in my head abbot has a service-dog-that’s-not-a-service-dog who followed jack home one night after he came back from serving, then completely accidentally trained himself to be a ptsd service dog by just picking up on his symptoms and trying to help.
now, robby loves dog, he really does, but he. will. not. leave. robby. alone.
he’s tried everything. pretending to be scared of him, putting strong smelling aftershave on, you name it, robby has done it.
and this is fine, until abbot has nobody to look after dog while he’s on a double, so he brings him to the hospital. the second they walk into the shift, dog sees robby and just latches on to him.
robby has to spend the rest of the shift conspicuously charting with dog sitting on his feet and drooling onto his lap, or doing cpr with dog leaning into his knees. every time he drops his hand dog is there, gently snuffing him. he can’t remember the last time he had to use this much hand sanitiser.
robby isn’t a fool. he knows what dog is doing, but god forbid he lets anyone else know this.
when robby goes home he takes dog with him (it’s not like he has a choice). abbot comes round a few hours later to collect him, and sees dog sprawled across robby’s chest, and robby pressed underneath him, glasses crooked on his nose, and actually sleeping for the first time in god knows how long.