: a longer look between them. He tries not to pick it apart to examine if that’s normal between two friends and colleagues. He guesses it’s most likely not. It shouldn’t be at the very least. They are both attendings at the same hospital. They need to be in sync about things, and they very much are.
“You did, huh?” Robby fills the stretched-out silence, finally getting Jack’s prosthetic off and carefully stowing it next to the couch where the younger man normally keeps it when he’s in the living room.
He’s not sure what compels him, but that seems false somehow. He’s still kneeling down on the floor, looking up at Jack, which is a sight. The younger man’s chest is moving fast, his freckles are fully out through his splotched red cheeks. The blue shirt is snug around his biceps, which look larger. His eyes are unwavering and daring, looking down at Robby. It’s thrilling. It’s a riveting power dynamic that Robby likes. It’s also wrong. Jack is drunk. Robby’s fingers find themselves over Jack’s stump anyway, massaging away tension, as if he can’t help himself. He’s just helping a friend out after all.
When Jack tips his chin back, exposing his throat again, and makes a noise in pleasure, well, Robby doesn’t want to stop helping his friend. It’s mesmerizing watching Jack completely let go. He gets to see a side of Jack that was previously hidden from him. It’s wrong, but also tantalizing all the same. He shouldn’t be allowed to witness it. Is this a look that Jack has used before when…
Jamie. He thinks about Jameson, and it helps divert his mind from sex. It also blooms a fresh stab of pain to his insides.
Robby allows the act of massaging Jack’s stump for another moment before he slinks to the opposite side of the couch, immediately sinking in. He should leave. It does feel good to rest his feet for a second.
Jack’s eyes lazily crack open. His smile is huge and languid. His grip on the neck of the Maker’s Mark is dangerously loose. Robby allows himself to absorb a practically blissed-out Jack. Jamie. Right. Jamie saw all of this. He lived with him and practically lived in Jack and knew every inch of his body and mind. All the private and hidden versions of Jack Abbot. When did Robby think he deserved to know all of this? He’s not a replacement for Jameson.
“Why are you so skittish?” Jack’s words are still slightly sluggish. He lolls his head towards Robby, eying him.
Robby blinks owlishly at him, the whiskey and beers still sloshing around inside of him, too slow to connect.
“You’re like not still or relaxed at all, man. You gave me a ‘ssage. I should give you one.” Jack leans towards Robby purposely and slowly.
Robby forces himself to smile. It feels robotic. He wills his body to move. He needs to walk home. He’s grown too comfortable, his muscles seeming to be stuck to the couch.
“Always moving. Always giving, giving, giving. Do you ever just take? Just take what someone offers you?”
They’re far too drunk to be having this kind of deeply introspective conversation, Robby can recognize. It still makes him pause and feel like he’s somehow rooted to his molded spot on the couch. Jack is closer, leaned towards him. Robby doesn’t like how Jack’s eyes have latched onto him as if they’re looking right through him.
Robby meets his look in something like a dare or a challenge. Then Jack has a lilt to his lips in a semi-smirk. Robby hates how he finds it attractive.
“No.” Robby is intoxicated and his tongue is looser. Maybe he just needs this conversation to be over. Maybe something else. It surprises him all the same that he answered honestly.
Jack doesn’t react much, nodding slightly. Robby is continuously thrown. Their look becomes drawn out. There’s an oddness in the familiarity to it. This is them. This is who they are. They look at each other, and sometimes it’s for too long.
“Why?” It’s asked like it’s the only question in the whole world. Robby suddenly wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He’s somehow able to keep it at bay. How is it that Jack can psychoanalyze him even in the state he’s in?
“I dunno,” Robby says, lying through his teeth. He promised himself he wouldn’t lie to Jack anymore. His friend is drunk and doesn't know what he’s doing, however. He doesn't know the kind of pain he’s dredging up. Maybe it’s ok. Just this once. To help save face.
Jack cocks his head, his eyes more focused despite how liquid he looks, thrown over the couch. His eyes are dark and full. What would Jack do if Robby suddenly cradled Jack’s face? Stroked over his stubbled jaw, and started to count all his moles and freckles. Reckless. Insane. Friends don’t do that.
Robby shifts in his seat uncomfortably.
“You’re so good. You give so much. It must get exhausting. Is that why with Sam…” Jack trails off again, except this time, his exhale is resigned and petulant.
Sam. Robby’s mind is sludge. Who’s Sam again? He’s about to voice it when he remembers at the last minute. The lies. The story he built up. The fake crush on a good-looking radiologist, he’s friendly with. He doesn’t know anything about Sam. He could happily be in a committed relationship, just like Jack should be. He shouldn’t be single. Jaime. Robby’s heart breaks.
Sudden warm fingers brush over Robby’s hair. Jack is even closer, eyeing him. He’s petting Robby’s hair. Robby’s eyes feel huge. He’s trapped. He can’t breathe.
“He likes you so much, I bet, and you can’t even be bothered. He’s so lucky.” Jack mumbles something else under his breath, eyelids drooping. Robby hears the soft descent of what must be the Maker’s hitting the carpet. Well, at least Jack gave up on the idea of drinking more and didn’t damage the expensive liquor or his liver in the process. Robby is too slow to comprehend Jack’s words. “He’s so lucky.” What does that even mean?
Robby opens his mouth, his words tangling on his too-thick tongue. “No,” Robby ends up repeating as if it’s the only thing he can utter.
Jack smirks like he knows Robby is full of shit.
“You should stop doing that, brother. You ‘serve happiness.”
Robby forces himself to nod. It’s not anything he hasn’t thought of before. It’s putting it into practice that’s the difficult part.
Jack is practically sprawled out over the couch, leaning over Robby.
“What ‘bout Crissy and Janey? Heather? Could you–did you take, or was it always ‘what can I give you’?”
Thoughts are fractured. Instant blood roars in his ears. Disastrous. Invading. Robby can’t be here. He pushes through his state until the world swims, and his point of reference changes. He’s standing, and Jack is blinking up at him, having slouched over completely on the couch, missing Robby’s support.
“Sorry–” Jack starts, scrambling to sit up.
Robby remembers how he wanted to take Jack to the roof, thinking about it, and then just as quickly convincing himself he wasn't allowed. Maybe he could dare to take what he wants. No. He cannot.
“I gotta go.” Robby catches Jack’s raw panic. It gnaws angrily and guiltily inside him despite how exposed he feels.
“Robby,” Jack starts, his voice pleading and sad.
“I gotta walk this off and sober up. We drank too much–”
“Robby. Stop! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. ‘Talking outta my ass. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Robby backs into the door like a frightened animal, nearly tripping over his shoes.
“Fine. It’s fine,” Robby stammers, back to the wall. He’s shivering and doesn’t remember when that started. It’s a hot summer night, and he’s sweating too. “We’re just drunk.”
“Robby,” Jack repeats. He’s almost dangerously sitting all the way up, although struggling. His expression is continuously pinched.
Robby fumbles to slip on his shoes.
“Just stay a little bit. I’m sorry. We can drink water–”
“I gotta go.”
Robby tries and fails to see the devastation across his best friend’s face as he finally manages to unlock the door and slip back into his comfort of obscurity.
The walk home seemed to take an eternity. He kept replaying Jack’s words, said drunkenly, but drove home ever so painfully. It left Robby feeling the most vulnerable he’s ever felt.
“What ‘bout Crissy and Janey? Heather? Could you–did you take or was it always ‘what can I give you’?”
Bright anger feels like it slices right through him. He’s not sure what hurts more. That Jack exposed him, or that he’s finally acknowledging it. He’s a giver. He always has been. Maybe it’s the natural caregiver in him, the road inevitably to becoming a physician. He’s always been quick to please partners and not ask for anything in return. He never thought to stop and question why.
I never needed it. His inner voice supplies. I don’t need it.
Sure, his partners were reciprocal in the bedroom. He received what they wanted to give him, and it was pleasurable. He enjoyed it. And what about affection and everything in between? He took everything gladly. A hug here. A kiss there. Touching. Affectionate smiles.
Has Robby ever once asked for anything, though? Never. He’s racked with shivers again. That’s wrong. It’s very unusual, at least. Why hasn’t he thought of this before? His mind painfully wanders to Jameson and Jack. The perfect couple. He’s sure they never had issues communicating with what they needed and wanted.
Has he ever needed anything, though? Would it be odd to ask a partner for a shoulder rub? He recounts how he didn’t even think, dropping to the floor to remove Jack’s prosthetic and then moving to massaging. It felt instinctual. It felt right. How looking up at Jack from his position on the carpet felt powerful and sexy. It felt natural.
No. It’s all backward and wrong. Jack isn’t his. They’re friends, and Robby is annoyed with him. Because the spotlight was on him. Jack slipped past his defenses and walls. Robby’s past was questioned.
“Always giving, giving, giving. Do you ever just take? Just take what someone gives you?”
No, because taking implies he needs something, and Robby doesn’t need anything or anyone. If he separates himself from it, that means he won’t get hurt if they leave, and they always do. Janey, although they remained friends at least. And then Crissy. Heather, during one of the lowest periods of his life. They always leave. It’s always a problem with him. Maybe he didn’t give enough?
He’s suddenly chuckling, his eyes watery as he sits on another couch. His couch. He made it home, and he doesn’t even remember how or when. It seems fitting for the last few years of his life, living in some kind of fog. Moving slowly underwater. He was present, though. For Janey. And then Crissy and Heather. He was a supportive partner. He was there for them and what they needed. Was he himself, though? Was that the real him? Stretching himself thin with constantly giving. Scraped over so much that there isn’t anything left to give? Just a copy of a copy.
He rubs at his suddenly tired eyes and throbbing head. He’s terribly exhausted and his feet hurt, which means he walked all the way back to his apartment. How dare Jack bring this up and make him hurt in all the ways possible. He thought they were friends.
His point of view and angle shifts. He’s suddenly parallel to the floor. He’s lying across the couch, one hand brushing the carpet, his brain slow to recognize it. It’s all Jack’s fault. It soothes him in a troubled way, as he drifts off quickly in the way only intoxicated people can.
Robby wants to forget it. The whole incident. Similar to the ice cream on the roof, he’s ready to shelve “drunk declaration" and never speak of it again. Jack has other ideas. He received some text messages from the younger man when Robby finally got up and dared to peek at his phone.
“Robby. RObBy. ROBBY. Sorry. I am SO sorry.” And a sentence that is so garbled and unintelligible that Robby can’t make it out. He thinks “drunk” and “shots” are interspersed somewhere in the nonsense.
Another text, time-stamped about an hour later: “Please don’t hate me. Cna’t handle tat.”
Something twists inside Robby despite his annoyance. It feels a lot like affection. He does not hate Jack, even with the forced introspection. Far from it. They both were drunk. Jack was halfway blasted out of his mind, petting his hair and getting a little too close. Robby is surprised Jack was even coherent at all.
“Wasn’t thinking. You’re so good.”
Robby finds himself smiling at that. Maybe under it all, and through the debacle, Jack does need him. It makes him feel slightly better and not as ashamed. Robby is perpetually a fuck up, but misery loves company. He wants to move past it. Maybe some distance from Jack would actually be a benefit.
This also does not work.
It’s easy to forget the small things like your everyday routine. They both are senior attendings at the Pitt, and have to interact. When you get caught up in the ebbs and flows of daily life and the stressors that come with the job, while on autopilot, the brain glosses over things. Then it all catches up, and you’re suddenly snapped back into your life.
Robby remembers he has to hand off to Jack when a familiar to-go coffee cup is suddenly in front of him on his station in the Pitt. The rich aroma of coffee is in his nose. His mouth waters despite his bleary eyes and frayed muscles after a ten-hour shift. Robby removes his glasses. A familiar shape and alluring smell are next to him. He turns. Jack is leaning over his station, angled towards Robby in his familiar scrubs and brown Carhartts. His stance is casual enough, although there’s a tightness to Jack’s shoulders and jaw. His eyes have a sheepish quality.
“Hi. I’m an asshole.”
Robby stares, fingers slack on his lenses, blinking up at the other man.
Jack’s eyes are round, sad, and hopeful. It’s pitiful and stupid and attractive, and a bunch of other things. Robby feels drawn in.
The younger attending leans in a bit more. “I’m sorry.” His voice is lowered and pained, seeming to stroke down Robby’s spine. “You haven’t returned my texts. I’m an asshole. I know I am.”
Robby swallows, smelling the delicious coffee again. His mouth fills with saliva.
“I was drunk and stupid. I didn’t want you to leave. I’m so sorry. I’m a huge hypocrite. You pushed me away, and I got pissed, and now–”
“Jack, it’s fine.” He has to let the other man off the hook. He also wants to start shamelessly guzzling the coffee. It’s from Arlene’s, a favorite spot he and Jack have gone before, but it’s been a while. He knows Robby likes it. It’s kind of cute. This apology coffee. No one has treated him to something like this in a while. It’s simple and thoughtful. It isn’t needed at all. He can also see from the corner of his eye that they are drawing a little bit of attention. Eyes usually land on the staff in charge, and Jack is presenting coffee to him, standing close, and practically whispering. It shouldn’t look like anything, but to someone unsuspecting and passing by…He thinks of Myrna and shudders.
Jack’s hand is suddenly resting on Robby’s back; his touch is warm and open. It’s also casual. He’s peering at Robby a little too closely. Robby feels like he’s on Jack’s couch again, frozen to the spot, although wanting to squirm away from the scrutiny.
“You’re just letting me off like that? After not talking to me? Really, man?”
Robby feels a little bad when he shakes off Jack’s touch, as if he’s the one who’s in the wrong. He usually is, at any rate. Maybe he did do something to piss someone off. Surely, he did today.
“Jack. It’s fine. Really. You weren’t thinking. I wasn’t either. We were bombed. Thanks for the coffee.”
Jack blinks, seeming stunned. Robby takes his momentary silence to take a long sip of the delicious-smelling drink, savoring it. It’s good. It warms him and floods him with fond memories. He’s transported back. He and Jack had odd and rogue free time to walk the Pittsburgh early morning streets to the nearby coffee shop that had just opened. Jack treated them, and was surprised and delighted to learn they both take theirs black.
“Just like our souls.”
They yapped, more Jack talking at him, about how good the coffee was, and how much better it is without anything in it, the whole walk back to the Pitt.
Robby smirks, remembering the sweet memory. Jack is still peering at him when Robby finally looks at the other attending. Jack doesn’t back down. Why is that? They always get so caught up.
“I remember us going to Arlene’s that morning. That was a good day. Why were we able to go together again?” It was maybe a couple of years ago, and his memory escapes him, mind still buzzing after the hellish shift. He remembers being happy, though.
Jack’s face rifles through a few expressions, seeming to land on gentle surprise.
“I was going to work a double. You talked about staying on, too. We decided we needed caffeine first. Then Chambers was able to come in, and I didn’t have to work a double.”
Robby nods faintly. They haven't looked away.
“That was a good day.” There’s something in Jack’s voice and eyes. Robby is missing something; the stress from the busy shift is easing back into him.
“It was the first time in a long time I finally felt normal, or something close to it,” Jack says, smiling reverently. Ah, so it was after Jamie. Robby got things twisted up and confused in his post-shift mind. Jack still smiles his easy and effortless smile.
“You really shouldn’t let me off that easily.”
Robby is blushing without meaning to. He hates it. How easy his emotions are on display. He tries masking it by running a hand through his hair and around his scalp and neck.
“It’s fine. You brought me much-needed caffeine and helped me remember that day.”
Jack’s eyes are strange. Then he smiles again, ducking his head.
“Yeah,” Jack huffs out. “Let's go there again soon.”
Robby is continuously caught off guard. He fiddles with his glasses to buy time, charting long forgotten. Is this somehow his punishment for keeping Jack at arm’s length for so long? For not being there for him when he needed it? To have him thrust into his life like this with nowhere to hide? He finally takes in that Jack isn’t holding a cup of his own. Did he go just for Robby? He didn’t get anything for himself, or did he drink it already? That seems difficult to do if he’s juggling two cups and his bag, walking down the busy morning streets.
“Ok,” Robby replies, blinking through some confusion, and earning a toothy grin from the other attending. Jack lingers, which isn't unpleasant.
Robby just perches his glasses onto his nose and starts charting again, wanting to finally clock out.
“Are you still mad at me? I totally get it, if you are.”
Robby does a double-take. Jack hovers, not unusual. His expression is worried, though. That isn’t normal. Robby wants to smooth away the lines on Jack’s forehead.
“No,” Robby replies truthfully.
Jack’s shoulders round out as he nods. “Ok. Good.”
“You brought me coffee.” Robby doesn’t know what he’s saying, liking Jack’s easy smile. Maybe he’s shocked that someone shows that they care, still intrigued, and a little sad Jack didn’t get anything for himself. He almost stupidly suggests they share his, but, oh, that is silly, indulgent, and very wrong. Jack is starting his shift now. Robby needs to get his head out of the clouds.
“You gave me a massage, so.”
Fuck. Something like a jolt goes through Robby. He was hoping against hope that Jack wouldn’t remember. Remember how Robby looked up at him from his position crouched down on the ground. How he massaged the tension out of Jack’s stump without asking. How red the younger man’s cheeks were. Robby types nonsense into the chart, having no control.
Turning it over in his mind, massaging a friend’s leg is maybe crossing a line. It’s weird. It’s suggestive. Intimate.
Robby dares to look at Jack. The other man holds himself openly. He never backs down.
“Yeah, I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.” Robby is going to blame the alcohol. It’s so much easier. He could remind Jack that he was petting his hair and getting very cuddly with him, although that’s just Jack when he’s drunk too much. He gets touchy with his friends. Touching hair is one thing. A massage? What was he thinking?
“It was nice. It just surprised me.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. They cannot talk about this. Definitely not here. At work. Their very lives are tightly interwoven into these very walls and floors. Their literal blood, sweat, and tears seeped into the marrow of the Pitt. There are people everywhere.
Robby is sucked into a patented Jack Abbot stare-off.
Nice? Jack thought it was nice? He can’t pick that apart.
“We were pretty gone,” Robby forces himself to say, and then finally looks away, pretending that charting is more important, trying to put a period and end to the discussion.
“Kay.” Jack quips in a way that Robby doesn’t like.
Robby rises to the bait, anyway, peering at Jack from over his glasses.
“I’m not letting you off the hook, I guess,” Robby teases, keeping his tone light, trying hard to veer the conversation away from how he was touching Jack without permission. He took something and– Oh. Shit. He took. He gave something to Jack without even asking. He feels hot and cold all over as he breaks out into a cold sweat.
“Always moving. Always giving, giving, giving. Do you ever just take? Just take what someone offers you?”
But he wasn’t offered. That’s not what friends do.
Jack chuckles in an off-handed way.
“I deserve that. I really shouldn’t have said what I did. That was shitty. I think I’m just worried about you. I mean, I am.”
Somehow, miraculously, Robby finishes charting. It’s a mess, and Gloria is going to raise hell, but it’s done. He clumsily removes his glasses and logs out of the computer. He doesn’t want anyone worrying over him, especially Jack. He’s not the one who lost his spouse.
“I’m fine. I told you to forget it. We both…” He doesn’t know how to finish his thought. He smiles wistfully and abruptly instead, swiping his badge to clock out.
Jack knocks shoulders with him. It’s easier and more difficult, but things feel looser in Robby’s chest, anyway. Jack is letting him off the hook, too. They’re friends first after all, even through all the mess. Jack hands him his coffee. Robby blushes again.
“Did you not want it?”
“Yes, I wanted it,” Robby faux argues, blushing like a fool, and trying to avert his eyes as he grabs the coffee.
“Let’s go next week. Before the Fourth, at any rate.”
Robby had started walking away, thinking Jack would follow. The younger man did and was. Robby turns, and Jack is a lot closer than he thought, right at Robby’s back. The younger attending is always so quick despite being shorter with his bow legs. Robby nearly stumbles back a step and into Jack. It reminds him of how he was trying to veer Jack back to his apartment. How Jack was leaning into him, letting him lead.
“To Arlene’s. My treat, and we don’t have to work a double this time.”
Robby’s inside flip and tumble. He’s on some sort of amusement park ride. Jack is eyeing him. He’s not backing down. He’s also so present. So here. Jack has also not suggested something like this before. At least not in a very long time. No, he just feels bad about what he said and is trying to apologize. How should Robby handle this? To decline feels like it would make it worse somehow and like he’s admitting he is still upset, which he isn’t. He would rather forget the whole thing. He does want to spend more time with Jack, although what does that mean exactly? Everything feels so flipped and upside down since the ice cream on the roof, the botched confession, the lie, and how Jack exposed him.
He remembers the first time at Arlene’s was pleasant and very easy. Yes, things could be like that again. He hopes.
Jack eyes him, as if in a challenge. Robby pretends like he’s thinking or consulting his imaginary calendar.
“Ok.”
Jack’s smile is radiant. It lights up Robby until he’s smiling, too. Some kind of infectious Abbot energy is rubbing off on him.
“Good. Great. Yes.” Jack’s cheeks look a little pinker, but his attention is taken by his intern as he suddenly comes up to him. Robby is more tired than he thought and is seeing things. The sun is in his eyes. No, Jack is. Jack always is.