anyways. michael robinavitch you are the main character of this story and we're going to watch you get healthy and address your demons and you're going to see brighter days and be loved by people because you are so loved by those characters and we're going to see the robby we've yet to meet.
grief overwhelming jack (proper going crazy, devastating movie scene kinda thing) and robby going to him and comforting him?
You’re prompt was very hurt/comfort and I’m sorry anon but I kinda flopped on the “comfort” part 😖
Robby is welcomed home by pitch black darkness and distant rustling coming from his and Jack’s bedroom.
“Jack?” He calls. “Everything good?”
He flicks a light on. Nothing looks out of place, but the air is uneasy.
“Jack,” he shouts again. “You good babe?”
He creeps further into the house. A shallow warm light streams from under the shut door of their room. He pushes the door open; inside, Jack is shoving clothes into a suitcase, another sits already packed at the end of the bed.
“What are you doing?”
Jack’s neck snaps toward him then away in an instant, as if looking at Robby burns. “Leaving.”
“Did something happen?” Robby asks. Is your sister okay?”
“She’s fine.” Jack scurries over to the closet and pulls out the last of his clothing. “I just need to get out.”
Robby sighs, tucking his chin against his chest. He knew he shouldn’t have gone to work. It was stupid of him to trust Jack when he said he’d be alright on his own today. “I know her birthday is hard—“
“Every day is hard,” Jack bites. He still won’t look at Robby.
“Have you spoken to your therapist today?”
“Busy.”
“You or her?”
“Fuck off.”
Robby jaw clicks. Okay. “Where are you going?”
“Hotel.”
“For how long?”
“Don’t know. Forever.”
“You’re going to live in a hotel forever? That’s the plan?”
“I don’t have a fucking plan,” Jack shouts. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know what’s going on. But I know I’ve fucked this up.”
“Fucked what up?”
“My life! I should be dead. I should’ve been driving, it should’ve been be me that got hit. I should have bled out in Afghanistan. But instead I’m what? Working at this broke ass hospital that doesn’t give a shit about us?Married to you? I can’t believe I did that to her. I never even see you, it’s not even worth it.” He slams the suitcase shut.
A threateningly eerie silence overwhelms the room.
Robby takes the hit like a bullet. A bullet might be easier; he’d joke about it with Jack if the air wasn’t so so thick that it’s clogging his throat. It only dissolves when Jack’s chin wobbles guiltily.
“You’re going to regret that in the morning,” Robby whispers.
“I regret it now.” Jack’s voice is weak and wet. He hide his face in the half folded shirt in his grip and muffles his pitiful sobs.
Robby takes a deep breath, and slowly approaches. A gentle hand lands between Jack’s shoulders, that’s all it takes for Jack to collapse into his arms. He massages small circles on his back as Jack cries, once his tears subside and the sobs turn to hiccups, Robby speaks.
“Do you still want to leave?”
Jack shakes his head, then halts. “I feel like I should.”
“I don’t want you to, if it makes a difference.”
Jack tears start back up again. He chokes apologies into Robby’s shoulder.
“It’s fine,” Robby says.
“It’s not fine.” A harsh sniff echoes through the room. “I can’t believe I said that. I’m a terrible husband.”
“You’re not.”
“I am,” Jack insists. He leans back, his bright red face in full view. One trembling hand cups Robby’s jaw. “I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t mean what I said.”
Robby bites his tongue. He has a strong sense of intuition telling him that Jack did mean it, but usually has the good sense to keep it to himself or at least weigh the pros and cons. But there’s no reason to argue now, it wouldn’t do anything except upset Jack more, and Robby has accepted his place in Jack’s life as the rebound gone too far. He’s just too selfish to let him go.
“Let’s start on the couch,” Robby offers. “Have some dinner, watch TV, then we can see about bed.”
Jack gives a shaky nod and latches himself around Robby again. Robby pulls him in tighter.
Something I wrote to decompress... it's about Dennis working with a patient who's in the late stages of Alzheimer's disease, and he takes it pretty hard.
It's probably sad, so fair warning. It also may or may not take a couple thousand words to get to the Hucklerabbot of it all. Explanations for medical abbreviations at the end! You can also read here on Ao3.
(Rabbot call dennis "mouse" in this, but I'm not sure who to credit as originally coming up with it. Definitely not me, though!)
"Hey," Dennis sent the patient laying in South 13's bed a warm smile. "Can you tell me your name?"
When Dennis spoke, the patient looked in his direction, but said nothing. Her gaze fixated somewhere beyond his shoulder. Her eyes were glassy, and her pupils were clouded by cataracts. She repeated the same clenching and unclenching motion of her right hand over and over again.
A younger woman in sweatpants and a t-shirt sat off to the side and spoke up a little louder, "Mom. Mom! Tell him your name." Nothing. "Mom, what's your name?" No response.
Dennis in fact knew her name: Mrs. Bernice R Phillips, 64 years old. Early-onset Alzheimer's disease. She already had a chart at PTMC stretching back almost a decade--she was discharged just two weeks ago, in fact. That time, just like today, she had fallen trying to get out of bed by herself. Her daughter, Annie, didn't know how long she had been laying on the floor before she found her at 4am.
"Mom," Annie laid her hand on her shoulder firmly.
"You know what, Annie? It's okay, don't worry about it. Maybe can you tell me again what's different about her today?" Dennis pulls out his notebook and pen to jot down details.
"Well," she glanced at her mother's blank face and then back to Dennis. "See, usually, she'll help me when I'm getting her dressed in the morning. Like I'll say '1, 2, 3,' and then she'll help me stand her up."
"And she didn't today?"
"No, she didn't. She just sat there, kind of like this. I could barely get her in the car by myself. I wasn't sure if I should bring her in at first, because she seems to fall all the time now, but when she didn't eat breakfast, I knew something was off."
"Okay. Did she complain of pain anywhere?"
"No, but, well... She doesn't really talk much. Sometimes she'll sing when there's music playing, but she only talks occasionally. She usually will say her name, though." Dennis nodded along.
"Got it. And when was she first diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease?"
"It's been... She was fifty-eight... so it was...gosh, it's been 6 years, already."
"Okay, thank you for answering all my questions. I'm going to do a quick exam if that's okay, and we've already ordered a CT of her head. That's a bunch of pictures that will help us check on her brain."
Dennis ran through the motions of the physical exam, getting stuck at a few points when Mrs. Phillips just looked at him with that blank stare. He tried to test her strength and reflexes but couldn't get her to relax her arms from their flexed posture close to her chest.
"Okay," Dennis sighed, mostly to himself. There was very little he could assess with Mrs. Phillips this unresponsive. She was clearly awake, but it was impossible to tell how much of this stupor was the dementia and how much of it was new, maybe caused by the fall.
He took another glance at Mrs. Phillips laying in the bed. She was leaned to her left side, eyes staring forward. She hadn't yet been changed into a hospital gown, and Dennis could see each little hint that someone loved her. She was dressed in a blue blouse and matching button-down sweater. Her hair was covered with a colorful headscarf, and there was no lingering scent of urine that often accompanied elderly patients who came from nursing homes.
Annie must have seen him looking. "She wasn't always this sick," she said. "At first it was just little things. Forgetting something at the store or losing the car keys. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten until we took her to the doctor, and she didn't even know what year it was." She barks a laugh that's near-hysterical.
"I thought the hardest part was going to be when she forgot who I was... but somehow there's always something harder down the line that seems to be waiting for us." She adjusted Mrs. Phillips' headscarf, and Dennis could see the shiny reflection in Annie's eyes of tears threatening to fall.
"She's very lucky to have you taking care of her." Dennis left the room with a forced smile to Annie and returned to the hub.
Soon Robby exited from a different patient room and parked himself at the designated attending's computer on the other side of the desk area--far away from where Dennis sat as the intern.
Dennis collected his scribbled notes and slid over to stand beside Robby's monitor. The shift had just started about an hour ago, so he didn't look too harried yet. His eyes were scanning the screen in front of him, and he was wearing his round tortoiseshell glasses (that he would have left sitting on the counter this morning next to the coffee pot if Dennis hadn't grabbed them for him at the last minute). His hair was always a little unkempt, but it was mostly laying flat--no signs of him tugging on it like he did when stressed.
When Robby's eyes flicked over to Dennis and it registered that it was him standing there (instead of one of the other overeager med students or interns), one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile.
"Dr. Whitaker," Robby said, and he sat up a little straighter. "What do you got for me?" His smile grew a little bit, as if he couldn't keep it in check.
"South 13, if now's a good time to hear about her." Dennis felt a little warm at how fond Robby looked and sounded when he spoke to him, even though the content his words stayed strictly professional.
"Now's a good time." He leaned back in his rolling chair and adjusted his glasses where they sat on his nose as he gave his attention to Dennis.
"Mrs. Bernice R Phillips is a 64 year-old woman with past medical history of HTN, HLD, Type 2 DM, and early-onset Alzheimer's disease, near non-verbal at baseline, who presents three hours after an unwitnessed fall out of bed to the floor. She was discharged from PTMC about a week ago for a similar fall. Unknown LOC, unknown head strike." Dennis took a breath. It was hard not to get distracted by the attractive, intense look Robby got when he was focused on new information.
Dennis continued. "Her daughter, Annie, brought her in this morning when she was less responsive than usual. She wasn't helping with standing up or dressing like she usually does, and she didn't eat breakfast. She is not on any blood thinners, but takes a baby aspirin." Robby nodded once, like he was pleased with that detail. "On exam, she is afebrile. A little tachycardic to 103. Hypertensive to 152/95, satting 97% on room air. She's awake but not responding to commands. A&O times zero. Pupils equal and reactive. Spontaneously moves right arm and withdraws to nox stim in all 4 extremities. Exam overall limited by her mental status, but basically non-focal."
Robby nodded again, and Dennis couldn't tell if this was a good sign, or if it meant Dennis was taking too long and should hurry it up.
"Biggest concern is ruling out a head bleed because of the fall and altered mental status," Dennis continued. "CT noncon is already ordered. I'm also thinking a CBC, BMP, UA to start with for a general toxic metabolic workup..."
Robby smiled at him again and rubbed his palms together, as he did so often when thinking. "Sounds like a good plan. Let's also run coags, and I'll go see her. For these patients who can't really give a good history, it's important to palpate all of her extremities, shoulders, hips, to see if there's any tenderness. We don't want to miss a broken bone or a dislocated hip that she can't tell us about."
Dennis nodded, dropping his gaze to the floor. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks. Of course, he should have done that. Dennis had always wanted to do well in front of Robby and Jack--to impress them--ever since he rotated through the Pitt as a student, but there was another level to it now that they were all dating. He wanted to be competent, deserving of their attention.
Robby picked up his stethoscope and slung it around his neck. "Oh, and do we know goals of care for her?"
Dennis shrugged. "Her chart says full code."
"Oh-kay. Go ahead and page overhead for that CT, I don't want her to wait much longer. I'll confirm code status while I'm in there." With that, Robby swept past Dennis, letting one hand rest on his shoulder and linger there for a moment before moving on.
As Robby walked away, his stride was comfortable, confident, like he knew he belonged. This was his emergency department. It was moments like this when Dennis couldn't tell if he wanted to marry Robby or be him. Or both.
---
As far as shifts in the Pitt went, it wasn't too busy. Just enough to keep Dennis moving near-constantly, but not so busy that he was ready to pull his hair out.
Throughout the day, though, his thoughts kept returning to Mrs. Phillips. After Robby talked to Annie, she signed a DNI/DNR for her mother. When Robby updated him about it, Dennis almost wanted to argue, but she's only 64! She could have decades left!
But she didn't really have that time left, not like other 64-year-olds did. By the luck of the draw (or possibly, the luck of the gene pool), her mind was one of the few that started wasting away decades before her body would have.
Dennis couldn't help but think about who Mrs. Phillips was before she became the shadow of a person that he saw in front of him. Was she a lawyer? An author? A chef? Did she realize when something started to go wrong in her mind? Did she get to retire, or was she forced to stop working when her memory failed? Was she funny, or more serious? Did she love to read, or did movies make her cry? Did she have someone she dreamed of growing old with?
In the afternoon, Kiara had been summoned to talk to Annie. Annie worked full time and couldn't stay awake all night to make sure her mother stayed in bed. But this was the second time this had happened in 3 weeks. She was an only child, and Mrs. Phillips' husband had divorced her long ago. There was no one else in the family to help take care of her, which meant the discussion would likely turn towards a skilled nursing facility: a nursing home.
Dennis was checking in on Mrs. Phillips when Annie broke down.
"I hate that I can't take care of her," she had sobbed to Kiara. "But I can't do this by myself."
---
By the time Dennis signed off his patients to the oncoming intern and wrapped up his charting, Robby was waiting for him in the locker room.
He leaned on the locker next to Dennis's and blushed as Dennis stripped out of his scrubs and tugged on his street clothes. He blushed, but didn't look away.
"Okay kid, ready to blow this popsicle stand?" Robby grinned, and he tugged on Dennis's hoodie strings once he'd finished dressing.
Dennis couldn't help but snort at that, and he nodded tiredly. "Let's go, old man."
Robby pulled him close with one arm around his shoulders as they headed towards the door, and he kissed the top of Dennis's curls. Robby took a deep breath before dropping his arm and distancing himself once more so that they could walk out into the public eye.
One day... Dennis thought to himself. One day, he'll hold my hand for everyone to see.
---
Jack was cooking dinner when they got home, and the savory smell that greeted at them at the door made Dennis's stomach growl so loudly that Robby huffed out a laugh and teasingly reached out to pat his belly.
Dennis went through his post-work routine parallel to Robby. They each gave Jack a quick kiss on the cheek (he refused to be distracted from the stove) before trekking up the stairs. They showered, washed their face, and changed clothes. Dennis took out his contacts, and Robby threw a load of laundry into the washer.
Routine is important, Jack would tell them. It's a way to separate work from home so the two don't start bleeding together.
Usually, the routine worked pretty well for Dennis. He could never completely stop thinking about work (with near-constant emails and texts reminding him of the many demands of residency), but it made it easier to exhale at the end of a long day.
Today though, Mrs. Phillips lingered. Her blank stare, Annie's cries, the thought that she's just 64. Everything swirled in Dennis's mind, even as he tried to wash it all away.
It all came pouring out of him shortly after the three of them sat down to eat. Jack and Robby were bantering as usual, giving each other a hard time about one thing or another. Dennis tuned back in when Jack cursed.
“Fuck, what was her name again?” He laughed lightly at himself, and Robby raised his eyebrows. “You know… I can’t believe I forgot her name… She went to Oregon or Seattle or somewhere?”
“Heather Collins?”
Jack snapped his fingers and pointed his finger. “Collins! Yes, her!”
“Collins graduated less than a year ago, but you already forgot her. And you call me the old man…” Robby chuckled.
Suddenly, Dennis’s heart was beating out of his chest. His mouth was dry. “It’s not funny.” Dennis croaked.
The smiles on their faces froze and melted quickly away when they saw the panicked look in Dennis’s eyes.
“Mouse?” Robby used the same cautious tone of voice he did for the more emotionally volatile patients, and Dennis hated it just a little.
“I’m serious, it’s not funny.” He turned to Jack. “How long have you been having memory problems?”
“Whoa, slow your roll, Den. I forgot a name, I’m not having memory problems.”
“You don’t know that!” Dennis snapped. His spoon rattled against the edge of his bowl as his hand shook. “It can be subtle at the beginning—especially for someone as smart as you. Did you tell your doctor about this?”
Jack and Robby glanced at each other, and this irritated Dennis even more.
“No, stop looking at each other like that—l-l-like I’m being unreasonable.” Dennis let go of his spoon to wrap his arms around himself.
All he could think of was early-onset and diagnosed when she was 58 and I can't do this by myself!
He saw Jack’s life flashing in front of his eyes. It would start with names, but then he’d be forgetting places. Anatomy. Medication names. He’d have to stop working, and he hated not working. He’d get lost when he went to the mailbox or he’d spill boiling water on himself because he couldn’t remember it was hot.
Dennis or Robby would have to stay by his side constantly, lest he get lost and think he was back in the fucking desert fighting for his life. He eventually wouldn’t remember why his leg was missing and they’d have to explain. He’d probably start asking for Danielle, and they’d have to break the news to him over and over and over that your wife is not here because she’s dead.
He’d remember Robby longer than he’d remember Dennis. They’d known each other for decades, after all. He might start to think that Dennis was a stranger or an intruder. He might not want to see him because he wouldn’t recognize Dennis as his mouse, as his love, as “the best damn thing that’s happened to me in a while, kid”.
One moment, Dennis was sitting at the table and the next he was hunched over the sink, retching loudly and bringing up the little dinner he had eaten so far.
He felt one hand rubbing his back and another swiping his curls away from his clammy forehead.
“Oh, mouse.” He heard Jack breathe out at his left side, and he tried to focus on breathing in and out. In and out.
The hand on his forehead disappeared after a couple of minutes, and Robby returned quickly with a glass of cool water. Dennis took it and when the nauseous feeling lightened up, rinsed his mouth.
“Sorry,” Dennis whispered, voice trembling.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Robby’s voice was soft and steady.
Dennis turned into Jack’s arms and heaved a huge sob into his chest. He cried harder than he’d cried in a long time. He cried for Mrs. Phillips and for Annie and for all of the worry that’d been trapped inside him.
Jack’s arms stayed wound tightly around him, and when the tears began to ebb, he felt Robby’s fingers combing through his hair.
Dennis turned his face to the side where he was pressed up against Jack’s sturdy chest so that he could speak.
“We had a patient today,” he began. “64, early onset Alzheimer’s.” His lip started to wobble again. “She was so far gone already.”
He had to sniff hard and blink tears away for a few seconds before he could go on.
“She was diagnosed when she was 58, and… and all I could think for the whole day was, that could be Robby. That could be Jack.”
Jack kissed the top of his head as another wave of tears swept him away. Robby stepped closer, enveloping both of them into his arms, and leaving Dennis surrounded by love and love and love.
They let him cry.
“The world is not a fair place,” Jack said slowly. Dennis, with his ear pressed up against his chest, could feel the deep, comforting rumble of his voice. “And I would…” He cleared his throat. “And mouse, I would do anything to protect you from it all.”
The ‘but I can’t,’ went unsaid. They knew that they couldn’t promise Dennis anything. Hell, they knew better than most that tomorrow was never guaranteed. They’d seen beautiful futures snatched away time and time again in the emergency room.
Robby leaned down to press a close-mouthed kiss to the side of Dennis’s neck. It was wet and salty with tears.
“We’re here right now, Den,” Robby whispered. “We’re here right now and we love you. You’re not alone.”
We love you.
We love you.
We love you.
---
"If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever."
“Hey, Jack.” Robby coughs. He didn’t plan what he would say if he didn’t answer; didn’t even plan what he’d say if he did. “I, uh, I don’t know. I’m at… I don’t know. Some place in upstate New York.” He kicks at the ground. Loose dirt tumbles over the edge of the cliff. “Nice views. Mountains and whatever.”
He sighs. “I’m fucking exhausted. Don’t feel like you need to call me back or anything. Can’t guarantee I’ll answer. Anyway, um, bye.”
Robby ends the call with a groan and kneads the kink in his neck. Though he loathes to admit it, everyone was right; starting his ride after a long shift was a bad idea. His bike is parked outside a last-minute room he booked at some shoddy motel with an unsuspectingly good view. Though maybe this is what it’s like outside of a city. Without traffic and apartments to block the horizon, the world grows.
Robby crawls under the scratchy covers of the motel bed and lets the day catch up to him. Within seconds, he falls into a dreamless sleep.
He wakes hours later when the sun is high in the sky, streaming yellow beams into his room. His body aches from the lumpy mattress, and humid air is winning the fight against the crappy air conditioning. The thought of sitting on a leather seat that’s been baking in the sun all morning and riding in a thick jacket is wildly unappealing. Not even a full day in, and he’s already regretting this trip.
He gets dressed and heads outside. Next to his bike is a familiar black truck. Strange.
Muffled shouting breaks through the walls of the main building as Robby approaches to return his key. A deep frown etches itself on his face; that voice can’t belong to whom he thinks it does.
“Please! Please! Ma’am,” the voice says. “I’m not some creep, or a crazy person, but I really, really need to know. If you could please—“
“Sir,” the receptionist says calmly. “I’ve already told you; I can’t give out guest information.”
“You don’t have to tell me the room. Just tell me if he checked in here. I know that’s his bike outside—“
Robby is close enough now to see through the window; he’d know that stance anywhere. “Jack?”
Jack whips around just as Robby steps through the door. Quick as lightning, he latches his arms around Robby’s shoulders. “Fuck, Mike. Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me.”
“I— what’re you doing here?”
“You left me that fucking voicemail. I thought…” he shakes his head, and hides himself in Robby’s neck.
Robby tentatively wraps his arms around Jack’s middle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the receptionist take the opportunity to leave. “You drove all this way because of a voicemail?”
“Was barely six hours,” Jack mutters. His lips brush against Robby’s skin.
Robby checks his watch. 10:30am. “You only got off work three hours ago?”
Jack takes a step back, but keeps a firm hand on the back of Robby’s neck to balance himself. “Shen said he was good on his own, so I left early.”
“Why?”
“I called you back, and you didn’t answer.” Jack’s chin wobbles.
“I was asleep,” Robby laughs shallowly. “It’d been a long day.”
“You said you wouldn’t answer.” The wrinkles around Jack’s eyes contort with the scrunch of his nose as he holds back tears. “I couldn’t risk it.”
“I just meant because I might be on the road.”
“Don’t,” Jack says sharply, “act like I’m overreacting. You know why I was scared.”
Robby’s shoulders slump. “You must be tired. I still have a room.”
Jack nods. “Then we’ll go home.”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
Robby considers the dread that filled him at the thought of riding further out this morning. “Yeah. Really.”
Jack nods, eyes locked on Robby’s like he’s looking for the rug that could be pulled from under him. When he decides to trust the answer he’s been given, he wraps an arm over Robby’s shoulders and leans his weight on him.
“Leg bothering you?”
“I’ve had a long day too.”
“Don’t doubt it.” He happily takes Jack’s bulk and guides him back toward the room. “How’d you find me?”
“I’ll always find you.”
A laugh breaks through him. “How romantic.”
“I have my moments.” For the first time all morning, Jack smiles. “And I hid an AirTag on your bike.”
Robby sucks in a breath and digs his fingers deeper into Jack’s waist. “I’m going to let that slide for now.”
dennis starting to fall asleep between jack and robby, fiddling with jack’s fingers, spinning the wedding band around his ring finger absentmindedly. jack taking it off and slipping it onto dennis’s finger, kissing his fingertips before intertwining their fingers. robby making some comment about how that looks good on you.
and dennis’s heart skips a beat because it suddenly hits him just how serious they are about him, he’s not just some boy toy being used to spice up their marriage
has a 17th century french woman alter ego, loves boba, has immeasurable amounts of whimsy, dr mel king every tongue that rises against you shall fall !!
thinking about hucklerabbot aging… especially rabbot… i believe these are NOT men that would accept their aging with grace.
they only go to their doctors appointments (“really den, we ARE doctors, we don’t really need to go see another one…”) because dennis asks them to and they can’t say no when he looks up at them like 🥺 “i just want to have as much time with you as possible so i need you to be healthy and stay alive”.
dennis goes with them to their appointments and usually it’s all three of them because of course they are invested in each OTHER’s health just not their own! they silently (robby) or not so silently (jack) judge what the doctors say like 🤨 “my kidney function is fine thank you very much i was just a little dehydrated”. (it’s part denial and part actual valid interpretation of data).
but eventually something scares them—maybe an enlarged lymph node that could be cancer or a cold that turns into pneumonia that turns into sepsis. and it starts to hit rabbot that they’re getting old. they can’t do what they used to anymore. they’re not going to be able to work forever. and they’re not just grieving for themselves that “hey life is going to look different now,” but they’re also grieving for the time that they’re not going to have with dennis. they’re not going to be able to come with him to all HIS doctors’ appointments as he ages. they won’t be able to squabble over HIS blood pressure medication. they won’t be able to hold HIS hand when he gets tough news about his health. they won’t be there when he has to move into assisted living or when he signs his DNR or when he breaks down because he’s scared of dying alone.
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