Hello, you can call me Sig I'm an agender void that doesn't care what I am perceived as so any pronouns are fine I don't mind
The Pitt is my current hyperfixation and it is the most I've hyperfixated on something in a long while hence me feeling the need to make this blog lmao
Rabbot is my current lifeblood they are very important to me I will more than likely post my occasional musings about them on here (I might post some other ships I have a passing interest in but mostly expect the two old men that run that godforsaken ED lmao)
If you do not like Michael Rabinovitch please DO NOT interact with me Robby is a very important character to me and I relate to him heavily I do not play about that man lmao Also fair warning that this blog will be 18+ so the occasional NSFW post/RT (If I find out you are under 18 you will be blocked)
(The lovely art in my header was a commission from @/natendo-art)
med school rabbot drinking and flirting leads to play fighting which leads to robby layed out on the floor and jack doing pushups over him.
robby can’t find a spot to settle his eyes, jacks neck tensed with effort, the two drops of sweat heading towards his collarbone, his thick biceps caging in his head. robby is in sweaty man heaven.
now from here we either get robby goading him, “Brother you didn’t even go all the way up on that one,” “cmonnnn jackie you aren’t getting tired yet are you? use those muscles, what else are they good for?”
or jack torturing robby, inching himself lower and lower until he’s hovering just above robby’s face, “no words now eh pretty boy? bit of muscle in your face and you are belly up.” “should have expected it from you”
Robby really wasn't expecting to wake up one morning to find Jack Fucking Abbot doing nude yoga in his backyard.
He'd moved to the area a few short years ago after finally selling his Bubbe's house. It wasn't an easy decision, but the house was too big for just him, and with his tenure being renewed he figured spending money on a new place wasn't a bad idea.
It's not a large neighborhood. He'd lived in Squirrel Hill his whole life (except those years in New Orleans and MSF), so being in an area with more trees than people was nice.
His next door neighbor shares his yard, but there's enough space for it to feel like he has some real privacy.
It's a nice place.
He even considers inviting some of his colleagues over for a barbeque. Maybe get to know some of his residents.
Maybe even the newest attending, Jack Abbot — the guy is a bit of a mystery. A hot, dreamy mystery that Robby feels guilty thinking about when he remembers the wedding ring on his left hand.
He keeps the barbeque idea in his mind as he settles into his new home. Buys new furniture, paints the walls, spends his rare free time deciding between building a deck or keeping the low patio.
It's this decision that has him sitting in his back yard, a coffee in hand, phone held up to his face as he watches YouTube videos of backyard setups.
It's early, too early, but his internal alarm goes off every day at six am whether he wants it to or not. The sun is rising, breaking over the tree line. It's cool enough that he kept a blanket around his shoulders.
He's so focused on what the handyman in the video is doing with his weatherproofing that he doesn't notice his neighbor joining him outside.
The handyman is attractive, greying hair, stubbled jaw, his shirt damp with sweat and sticking to his well-muscled chest. He's good with his hands, voice steady as he explains what brands of primer he uses.
The video ends with the handyman winking at the camera, reminding people to like and subscribe.
Robby is about to click the next video, thumbnail of the same man holding up potted plants, when he sees movement in the corner of his eye.
He blinks up, squinting against the sun, trying to focus and—
"What the fuck." He gasps, then slaps a hand over his mouth.
Across the yard, arms stretching towards the sky, head tilted back with his eyes closed, is none other than Jack Abbot.
He's twisting his torso, spreading his arms out before pulling them back in. A tinny voice can be heard guiding him through yoga poses.
His curls, auburn and greying, catch the light, pale skin lit up showing off a spanning canvas of freckles.
Freckles that cover Every. Single. Inch.
And Robby knows this because Jack is bare fucking naked.
He knows he's staring, his tongue dry as his mouth hangs open, fingers numb where they grip his phone.
Jack bends forward, keeping his flesh and blood foot planted as he lifts his amputated leg in the air.
He twists and turns his torso before lowering himself onto his mat. Robby watches him, his blanket curling tighter over his shoulders. His body is on fire, shame like flames on the sides of his face. He should 100% go inside, stop staring at his coworker doing naked yoga.
Maybe stick his head in his microwave.
Instead he keeps watching. Jack has an unfair level of control over his body. He moves fluidly, holding himself in complex positions.
He incorporates a few exercise movements, his muscles flexing in a tantalizing manner.
He's soft through it all, hanging out in the open. Robby would probably be embarrassed to have his dick flopping around like that, but Jack seems to accept it with grace.
The video he's watching must come to an end, because suddenly he's grabbing a pair of crutches and standing up straight.
Robby has a single moment of panic when Jack turns in his direction before he tugs his blanket over his face and takes off inside.
Coffee cup and phone left on his cheap plastic recliner.
Did Jack see him?
Did he know Robby lived next door?
Should Robby say something?
Oy vey, how is he going to look him in the eye after this?
Luckily, Robby doesn't have to think about it for a few days. Their schedules never align, patients keeping them apart when they do overlap.
It's not until two weeks after the incident that he's confronted with it.
Robby is home, reading a book in his living room, his second beer sitting half drunk on his coffee table.
He's deep in his story when someone knocks on his door. He thinks about ignoring it, but maybe it's something important, or a delivery brought to the wrong house.
He flips his porch light on, peeking through his window, but all he can see is an elbow and the line of the person's back.
With a sigh he opens the door, "I'm sorry, you might— Abbot?"
Is he drunk?
Jack smiles at him, shifting awkwardly, "Uh, hey. Did you know we're neighbors?"
Robby just stares at him.
Jack licks his lips, "Right, well, I saw your Jeep the other day and thought it looked familiar. When I noticed it after work I figured I'd come say hi. Ask if you'd wanna watch the game with me?"
Robby blinks, "Game?"
Jack tilts his head, "Pens? Do you watch—"
"Oh," Robby rubs his neck, "right, uh, yeah, sure. Come in."
Jack does, shoulder brushing past him. Robby's stomach is at his feet.
"I have some beer, uh, I haven't gone grocery shopping but maybe we could order—" he stops.
Jack's standing behind his couch, his fingers rubbing the blanket thrown over the back.
It's the same blanket Robby hid behind the other day.
He might die. Right here. Stress-induced aneurism.
"—a pizza."
"Actually." Jack spins around to face him, "I'm not really here to watch the game."
His death certificate will say Cause of Death: Acute mortification that led to myocardial rupture.
"Uh—"
Jack clears his throat, "I'm not wrong — you saw me doing yoga the other day?"
Profound vasovagal syncope with secondary cerebral ischemia.
"Yeah."
Jack slowly nods, "I wanna apologize—"
Robby flounders, throwing his hands up, "No, don't — I didn't — I didn't really see anything, I swear."
The look Jack gives him tells him he doesn't believe that at all.
Robby groans, pinching his brow, "It's okay. Seriously." He tries to laugh but it comes out a little unstable, "Your wife is a lucky woman."
Jack frowns.
What the fuck is wrong with him? Robby squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to bang his head against the wall. He just admitted he definitely saw more than he claimed, and he just complimented him.
They'll label his case a sudden onset of stupidity.
"I'm a widower."
Robby had the flu a few years back, he'd barely been able to get out of bed. He'd spent three whole days watching YouTube and sleeping. In that time he learned all about sinkholes.
Now would be the perfect time for one to open up and swallow him whole.
"I am so sorry. I didn't mean—"
Jack stops him, "It's okay. I'll take the compliment for her." His eyes shine, mouth quirking into a smirk.
jack telling robby that his therapist said they’re codependent & robby immediately goes sad puppy eyes & says “do you need some space? am i too much?” jack just rolls his eyes & pulls robby into his arms & grumbles “i never said that’s a bad thing”
(Thank you to @actually-a-menace and @queer-reader-07 for feeding my brain worms this morning <3 )
After thirty two years of grueling work in the Pitt, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch retired from his position as the Chief of Emergency Medicine. His last day at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was a simple affair; he'd been adamant that no party be thrown and no grand gestures be made. The compromise was a tray of homemade cupcakes that Nurse Emma brought in and a round of drinks at the bar down the street.
Of course, Robby couldn't retire completely. When fall came, he found himself at the front of a lecture hall at the University of Pittsburgh teaching electives on the “Lasting Effects of the COVID-19 Pandemic in Healthcare” and “Trauma Responses in Emergency Medicine Workers”. Teaching scratched the itch he had to still be productive while also settling down out of the fast-paced environment of the ED. He cherished the opportunity to pass down his skills and knowledge to the next generation of doctors; to help them not make the same mistakes that he had made. He brought in help whenever he could: his husband came in to talk about combat medicine, Dana popped by to discuss violence in the workplace, and he had even managed to rope Whitaker into a video lecture on rural medicine. His classes always got great reviews, students citing engaging lectures, useful anecdotes, and interesting guest speakers.
Dr. Jack Abbot, being two years Robby’s junior and still somehow full of energy, continued in the ED for three years after Robby’s retirement. He switched to day shift, citing that he wanted to be able to spend more time with his husband - definitely not the fact that he was in his sixties and his body couldn't handle the night shift like it used to. After the initial adjustment of switching to day shift, Jack couldn't deny the rejuvenating effect of being able to wake up and go to bed next to Robby every night.
When the day came for both doctors to retire fully, their lives shifted in different ways.
Robby couldn't stay out of the hospital - something that both his therapist and Jack ragged on him about constantly. He spent his free time up in the OB, volunteering in the NICU cuddling preemies whose parents couldn't for whatever reason. Which also led him to learning how to quilt, his and Jack’s office slowly turning into a craft room as Robby putted away making baby blankets.
Jack also took up volunteering. He volunteered at the local animal shelter and the VA. His official role at the animal shelter was “Kitten Cuddler”; he helped socialize the kittens and get them used to human touch and interaction. It also wasn't unusual for shelter staff to find Jack in the back yard with a dog or two, throwing a tennis ball from his wheelchair while the dogs chased after it. At the VA, he advocated for disabled veterans and ran a support group for newly disabled vets as well as one for grieving widows and widowers.
Their nights were slow and warm. More often than not they'd have a vinyl on the record player, music playing softly through the house as Robby cooked dinner with Jack in the living room with their cat, a foster fail named Pericardiocentesis (aka: Perry, Cardi, Cardi P, Sissy, and a million other things Jack called her that weren’t her name) laying curled up in his lap. When dinner was over and the two of them had tag-teamed the dishes, Robby would whisk Jack into the kitchen for one last dance, wheeling and spinning Jack around in his wheelchair to the music.
Most every night they fall asleep together. It's of no use to them to languish about time gone by; when they're in each other's arms, the here and now takes precedent. Neither man had known what the future had in store for them, but it turns out that it would be fine in the end after all.
