a little snippet based off of @roobydoos lovely art, specifically this post
****************************************************Jack knew Robby was in a bad place. You don’t sleep with someone for two years, you don’t commit to a relationship for the last two years, just to not notice the bags under their eyes darkening, their hands becoming shakier, the way they start to flinch at small noises. Trauma recognizes trauma, and who else but Dr. Jack Abbot, former solider who lost his leg in the sand and his wife to a terminal diagnosis, to notice how bad Robby is currently doing.
Even outside of work where Jack hears tales of a snappy chief attending, Jack notices Michael, Mike, Mikey. He notices the way Mike feigns sleep on their shared nights off, notices the way his ribs, collarbones, and hips have been poking out, notices the way he turns away from Jacks touch even behind close doors.
And Jack.. well Jack ignored it. His years of therapy ringed in his ears as Robby dodged any touch, became quieter, started turning into a shell of himself. He needs to come to me, I can’t force it. I have to be welcoming, but I can’t force it.
But Robby’s hug during handover made Jack worry. He worries about Robby already, but the way Robby had hugged him in a way he hasn’t in a long time, ever since Pittfrst, and the way his eyes slowly went up and down Jacks entire figure.. it’s enough to worry him.
Enough is enough. Jack has had enough. He misses his partner, and ever since Pittfest, it’s like he is dating a ghost. Mike’s smiles — if he even does — rarely reach his eyes. He doesn’t laugh much anymore. He doesn’t do much besides work anymore come to think of it.
Yet, after 8 calls straight to voicemail, Jack thinks that he might be too late. He knows it is Robby’s day off. He knows that Robby is in bed currently because he has been having a hard time leaving it if he is not needed at work. He should be answering his phone, especially if it’s Jack calling.
A small but painful and stabbing feeling settles in Jacks gut. He isn’t a man known to be shaken easily, he’s seen far too much for that. But knowing he is all the way at the hospital, 20 minutes from their house, he can’t help but start to breathe a little heavier. Sure, Robby could be dead asleep right now — no, he is a light sleeper and my calls go past his Do Not Disturb — but he rarely misses a call, and if he does he makes sure to send a quick text explaining why.
“Hey, Lena,” Jack starts, turning his head to find his charge nurse. “Do you think I could run home and Shen covers, I’m worried about Robby.”
“Of course hun,” Lena, the ever sweet yet commanding nurse replies. “Is he alright?”
“Yeah… yeah,” Jack says in the least convincing tone he has ever conjured. “He was feeling pretty under the weather and he’s not responding to my messages like he said I would so I just want to be sure.”
“Yes, of course go, loverboy,” Lena confirms in a teasing tone. She and Dana are the rare few people to know about his relationship with Robby. Oh, shit. I have to call Dana.
His entire walk home, he was a ball of nerves. His mind drifted to the worst, coming home to find the love of his life passed out, too far gone for any medicine to save him. Just as bad images of a still Robby who is stuck in his own head in the bed with glazed eyes, a sight that Jack had come far too familiar with in these past weeks, come up in his mind.
Jack thinks about the feeling of illness and nausea has settled over him for the last two months — a constant feeling of uneasiness that is intensified anytime Robby crawls deeper into the hole of his own depression and anxieties — and he thinks about it is crawling at his throat, begging to come up.
He got stuck in his mind and he soon finds himself in front of their shared townhouse. He feels nausea crawl up the back of his throat once more as his hands clam up and his jaw clenches. Please please please oh god let me be wrong.
Jack has never been a man to procrastinate or wait, so soon enough his shaky hands find the cold metal of their front door knob as he shoves the key into the keyhole. please..
His feet move before his brain catches up and he quickly takes in the house before he finds their shared bedroom, and, well nothing is out of the ordinary. Maybe I’m wrong, please let me be wrong.
His hand finds the bedroom door knob and he turns it and the next breath he takes becomes completely impossible to fully inhale. Any image that he conjured up earlier could not live up to the real thing. His eyes first lock onto the messed up bed sheets, all crumpled up, some finding their way to the floor.
He then finds the courage to take in the image of the man on the bed and he looks ruined. His eyes are completely glossed over as if he hasn’t even realized Jack is in the house. His hair is rumpled every which way as his hands clutch to as much hair as possible. He has his knees up against his chest as he slowly rocks back and forth whispering and mumbling. He just looks broken. Like any of the fight in him is drained and he can’t stop any of it.
“Misha…” Jack whispers as soft as possible, trying to channel all the love and empathy’s and guilt and sadness he is currently feeling in that one word.
Yet, all of those feelings are quickly drained when he spots the orange plastic lying open on the bed that Robby is still loosely holding. His legs take him over to the bed faster then he ever could as he practically collapses onto Robby. Before he registers Robby’s gasp and slight sob, he gathers up his hands as they start to reach for the bottle, throw the pills across the room with a quick slam and clatter of pills and plastic, and he pulls Robby’s arms over his head.
How cruel, Jack thinks. How cruel that the bed that has been the location for so many shared, soft memories between the two of them, the room where they had danced slowly to an old jazz song like a sappy couple, the sheets where they had spent as many hours as possible entangled between each other is going to be forever tainted by this. In the following days, Jack will buy brand new sheets as he couldn’t stop smelling Robby’s bile even after so many washes. In the following weeks, Jack will rearrange the room as to move the bed from the location of such a god awful sight. In the following months, Jack will unable to look at the corner of the room where the pills had landed.
As Robby barely tries to fight Jacks hold — god, he’s so weak, oh god no no no — Jack yells, “What did you take!?”
Robby quickly shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tight, trying to fight the tears that are so close to pouring out.
“I didn’t take anything!” Robby yells, trying to match Jacks anger as he starts to fight against his hold more.
“Michael… please, what-what did you ta- take?” Jack chokes out as he starts to sob and all of the fight in Robby just stops. His arms go slack, he opens his eyes to stare at Jack and Jack thinks his world stopped right then and there. His eyes are bloodshot, tears are clumped around his eyelashes, and he looks just exhausted.
“I didn’t - nothing, Jack,” Robby whispers, completely broken and exhausted as he hiccups his response. “Baby… please- I didn’t take anything. Fuck- I didn’t- why didn’t I take them. They were right there.”
If Jacks heart had already dropped to his feet, he thinks it just dropped further to hell alongside the deserved spot for his condemned soul. How could he let it get this bad? He should have pushed, he should have tried harder. Is this all Robby thought he could do?
“I’m so glad you didn’t take them, babe,” Jack starts, trying to find the strength to speak over the bubble forming in his throat and the pit that has been growing for the last two hours. “I’ve never been- fuck, Mikey - I’m so glad you didn’t take them.”
“Please…” Robby’s pleads, begs, as he starts to squirm against Jacks hold again. And in the 15 years he has known Robby, he has never once heard him beg. “Let me go, I wanna go- let me go.”
“I’m so sorry, Mike,” Jack replies, trying his best to put on a brave demeanor — one of them has to be strong right now. “But I can’t do that. I love you. It will get better, I promise, Misha.”
Even after Jack says that, Robby continues to plead and beg and sob as Jack just tries to gently shush him and hide his own tears. Eventually, all of Robby’s sobs stop and he grows limp in Jacks hold. He slowly loosens his hands from Robby’s arms and takes some of his weight off of his lap.
Jack then lays right on top of Robby’s, listens to him breath, and lets the cadence of his chest rising and falling lure him into a daze.
Soon enough, Jack will have to get up. He will have to lock up their medicine cabinet, get rid of any drain plugs, and temporarily get rid of their knives. He will have to call Dana, Gloria, Lena. He’ll have to call his therapist to get a referral.
In the following days, weeks, months, he will stick by Robby’s side as he recovers. It will not be linear, it will be barely of a positive incline in the early days. Robby will go to an inpatient care and Jack will visit him every day. Robby will eventually return to work and some of the younger doctors will see a Robby whom they have never met. They will see easy grins and hear hearty laughs. No one besides Dana and Lena will know what happened. They will all be told Robby went on sabbatical. Robby will be absent for months, but their worlds moved on.
Soon enough, the world would move for the two of them. The sheets will need to be washed, the floor will need to be cleaned. But for now, Jack lays on top of Robby’s chest, hearing a heart beat that has become his lullaby in the last two years.
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@roobydoos (lovely lovely lovely art check it out)
