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“Just a cold,” is what Robby keeps saying about his condition. Just a cold when he’s coughing into his fist, just a cold when he’s coughing into his elbow, just a cold when he’s showing no other symptoms of a cold whatsoever. Just a cold when he starts carrying tissues in his pocket to cough into whenever he needs it, which is often.
Just a cold when he’s stepping out of traumas to hack up a lung. Just a cold when he starts picking up more night shifts with Jack because he doesn't trust his own judgment, and likewise Jack finds himself there helping out during the day more and more. Jack doesn’t mind covering for him in those moments, if only Robby were honest with him.
Just a cold that lasts for several weeks. Just a cold that everyone they work with tells him to get checked out, or take some meds, or take a few days off to stay in bed, and Robby pretends to listen. Jack watches him smile and thank them for their concern and pretend to take their advice, but Robby can’t bullshit him the way he can bullshit the others.
And the kicker is that he thinks Jack doesn’t notice. Jack gets the just a cold excuse the same as everyone else, which is—Robby treating him like anyone else, like just another body, is what really gets to him. Because they tell each other this shit. And Jack’s heart grows heavier and heavier with each tissue Robby coughs into and quickly stuffs back in his pockets, too fast for Jack to get a glimpse of anything on it.
The cold that won’t go away reaches week four when Jack finally bites the bullet and corners him at work, says, “Either you’re going to let me examine you voluntarily or I’m tying you to a bed, because brother, this is no regular cold.”
“It’ll go away on its own,” Robby says, trying to outrun him away from the board. He’s still clutching a damn tissue in his hand. Jack is really starting to hate the sight of those tissues, the way they make his stomach flip every time.
“Michael,” Jack says, and that makes Robby turn to him in something like surprise. Jack wants to roll his eyes.
“Tell me,” Jack says. Something in Robby’s face changes, weeks of Jack’s agony finally getting through to him as he leads Jack into an empty room and shuts the door.
Before Jack can speak, Robby says, “I’m only telling you this so that you’ll get off my ass. I don’t need to tell you that I don’t want this spread around.”
Jack blinks, offended that Robby needs to ask. “Yeah, man, what—”
“It’s hanahaki,” Robby says. “Diagnosed.”
The floor goes out under Jack’s feet.
But he has no time to process, because Robby is staring at him like he’s daring him to make a comment or ask who it is right away. “Okay,” Jack says, nodding slowly. “Okay. Uh…just contracted?”
“No,” Robby says. “Just…showing, recently.” He crosses his arms, shifts on his feet. The only reason he’d start showing symptoms or coughing up flowers, are there flowers yet, are they at that stage? Is if something recently changed to exacerbate the feelings. Usually a big event of some kind.
Jack tries to run through anything big that’s happened in the past couple of weeks, any highs or lows or stress, but nothing comes to mind. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the concept of his best friend being in love with someone thoroughly enough, completely and unrequited enough, to contract hanahaki from it.
“Okay,” Jack says. “I won’t spread it around.”
“I appreciate that.”
Jack bites his lip, hoping Robby doesn’t tear his head off for asking, but: “I know there’s not much use in offering, but if you need anything, man, professionally or personally, if you need some help, I’m here. I’ve always got your back, brother.”
Robby looks at him in a way Jack can’t define. “Thank you for not asking who.”
Probably the biggest reason he hasn’t told anyone, besides the admission of ‘weakness’ or the way people would constantly ask for help, or offer unsolicited advice, or interrogate him about his love life. Jack doesn’t envy him all those things. If Jack was the one with it, he would probably be even more stubborn and grumpy about it, so he gets it. Really, he does. But goddammit, Robby.
He just nods and pats Robby’s shoulder. “None of my business.” Even though the thought of Robby being in love with someone else to this degree makes him want to rage. Jack puts those feelings aside and tries to focus on the patient, focus on how he can make this easier for Robby no matter what.
#
“What’s your longterm plan?” Jack asks one evening, watching the game on Robby’s couch, sharing a beer.
Robby looks at him, because Jack just asked in the middle of their shared tirade over bullshit ref calls. “For what?”
The damn tissues are still making an appearance, and now Robby isn’t so careful about hiding them. Hiding the white and pink blossom petals he’s coughing up. Jack watches like a hawk after every cough, every petal. Robby has a damn trash can for them between his knees on the floor. At least he’s not coughing up full blossoms yet, but Jack’s heart drops into his stomach at the sight of every last flash of pink.
“For those,” Jack says. “For…you know, man, how are you going to cure it? Or manage it better?”
“I’m just taking it a day at a time,” Robby says, and Jack rolls his eyes, too angry to even be grateful he got an answer. Doctors really do make the worst fucking patients.
“So you’re just going to go until you drop?” Jack demands. “Am I still the only one who knows?”
Robby has the decency to look a little guilty. “Dana does.”
“And what does she have to say on the matter?”
Robby mutters, “I think you know,” taking another sip of the beer so he doesn’t have to talk.
“So you’re not getting the surgery?” Jack asks, trying to keep his voice level. "To take the infection of the flowers out of your heart? The easy cure?"
“Not exactly easy," Robby says, a deflection. "No.”
Jack waits a beat, but Robby doesn’t volunteer why not. “If you tell me who it is, I’ll go to their house and threaten them at gunpoint.”
Robby laughs. “I’m serious, man,” Jack says. “I would do anything for you. You know that, right?” He would give anything to be able to take away Robby’s pain, to get him a pill or give him a shot that could fix it. That's what they do. Not just as doctors, but this is what they do for each other. Always have.
Jack remembers the agony in Robby's face while he was recovering from having his fucking leg blown off, during those long months of recovery, how much TV they watched together in Jack's shitty apartment, how Robby needed only to look at him to tell Jack everything he needed to know. That Robby wished he could take away his pain, and it was killing him slowly to know he couldn't. Is this what that felt like? That ever growing, gnawing pit in his stomach?
“You can’t threaten someone into loving someone,” Robby says, gesturing uselessly at the TV. “That’s the opposite of how it works.”
“Try me,” Jack growls, caught up in protective anger for a moment, wanting to pull Robby into his arms and make it all better. Robby meets his eye, giving Jack a glimpse of hope in his face, but it’s gone before Jack can figure it out.
Robby starts yelling at the ref again, and only then does Jack realize he didn’t get an answer about why he wouldn’t get the surgery to remove the source of the flowers. The source of emotion and love for the person who doesn't love him back.
Robby coughs up another petal. This time, it’s a full on flower.
#
“Man, just get the surgery,” Jack says, chasing Robby around his apartment kitchen. He’s gone round and round with Robby on the arguments about why he should just get the damn thing removed, but Robby refuses to hear him. “If they don’t love you back, and it’s been this long, it sounds like you’re better off without them anyway—”
“No,” Robby says immediately, shaking his head. “I’m good.”
“Why?” Every time they talk about this, Jack has to fight the urge to scream just fucking tell me who. So he can go beat their brains out verbally and physically to get Robby some relief. So that he can stop feeling so useless about the slow decline of his best friend’s health. There's nothing Jack can give him, and it's driving him crazy.
Robby’s coughing up flowers every day now, his voice hoarse from it, looking flushed and piqued. The department definitely knows now. They've been giving him sad looks, knowing looks, and Dana has directed all gossip away from Robby under dire threat. But even down for the count, Robby's still the best doctor the department could ever ask for, so he keeps going to work.
“Damn it, Jack, do you have to ask so many questions?” Robby demands, running the water to keep Jack from talking. Even though he should know by now that nothing keeps Jack from talking.
“If you’re not going to tell me who it is, tell me why they’re so damn important that they’re worth killing yourself over,” Jack snaps. “Because you know that’s how this ends, right? If you don’t get the surgery and you don’t confess and they do nothing, this ends with…”
He can’t even say it. Can’t even think it. “I can’t handle that, man. Your department, our department can’t handle that. If not for yourself, think about this through our eyes for one fucking second, man. Maybe the person just doesn’t know.”
That’s rare, for someone to contract hanahaki over a love of someone who doesn’t even know they exist, but certainly anything is possible. But Jack can’t help wondering, what kind of person wouldn’t love Robby? He certainly does. He wishes he could be enough. Be what Robby needs.
Robby does him the service of looking at his face. “If I get the surgery, I lose everything. You understand me? Everything.”
“Not everything,” Jack says. “Just your love for the fuckass who didn’t care enough to—”
“It’s you!” Robby snaps. “Fucking Christ, Jack. It’s you.” He scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling an angry breath. Silence sits in the air. “If I get the surgery, I’m going to stop feeling anything for you. I’m just going to look at you with…apathy.” He shakes his head. “And I’m sorry, brother, but I can’t do that. I would rather die than do that.” He goes back to doing dishes after the dinner they shared, predictably.
Jack is trying to pick his brain up off the ground, keep it going after it screeched to a halt. “It’s me.”
Robby sighs. “It’s you.”
“Robby, look at me.”
Robby looks at him. Underneath the sharp, biting edge, Jack can see and sense his fear.
“Why only a few weeks ago?” Jack asks. “Why did you start coughing up flowers then? Did you only realize you were…you felt like this then?”
Robby laughs, something tired and disbelieving. He has to take a break to cough and hack up another flower, throwing it in the trash with a grimace. Those trash cans are everywhere in his place now for easy access. “Far from it. That was…” He sighs. “We went to the strip club, remember?”
For Santos’ birthday. She dragged them along with many members of their shift, and Jack made some jokes, but didn’t do anything, of course. He remembers how closely Robby was watching him. Jack didn’t really think about why.
“And?”
“And you said there was a lot of eye candy around,” Robby says evenly, “and I knew it was a joke, but it was the nail in the coffin of, holy shit, he’s never going to love me.” Another flower coughed into his hand.
Jack says, “I do love you.”
Robby scoffs, shakes his head, looking away from him. Jack finally shifts into gear and manhandles Robby away from the sink, needing his full attention. “Robby,” he whispers, raw, “I do love you. I’ve loved you forever.”
Something in his voice must change. Robby looks at him with a slight shift in his expression, hope beginning to open up that perhaps this is possible. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“I’m not fucking around. I wouldn’t. Not about this.” Jack shakes his head, makes a move to get his hand around the back of Robby’s neck, hold him close. “I want you. I’ve been wishing it was me all these weeks of knowing and having to watch you slowly kill yourself, so that I could help you. Again, I felt locked out, like I couldn’t help no matter how much I wanted to or what I tried, but I can, can’t I?”
He grins. “I can. God, man.” He presses their foreheads together, breathing slow, enjoying the intimacy. Robby’s not moving much, just overcome with—god, Jack can’t imagine.
“I don’t believe you,” Robby rasps. Jack pulls him into a tight hug, throwing Robby’s arms around his waist, helping him cling on.
“I know,” Jack whispers, rubbing his hands over Robby’s back, keeping him grounded, trying to keep him from utterly falling off the deep end. Robby’s breaths are still crackly, and he has to turn his head to cough out a flower.
Jack drags him back as soon as he’s done, ignoring the shame and hesitance on Robby’s face. “I want to hear you say it.”
Robby looks at him. “I’m in love with you.”
The words go through Jack like thunder. Next, he utters, “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes,” Robby whispers back, raw and open. Jack holds his face gently for their first kiss, tilting him up, swallowing Robby’s soft exhale into his mouth.
It’s perfect. Soft and gentle and tender and perfect. And then Robby comes alive, no longer shaking like a fragile thing, groaning into Jack’s mouth and pulling him closer. Closer, until Jack is shoving him against the kitchen wall and Robby is pulling their bodies tight, close, not an inch of space between them.
He feeds at Jack’s mouth with hunger, with desperation, with the feeling that if anything dared separate them right now, Robby would burn it down.
“Jack,” Robby rasps, voice rough for more than one reason now. “Jack.”
“I’m here,” Jack insists, kissing him through their words, lit up at the feeling of Robby close. He kisses Robby just as eagerly, manhandling him into the wall to hear Robby whimper. "I'm here, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."
Robby whimpers.
“Do you want to fuck me?” Jack asks, pulling back to kiss his neck.
Robby’s lips part. “Is that—I mean, is that an option?”
“Anything is on offer that you want,” Jack promises, petting his hair. “I’m yours, I told you, baby. I love you.”
Robby whimpers softly like a starving dog for his attention, leaning into it, and no wonder. He is starving. He is on the brink of death and desperation without Jack’s love, which means it’s Jack’s solemn duty to give it to him.
“Take what you want. It’s all yours. You can have this.” Jack kisses him again, quick, and starts to tug Robby away from the wall. “Bed?”
“Make it fast,” Robby whispers, still attached to his mouth with hunger that makes Jack’s toes curl.
“Got it,” Jack mutters, dragging him to the bedroom. They’re not focused on taking it slow right now, they’re focused on making it happen fast however it takes. Heat and closeness and desperation, the feeling of Robby’s hungry mouth, making Jack wonder what else that mouth can do…he’s quickly getting swept up in it too.
Robby all but rips Jack’s clothes off, stopping to pant, “Can I?” and pause for breath with his hands on the waist of Jack’s pants. Jack’s chest, he takes in hungrily, lips parted and staring like an animal. Jack shivers under the power of that gaze.
“You can have me however you want,” Jack repeats, determined to get it into Robby’s head that it’s true. “Can I see you?”
Robby hesitates a moment, but before Jack can open his mouth to tell him that he’ll find his body beautiful no matter what it looks like and Robby has absolutely no cause for concern, Robby’s hands are going to his own shirt. Just the motions of watching him strip make Jack hot all over. Robby's face is flushed.
Jack strips himself naked and takes off his leg, sitting on Robby's bed, heart thundering that holy shit, we're doing this. He can help Robby. He can save Robby. He is the cure. Jack is the cure.
He pulls Robby onto the bed with him just as he's throwing off his boxers, kissing Jack before he has a chance to really look. “I want to,” Robby pants, breathless, “I want to lick you from head to toe, I want to suck you off, I want—”
Jack spins them so Robby's on his back and Jack is straddling his lap, naked, their twin moans filling the air as their cocks connect. “You will,” Jack interrupts, as much as he loves dirty talk. He’s focused on soothing Robby right now, getting him off the edge of desperation. “You’ll do everything you want to me and more, I promise. Just let me take care of you.”
And that’s Jack’s favorite part about this. That he finally gets to take care of Robby the way he’s always been dreaming of doing. He smooths Robby’s hair back from his forehead, smiling at him, kissing his cheeks. Appreciating the novelty of having Robby against him like this. He pets over Robby's hairy chest, toys with his necklace, just taking a moment to breathe, "Gorgeous," and make Robby flush.
Robby’s still staring up at him like he’s something holy and precious, lips parted, eyes wide with lust and need. "No more flowers," Jack murmurs, kissing his mouth again, starting to slowly rock on his lap. "If you want to get me flowers in the future, go to the florist."
That makes Robby laugh, which makes Jack smile. And then Robby starts sniffling, taking another kiss, and says, "I'm okay," before Jack can ask. "I'm good. Can you say it again?"
His voice is low and choked, what some might call pathetic. Jack's heart melts hearing it. "I love you."
Robby gasps. "Can we..." He rocks up and looks into Jack's eyes, letting Jack feel how hard and big he is.
"Of course," Jack whispers. "You got lube?"
Robby hands him the mostly full bottle, which has Jack frowning. "Let me do this part," he whispers, rising up on his knees. "You just watch this time." He's desperate, too, and doesn't want to wait too long to get Robby in him.
"You're gorgeous," Robby murmurs, hands hovering over his chest.
Jack smiles. "You can touch me. Anywhere you want to." He grabs Robby's hand and puts it on his pecs, squeezing for him, then tosses his head back as he fingers himself open. He knows how to put on a show, and never has a man deserved a show more than Robby does right now.
Robby's throat bobs, face red, watching as Jack moans and groans and shifts, squirms on his fingers. His big, warm hands stay on Jack's chest, and Jack leans into them. "Love you so much, handsome," Jack murmurs. "You're perfect. Can't wait to feel you. feel this big cock in me." He stretches himself the bare minimum, not wanting to make Robby wait, impatient and hard himself. Jack cries out as Robby gets an experimental grip around his cock, making Jack pant for breath.
"Goddam," Jack laughs, overjoyed. "Goddamn, babe." He leans in for another kiss, taking Robby in his hand to slick him up, swallowing Robby's gasp. He's clutching Jack's shoulders now. "You ready?"
"Yeah," Robby breathes, "please," wrapping arms around his back, drawing him close, chest to chest, and Jack sinks down on him easy, smooth as butter.
They sigh as Jack adjusts, wiggling on Robby's lap until he's entirely comfortable. "You feel so good," Jack hums, trading easy kisses, though he can feel Robby's shaking body. "You can move, but I'm gonna ride you."
Robby bucks up into him, whimpering again, uttering, "Say it again," as he buries his face in Jack's chest. Jack holds him, grinding and rocking his hips, keeping Robby close.
"I love you," Jack says. "I love you so much."
Jack knows right away this isn't going to last long. And why should it have to? This is their first time, but they'll have hundreds more, they'll take their time, take hours exploring, using lips and fingers and tongues to map their bodies. Jack is making a running list of everything he wants to try, every part of Robby he wants to taste and touch, but this right now is amazing. Robby's heavy cock inside him, stretching him, filling him the way he needs. And the way Robby's starting to shake and sob with the pure relief of having his disease cured, his love requited, is going to get Jack crying too if he's not careful.
The closer Robby gets, Robby’s entire being is quite literally crying out for him, and his hands cling to Jack just so, greedy and desperate. He’s sobbing incoherently into Jack’s skin. “Shh,” Jack soothes him, petting and keeping Robby grounded and close. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you. I love you. You gonna come for me?” He squeezes tightly around Robby's cock, earning a moan and Robby's face emerging from his chest.
"Want you to fill me up, handsome," Jack says. "Show me how much you love me." Robby's greedy hands are all over him, squeezing his ass, gripping his back, his shoulders, his chest and hips and waist, and Jack lets him touch his fill. When Robby wraps a hand around Jack's cock, Jack shakes, clenching involuntarily now. His riding gets sloppier, faster, more desperate as they breathe together.
Jack knocks their foreheads together, breathing into his mouth as Robby strokes him, and says, "I love you so fucking much, Robby. Come for me. Show me."
Robby's cock throbs inside him and then he's exploding, whimpering into Jack's shoulder, rutting up and up and up as he comes. Jack grips him tight, enjoying Robby's rough and uneven rhythm of his palm, making Jack spill over his hand with a gasp. They're shaking and rocking together as the sweat cools, as the world stops being fuzzy and fades back in. Jack is heaving for breath as his thighs shake, hips starting to ache from being spread like this. Robby continues to cling tight.
"I’m not going anywhere, brother,” Jack whispers, knowing what he must be afraid of, the poor thing. "I love you. I'm yours, like I said, do you hear me? I'm not going anywhere." He slowly pulls off and lays Robby back, laying down beside him, half on top of him with a leg slung over his waist. Robby's still crying, wiping tears out of his eyes, off his cheeks, but they won't stop coming. Jack is honored to see this side of him. He strokes Robby's chest hair, his beard, kisses his cheek while he recovers.
"I meant every word I said," Jack murmurs, keeping him close with the skin on skin. "You're what I want. Who I love. I just wish you'd told me sooner."
Robby shakes his head at the ceiling. "I'm trying not to go there."
"Yeah. Probably smart." Jack kisses him properly again. Robby hums into it.
"Sorry I was so..." Robby waves. "Useless. Making you do all the work. I'm not usually like that."
"Nothing to apologize for, brother." Jack grins, adds, teasing, "Although the idea of you throwing me and bossing me around is gonna get me stiff again if you're not careful." He plays with Robby's necklace, laying his head to Robby's chest to listen to his heartbeat. As much as he loved the sex, this might be better, the intimacy of cuddling with him naked, the breeze drifting through the window. Perfection, especially as Robby's heavy arm wraps around his shoulder and drags him closer.
Robby's not coughing. Before, it was hard for him to get through a conversation without a tissue or three, but now, his chest is airy and breathing almost silent. Not painful to listen to. He's cured. Jack can finally relax, let his body drop in relief.
"I love you," Robby says again, soft, making Jack's heart melt. "Say it back?"
Jack will say it as many times as he needs to hear it, always. "I love you too. More than you could ever know." Jack murmurs, "No more flowers?"
Robby sighs in utter lovesick relief. "No more flowers. The florist is closed today, but I'll go to the grocery store. I'll go to a field and pick some for you." He smiles at Jack, drunk on afterglow. Jack grins and nuzzles him to deal with the affection burning in his chest.
"Anything for you," Robby whispers, a final confession floating on the breeze.