summary: jack's talk with robby in the trauma bay right before he left on what was assumed to be his suicide mission, actually encouraged him to spend the night at jack's apartment. feelings ensue.
To say he had a long and grueling shift would be a massive understatement. To say he's spent every moment of that same shift that he wasn't working on a patient instead thinking of Robby and his active state of health would also be a massive understatement.
Yeah sure, they talked. They had a heart to heart in a place that was probably too public but Jack was too high strung at the time to pay attention to the setting, and everyone in the department seemed to get the memo to ignore it anyways. Regardless, he doesn't feel any better about the situation at hand than he did yesterday morning. Probably worse actually, given that he was living in ignorant bliss thinking Robby's sabbatical wasn't quite as bad as it truly is. Which he can admit is a failing of his cause it is totally unassumingly innocuous for that man, of all people, to go to a different country completely alone on what Jack likes to call his "deathtrap" for three months. Not at all unhealthy and will prove to have nothing but positive results.
...Right.
So now here he is. 7:15am on the dot, morning of July 5th, handing off to not Robby. No shitting on annoying patients, no dumb jokes, no check-ins that are covered up by teasing, just a very professional and quick hand off with Al-Hashimi. He should be grateful for it, but Robby's absence has already started whittling a hole in his chest that he never expected to be there. Again, a failing of his.
Before he leaves, bag in tow, him and Dana shoot each other a small smile. One that says a lot more between them than an average person would be able to decipher. "Are you okay?" "I'm okay." "I'm worried." "Me too." "Didn't sleep very well." "I probably won't be able to either."
He leaves through the ambulance bay doors and climbs into his truck. His bag gets plopped onto the passenger side seat, and he starts the vehicle for a ride home he probably won't even remember he made until he's in the parking lot of his apartment complex. The brain tends to drift like that. At least his does, especially on mornings like today.
When he pulls in between the two parallel white lines about a couple spots down from the front entrance of his building, he puts his truck in park and flops his whole body against the fabric of his seat. A sigh makes it's way out of his mouth, he cranes his neck back and forth to work out a kink that's been there since 2006, and he grabs his stuff.
Nothing is suspicious at first. The front desk secretary is typing something on her computer. The security guards are in the office next to her talking and drinking what is probably very bitter coffee. Everything is how it usually looks here. He even passes a neighbor on his way up and they do a polite, mutually tired nod of acknowledgement before trading spots on the elevator.
He reaches his floor, the 6th specifically, and drags his feet to the door of the apartment he's called home since about eight months after his wife died. They lived in a nice two bed, two bath home in uptown Pittsburgh, and Jack couldn't part with it for a long time. But then the bills got too much for his salary alone and he had to leave. He could go back there and probably still feel the metaphysical teeth marks and nail indents that he dragged along the walls when he finally conceded he needed to go.
Needless to say, he didn't do it gladly.
But this place is nice, honestly. The people around him are mostly pleasant and don't make too much of a disturbance given they're at their regular 9-5s when Jack comes home to rest. And he likes what he's got, it fits all his very minor needs.
He digs his key out and slides it into the locks. The moment the door swings open, the smell of freshly cooked food hits his senses, and he almost becomes worried he left his stove on. But that would not be a fresh smell after how long he's been out, and he didn't have time to cook anything anyways after he woke up from his post TEMS mission nap. So what the fuck is going on in his apartment?
He toes off his shoes and drops everything at the top of the shoe rack next to his front door, "Hello?"
Then around the corner comes a tall, lanky, bearded 54 year old man looking incredibly awkward and out of place. "Hey, I um-", he gestures vaguely behind him to the kitchen, "Made you breakfast to compensate for my being here."
Okay. Robby is not on the road. Or even sleeping the shift off at his own place before starting his trip today. He's at Jack's place for a reason he cannot find right now, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "No need to apologize man, you've been around plenty of times. Wouldn't have given you a key if I didn't want you here."
"Yeah, well..."
He doesn't think he's ever seen Robby so fidgety and just plain weird before. The man looks like he could throw up at just looking Jack in the eye. And given everything that's happened in the last 30 hours, he wouldn't completely put it past him. "What the hell did you find in my pantry that could smell that good."
"Oh, just some bacon, eggs and toast. I haven't finished the toast yet though, but the eggs have vegetables and cheese thrown in there, makes them better than just plain chicken guts."
Jack chuckles softly at that. There's something so relieving about witnessing Robby being able to be even remotely light about anything right now. "Thanks. Sounds like I'm in for a treat."
"Yeah, sure. It's nothing."
"Made enough for two?"
"No, I don't really have an appetite", he responds, the last part of his sentence waning off into something quiet and unsure.
Jack makes a noise of acknowledgement and follows Robby as he turns and makes his way back to his cooking station. He's still in such a state of loss and borderline shock that he's willing to give Robby the benefit of the doubt and push back the very serious conversation they need to have until he gets some food in his system.
But when he sits down at his small table, Robby is still kind of just...there.
"Sit. The table isn't going to bite you."
He does, and now there's just silence. And Jack quickly realizes that this conversation may just have to happen now. "So, what are you doing here."
Robby tenses. He knew this was coming. Probably been dreading it. "I- um, I gave Whitaker the code to my place, so I didn't want to go there last night just in case he was planning on stopping by. Didn't want it to be awkward for the kid."
Jack nearly chokes on his food. "You fucking did what? Why did you do that? I thought he was living with Santos, did she kick him out?"
"No, no. Just wanted someone to look after my place while I was gone."
"Brother, you could've asked me."
"Didn't want to bother."
"So instead you turned to your new resident who you haven't even known for a year? What's next, you put him in your will?"
"I told him he could have it if I didn't come back. Knock out two birds with one stone."
Oh. Oh Jack is going to be sick. Or he's going to do something he regrets that's going to leave something in his apartment broken. This food is suddenly not important anymore. "You have five seconds to tell me that you're joking before I throw this plate at your head."
Robby just continues to look away from him.
He laughs incredulously, he might as well be losing his mind. "Y'know. I have been scared all shift that you fucked off to some state up North and decided to just be done with life by the time I got home. But I tried to rationalize it. Tried to consider that you might actually decide to call or you might actually decide to go get some help. But no. You were dead fucking set on this for a while, weren't you? Just giving away your whole house and acting like that's okay and normal for someone to do?"
"Jack-"
"Robby, why the fuck are you here? Why the hell, after everything that's happened, you showed up and set up shop at my place?"
He's silent for a beat. "I can leave if that's what you want." There's a bite in the way he says it. Like he deserves to be angry as well.
"No, I don't want you to leave you asshole. I want you to help me understand what is going on. I need you to talk to me."
Robby looks down at his hands, fiddling with the dish towel he's been holding since he walked in. Jack gives him the time, he knows that the more he pushes, the more Robby will run. They've played this game before. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet, almost timid in nature. "I didn't want to ride with how exhausted I was. Also thought that maybe being here would be a good reminder of something worth coming back for."
And what do you say to that, Jack hardly knows. But he tries his best. "So, you slept here all night, and instead of leaving as soon as you got up, you waited for me and made me breakfast in the meantime."
"Yeah, I guess so."
They were both silent after that. The weight of whatever that meant sitting between them was like sludge threatening to suffocate. Two men who suck at feelings in their own separate, idiotic ways being faced with a lot more of those said feelings than they both can handle at 8am the day after one of them tried to stop the other from making a decision they can't come back from.
That decision seems to be on both of their minds. Especially Robby's, which usually is never a good thing. But in this situation, it shocks Jack. "I don't think I um- I don't think I want to die Jack. Not really."
"Good. I really don't fucking want you to." The words feel like vomit in his mouth, he couldn't stop them if he tried.
And Robby just nods. Typical of him to do after saying something that makes his heart stop.
The silence continues. Neither of them know where to go from here. Jack wants a shower and to go to bed, but he'd feel like shit leaving Robby to his own devices. He's not even sure if Robby will be here when he wakes up this afternoon.
He's not even sure what Robby really wants.
But he knows what he's been wanting since Robby brought up his stupid fucking sabbatical and bought that stupid fucking motorcycle. "Stay."
Robby's head whips his way, "What?"
"Stay. Stay in Pittsburgh. At the very least Pennsylvania. Stay at my place. Or jump from hotel to hotel. Or get your place back from Whitaker. Try new local diners. Get a hobby. Sleep. Take care of yourself. Binge some dumbass show from the 90s. Anything, man. Just don't go."
"...Why?"
"Why?", he scoffs, "Have I not already made that abundantly clear? I don't want you doing something stupid, I want you to learn to relax and do something that isn't work twenty four-fucking-seven."
Robby is still being stubborn in his way. The way that tells him that somebody couldn't possibly care that much. The way that tells him everybody wants him out. The way that tells him he's not worth the effort, the time, that he can't be helped, can't be changed, can't lean on anyone, can't be loved. And it grinds Jack's gears.
The complicated thing with the two of them, as if there aren't many complicated things, is that both of them feel far more about each other than you could fix in a box politely labeled "friends". But they don't do shit. Whether it's internalized homophobia, straight up denial, or the belief that the other couldn't possibly feel the same (whatever those said feelings are), they've kept it all to themselves respectfully.
But Jack is already halfway convinced that he'd kiss Robby if it'd make him believe him.
"I don't know Jack", he says as he picks up Jack's plate and goes to put it on the counter next to the sink. "I-."
"You don't have to know. But I know a lot of people would feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if you took the 3 months off here."
The sound he lets out sounds mocking, but the words come out in a whisper, like he's trying to make himself believe them. "Yeah, right."
Now Jack's one hundred percent convinced, because he's not even sure he's not going to lose Robby to his own head anyways, regardless of what he says.
He borderline stomps his way up to him, grabs him by his bearded cheeks and kisses him. Part of him panics as Robby just stands there, but then he lets out what he you could call a whimper, pushes Jack against the wall, and kisses him back like he'd collapse if he'd stop kissing him with everything he's got.
When they pull away, they're breathless and hands are in places they've never dared to hold so gently, so dearly, like this feeling matters beyond just ending up being casual.
It's a lot healthier to go for a daily walk than to sign up for a gym membership you won't be using because you hate that kind of exercise. It's a lot healthier to eat a frozen meal than to skip a meal because you were too tired to cook something healthy. It's a lot healthier to take a quick shower than to procrastinate an elaborate routine for days. Don't aim so high that you won't be hitting anything!
We live in a system that makes money off of your misery and ambivalence. It relies on people thinking that they are inherently bad for the planet and that the world is ending so why change? Why try? --This is untrue! We belong here, on this one beautiful green earth and we have to work together to protect it. You have the power to do more than you know. You have a role to play in your ecosystem!
The notion that humans are an invasive species is an ecofascist belief. We evolved just like every other animal, we are meant to be here just like they are. This is our home and we have a duty to care for it and change the environment for the better!
Every single person has the power to make a meaningful impact on the planet. I had the most fireflies in my town this summer simply because I have a large area where the grass is never cut.
Please do not give up because you think the planet is too far gone and it’s hopeless. It isn’t. Please fight.
Robby’s sabbatical isn’t as glamorous as he’d thought it would be.
He’s sore from hours on the bike. Achy and grumpy. Not sleeping well. Not eating well to the point that he’s craving a salad like crazy, but he keeps getting alerts about cyclosporasis and he’s not about to take that risk when he’s not reliably near indoor plumbing.
He did his damnedest to push everyone away before leaving, so that means he’s not getting many calls or texts and the loneliness starts to eat at him.
Except for one person (two people if you count Whitaker’s plant updates, but Robby hasn’t been able to bring himself to answer those texts). One Jack Abbot.
Robby had said he didn’t have a best friend on more than one occasion. And he stood by that assertion, maintained that it was true, even to Jack’s face. Because Jack was so much more than a best friend, best friend didn’t even begin to describe what Jack was to Robby.
And every day, Jack sent at least one text. Sometimes it was early in the morning after a sleepless night that Robby’s phone would ping. Sometimes in the middle of the night when Robby was muffling snotty, sobbing gasps in a pillow that smelled either too clean or not clean enough. Sometimes in the middle of the day when he was riding or stopped off to get food or gas.
And Robby read each text over and over. Read them until he could see the words on his closed eyelids. He didn’t answer, not yet, but the texts were there. They were a tether for his spiraling thoughts.
Something he could rely on as he went further northwest. Chasing something he couldn’t see.
He crossed the border with little fanfare and found a campground to spend the night. As he got settled in a rented tent, he was hit with a thought that made him ache. He wanted to go home.
Not home to the apartment that had been more and more devoid of life with each bag of trash he dragged to the curb. Home to Jack. To Jack’s apartment that was stocked with his favorite beard oil and beers. That had the book he’d been reading last on the coffee table. Had the mug he’d been using for the better part of a decade after a medical student gifted it to him, tucked in the cabinet next to Jack’s.
To Jack.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his hand and he squinted at the message.
‘Hope the trip is everything you’d dreamed of.’
‘It sucks. Think anyone would notice if I bailed early and came home?’
‘A certain R1 would notice. I’d notice. Everyone else? Depends on how good you are at hiding.’
Robby tried to bite back a smile and rolled onto his side, trying in vain to get comfortable.
‘I know somewhere I could hide that they wouldn’t look. Unless someone were to tell everyone…’
‘I think he could keep his mouth shut if you come home in one piece. Wouldn’t even tease you that much, probably.’
‘Do you mean it?’
‘Come home, Mike. Please?’
Blinking back tears, Robby typed with shaking thumbs.
‘I don’t want to be on the road anymore. I’m turning around in the morning.’
‘Atta boy. When can I expect you?’
Robby blew out a slow breath and changed the location on his phone maps app.
‘It’ll be a few days. Think you can wait that long?’
‘Brother, I’m on the edge of my seat already. But I’ll hold out a little longer. Come home.’
Robby swallowed thickly and tried again to get comfortable. Fuck the road trip. He needed to go home. He was starting to realize that maybe, home was a person. His person.
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