Chapter Text
Jack’s made it through cleaning himself up, getting his shit together, saying goodbye to the day shift, and his final check-in with Dana. He’s through the bay doors, back into the sticky-intense heat of July in Pittsburgh, and thinking through how he’s going to manage a night shift in a few scant hours. He’s home free, hearing the siren song of his own blessed bed when something in this plane of existence cuts through it:
“Doctor Abbot!” A young voice calls after him and his whole body sags.
Goddamnit, he thinks. He weighs the option of just continuing to walk, of ignoring whatever problem this kid wants his attention for. But he can’t do that and he knows it. They might need him, and he’s already crafting a text to Shen to beg him to cover tonight if Jack’s going to be here the rest of the damn day. So he turns in time to see Whitaker racing towards him, looking like the lost puppy Jack’s seen in him since the kid’s first, horrible day.
Maybe slightly less lost, but still.
“Doctor Abbot,” he repeats, this time relieved as he catches up.
“Christ, kid, it’s just Abbot. Or Jack works too.”
Whitaker gives him a look that communicates ‘it’ll be a cold day in hell before I call you that, sir,’ without him having to utter a word. “Abbot,” he concedes. “I’ve gotta talk to you.”
Jack takes a second to take him in, noticing the genuine fear in his eyes. Jack squares his stance, settles his weight evenly and gives the boy his full attention. “Alright kid, shoot.”
“Doctor Robby and I just had a…” he cuts his eyes to the side and searches for the right word. “Weird conversation.”
Jack’s heart ticks up a notch. He hadn’t liked his own tete-a-tete with Robby, but had chalked it up to Robby being sick of hashing out the same shit they’ve been going round and round about since Pittfest.
“Weird how?”
“He offered me his place to crash while he was gone,” and that in and of itself isn’t all that surprising - Robby's a do-gooder through and through and the kid has been living with Santos for months. Jack opens his mouth to say as much when Whitaker keeps going: “and made a few comments to imply that he might not be coming back.” Jack snaps his mouth shut.
Whitaker looks at him searchingly, but Jack's too busy taking the worry that he’s been shoving into a box since Robby'd first told him about this sabbatical and fully letting it take center stage for the first time.
“He rode in today on his bike and he didn’t wear a helmet.” Whitaker adds, and Jack’s hands tighten into fists as his whole body flushes in anger.
“Tell me exactly what he said to you.”
Whitaker rehashes the conversation and Jack’s suspicions go from bad to worse. Goddamnit, Robby. He’s been in enough therapy to know that his anger is stemming from hurt but it doesn't do anything to help alleviate it: this horrid, overwhelming feeling of rage at someone he loves wanting to leave him behind again.
“Doctor Abbot?” Right. The kid had finished his story and Jack hasn’t said anything.
“It’s just Abbot, Whitaker.” He claps the boy on the shoulder. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll take it from here.”
Whitaker visibly sags in relief, smiling at Jack. “Thank you… Abbot.”
“Good kid,” Jack finds it in himself to smile back. “Now get back in there, they need you.”
Whitaker smiles a little wider and heads off; Jack turns and walks in the opposite direction.
Turns out he’ll have to text Shen after all.
*
Once he’s home and has promised Shen things akin to his nonexistent firstborn in exchange for the night off, he texts Robby.
I know you’re planning to head out tonight, but I need you to come by.
He sets his phone down, expecting at least a little time before he’ll hear back. He almost jumps off the couch when his phone buzzes less than a minute later.
Everything okay? Robby sends back, and Jack has to fight the urge to either laugh hysterically or punch the wall. He wants to text back something passive-aggressive, still wants against all odds for Robby to just tell him what the fuck is going on in that stubborn, brilliant head of his. He could say ‘you fucking tell me, brother,’ but Robby would just shut down and Jack needs them to talk. In person. Tonight.
So instead of any of the petty, furious things he wants to write, he simply sends No.
The dots appear and disappear a few times before Robby finally says Okay I’ll be there.
Thanks man.
Jack gets up, paces a bit, before finding himself at the fridge for a beer and some leftover Mexican he’ll force himself to eat. He needs the sustenance after the day he’s had and the reckoning he’s gearing up to lay at Robby’s feet. He briefly considers grabbing the bottle of Scotch he usually reserves for special occasions but decides against it. He’ll need a clear head for this. One beer will have to do.
Instead he pours himself a glass of water to accompany that one beer and brings it all over to the couch. He removes his prosthesis and turns on the TV.
Now all he can do is wait.
*
Jack disassociates for awhile after he’s done eating, thinking through all of the next steps depending on how this conversation goes. He’s surprised that he doesn’t feel sad anymore, just empty. He’s been staring into the void so long it’s almost comfortable coming back to it. Like an old friend. He knows that he’s going to have to call Sam tomorrow for a session but it’s a distant thought.
Right now, all he feels is the release of knowing that it’s not all on him anymore. No. Some of this is on Robby. And no matter what, after so long of keeping things close and tight against his heart, everything will be out in the open. It’s strange to him that he feels no fear, but it’s as if this is an inevitability that’s finally coming home. He’d feel almost excited if it weren’t for the pit in his stomach of having to do this at all. Fucking Michael fucking Robinavitch forcing his fucking hand.
His phone buzzes with an on my way text from Robby, and Jack puts his leg back on in preparation. He wants them to be on even footing for what’s coming.
It’s not long before Robby is stepping through the door to his condo, dropping his bag in its usual spot. Jack feels a flash of annoyance at it, the fucking nerve of this man. Making a home in Jack’s life and then pulling this shit.
Robby’s beautiful, beloved face is pulled tight in concern, worry clouding the brown eyes that have pulled Jack from some very dark places. He lets the anger ripple through him at the memories, the reminder of what he thought they were to each other.
“Brother, what’s going on? Do you need me to take your service wea—”
“What I need is for you to tell me if you’re planning on killing yourself, Mike, on this trip into the wild you’re taking.” Jack feels a vicious, sharp satisfaction at the way the color drains from Robby’s face. Fucking good, he thinks. Let’s fucking go.
“Jack—”
“Because if that’s what this is I need you to tell me now so I can get my own affairs in order. I need you to tell me now so I don’t have to wait to get the phone call that you’ve run your midlife crisis headlong into a semi.” Robby starts toward him, looking stricken, but Jack holds up his hand and backs up a step.
“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. Lets himself settle into the army posture he falls back on when he’s trying not to fall apart. “No, brother. You know how many times I’ve gotten that phone call. How many of my loved ones I’ve lost to the abyss and the wrong end of a fucking gun. You got me through them, through Leslie, that it shouldn’t be a shock that I’m not getting through you too.”
Robby looks so lost, suddenly so much younger than his fifty-odd years. There are tears in his eyes, and Jack is suddenly furious that this hadn’t even occurred to Robby. Hadn’t even crossed his mind that him picking death over Jack would be the nail in Jack’s metal-adorned coffin.
And the healed part of him knows that this is what depression does: it narrows your world to your own pain. It lies to you and says that everyone would be better off without you. But fuck that.
Fuck.
That.
“So if you’re gonna do this to me, brother, then the least you can do is tell me to my fucking face that the most important person in my goddamn life is taking an early train outta here.”
“Jack, no.” And Robby’s voice breaks. His voice breaks and Jack’s heart breaks with it. But he holds his ground, unwilling to let Robby off the hook this time.
“No?” He doesn’t move as Robby gets closer, but doesn’t relax either. Not giving an inch. “Gonna have to use more words than that, Robinavitch.”
Robby reaches out a hand to grip Jack’s forearm. “You can’t—”
Jack shakes him loose, jabbing a thumb into his own chest. “I can’t??”
“Over me? Jack, I’m not going to, but what the fuck do you mean you’d get your affairs in order—?”
“You know what I fucking mean, Mike!”
“And I’m the most important person in your life??”
Jack scoffs, finally giving in to that urge to laugh. But it’s a mean laugh, slicing him open. “I haven’t dated anyone for more than a couple nights since Leslie died, I spend every moment with you that you’ll allow when you don’t have anything better to do,” he breaks off, suddenly so frustrated he can barely breathe. “You cannot be this dumb, Robinavitch. We can keep playing no-homo but yeah you’re it.”
Everything stops. They stand in tableau - Robby staring at Jack as if he’s seeing him for the first time, Jack bracing for the blow. When none come, and Robby is still stock-still after long moments, Jack reiterates:
“You’re it. Whatever you want from me, that’s what I want.”
Robby swallows so hard it echoes around them. “I don’t deserve that.”
“Not up to you.” He bristles again. “I know you, Mike, and I love you. I want what I want. I love who I love. That’s not up to you.”
“Jack,” Robby advances again, and Jack manages to not flinch back. He’s rewarded with Robby’s big, capable hands settling on his body. One on his shoulder, the other, remarkably, on his face. “I didn’t know this was a possibility. I was thinking of giving it up - my life here, but not life. I just know I can’t keep doing this.”
Jack searches Robby’s eyes for the lie, for the shuttered look he gets when he’s skirting around the truth. He does that a lot, especially when it comes to his own well-being. But Jack finds nothing. Just a vulnerability he’s only seen once before - on the roof after Pittfest. That and a kind of tremulous, shy hope. Jack feels himself sag a bit, believing Robby that whatever's coming, it’s not what he’d feared. He closes his eyes and lets himself indulge in the feel of Robby cradling his head, puts more of his weight into those hands that have haunted his dreams.
“Whitaker talked to me and I thought…” he swallows around the tears that have both suddenly and finally welled up. “I couldn’t let you go, Mike, not like that.”
The air shifts around them and Jack opens his eyes just in time to see Robby’s eyes closer than they’ve ever been before Robby is kissing him, whisper-soft. He finally uncrosses his arms and lets his hands settle on Robby’s waist, his thumbs on Robby’s hipbones. Robby pulls back enough to say “okay?” and then Jack is reaching for his face and getting on his tiptoes to kiss Robby back.
It stays soft, exploratory, and Jack can feel joy bursting through his nerves. Robby thumbs his tears away and Jack smiles into the kiss. “Gotta be honest, I didn’t see this going this way, brother.”
“Not sure you can call me ‘brother’ anymore, Jack.” Robby mumbles it against his lips, and Jack tastes the contentment along with the stale coffee and nicotine on his breath.
“Sounds like a pet name challenge, Mike,” he nips at Robby’s bottom lip. “Can’t wait.”
Robby kisses him again, solid and real, before pulling Jack into an embrace that has Robby’s face tucked into Jack’s neck.
“I need to get out of here for awhile, Jack.” He says into Jack’s trapezius, making it tingle. “That’s still true.”
“I’m not trying to stop you.” He pulls Robby’s face back up, nuzzling their stubble together and letting it pulse a little thrill through him. “But maybe we talk while you’re gone? Figure out what it looks like when you’re ready to come back?”
Robby catches his mouth in another kiss, this one like a promise. “Okay.” He puts some space between them and looks down. “Can I stay here tonight? You should get off that leg and I need sleep.”
“We both do.” He kisses Robby again, just because he can. “We can talk more tomorrow. And I need to talk to my guy. It got dark tonight.”
“I’m sorry for that,” Robby holds Jack’s face again, his thumb brushing over Jack’s cheekbone. “I thought I needed to get away before we could,” he shakes his head, “I dunno, do this?”
“It’s been dark before,” Jack smiles again, runs his own thumb over the crest of Robby’s eyebrow. “But it’s brighter now.”
“For me too.” He looks heavenward and sighs, eternally put upon. “And I love you too, you know. The wanting you might be more recent but you’re what I want, too.” And Jack knows that’s not the end of it, that they’ll need to clarify and solidify many many things for this to work. But it’s more than enough for now.
They smile at each other, then Jack abruptly cracks up. “Oh god the betting pool! I wonder if Whitaker made a last-minute bet after he caught me today. Insider information and all.”
Robby looks bewildered. “Betting pool?”
Jack just laughs louder.
“Come to bed old man, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
Robby grumbles under his breath, mentioning that Jack isn’t that much younger than he is. But he follows Jack dutifully into the bedroom.
Jack stops briefly, making Robby bump into him. He gathers Robby’s arms around himself and lets himself luxuriate in the embrace. He reaches back to hold the back of Robby’s head and just breathes it into his bones. The certainty that although it’s going to be a fuckton of work, Robby will be okay.
They’ll be okay.
Maybe even better than okay.