Look man, the ONLY valid source on who Noah Wyle is as a person and what he was intending with Robby is cast interviews from people who actually know him.
No, your Twitter thread based largely on your feelings is not a genuine source. No, I do not think you throwing around scary words makes it less anti-semitic. No, articles from websites that seem to have a bias are not a source. No, you do not speak for any of the cast members about how they mean the opposite of what they say in interviews. No, any source on how Robby, the fictional character, acts is not proof of anything about who Noah is as person.
And well, the sources from people who have actually met the man, including actresses all think he's funny, thoughtful, kind and lovely to be around.
No, matter how you spin it I think you're just spouting a hate campaign against a Jewish man...often using rhetoric that is famously anti-semitic. And I do think you're weird and deeply parasocial towards a man who has no reason to know you even exist.
tags: dead dove DO NOT EAT, talks of suicidal ideation, talks of past character suicide, talks of miscarriage, talks of past child loss, Transmasc Robby, mpreg, hurt/comfort
Summary: A reimagining of how Robby found his way to the roof at the end of season 1 based off the the song of the same title by Raye and a fanart by lgbeomtae on twitter inspired by the same song
Please be mindful of the tags with this one folks I do not wish to accidentally trigger anyone
words: 19.2k+
AO3
You can read it through the link above or under the cut
Likes and Comments are always welcome and greatly appreciated they fuel my writing
I Know You're Hurting
Jack had been wandering the Pitt, looking for Robby in the carnage that was the emergency room after a mass casualty event.
He'd been searching for what felt like hours but in all honesty had probably only been roughly thirty minutes. And he would've found Robby sooner had it not been for every other nurse, or med student pulling him in to assess something or other.
Most of which he'd somewhat successfully pushed off onto Shen, or Ellis under the guise of him not actually being on shift.
His therapist would most definitely be annoyed that for once Jack's anxious tendency of listen to the police scanner actually paid off. The second he'd heard about the shooting at Pittfest he'd hauled ass to get himself to the hospital before shit hit the walls.
But no amount of go bags, or breaking speed limits could have prepared him for the proverbial shit that hit the walls of PTMC.
Since the moment he lost sight of Robby after Leah died and Robby went to find Jake to tell him, Jack felt an almost stabbing pain in the back a his skull.
Something he called his Robby sense.
Normally it was just a soft, almost humming sensation in the back of his head. Something to just warn him of the taller man's proximity or lack thereof.
But tonight it was demanding. A thrumming pulse, squeezing at the nape of his neck. A pressure building in it's insistence to find Robby. To make sure he was alright after the Hell he'd been dragged through that night.
The Hell they'd all been dragged through against their will.
To say Jack Abbot was concerned was such a massive understatement. If he was being honest he didnt think there was even a word within the English language to describe what he was feeling. But concerned would have to do.
Pinching at the bridge of his nose -desperate to relieve the strain- Jack hears the all too familiar sharp, somewhat nasally voice of Dana Evans call out to him. "If ya looking for Robby he went up to your favorite spot for some-" She waved her hand flippantly. "-self reflection."
"Right-" He clears his throat, the thrum growing even more insistent. Almost like someone was banging on the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer. "-uh thanks. If you um-" he trails off jamming his thumb over his shoulder towards the elevator.
"I know where you'll be. Now go on, and check on our boy will ya?" Dana replies, waving him off with a flourish before going back to checking her clipboard.
Turning on his heels he heads in the direction he'd just been pointing at with his thumb. His residual limb throbbing in protest inside his prosthetic socket. Sore from pushing it farther and harder with each influx of the bleeding wounded.
The soles of his hiking boots squeak against the linoleum as he works his way through the waning crowd of injured and medical professionals. He knew that if he took the time to look down at the brown and grey boots he'd no doubt find splatters of other people's blood covering the fabric. But in that moment he didn't have the time, nor did he have the mental fortitude to face that fact just yet.
He lets out a bone deep sigh through his nose as he jams his finger into the round silver button with the up arrow embedded in the middle. Promptly forcing himself to step back from the silver doors -knowing that in his current state he'd keep hitting the button. His whole being far too anxious to see his husband.
His hands begin to flex in and out of fists at his side as Jack waits impatiently for the tell tale ding of the elevator's arrival.
His body practically vibrating with anxious energy as old wounds left to fester began to ooze. Wounds that tore themselves open almost fifteen years ago now, when his wife died.
God he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. A Robby shaped hole burrowing into his skin as his mind ran through every worst case scenario it could come up with.
The ringing in his ears -powered by the incessant need to find his husband- drowns out the normal din of the ED. The only sound managing to break through his foggy stupor being the high pitched chime signaling the elevator arrival.
Blinking the fog from the edges of his vision Jack steps into the florescent glow of the elevator. His hand automatically reaching out to bash the number twelve button on the glowing panel. He flicks his wrist a couple times to fight the urge to jam the door close button.
As the metal doors finally ping closed he allows himself to lean back against the cool brushed steal of the walls. His eyes flutter shut as he focuses on the breathing technique his therapist taught him within minutes of their first meeting going on twenty years ago.
In for four, hold for six, out for eight.
Over and over again.
Repeating it like a mantra.
Simply breathing until the tell tale push and pull of the elevator shifting upwards stops with a jolt. That high pitched ding sounding once more to signal his departure.
Swallowing harshly, Jack steps across the threshold into the near silent hall. This floor -relegated to Administration and Records- was normally the quietest of the whole medical center. Something that Jack usually relished in but right now it only served to strengthen his fear for his husband.
That pulsing pressure in his skill building in the cold silence of the hall.
Moving as though on autopilot -the thrumming in the back of his head growing more and more demanding every second- Jack slips into the roof access stairwell. The metal push handle giving a dull chunk, his black metal wedding band clinking against the bar as he slips into the stairwell.
Sucking in a shuddering breath Jack begins his slow, encumbered trudge up the steep flight of stairs leading up to the badge locked roof access door. His residual limb barking in protest as he continues to push it to it's limits that night.
He'd no doubt pay for it later, but in that moment all he could bring himself to care about was finding his husband. Making sure he was okay, and taking him home.
The Pressure behind his eyes grows stronger with each step closer to the roof, to his husband. Almost as though whatever part of his brain that acted as a beacon for Robby was chomping at the bit to finally have him back within range of sight.
Shouldering the steal door open Jack was met with the sudden influx of miscellaneous drum of city life. The warm night air hitting him like a brick wall as his rusted steel eyes frantically scan the empty roof top. Desperate to land of the six foot one frame of one Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch. His best friend of almost thirty years and husband of ten.
With each passing second that he didn't have eyes on Robby his heart rate picked up. Pumping so fast in his chest it sent blood roaring like Niagara Falls in his ears.
His lungs continue to expand and deflate in that practiced pattern. In four, hold six, out eight. In four, hold six, out eight. He kept repeating it like a mantra in his head. His army training kicking in to help keep his mind clear as he rounded the small shed like structure that housed the stairwell.
His eyes finally flickering across his husbands slumped form. A snap of relief flooding through his veins like ice at the sight.
His heart gave a shuddering jump before coming to a dead stop in his chest at the sight of his normally strong, stalwart husband folded in on himself. His shoulders shaking beneath the dark blue zip up hoodie he left their apartment in this morning.
His steth -gifted to him by Jack years ago for his birthday- dangling from the safety barrier like a note. One left for the very man who was using every ounce of military training he had, and his decades of therapy experience, to keep from running over and spooking the man who placed it there.
All Jack could think in that moment was this must be what Robby felt every time he found Jack in that exact spot.
And Jack hated himself for it.
You see Jack was usually the one to find his way to that same roof at the end of a particularly bad shit. And on those especially bad nights he'd stand on the outside of the safety barrier much like Robby was in that moment.
Something about the lack of safe guards felt like a necessity to keep him holey present in the moment. Something to keep him from swimming in the wasteland of his mind.
Tonight -after a shift drudged up from the pits of Hell- Robby was the one on the wrong side of the safety rail.
Robby -Jack's very heart, the reason he woke up every damn day- was the one with the shift from Hell that left him questioning everything. Most of all himself.
In four, hold six, out eight.
Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, Jack slowly moved towards Robby. Begging his heart to restart in his chest and his voice to maintain it's usual gruff calm as he calls out. "I do believe that's my spot." In the end his voice came out as more of a forced jovial sound rather than the composed one he was aiming for.
Jack watched intently as Robby flinched slightly at the sound of his voice. His heart dropping further into his stomach. Threatening to drop straight through his body.
In four, hold six, out eight.
Forcing himself to relax, Jack leans forward and rests against the cold steal of the safety barrier. His eyes falling to stare at the specks of blood dotting Robby's hiking boots. No doubt matching his own.
"Just so you know GrubHub will not deliver to the roof-" Jack starts, some part of him hoping that if he acts like nothing is wrong, that would mean Robby's presence on the roof was nothing out of the ordinary. "-but there is a DoorDash guy, uh Marco, he'll make the trek up here. It'll cost you an extra ten bucks though - twenty if you want beer."
The laugh that tumbles from Robby's lips breaks something inside of Jack. Chipping away at a fundamental part of him. "You umā¦ you gonna tell me why?"
"Why not?" Robby prompts flippantly, sniffling as he shrugs his slumped shoulders. A falsely unphased air about him as he leans back against the railing.
"I can certainly think of a few things," Jack replies, his voice rough yet sharp. A scowl settling over his features as he taps his black silver wedding band against the metal safety barrier. The acute tink of metal on metal a piercing punctuation to his words.
As though on instinct Robby begins to fidget with his matching black silver band. His voice coming out wet and broken on tears as he responds softly. His voice like an injured animal. "Yeah umā¦ anymore that umā¦ that might be the only one."
Swallowing around the heavy lump in his throat -No doubt a chunk of his heart that broke loose, and lodged itself there when he first caught sight of Robby so precariously close to death.- Jack takes a moment to find the right words. His tongue sitting like a brick of tungsten in his mouth.
When he does finally find those words -carefully chosen from years of cataloging the words his therapist uses in their weekly sessions- his voice begins to betray his command to keep it's normally calm, dulcet tone. "Is that not enough?"
He hated himself for asking.
Hated the way that thought made him want to switch places with Robby in that moment. How it made him want to be the one on the brink of making a choice that he couldn't take back.
He hated the way it wormed itself through the spaces in his ribs. Settling into the cracks in his breaking heart.
He hate himself even more as Robby released a broken pitiful noise. Something lodged between a wail and a shattered sob. Fracturing more of Jack's already bleeding heart.
"I wish it wasā¦ I want nothing more than for this-" He pulls off his ring before pressing it to his tear stained lips as he sucks in a wet, shuddering breath. "-to be enough. But I justā¦ I don't know anymore. Everything else it's justā¦ it's too much."
Once the words started tumbling from Robby it was like a dam had broke, and the torrent of emotions pressing down on him began to flood his mouth. Threatening to drown him under their weight. Pulling him further and further down with their powerful current.
"It wasā¦ it has been for so long. It's what got me through everything in the past thirty years we've known each other, even before we got together." Robby turned his head fully away from Jack now. His mouth was so dry from crying that he felt like someone had forced cotton down his throat. "Losing my Zaydee, and my Bubbe, when we lost Ronnie, theā¦ the infertility andā¦ and the miscarriages. All of it."
Jack leans forward, desperate for a glimpse at his husband's face. His hands -weathered from years of working as a medic in and out of war zones- clench into fists before him as he fought to urge to hold his husband. Anything to take away the pain leaching off his soul.
In four, hold six, out eight.
Something rattles distressingly in Robby's chest as he sucks in a shaky breath. His tongue poking out to lick the salty tears from his lips as he sniffles. "It was enoughā¦ we were enough to pull me back from the brink when weā¦ when we um-" His voice breaks, a painful memory pulling at the seams of a barely scabbed over wound. A scab who's equally ugly twin marred Jack's own heart. "-when we lost Theo six years ago."
At the mention of their son who came too early to hold his own, Jack saw flashes of sterile hospital rooms and incubators filled with impossibly tiny babies. They both knew the abysmal statistics of white male preemies surviving the NICU, but no amount of medical knowledge could make it ache less.
With every word that passed Robby's cracked lips, the lump in Jack's throat grew. Threatening to asphyxiate him where he stood.
In four, hold six, out eight.
"But it just feels like every Goddamn time I manage to find my way back on my feet, something comes along to knock me flat on my face again. And Iā¦ I just don't know if I can keep doing this anymore, Jack. It justā¦ it hurts too fucking much." That last confession barely audible as a full body sob bends him at the waist. Threatening to crumple him to his knees.
On instinct Jack reaches out to steady Robby, his hand smoothing over his husband back. "Mishka," he sighs, tears beginning to brim in the corner of his eyes.
Sucking in a sharp breath through his clenched teeth, Robby flinches away from Jack's touch like he'd been burned. A ragged, small confession forcing it's way through his gritted teeth. Coming out like unwanted stomach acid in his throat. "I was pregnant."
For the second time that night Jack's heart stops dead in his chest. Constricting like a vice, cutting off the oxygen flowing to his brain.
The sharp ringing from before picking back up it's horridly shrill pitch in his ears. Deafening all other sounds as he desperately blinks away the growing black spots in his vision.
In four, hold six, out eight.
Suddenly Jack mouth was dryer than the desert he served almost two tours in before he lost his leg when a surprise IED went off. His throat swollen and raw as a broken plea bullies it's way free, "what?"
"I wasā¦ I was-" He gulps down air, choking back a sob that threatens to suck the air from his lungs. "I found out about aā¦ a month ago. I was going to tell youā¦ I was almost in the clear aā¦and I had every plan to tell you."
"Oh my Mishka," Jack mumbles, his voice hoarse with both pain and love for the man standing before him. "Why didn't you say something?"
For the first time since Jack found him, Robby pulls his hand from his sweatshirt pocket to press his fist against his chest. Grinding his knuckles against the fabric of his scrubs into the skin of his breast bone. A self-soothing practice he'd picked up as a small child after his mother dropped him off at his Bubbe and Zaydee's for a weekend visit, and never came back. "I wanted toā¦ toā¦ to wait till I was sure it was safe. I didn't want to hurt you again shā¦should something go wrong. Iā¦ I'mā¦ fuck I'm sorry."
Unable to hold himself back any long, Jack stood from his position leaning against the railing. Against all his training Jack leaned over to rest his forehead against the center of Robby's back. The most contact they'd had since Robby practically tackled him the second he walked into the ED unexpected.
"Mishka you have nothing to be sorry for," Jack sighs, his hands reaching out to smooth over Robby's hips. Anchoring him to the spot. To Jack.
"I lost it-" He swallows around the words, sharp like shards of glass. His body instinctually leaning back into Jack embrace, even though everything in him screamed to pull away because he didn't deserve comfort. Not after everything. "-It umā¦ it started when I was treating umā¦ when I was treating Leah."
In four, hold six, out eight.
Jack tightens his grip on Robby's hips, his breath hitching at the revelation. His mind whirling as more pieces to Robby's puzzle fell into their respective places.
His heart aching anew as he realized that while Jack thought his husbands insistence to keep treating Leah was just because he couldn't face Jake with the news. He couldn't have been more wrong. Robby was losing their baby, the last hope they had of becoming fathers after years of failed attempts, and crushed dreams.
The revelation felt like a knife to the gut. One that kept twisting, and digging itself deeper with every ragged breath he took. Fighting against the ache he pressed his forehead harder between his husband's shoulder blades, grounding himself. "Mishka," he sighs, warm tears beginning to leak down the bridge of his nose, soaking into the fabric of Robby's hoodie.
"Itā¦ it feels like aā¦ a punishment." He mumbles, his voice wavering as his knuckle dig harder into his sternum.
In four, hold six, out eight.
"You did nothing to deserve such punishment Mishka. These things just happen sometimes." Jack's replies, his voice low and soothing as though he was speaking to a scared animal.
The vibrations of Jack's voice rattles through Robby's spine into the cavity of his chest. Embracing his aching heart. The familiar feeling of his husband beginning to cradle the broken pieces of his shattered soul back together.
Robby sucks in a breath, his chest stuttering with the effort as he hiccups out a response. "It's my fault thatā¦ that Jake and Leah where even there. It's mā¦my fault Leah is dead now aā¦and-" He trails off his breaths coming in shorter, shallow bursts. His chest constricting with the beginnings of a panic attack.
"Breathe Mishka-" Jack hums, sniffling as he straightens up. One of his hands leaving Robby's hips to rest over Robby's fist digging into his chest. The thick metal bar of the barrier digging into his hip bones. "-remember what I taught you. Breathe in for four-" Jack sucks in a deep breath to demonstrate. "-hold for six-" His voice comes out strained through his clenched teeth. "-out for eight, now you try."
Jack nuzzles into the crook of Robby's neck, feeling the ragged rise and fall of his husbands chest. Coaxing him to a calmer state so he could get out what he was feeling. What had brought him to the wrong side of the roof's safety barrier. "That's it Mishka," Jack praised, his breath warm and familiar on Robby's neck.
"I couldn't save her Jack. Just like I couldn't save Theo. Just likeā¦ just like how my fucking body won'tā¦ won't do what it's supposed to." Robby spits out, shaking out of Jacks hold. His hand angrily banging on his chest as he moves closer to the edge of the roof. "If I was forced to be fucking born in thisā¦ this wrong fucking body itā¦ it had to be for aā¦ a fucking reason."
"Hey, hey it's not your fault," Jack called out, swallowing down the panic threatening to overtake him. Nervous sweat began to blanket his skin as he fought to keep himself out of crisis mode. "None of this is your fault. You did everything you could."
Jack willed his heart to start beating in his chest again as he watched Robby pace precariously close to the edge of the roof. His jaw muscles fluttering as he clenches his teeth, fighting around the shrill alarm bells ringing in his ears.
Dark spots beginning to cloud his vision as the pressure builds at the base of his neck again. His hands opening and closing into fists at his side, a vain attempt at fighting off his growing panic.
In four, hold six, out eight.
While Jack was raised deep in the Christian faith -having gone to the local Catholic church for as long as he could remember when he still lived with his parents- he'd lost what little faith had sunk itself into his heart the minute he stepped foot into his first war zone.
And yet in that moment, seeing his husband -the very man who brought him back from the brink after his wife's death. The man who became his religion- Jack would've dropped to his knees and prayed his own life away just to get Robby to back away from that ledge.
Anything to bring Robby back to the safety of his husband's arms. He would've happily bartered anything and pleaded with the god he'd long since forsaken, offering up anything he wanted just not Robby, never his Robby.
Robby scoffs, his hand moving from his chest to scrub angrily at the back of his neck. Continuing to pace like a caged animal he practically growls, "but it is Jack. Don't you see, I fuck everything up. I know that. I accept that. Myā¦ myā¦ my mother she fucking knew that. It's why sheā¦ she left me. It's why my father killed himself before I was born."
As though the secret of his deepest fears was the only thing keeping him standing, Robby fell to his knees once the confession slipped from his lips. The resounding thump of his body hitting the hard ground was drowned out by the chest splitting cry that roars from his clenched teeth.
"Michael!" Jack shouts, quickly ducking between the two metal bars of the safety barrier to get to his husband. His residual limb crying in protest as he drops to his knees before his husband. Pulling the broken man into his arms, his gut twisting with each pain filled sob that rattles Robby's strong frame.
"What's wrong with me?" Robby wails, his arms folding around his heaving stomach as he presses his face harder into Jack's chest. His tears staining Jack's scrub top, turning the fabricate an even deeper black. "Why am I not enough?"
With each question that squeezed itself from Robby's lungs, the crack in Jack's heart grew. Splitting him open from the inside out.
Craning his neck to press his lips to Robby's temple Jack murmurs, "nothing is wrong with you, Mishka."
Jack's body as though with a mind of it's own begins to rock them both back and forth. Instinctively trying to sooth his husband.
Cupping the back of Robby's head in his hand, Jack holds him over his thundering heart. His free hand moving to rub soothing circles across his back. Ghosting the tips of his fingers along the ridges of Robby's spine in a soothing pattern he'd picked up years ago from Robby's Bubbe.
With each pass of Jack's hand along the plain of his back, Robby felt the weight he'd been carrying since he'd learned the truth of Langdon's addiction begin to ease from his shoulders. The bone deep ache in his gut beginning to loosen it's hold over him as he cried into his husband's chest.
In four, hold six, out eight.
"I need you to understand that you are more than enough for me. Everything about you -even your flaws- is enough for me. And nothing -and I mean nothing- can or will ever change that." Jack murmurs, squeezing at the nape of Robby's neck. Attempting to pull away from Robby to look him in the eyes Jack adds, "please look at me Mishka."
Robby let out a disgruntled noise, burrowing further into Jack's chest. The sound of his husband's heart beating below his cheek was so comforting it was almost hypnotic.
Chuckling softly at his husband's stubbornness, Jack presses a loving kiss to Robby's temple. Jack's fingers scratching lightly at the nape of Robby's neck, making the man in his arms begin to practically purr. "I need you to look at me Robinavitch."
Pulling his head back from Jack's chest to look at his husband through swollen, half lidded eyes, Robby snorts indignantly. "That's Abbot-Robinavitch to you, Mister. I've got the ring and the paperwork to prove it."
"Oh is that all we are? A ring and a pile of paperwork?" Jack scoffs, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I mean legally speaking we are just a pile of paperwork. But I suppose -and this is just between you and I of course- that we're a little bit more." Robby replies, the corner of his lips twitching with the beginnings of a soft smile.
Sniffling softly, Jack brushing his hand over Robby's head, pushing his little tuft of hair back. He purses his lips softly, his eyebrows quirking upwards curiously as he studies his husbands tear stained face. "Well if that's the case -and this is in the strictest of confidences of course."
"Of course," Robby replies in mock seriousness. The muscles of his cheeks fluttering weakly as he tries to fight off a grin.
"If that's the case, then you're more than a pile of paperwork and a ring to me too Dr. Abbot-Robinavitch." Jacks smiles, leaning forward he rests his forehead against Robby's. Their breaths mingling as their lungs naturally fall into sync.
Tentatively Robby reaches out to rub his hands along Jack's thighs. The first time he initiated any touch with his husband since he hugged him down in the ED when Jack showed up before the victims of Pittfest arrived. Back before the flood gates from Hell opened up, threatening to swallow them whole.
Cradling his husband's head, Jack rubs his nose against Robby's. His heart fluttering softly in his chest as his husband begins to return to him. "I love you Michael Ezrah Abbot-Robinavitch. Please let that be enough."
"I love you too John Cillian Abbot-Robinavitch." Robby responds, grinning wickedly as his husband groans at the use of his legal first name.
"You'll pay for that Michael," Jack rumbles, pulling back to scowl playfully at his husband.
Beaming despite the tear tracks still painting his cheeks, Robby chuckles, "I've paid for worse."
Snorting at Robby's smartass response, Jack allows his hands to trail down and rest on his husband's chest. "Next time please come to me first, I don't think my old man heart can handle this experience again."
"Oh my God! Folks write this down, and mark the date the great Dr. Jack Abbot-Robinavitch finally admits he's aging." Robby gasps, smirking devilishly at his husband.
"Piss off Jackass, I'm being serious," Jack scoffs, shoving gently at Robby's chest.
Quickly Robby's smirk softens into a gentle, endeared smile as he murmurs, "I promise I'll come to you next time. I justā¦ I needed space toā¦ to think toā¦ to breathe."
Jack let out a long sigh through his nose, swiping his thumb along the apple of Robby's cheek. Dark pools of chocolate met shimmering rusted steel as Jack's eyes locked onto Robby's. The faint glow from the city below illuminating half of their faces on the otherwise dark rooftop.
Once more Jack leans forward to rest his forehead against Robby's. He brushing his nose against his husband's as he murmurs, "let me be your space. Let me be your breath."
Nodding silently in acquiescence, Robby managed to take his first full breath since he called Leah's time of death two hours ago. His hands still resting on Jack's thighs travel up to squeeze at his hips. Comforted by the feel of his husband -warm and very alive- beneath his palms.
"I know you're not going to like this Mishka, but I want to check you out before we go home." Jacks says, looking at his husband through his brow still pressed to Robby's own.
"You getting kinkier in your old age Jack? This is after all a very public setting for that kind of stuff." Robby chuckles halfheartedly, his gaze flickering as far away from Jack's as he could manage without moving away from him.
Shaking his head Jack pulls back to look Robby more fully in the eyes. His eyebrows scrunching in concern as he replies, "that's not what I meant and you know it Michael."
"I know, but you can't blame a guy for trying." Robby shrugs, pulling one of his hands from Jack's waist to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
"I just want to make sure everything is alright. Can't have you going and getting sick on me when it's very preventable." Jack smiles softly at him, bringing his right hand down from where it was cupping Robby's cheek to rest it over his heart. Feeling as the organ slows down to it's normal resting rhythm, his mind instinctively counting each beat.
Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, Robby grins. "If you kiss me I'll let you take me downstairs and run whatever tests on me you want."
"For the record I was going to do that anyways but-" He trails off, pulling Robby in for a soft yet searing kiss. Pouring every ounce of love and devotion he felt for the man kneeling before him into the kiss.
His heart singing in rapturous joy as Robby hums against his lips, leaning into Jack. His tongue swiping across his husband's lower lip, begging for entrance.
Groaning softly Jack opens his mouth to Robby's careful intrusion. Allowing his tongue to glide over Robby's in a gentle battle for dominance. Leading them in a dance they have done for over a decade now, and one they wouldn't stop doing for decades to come. Lips slotting into place like puzzles pieces as though every ridge and bow of their mouths were designed to fit the other's perfectly.
Despite Robby's earlier comments there was nothing sexual about their kiss. It was merely an act spurred on by a desperate need to be close to the man who brought nothing but love and light into Robby's life. Something lodged securely in an instinctual urge to sooth ones soul.
And John Cillian Abbot-Robinavitch would always be the balm to his battered and bruised soul.
With a groan of despair Jack pulls back from the kiss, sucking in lungfuls of air between soft, chaste pecks to Robby's lips. Almost as though he couldn't bring himself to fully disconnect from his husband even though the clinical side of his brain was begging him to check and make sure Robby was physically alright.
"As much as I enjoy-" He presses a chaste peck to Robby's lips. Unable to control himself. "-this-" He hums, kissing him more fully this time. "-I need to get you checked out for my own peace of mind more."
"My husband, ever the vigilant doctor," Robby sighs, smiling endearingly at Jack. His heart warming at the other man's almost pathological need to care for him, even after everything they'd been through.
Jack snorts, rolling his eyes as he finally drags himself away from his husband. A twinkle of mirth blooming around the edges of rusted steel eyes -already brightened by the sparse city lights- as he responds. "You Michael Abbot-Robinavitch, are trouble."
"And yet you married me anyways." Robby grins, wiggling his eyebrows cheekily at Jack. "Jumped at the chance really, if I remember correctly."
Standing with a groan, Jack scoffs, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles of his residual limb as it throbbed in protest. "Yes well, when you've lost the first love of your life as young as I did. And -by some fucking miracle- you are allowed to have a second chance atā¦ at being with the love of your life. You jump at the chance to be with them." He pauses, straightening himself back up to his full height. Accepting the underlying throb of objection coming from where his prosthesis was secured. Sucking in a deep breath he adds, "and we had to wait so long to be told that we're allowed to be together, let alone married. So when the government finally decides that we're allowed that basic human right, you leap at the chance."
Gazing up at his husband, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Robby says, "and I would marry you a thousand times over if I could."
"Ditto. Now c'mon lets get you checked out." Jack smiles, offering a hand to Robby. "I know there's a certain nurse who's concerned for your well being, and besides I wanna get you home."
"Ha!" Robby gasps, accepting Jack's proffered hand. Pulling himself up to stand with a grunt, his knees popping in indignation. "I knew you just wanted to get me somewhere private so you could have your wicked way with me."
As soon as Robby was upright Jack tugged at Robby's hand still clutched securely in his own. Pulling Robby flush against his chest with a low growl, their noses brushing. "Bold of you to assume I need privacy to have my wicked way with you Michael."
"Y'know I never pegged you for a voyeur. Even after two decades you still surprise me Mr. Abbot-Robinavitch." Robby smirks, nipping playfully at the tip of Jack's nose.
Waggling his silver eyebrows suggestively -a beaming grin plastered across his cheeks- Jack responds. "Gotta keep you on your toes, Robinavitch."
"How many times do I have to tell you old man?" Robby groans, his head flopping backwards dramatically. "It's Abbot-Robinavitch, I signed too much fucking paperwork for you to keep getting it wrong."
"I just like hearing you declare it." Jack tugs him impossibly tighter to his torso. Their fronts flush with each others as he leans over to ghost his lips over the shell of Robby's ear. "I like hearing you claim me."
Robby's breath hitches in his chest at the sultry tone in his husband's gravely voice. His knees threatening to give out beneath him at the shock of excitement that zips up his spine. "You can't be saying these things to me Jack. It's elder abuse."
Jack barks out a deep belly laugh at his husband's choice of words. His head falling back merrily as he chuckles, "Robby you're barely even forty-four, that hardly puts you under the category of elder."
"I'm still older than you, so by my calculations that makes me your elder. So my point still stands," Robby shrugs, his voice teasing and light as he winks mischievously at Jack. His tear stained face softened by the dim glow of the city.
Warmth blooms in Robby's chest at the joy on Jack's face. A stark difference to the pain pinching his feature only a few minutes ago when Robby was in the midst of his breakdown.
"Arighty then Mr. Geriatric, let's get you checked out and back home to rest," Jack replies. His voice light and jovial despite the gnawing urge to get Robby away from the roof's edge. His mind refusing to truly relax until the underlying threat of that twelve story drop -he still didn't entirely trust Robby not to make- was no longer looming over them.
Robby hums softly, allowing Jack to guide him back towards the thick silver bars of the safety barrier. Dutifully he slips back through the gaps in the poles to his usual side of the barrier, Jack following close behind. Almost as though he was too afraid to be more than a hair's breadth away from him.
Despite his bone deep weariness, Robby could feel the underlying anxiety oozing off of Jack waves. Making his heart ache even more at the knowledge that it was his own fault that Jack was even in that state in the first place. His normally calm and collected husband practically vibrating with unease.
Reaching the heavy metal door that leads back to the stairwell Robby pauses, his hand resting on the door knob. Sucking in a shaky breath he turns to face Jack, cold rusted steel meets chocolate once more as he forces himself to meet the other man's eyes.
"Robby what-" Jack mumbles, confusion knitting his brows at his husband's sudden stop.
Swallowing harshly, Robby cuts off Jack's concerned question. his voice low and pitiful as he murmurs, "I'm so sorry Jack."
Sighing through his nose, Jack reaches out to grip Robby's free hand. Pulling the well worn appendage to his lips, he kisses his husband's rough knuckles muttering, "no need to apologize. I will always be here to help you carry your burdens when they get too heavy. It is the honor of my life that you chose to and continue to choose to allow me to do so."
Fresh tears pool in the corners of Robby's eyes, making them shine like glass. Every response he could come up with dying in his throat long before they could see the pale blue glow of the roof access door light looming over them. Another stitch sliding into place, threading the shattered bits of his heart back into place.
Taking in his husband's face, Robby finds himself wishing his tongue would move. Desperately willing his lips to form the words dying against the lump that had formed in his throat when he felt that first contraction, signaling the beginnings of a miscarriage. The final blow to an already guttering candle of hope.
He wished he could tell Jack that choosing to let him in was the easiest choice he's ever had to make. That it came to him as fluidly as pulling air into his lungs or intubating a patient.
But Robby was never good at that sort of thing. Choosing instead to show his love and devotion in other, more physical ways.
Tonight he chose to pull Jack's hand -still holding his- up to his lips in a silent act of reverent devotion akin to a faithful servant kissing their god's holy symbol. Jack was the closest thing Robby would ever have to a religion despite the golden six point star that hung almost like a noose around his neck.
Forever a reminder of the woman who raised him. The first person he'd failed when he began to question the existence of a god who would allow such horrors to persist in the world. She was the first in a long list of people that he's failed over the years.
His faith dying all together alongside his son was almost the final nail in his ramshackle coffin six years ago. The man standing before him in the soft blue light blanketing them -so much love and yet so much pain swimming in his gentle rusty steel gaze- was the only thing able to pull him up from the murky, ink black depths of his despair.
"I know." Jack's murmured response breaks through Robby's hazy reverie. Pulling him back into the present.
Ever Robby's saving grace.
"Right c'mon then I want to get this done and over with as soon as possible," Robby says. His voice crackling from the emotions surging through him.
Quickly turning from Jack, he finally pulls the door open and steps into the cold sterile light of the hospital. Jack's hand still gripped securely in his own as they begin to retrace their earlier steps back down to the ED.
This time though they weren't alone, as they had one another.
====
Having rode the elevator in silence -both of them lost inside their own thoughts- the loud clamoring of the ED was like a shock to their already frazzled systems.
Jack was the first to come to his senses, tugging Robby towards the furthest empty room from the central desk. Wanting as much privacy as possible in the busy ED.
Snagging the first ultrasound machine they passed, Jack ushers Robby into west fourteen. Quickly sliding the curtain shut behind them Jack sends a page to Dana to steer everyone clear of west fourteen for the foreseeable.
"Alright I told Dana to mark this room as in use. So we should be unbothered for at least a few minutes." Jack says, turning to face Robby who had already laid back on the bed. His head turned away unable to face Jack knowing what was about to come next.
Clearing his throat Robby nods, his gaze locked on a scuff mark in the corner of the room. Choosing to study the odd shape rather than face the elephant in the room. Threatening to suffocate the small space.
"I'm sorry," Jack murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss to Robby's temple he adds, "I'll be quick. I promise."
Swallowing around the sudden dryness in his mouth Robby's grunts noncommittally. His tears beginning anew. The clear salty drops rolling down the bridge of his nose to drench the pillow beneath his head.
In four, hold six, out eight.
Breathing past the ongoing ache in his chest Jack tugs the ultrasound machine over to the side of the bed.
Tentatively Jack reaches over towards Robby, making to grab the hem of his undershirt and scrub top only to pause suddenly unsure. Clearing his throat, his hand flexing nervously over Robby's soft lower abdomen, Jack stutters, "umā¦ may uhā¦ may I?"
With trembling hands Robby grabs for the hems of both his undershirt and scrub top. Shakily pulling the fabrics up, and exposing his hairy lower stomach.
Jack's heart constricts painfully, a pit forming in his gut at the sight of the slight swell of Robby's lower abdomen. The only outward indication of how close Robby was to crossing the line into his second trimester. How close he was to getting to that milestone.
Swallowing down the words he knew wouldn't change what's already happened, Jack grabs for the bottle of ultrasound gel.
Robby hisses as the ice cold gel lands on his sensitive skin. The muscles in his jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth, preparing himself for the incoming tell tale silence. His hands clenching into fists at his side as he fought the sudden urge to cover himself up from Jack's prying eyes.
Wordlessly Jack presses the wand to Robby's lower abdomen, his eye narrowing on the screen as he moves the doppler. "I umā¦ I'm going to turn the sound on just to make sure we're not missing anything." Jack warns, swallowing down the dread crawling up his throat.
The screen was empty. Logically Jack knew that turning the audio on wouldn't result in any great revelation. That in the end it would only cause more pain.
But Jack wasn't being logical. That side of his brain had shut itself off the second his mind began to run through a list of possible good outcomes. No matter how unlikely they were.
Shuffling nervously on the bed Robby nods, biting back a pitiful sob. His eyes squeezing shut against the mounting dread pooling in his chest.
In four, hold six, out eight.
Wordlessly Jack flicks the small metal switch in the center of the control board, turning on the sound. Flooding the room in a heavy silence.
Robby knew that the baby was gone. He knew it from the second he'd felt that tell tale stabbing pain that overtook him when Jake and Leah first arrive in the bed of that truck. He even confirmed it when he'd locked himself in a bathroom stall and found an aggressive amount of blood in his boxers. Covering the inside of his thighs. But no amount of knowing or even understanding what had happened could stop the low keening whine that emanated from somewhere deep in his chest.
The sound of his heart cracking along a fault line long since broken.
"Turn it off," Robby wails, shoving at Jack's hand holding the doppler to his stomach. His panic from earlier kicking back into high gear threatening to drown him under it's oppressive weight. "Fucking turn it off Jack!"
"Alright, alright it's off," Jack says. Quickly shutting the machine down and wiping the doppler off before pushing it from the room altogether.
One of Robby's fist shoots up to grind his knuckles into his breastbone again. His breaths coming in short ragged bursts as he tumbles heart first into a panic attack.
Images flashing in his mind of Jack waking him up in the middle of the night still dressed in his work scrubs. An agonized look on his face that Robby hadn't seen since Veronica died. The pain had been unbearable and to this day Robby still doesn't know how he managed to sleep through so much of it.
Robby let out another low whine curling in on himself. His lungs making a concerning wheezing sound as he fought for each breath. A shrill ringing pounds in his ears as the edges of his vision began to blur.
"Robby!" Jack shouts, turning back from the curtain to find his husband in the throes of a panic attack.
Clearing the distance to Robby's bedside in seconds. One of his hands instinctively reaches out to grab Robby's free one, bringing it up to his chest. Laying his palm flat against his left pec directly over his heart. Jack's voice wobbles slightly despite his best efforts to remain calm, as he directs Robby, "breathe with me Mishka."
Bringing his free hand down, Jack rests it over Robby's fist, stopping it from digging any harder into his sternum. "Do as I do Mishka. Feel my chest rise and fall. Feel me breathe for both of us." With each word uttered Jack leans further down, bending at the waist so he could rest his forehead against Robby's. Wanting as many points of contact as he could manage in the not so secluded emergency room.
"Jack Iā¦ can'tā¦ breath." Robby gasps out in between ragged, wheezing pulls of air.
An angry red blush begins to bloom from beneath the collars of his shirts. Crawling up his throat almost as though it was stealing the very breath from his lungs.
"Yes you can Mishka. Just focus on me." Jack murmurs, his grip tightening on Robby's hand still resting against his chest. Willing his breathing to stay calm as he fought against the panic rising in his own chest. Bile rises in his throat, burning the back of his mouth as he slowly tries to coax Robby out of his panic attack.
Forcing himself to focus on every point of contact he had with his husband, Robby begins to calm. Feeling every time Jack's chest expanded and deflated, as his lungs filled with oxygen and excised the carbon dioxide like clockwork.
Robby savored the sensation of Jack's breath fanning over his cheeks as his lungs finally expanded to take in a full breath. His vision beginning to clear, allowing him to take in the sight of Jack's face pressed so close to his own.
Swallowing around the dryness in his mouth -his head swimming from the roller coaster of emotional extremes he'd soared through in the past few hours- Robby mumbles. "I'm sorry Jack Iā¦ I don't know what happened. It'sā¦ it's not like Iā¦ I didn't know whatā¦ what would happen. Iā¦ I did. I justā¦ I don't know. The sudden silence pushed me back to that fucking NICU-" As he was explaining himself -more like apologizing for something he had no control over- an all consuming anger he hadn't felt in years began to boil to the surface. Clawing at his skin. Desperate to unleash itself. His words beginning to grind out through clenched teeth. "-when Theo's monitor went silent. When theyā¦ when they turned it off."
"I know Mishka," Jack murmurs, nuzzling his nose into Robby's carotid. Breathing in the scent of his husband -clean and sterile antiseptic with an underlying warm woodsy citrus. The scent of his home flowing through him like a natural balm to his battered and bruised soul.
Pressing his lips to the flushed skin below Robby's ear, Jack releases a long sigh through his nose. The thump, squeeze, thump, squeeze of his heart falling into time with Robby's own heart.
Robby let's out a low whimper, leaning into Jack, mumbling, "take me home, Jack. I want to go home."
"Alright, let's get you cleaned up and home." Jack nods, pulling back from his husband. Forcing himself to leave Robby's side long enough to grab a paper towel to wipe the ultrasound gel from Robby's lower stomach.
Making his way back over to Robby's bedside, Jack startles when he turns to find Robby sitting upright, his hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the towel. "Oh umā¦ is it alright if I do it?"
Clearing his throat, Robby nods in silent permission. His hands flexing into fists nervously at his sides. Every instinct he had telling him to not be vulnerable, and to do it himself. But he was trying to be better at letting people in. At letting Jack take care of him. So he leaned back, allowing Jack the space to wipe the cold gel from his skin.
"Thank you," Jack murmurs, gently wiping at Robby's lower abdomen. The lump from earlier returning to his throat as he wrestles with the urge to cry.
Once he was done, Jack leaned over to press a kiss to Robby's temple before moving to throw out the towel. Leaving Robby to pull his tops back down over his stomach before climbing from the hospital bed.
Plastering on a reassuring half smile, Jack pulls Robby to his side. His arm instinctively wraps securely around his husband's waist.
Pressing a gently kiss to Robby's cheek right above the line of his beard, Jack murmurs, "c'mon Mishka, let's get you home."
"Mmm" Robby hums, leaning into Jack's embrace. His eyes fluttering closed as his lungs fill with the warm comforting scent of home. Sterile antiseptic with a hint of smoky bergamot.
As quickly as possible, so as not to be stopped, Jack tugs Robby through the ED towards the exit. Only stopping briefly to grab their belongings from the employee lockers before slipping out the ambulance bay doors. Thanking his lucky stars that everyone was too busy dealing with the influx of patients after the mass casualty to stop them on their way out.
"Thank God I decided to drive today because I am simply too fucking beat to walk home right now." Jack half sighs, half groans, clicking the unlock button on his truck keys.
Robby presses a kiss to the top of Jack's head, smiling softly into his silver curls. "Forever my overly prepared husband."
Beaming Jack leans back to look at Robby, his silvery eyebrows wiggling mischievously. That tell tale Jack Abbot twinkle back in his rusty steel eyes. "You love my over prepared ass," he says, popping open the passenger door for Robby.
"That was never in question," Robby replies, kissing Jack's stubble covered cheek before sliding into the passenger seat.
"Sir, yes, sir," Jack says. Mock saluting his husband before closing the car door and rounding the hood to climb in behind the wheel.
Quickly Jack turns over the ignition, the trucks engine revving to life with a low guttural rumble. Giving the diesel engine a minute to warm up Jack reaches over to rest his hand on Robby's thigh. Squeezing the strong muscle as he asks, "wanna stop at Debbie's and get your favorite?"
"Mmm as nice as that sounds I just want to get home. Clean this fucking day off my body, and crawl into bed with my husband." Robby responds, tipping his head back against the headrest, his milk chocolate eyes fluttering closed.
Releasing Robby's thigh so he could push the shifter back, into drive, Jack pulls out of the veterans handicap parking spot.
He hated using it. His therapist thought it had something to do with Jack's refusal to acknowledge how losing part of his leg came with new limitations. But what did he know, he was just some guy with a fancy piece of paper.
Today for whatever reason, he actually used the specialty license plate Robby convinced him to get a few years ago.
"If that's what you want, who am I to deny you?" Jack replies, reaching over the center console once more, this time he grabs Robby's left hand. Bringing it up to his face, Jack presses a kiss to the back of his hand. His gaze briefly flickering over their joined hands to gaze at his husband he adds. "Definitely not someone with enough willpower where you're concerned that's for sure."
A small smile tugs at the corner of Robby's as he leans forward to turn on the truck radio. Instantly flooding the truck with the dulcet tones of Coming Home by Leon Bridges fills the cab as Jack pulls out of the parking lot.
====
After a short fifteen minute drive Jack parked his truck outside of their small red brick townhouse. They'd purchased it -moving out of their small one bedroom apartment- nine years ago, back when they first decided to start trying for a baby.
It was Robby's idea -trying for a baby- having woken up one day after a dream of him and Jack running around with two little girls that were the perfect mix of both of them. The oldest with Robby's chocolate eyes and inky black hair, but her nose, unruly curls and smile were all Jack. And the youngest, she had Jack's auburn curls and blue hazel eyes, with Robby's pointed nose and goofy grin.
That morning he'd made Jack breakfast in bed before gently broaching the subject. To Robby's surprise, Jack was very open to the idea. Him and Veronica having wanted kids meant Jack already opened his heart to that possibility years ago.
Jack's main concern was -as always- for Robby. Wondering whether or not Robby's dysphoria could handle stopping the testosterone he'd been taking for roughly ten years at that point. But Robby was convinced that he would be fine. That he could handle it, because he loved Jack and he wanted to have Jack's babies.
He wanted little versions of them running around, constantly underfoot. And when Michael Robinavitch put his mind to something he was determined to see it through.
No matter the cost.
Fate must have heard their conversation and taken offense.
Within the first two months of Robby weening himself off of testosterone, and they actively began trying. Robby had his first positive test. And within a week their first loss.
Within a year and a half of trying they'd had seven positive test, and seven miscarriages.
They'd done every possible test. Put Robby on every medication available. Even going so far as to swapping out Robby's usual testosterone shots with IVF fertility shots.
But it was all for nothing and it took Jack sitting Robby down one night and explaining that he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't keep standing by and watching Robby chase after something that was going to keep taking more and more from him. It was ruining their marriage. Taking a toll on not just Jack's but also Robby's mental and physical health.
So they'd stopped trying. Robby went back on Testosterone once it was safe for his body. And they tried to heal as best as they could from that much loss in such a short period of time.
At one point Jack suggested adoption, but after two rejections -they were told it wasn't because they were two gay men, but they knew better- Robby pulled them from the adoption agency. Unable to deal with yet more false hope that only lead to heartbreak.
Then after about a year of things falling back into place, and their marriage healing, Robby fell pregnant.
This time he'd passed the dreaded threshold of the first trimester. Getting the farthest they had into a pregnancy since they first started trying. Jack even got to feel their baby move.
They allowed themselves some hope. Maybe, just maybe this time without all the added stress of injections and ovulation cycles they'd finally get their wish.
They'd finally have their baby.
Once again fate took offense to this. Almost as though it was against every rule in the book of their lives that they be happy.
At twenty eight weeks Jack came home early from an easy night shift to find blood soaking their bedsheets where Robby was sleeping. Blooming out like a flower of death from beneath the swell of Robby's belly.
Jack wanted nothing more in that moment than to crawl into bed beside Robby and wake up from the nightmare he'd found himself in. But it wasn't a dream and he had to wake up his peacefully sleeping husband. He had to watch as the light drained from Robby's eyes as he informed him something was wrong. That they needed to get to the hospital and quick because Robby might be losing another baby.
Some nights Jack still woke up in a cold sweat, his blood pounding in his ears. The picture of Robby's face crumbling in devastation as the news of his body's most recent betrayal sunk in. Threatening to rip his heart -still beating- from his chest.
Jack's training kicked in -army or emergency med, he still didn't know- but he managed to stay calm and collected long enough to get Robby to the hospital without crashing.
But it still wasn't enough. Robby's cervix was already too dilated by the time they'd reached the hospital for them to stop the labor.
Theodore Elijah Abbot-Robinavitch was born October 6th 2019 at 3:30 am. He weighed in at only two and a half ounces.
He didn't cry. The only sign he offered his two fathers, and the medical staff, was scrunching his impossibly tiny body in disgust at no longer being safe and warm inside his father's belly.
He was the light of both of his father's lives.
A light that was extinguished far too soon when -just a week into his life- little Theo contracted a respirator illness. His inexplicably small body was unable to handle the strain and he passed away from cardiac arrest.
Robby's gloved hand was resting over his son's fragile little body when it happened. Jack was sitting in a chair beside Robby's wheelchair watching over his son in the clear plastic box of his incubator.
Every now and again, when Robby was especially distressed, his hand twitched with a phantom pang of his son's last breath. Something the crept in like a ghost to haunt him anew. Almost as though Theo was fighting to not be left behind or forgotten.
Though neither Jack nor Robby could ever forget their son, or the joy he brought. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment.
Even if they tried every trick in the book.
Jack never wanted to hear the sound that ripped itself from Robby's lungs as the doctors were forced to declare their son's time of death again.
Something broke in them that day.
The shrill keening wail clawing it's way up Robby's throat only to die on his tongue in a silent scream.
The screeching sound of their son flat lining ringing like a never ending drag of a nail over a chalkboard in their ears. Fracturing their souls into two parts. One part that would be buried with their son, while the other would live half missing for the rest of their lives.
It took both Jack and Dana to get Robby out of the house for the funeral. After that Robby didn't leave his bed. Not at least for anything longer than to relieve himself before crawling right back into the nest of despair he'd built beneath the covers.
He wouldn't even let Jack touch him. Said he couldn't bare the feeling of Jack's hands on him. Said he didn't deserve Jack's affection, not after everything he'd failed to do.
It got to the point where Jack had started sleeping on a cot in the corner of their bedroom. Unable to bring himself to sleep in the spare room -The one they hadn't done up to be the nursery.
The nursery was padlocked and only Dana had the key. This was Jack's idea after he found Robby in there with a suspicious letter sitting inside the crib. A letter Jack latter discover had his name scrawled on the outside in Robby's wobbly script. The papers stained and wrinkled by Robby's salty tears.
He couldn't bring himself to be too far from Robby after that.
In all reality Jack couldn't trust Robby to be alone, not after finding him in the nursery, a clear intent in his eyes. He couldn't trust his husband not to harm himself.
Couldn't trust Robby with his own life.
And that broke a fundamental part of Jack. Something he'd foolishly hopped he'd never feel break again after his wife's death at her own hands.
After a month of watching Robby wither away -Only eating or drinking when Jack or Dana force him too, and even then he could barely manage to keep much of anything down.- Jack got a vasectomy. And he got Dana to help him by having her watch Robby, all while her husband Benji took him to the appointment.
That day Jack vowed to himself to never let this happen again.
Eventually Robby shoved all of it -every last bone deep ache- behind a steel reinforced concrete wall in his mind. Sealing it away never to be touched again for fear of how close he had come to hurting Jack in a way he'd swore never to do.
A silent vow he'd swore eight years before. Made on the day he'd stopped by the Abbot household on a spur of the moment visit only to find Ronnie -Jack's wife- in their ensuite. Cold and unresponsive after taking one too many pain meds.
Just like Jack was haunted by the look on Robby's face six years ago, Robby would forever carry around the guilt of being unable to save Ronnie. Robby's childhood best friend. Along with the pain of having to explain to Jack that his wife was brain dead.
Jack had been on shift when it happened. He'd swapped shifts with Robby that day so as to take Ronnie out that night for a surprise date night.
But once again fate had different plans for them.
Instead of getting dressed to the nines and taking his wife to her favorite Michelin star restaurant within the city of bridges. Jack was walking behind his wife's lifeless body as they wheeled her hospital bed through the hospital hall lined with their friends and coworkers. A walk of life to celebrate her one last time before she donated what viable organs she still had.
He still can recall the exact feeling of Robby's tall, strong frame holding him up. Keeping him from collapsing beneath the weight of his world crashing down around him.
If someone had asked college Jack if he thought twelve years down the line his girlfriend's college roommate would one day stand by him through her death. He would've told them they were crazy. Ronnie wouldn't be the first to go between the two of them. If anything his active military status would take him long before her.
What college Jack didn't know of course was that his active military status would cost him part of his leg after an IED exploded far too close for comfort. And the subsequent need to keep himself busy so as not to hear his own thoughts would take his wife so far from him.
To a place he could not follow.
Shaking the memories from his mind -The ache settling into his chest at the memories an all too familiar feeling. So inseparable from himself it was almost comforting in a way. A reminder of his humanity.- Robby pops open his truck door before dragging his tire body from the passenger seat.
Jack follows quickly behind him with both of their backpacks slung over his shoulders. His normally small limp becoming more and more prominent with each step he took towards their dark oak front door, with it's stained glass window.
"You've pushed yourself too far again Jack," Robby sighs, unlocking their front door.
It was a statement not a question.
After roughly two and a half decades of knowing each other Robby knew his husband's tells. He could hear when Jack began to favor his left foot over his prosthetic right one as his prosthesis began to chafe his skin raw.
Jack simply huffed in reply, stepping around his all knowing husband and into the comfort of their home. Quickly divulging himself of their bags as Robby closed and relocked the door behind them.
"Why don't you join me for a bath?" Robby hums, gingerly bending to unlace his boots so he could leave them at the threshold.
While Robby phrased it as a question, Jack knew better than to take it as anything other than a direct order. "I'll draw us that bath then," Jack hums in reply. Pressing a kiss to Robby's bearded cheek as he passed him to head upstairs to their ensuite.
Instinctively Robby's hand reaches out to squeeze Jack's fingers as they brush over his knuckles. A gentle smile softening his features as he murmurs, "I love you, you know that right?"
"Never doubted it," Jack replies, his famous crooked grin lighting up his features. His hand squeezing Robby's fingers in silent reassurance before releasing him to finish his trek up the stairs.
Once his husband disappears from sight, Robby takes a moment to breath. Centering himself once again. Or at least trying valiantly to ground himself in the comfort of his and Jack's home.
Scrubbing his hands down his face, Robby let's out a long sigh. Easing some of the tension in his shoulders before heading upstairs after his husband.
The promise of a warm bath with his husband resting against his chest a sure fire guarantee to heal part of his soul.
Following the sound of the running tap, Robby makes his way towards their bedroom and the ensuite full bath attached. The sound of Jack rustling around in the bathroom fills Robby's ears as he enters the room.
Out of habit he begins to strip himself of his dirty hospital clothes. Tossing them haphazardly into his hamper. His mind drifting further and further with each item of clothing he removed. Pausing only when he'd reached his soiled boxers.
His hands freezing at his waist. Thumbs looped underneath the elastic, ready to pull them down when flashes of the blood he found earlier floods his vision.
He becomes vaguely aware of the tightening sensation in his chest as his vision begins to blur for the umpteenth time that night. That same shrill ringing from earlier creeping back in, blocking out all other sounds in the room.
Sucking in a ragged breath, trying to keep the fresh wave of panic at bay, Robby didn't hear Jack shut off the tap. Nor did he hear him pad across the tile of the bathroom floor as he headed back towards their bedroom.
Leaning against the bathroom door. Jack's rusted steel gaze locks curiously onto his husband's almost completely nude form. Clocking the ragged motion of his chest, and the growing flush of his skin.
Folding his arms over his equally nude chest. The side of his head bumps softly against the doorframe as he leaned up against it. Jack allows a falsely blissful smile to ghost his lips as he says, "c'mere." His left hand lifting away from his chest to crook his pointer finger at Robby. Beckoning him over.
"Very demanding tonight." Robby smirks, tipping his head mischievously. His hands coming to rest on his hips in a vain attempt to hide their shaking.
Robby's chocolate gaze lands intently at his husband. Soaking in the broad, freckled expanse of his chest before dipping down to the waistband of his black boxers.
"Look all you want Mishka, but you-" Jack circles his left pointer finger at Robby before folding it back against his chest. "-aren't getting any for at least a couple days. Not till you're feeling better that is."
Without thinking Robby's feet carry him to Jack, dragging slightly on the dark navy carpet.
Blowing a raspberry, Robby tips forward at the waist, resting his forehead on Jack's shoulder. His head shaking back and forth slightly against Jack's bare skin.
Instinctively Jack unfolds his arms to wrap them around Robby's taller frame. His left hand coming up to cradle the nape of Robby's neck as the other fans out across the small of his back. "Let's get you in the bath. How does a glass of that red wine we picked up from that festival Dana dragged us to a few months ago sound?"
"As long as your drinking in the bath with me, then that sounds like exactly what this super hot doctor I talked to earlier ordered." Robby mumbles, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Jack's neck. His lips ghosting across Jack's collarbone as he talks.
Scratching his nails along the base of Robby's neck Jack scoffs playfully, "should I be concerned? Can't have you running off on me chasing a younger, hotter piece of ass."
Standing back up to his full height, Robby leans down to capture Jack's lips in a short, sweet kiss before murmuring. "I've already got my younger, hotter piece of ass." He pauses to nip at the hard line of Jack's jaw before adding. "Even managed to put of ring on it a few years back."
"Sounds like a lucky young man if you ask me," Jack replies, a teasing smirk clear in his voice.
"Ha, if anyone's the lucky one here it's me. By far." Robby chuckles, pulling back from Jack's embrace.
Shrugging, Jack's hands fall back to his sides, one corner of his lips lifting slightly in a lazy smirk. "From your lips to God's ears."
"Alright smartass, go get the wine." Robby scoffs, pressing a kiss to Jack's bare shoulder as he pushes past him into the ensuite.
"Aye aye captain," Jack replies, mock saluting as he pushes off the door frame to do as he was told.
Once Jack was out of ear shot Robby finally broke, half stumbling over to the sink. His shaking hands splaying across the cold, dark green marble of the counter top. A desperate attempt to ground himself and stave off another panic attack.
God why couldn't he just buck up and get on with it? It wasn't like this was his first miscarriage. Hell it definitely wasn't the worst one he'd had by far.
So why did it steal so much of his oxygen?
Why did it feel like it was taking the very blood from his veins?
The panic from earlier began clawing it's way back up his spine with a vengeance. Threatening to bleed him dry.
He knew that if he could look up long enough to see himself in the mirror, he'd find a version of himself he hadn't seen in a long time. Not since that dark pit he'd found himself in after Theodore. Not since he had to take Adamson off of ECMO during the hellscape that was covid.
He couldn't tell how long it had been since Jack had left and that sharp sting of panic returned. But what he did know -what he could feel- was the gnawing pressure at the base of his neck. Building behind his eyes, making them feel like they were seconds from bursting out of his skull.
"Breathe Mishka," Jack hums, appearing behind Robby out of nowhere.
The clink of two wine glasses, followed by the thunk of a full glass bottle, on hard marble barely clearing the wall of dead noise ringing in Robby's ears.
Through the fog clouding his senses Robby could feel Jack's cool touch against his feverish skin as Jack's hand splays itself across his lower back.
Jack's love language was physical touch.
And it took Robby -a man with a strong aversion to people touching him- far too long to get used to Jack's need for physical contact. But now after nearly thirty years of it's near constant presence, Robby welcomed it with open arms. Like a fire extinguisher for his burning soul.
Gulping down lungfuls of air, Robby felt like he was burning from the inside out. Akin to that town about four hours northeast of Pittsburgh, Centralia if remembered correctly. He'd read about it about out of sheer boredom a few years back on a night when is mind wouldn't let him sleep and Jack was on the night shift.
It too had a fire perpetually burning far below it's skin, in the depths of old abandoned mine shafts. A controlled trash burn turned horribly wrong when anthracite coal down in the mines caught fire and spread like germs in a daycare. And much like Robby, no amount of valiant attempts made to staunch the flame were enough to put out the roaring fire.
Robby's fire though didn't start with a routine trash burning.
No, his fire started the day his Bubbe and Zaydee took him out for ice cream in the middle of a brutal Pennsylvanian winter. A vain effort to soften the blow of telling little eight year old Robby that his mother wouldn't be returning for him.
And that fire burned hotter and faster well into his teens. Coming to near eruption when he was in college and he'd finally learned the term gender dysphoria. A term that damn near explained every single thing he'd been feeling for going on a decade at that point. Back when he'd gotten his first menstrual cycle, and his chest began to fill out with the beginnings of breasts. When his body no longer felt like his own, but some secret third -almost alien- thing.
The fire began to tame it's near decade long fury when Robby started going by Michael instead of the name his mother gave him at birth - Magdelina. He started binding his chest, and adopted he/him pronouns. Started buying clothes from the same section his best friend Veronica's boyfriend Jack bought from.
Waiting impatiently for the day he could afford to start taking testosterone and finally say goodbye to the breast he never really wanted in the first place.
It stayed calm all throughout college, and med school. Only igniting for a brief moment when his Zaydee died of a heart attack during his third year of residency. When he was twenty-eight years old and too far from home to make it in time to say goodbye.
But just like how she was there when Robby realized he was Michael and not Magdelina, and that it was okay to allow himself that truth. Ronnie -and now Jack her long term boyfriend, who'd come home from his deployment in Iraq just to be there- was there to tame his fire.
Together they carried him the rest of the way through his residency and back home to Pittsburgh from New Orleans. Ronnie coming with him having accepted a positions in her chosen field of obstetrics in the same hospital her and Robby dreamed about saving lives in back when they were kids. Plus Jack was set to return to his own version of residency -combat medicine in the middle of a desert that had become an active war zone.
Little did they know at the time that Jack's six year term would be shrunk down to a little less than four years after an IED took half of Jack's leg. Honorably discharging him and sending him back home to heal and move on in life with his now wife and best friend.
His fire burned hot and bright for a long time after after he'd found Ronnie unresponsive. And he -despite his years of emergency medical knowledge at this point- couldn't save her. Jack was too wrapped in his own grief at the time to tame Robby's inferno. Leaving Robby to almost burn every bridge in his small city of earthly connections. His grief threatening to consume everything he had to give and then some.
Then after about two years of Robby burning close to an edge, over a decade of friendship, and their shared grief of losing a soulmate. Both men came to the realization that their once platonic affections turned into a deep, enduring romantic love.
And for about five years Robby had found his calm center again, the blaze of his soul taming down to simmering embers. They started trying for a baby, even got pregnant on the first try. And Robby thought maybe just maybe he'd finally extinguished that fire consuming his soul.
His Bubbe passed suddenly in her sleep and the overwhelming stress caused him to have his first miscarriage. And after half a decade the embers of simmering anthracite inside his chest roared to life. Burning hot and bright alongside his heart.
Jack's unwavering presence throughout all of it the only fire resistant tether he could find in the ensuing inferno.
This time though, the flame never ebbed -never even so much as guttered- burning hotter and hotter with each miscarriage. Boiling towards bursting for years beneath his skin. Until the loss of their son damn near suffocated him under the wildfires demand for every last bit of oxygen he could muster.
The inferno that consumed him after Theodore's death burned through so much of the coal stored inside the cage of his ribs that he foolishly thought his fire was finally gone from him. Nearly three decades of burning snuffed out by grief.
Then covid happened and he was forced to take his mentor -the last parental figure he had to hold onto- off of life support in order to save a fourteen year old girl. And those last remaining embers spluttered and popped, surging back into life. Burning just as hot and bright as they had before.
They simmered beneath his skin for five years, leading up to that night. To him on the hospital roof. His mind spiraling through the Rolodex of people he'd failed so far in his time on this mortal plane. Mentally adding the names of Frank Langdon and Jake Malloy -his godson- to the ever expanding collection.
And just like he'd done time and time again, Jack showed up with just the right amount of cold, brisk water to tame that raging inferno. Bringing his husband back from the brink of burn out once again.
Robby often found himself wondering in moments like this why -just like that town four hours northeast- Jack hadn't cut his losses and condemned Robby to fall into disarray. Abandoning him all together and chalking him up to a lost cause.
If someone asked Robby how he felt in that moment -The cold marble biting into his palms. The bathroom tile growing warm beneath his bare feat. Jack's ever steady form pressed flush against his back, coaxing him back to the present.- he'd say he felt like a Pennsylvania roadway.
Filled to bursting with potholes and never ending road construction. Treacherous during inclimate weather -rain bringing out slick patches of oil, or snow and it's hidden chunks of black ice. Worn down from decades of improper care and overuse. Cracks and holes merely patched over instead of properly repaired.
"What happened Mishka?" Jack murmurs, nuzzling into the space between Robby's shoulder blades. His arms hooked up under Robby's so he could splay his hands across his husband's chest.
The bumpy ridges of Robby's top surgery scars as familiar to Jack as if they were his own. If Robby were facing him, Jack knew he would see the two black ink tattoos cradling each scar in their loving embrace. He knew the scribbled font of his deceased wife -as familiar to him as his own- would read Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim. He also knew that it would roughly translate to someday this pain will be useful to you.
Robby had gotten it on the first anniversary of Ronnie's death, having found a crumpled note with the phrase etched in her loopy scrawl buried in one of his many hoodies. Something Ronnie often did when Robby wasn't paying attention.
He'd gotten it in honor of the woman who had grown up beside him. And accepted every crack and flaw he had just as quickly as she did the good parts.
Swallowing around the surge of saliva in his mouth as he fought the urge to puke, Robby mumbles. "I can'tā¦ I can't take them off. Notā¦ not by myself. Iā¦ I can't face theā¦ the blood. Not again"
"Do you want me to do it for you Mishka? I can take them off and you wont have to look." Jack murmurs, brushing his lips gently over Robby's shoulder blades. One of his hands rubbing small, soothing circles against Robby's breast bone.
His arms threatening to buckle beneath him as a small broken noise looses itself from Robby's lips. Unable to form words around the growing lump in his throat Robby nods his head vigorously. Sucking in a ragged, unsteady breath, trying to combat the oncoming tears.
Sliding his hands gently down the expanse of his husbands torso. Being careful not to linger over his stomach as Jack knew it would be at least a few days maybe even weeks before Robby was comfortable with Jack touching him there again.
"Can you turn around for me Mishka?" Jack murmurs, kissing the base of Robby's neck. The feel of Robby's burning skin against his sensitive lips like a knife to his already aching heart.
On instinct his thumbs begin to rub soothing circles into the plush skin of Robby's lower back. His hands still resting comfortingly over his husband's hips.
Wordlessly Robby shakily turns so his front was facing Jack. His gaze locking onto the towel rack hanging on the wall over Jack's shoulder. Refusing to meet his husband's eyes. Unable to face the pity and concern he knew would be swimming in those rusted blue hazel eyes he loved so much.
"Thank you, Sweetheart," Jack says, squeezing Robby's hips comfortingly before kneeling before him.
His residual limb practically groaning in protest, begging him to remove the prosthetic already. And he would -he couldn't wait to get out of the damn thing- but taking care of Robby would always come first. So for the time being his discomfort would have to take a number and wait for it's time.
Reaching up slowly, as though trying not to spook a skittish animal, Jack hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of Robby's boxers. His heart constricting painfully with every tear filled hiccup that emanated from the man above him desperately trying not to break again.
As Jack peeled Robby's boxers down for him a deep pit of shame began to build in the empty spaces of his abdominal cavity. Forming like solid blocks of ice in every nook and cranny it could find. Completely resistant to the burning anthracite in the cage of his chest.
He felt feverish in the dim light of their ensuite. Each breath filling his lungs with sharp shards of glass. Making the organ rattle like strips of a torn flag inside his chest.
As the skin tight fabric peeled free from his strong thighs Robby a fog blanketed his mind. He was only distantly aware of the strangled gasp that Jack involuntarily emitted. The only sound that could cut through the newest round of skull splitting ringing in his ears.
He knew in that moment that if he could force his gaze away from the mismatched towels hanging haphazardly on the towel rack by the door. If he could bring himself to look down at his kneeling husband. He would find the culprit responsible for the sticky, wet sensation between his thighs. The deep crimson clinging to the skin and hair.
The last remnant of their final, desperate hope.
But Robby couldn't look down. He couldn't see the massacre between his legs, soiling his boxers.
He definitely could not handle the look on Jack's face as his now shaking hands finish removing the ruined material. Going so far as to lift Robby's feet one by one, pulling them through the leg holes before tossing the offending boxers -Robby's favorite pair, worn that evening in anticipation for telling the man kneeling before him of their potential child.- in the bathroom trash bin.
Jack sucked in a shallow, shuddering breath, his hands coming to rest on Robby's calves. His thumbs moving in that slow circular motion again as he gazed up at Robby.
His voice barely managing a loud whisper as he says, "let's get you cleaned up and into the bath."
Robby nods mutely. His grip on the edge of the counter tightening till his knuckles turned white with angry splotches of pink.
"Alright just stay there I'll be right back," Jack replies, groaning as he forces his feet back underneath him.
Rubbing at his lower back, Jack makes his way over to the surprisingly still warm tub. Grimacing slightly as he reaches down to grab the spare, wet washcloth so he could clean the remnants of the miscarriage from Robby's skin.
When he turns back around Jack finds Robby rubbing his knuckles against his sternum again. His head shaking slightly back and forth as he muttered softly to himself, something Jack couldn't make out. But Jack knew it was likely a Jewish prayer, a habit Robby learned from his Bubbe. A sort of ritual Robby often did to evade an oncoming panic attack. Something that -despite his lack of religion- still brought him a sense of comfort. A sense of home and his Bubbe's warm embrace.
Allowing Robby his self soothing tactics for a little while longer, Jack moves to kneel before Robby again. His hand not holding the washcloth comes up to rest on Robby's knee as he calls softly up to his husband. "I'm gonna clean you up now. Is that alright?"
Swallowing around the lump like sharp glass in his throat, Robby nods slowly, mumbling. "Yeahā¦ yeah that's umā¦ that's fine."
In a brief moment of clarity amidst the fog of his mind Robby drops the hand not digging into his sternum to his side. A silent offering to hold Jack's hand through what he couldn't do for himself. A show of letting Jack know that Robby knew he was grieving too. And that despite Jack having to care for Robby in his moment of weakness, they were in this together.
In sickness and heath, and on into the next life.
Releasing Robby's leg, Jack takes the proffered hand. Silently pulling it to his face to kiss his knuckles in soft acknowledgment of Robby's unspoken sentiment.
He doesn't let go of Robby's hand as he shakily cleans the dried, sticky blood and remnants of uterine lining from Robby's inner thigh. Continuing to hold the clammy appendage up until he has let go in order to get up from the floor and escort Robby to the still steaming tub.
"You get comfortable awhile. I'm gonna grab the wine and my crutches, I forgot them in the bedroom. They're kinda pointless in there." Jack says once Robby was settled in the bath, beneath the suds of his favorite bubble bath. His thumb jabbing vaguely over his shoulder at the door behind him. His other flexing into a fist at his side, trying to hide the tremor from Robby's tired gaze.
For the first time since that moment -what felt like hours ago now, but was maybe only fifteen minutes- in their bedroom, Robby met Jack's eyes.
Time was funny like that. Dragging on when you wanted it to zoom on by, or passing in a snap when you wished it to freeze indefinitely.
His mouth opening and closing much like a fish would as the cogs in his brain whirred. Spinning through all the words he wished he could say.
Instead he settled on murmuring, "don't be too long." Swallowing around the heavier words threatening to burst through his chest he adds, almost desperately, "please."
"Never." Jack shakes his head slowly.
While it sounded like a hyperbolic placation made simply to sooth an open wound, not heal it, Jack meant it with every fiber of his being. He would never stray too far from Robby, and when he was gone it would never be for too long.
Breaking Robby's gaze Jack moves back over to the sink. With it's discarded, unopened wine bottle and two mismatched wine glasses. Exactly where he'd discarded them when he'd come back to find Robby in the midst of a panic attack.
Picking up the bottle, his wedding band clinking metallically against the dark green glass as he grabs the cap. Twisting it off with a crack sounding off like a gunshot in the silent bathroom. Rattling Jack's already fraying nerves.
In four, hold six, out eight.
His therapist would be so proud of him. Using the breathing techniques he learned at some point in the almost decade and a half he'd spent on his couch. Spilling his guts out like puzzle pieces in need of solving.
Willing his hands to steady the way they would cutting into a patient, Jack pours two healthy portions of the deep, sweet red wine into their respective glasses.
Balancing the two full glasses and the now half empty bottle in his hands, Jack carries them over to the tub. Silently handing one to Robby before sitting the other on the ground beside the bottle with a soft clink.
Out of reflex -One born of thirty years of both platonic and romantic affection- Robby reaches out a damp hand to brush against Jack's bare thigh. A brief, fleeting thing meant only to attune to Jack's love language. Another silent show of I'm here, I'm with you, you are not alone.
Jack found that the small smile he gave in wordless acknowledgement, wasn't nearly as tight lipped as he'd thought when Robby smiles softly in return.
Small mercies he supposed.
Watching Robby relax against the tub, sinking a little lower into the warm embrace of the water, Jack finally wills his legs to carry him from the room.
That age old need to monitor every movement Robby made rearing it's ugly head. It's ever faithful companion -the inability to trust Robby by himself- crawling like an unsettling centipede up his spine as he slipped back into their bedroom.
The ache in his chest like a blunt blade sawing at his rib cage, threatening to puncture a lung as soon as Robby was out of sight. The organ spasming like a hummingbirds wings with each inhale.
His vision begins to tunnel, blurring at the edges as a silent sob threatens to steal his oxygen. Fumbling as quietly as possible through the room, tears begin to burn his eyelids.
A hallow, desperate sound rings out from his throat as he gasps around a broke cry. The weight of everything from the night before to now -the vet he couldn't save, the horrors of humanity, the sudden shock of learning his vasectomy failed after six years of near peace a in worst way possible.- finally winning its battle of crushing him. Threatening to send him buckling to his knees.
His mouth falls open in a broken cry that dies on his tongue, only managing to tumble out as a strangled wheezing sound.
Despite the tunnel vision Jack manages to find his crutches propped up against the side of his and Robby's dresser. Without further thought he grabs them, dragging them with him over to their bed. His body falling half limp on the mattress, as his knees finally buckle beneath his weight.
In four, hold six, out eight.
Scratch that pride his therapist would have in him, this breathing shit wasn't working. Each breath hurt more than the last, like thorns ripping up his esophagus. Shards of glass squeezing like a vice around his heart.
Desperate to keep quiet. To keep his pain from Robby who was already dealing with enough. Jack couldn't be the next tick on his already long list of worries.
He wouldn't allow that.
Especially not after only just getting Robby back to an even calm.
But because he was Jack, and he'd done more stressful things under threat of fire in the blistering heat of the desert. He wrestled with his prosthetic through the garbled, wet hiccups as he finally allowed his tears to flow.
A hitched, broke sigh of relief breaks loose from the mix of muffled tears as the socket pulls free. Leaving his residual limb in the black gel sock he'd put on in a rush that afternoon when he heard about the shooting at Pittfest over the police scanner.
Sniffling, Jack licks his lips, the salty tang of his tears flooding his already dry mouth as he peels the liner from his lower leg. Sitting the sweat soaked sock to the side -he'll have to wash it later- Jack massages the end of his leg. His fingers brushing over the half missing tattoo on the side of his calf. The other half was lost to the coarse sands of the Iraq desert.
If he closed his eyes he could still picture the black and white ink in full. It was a scale made up of a nondescript longsword. Each arm of the hilt had a bowl hanging from it by three strings. Inside the left bowl sat a human brain and the right harbored a human heart. Scrawled along the blades edge was the phrase every doctor lived by first do no harm etched in his wife's loopy handwriting.
He'd gotten it not long after they'd married, about a month before his first deployment. He'd wanted something to serve as a phsycial reminder of home. One now lost to the sands of time and the horrors of man.
Not long after he came back, still learning to live minus a limb, he'd gotten a fresh tattoo on the outside of his remaining leg.
This one though was the Rod of Asclepius -the proper symbol of medicine- except Jack's version -like everything else he did- was tweaked. Jack's version had the snake, reared back and ready to strike, wrapped around a human spinal column instead of the usual medal rod. And because her handwriting had been mostly lost on the original tattoo thanks to that IED, Jack had Ronnie rewrite that sane phrade. This time in the original Latin, Primun Non Nocere.
She died two years later.
Well she took her own life more like, but Jack didn't have the capacity for semantics just then.
In four, hold six, out eight.
His chest spasmed with the effort of forcing his lungs back to a more normal rhythm. He covers his tear stained face with his hands before dragging them down on an exhale. Scrubbing at his face.
Sniffling softly, Jack digs the knuckles of his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. Wiping away the remaining tears.
Straightening his spine, he grabs for his forearm style crutches leaning up against the edge of the bed. Quickly slipping into them despite the tremors wreaking their havoc on his hands.
Pushing himself up to stand from the bed, Jack squared his shoulders before heading back towards the bathroom. Forever keeping the promise he made to never stray too far or too long from the man soaking inside.
Taking one final, steadying breath, Jack slips back into the ensuite. His crutches clacking against the tile alerting a now drowsy Robby to his presence.
"Mmm Jack?" Robby mumbles as though half asleep. No doubt a result of the combination of emotional distress, the now three quarters empty wine glass, and the warmth of the bath having lulled him.
Jack let's out a snort, endeared by his husband's drowsy state. "No it's Martha from HR."
Blinking the blur of sleep from his eyes, a lazy smile spreads across Robby's face as he holds up his left middle finger.
"You'd like that too much," Jack hums, mischief swimming amidst the still glassy tears in his bloodshot eyes.
Shuffling over to the corner of the bathroom that housed the oversized tub they splurged on not only for Jack's needs but also Robby's height.
Leaning his shoulder back against the wall to stabilize himself, Jack removes his crutches and boxers with practiced ease. Resting his crutches up against the wall before carefully maneuvering himself to sit on the edge of the tub.
"You're right, but you'd enjoy it just as much, soā¦" Robby smirks cockily up at his husband. His eyes fluttering closed instinctively as Jack reaches out to brush his knuckles along the coarse hair covering his jaw.
Ignoring Robby's retort Jack murmurs, "are you sure you want me to join you, Mishka?"
Swallowing harshly, Robby's lips part around the plea, like a prayer of supplication, "please."
"Alright," Jack nods leaning over to kiss Robby's forehead.
Turning to face away from Robby so his left leg was pressed against the tub, Jack reaches out to brace one hand on the tiled wall. While his other hand moves to brace against the edge of the tub as he swings his left leg into the water. Once he was certain his foot was planted securely on the floor of the tub he pushes himself upwards. Just high enough to slide his lower half into the basin area of the tub.
"If I would've known there was going to be a view tonight I would've had you get the fancy wine." Robby smirks, leaning back in the tub to take in the view of his husband's muscle rippling in his back as he lowered himself slowly into the water.
Biting back a laugh Jack focuses on getting his body fully submerged in the water before retorting. "Mmm I've gotta keep you on your toes old man."
Chuckling Jack settles instinctively back against Robby's strong, broad chest. Comforted by the familiar feeling of his husband's body pressed against his own.
"We're the same fucking age," Robby huffs, leaning forward to bite at Jack's shoulder. His legs naturally spreading to allow Jack to slot his narrow hips between Robby's strong thighs.
Craning his neck to look over his shoulder at Robby, Jack replies, his smirk clear in his voice. "Last I checked you have a few months on me."
Scoffing Robby rolls his eyes, begrudgingly pressing a kiss to Jack temple he murmurs, "fucking semantics."
"Semantics are everything!" Jack quips, wiggling his shoulders against Robby's damp chest playfully.
"You, my darling idiot, are fucking insatiable." Robby chuckles, reaching over the edge of the tub to grab both of their wine glasses. Handing the still full glass to Jack before refilling his own.
Humming in approval, Jack sinks further into the water between Robby's legs. Taking a long sip from his wine glass before turning his head to nuzzle his face into the crook of Robby's neck.
Practically purring in his husband's embrace.
Sipping from his own glass, Robby wraps his free arm around Jack's torso, pulling him tighter against him. Comforted by the solid weight of his husband pressed against his chest.
Jack's weight acting as a counter balance to the proverbial weight of old scars, and half healed wounds upon his soul.
A surprisingly comfortable silence washes over them despite all the things left unsaid between them. Those could be dealt with tomorrow. Now was for enjoying the presence of one another.
====
They lay like that for roughly an hour. Or at least Jack thought it had been that long based on the now chilled water, and the bottle of wine practically sucked dry between the two of them. Their skin had gone wrinkled and prunish so long ago Jack lost track.
Then again Jack wasn't really concerned about time or it's passing, having lost himself in Robby's arms -arguably his favorite place to be- the second he relax into him.
Nuzzling his nose against Robby's pulse point Jack hums, "as nice a this is, we should probably get out. I don't know about you but I'm fucking knackered."
"Why do you always have to be the voice of reason?" Robby groans, his head lulling dramatically to the side.
Smiling Jack presses his lips to the underside of Robby's jaw, murmuring into his beard, "someone's gotta be. Now c'mon let me up."
"Ugh fine," Robby grumbles, releasing his hold around Jack's waist.
Leaning forward off of Robby's chest, Jack grabs for the metal safety bars positioned strategically on the walls of the shower. Hauling himself upwards in one fluid motion with a grunt. The water sloshing around Robby as Jack stands -admittedly shaky at first.
"Two shows in one night! Aren't I a lucky man?" Robby muses, leaning back against the rim of the tub. A tipsy, lazy smile spread across his sleepy face.
Looking over his shoulder Jack smirks, "I try."
Biting his lower lip, Robby hums in approval. His hand reaches out to brush against the swell of Jack's ass as though it had a mind of it's own. "Oh trust me I know."
That earned Robby a bark of laughter from Jack as he sat on the edge of the tub to make maneuvering out of the tub easier.
"Hold on let an old man feel useful," Robby says, reaching out to rest his hand on Jack's lower back. Stopping him from getting all the way out of the tub.
"They say that when the elderly -such as yourself- begin to feel useless, they begin to decline in both their mental and physical health. So I would be a horrible doctor if I let such harm come to my patient." Jack smirks tilting his head back to look up at Robby as his husband stood slowly from the bath.
Snorting Robby rolls his eyes at Jack's antics, his hand -still wet from the bath water- comes up to cradle the underside of Jack's chin. Wet fingers splaying down the long column of Jack's throat almost teasingly.
Bending over at the waist Robby leans down to ghost his lips over Jack's. Nipping at his husbands plump lower lip Robby tsks. "We can't have the great Jack Abbot -nightcrawler extraordinaire- have bad patient satisfaction scores. Now can we?"
The feel of Jack's throat bobbing beneath his wet palm sends a shiver down Robby's spine as he finally seals his lips over Jack's.
Groaning into the kiss Jack parts his lips, inviting Robby to swipe his tongue into Jack's mouth. Deepening the kiss.
The crown of Jack's head presses into Robby's lower stomach as he pulls away, panting, from the kiss.
"Mmm I do pride myself on my patient's satisfaction score," Jack hums, lips parting slightly as he pants from the kiss. His warm breath mingling with Robby's as he continues to loom over Jack.
The hand not resting over Jack throat comes around Jack's shoulders to smooth over his chest. Slowly working it's way over his sternum and down the strong plain of his stomach before dragging his nails back up through the sparse hair covering his lower abdomen.
A deep groan rumbles through Jack at the feel of his husband's hands caressing and holding him. His cock twitching wantonly between his legs despite the promise of strictly no sex he'd made to Robby earlier in the evening.
Involuntarily Jack's hand reaches up to slip around Robby's neck, his dull nails scratching at the base. Holding his husband firm against him as he pulls him down, hungry for another deep kiss.
Humming Robby reluctantly pulls away from the kiss. Standing back up to his full height he says, "c'mon let's get to bed."
"Now who's the voice of reason?" Jack mumbles, swallowing around a breathless pant, his skin still vibrating from the contact.
Dragging his knuckles softly along the stubble covering Jack's sharp jaw Robby smirks. "One of us has to be."
Stepping back from him -the water sloshing around his ankles- Robby grabs for his towel hanging on the wall. Quickly drying himself as he steps from the tub onto the black bath mat before turning to pull the plug from the drain.
Toweling off his legs swiftly before wrapping the towel around his waist, Robby grabs Jack's own towel from the rack. Turning back to the tub, he hands Jack his towel with a kiss to the brow. Allowing him to start drying off as Robby grabbed his crutches.
Returning with the crutches clutched in one hand, Robby holds out his free one. A silent offering to Jack for a hand up.
"Thanks," Jack mutters, accepting Robby's proffered hand. Allowing his husband to help pull him to a standing position before taking his crutches.
Once Jack had his arms secure in the cuffs of his crutches, Robby leans over to press a quick kiss to his husband's lips, muttering, "anytime. Now to bed."
"Lead the way soldier," Jack replies, jerking his chin towards the door as a soft lazy smile graces his lips.
Shaking his head Robby chuckles as he pads out of bathroom, Jack trailing slowly behind him. The gentle clack of his crutches familiar and comforting to Robby. Almost as though the sound alone was a soothing, constant reminder of Jack's reassuring presence.
Dropping his towel in the hamper, Robby shuffles naked across the room to where their dressers sat while Jack moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Grabbing them each a fresh pair of boxers, Robby slips his own on before heading back over to where Jack was sitting. Crutches already discarded against his bedside table. Waiting patiently for his ever attentive husband.
Wordlessly Robby drops to his knees before Jack. Mutely taking him by the ankle, he lifts Jack's leg before slipping his foot into it's respective leg hole.
"Shouldn't I be the one taking care of you right now? Not the other way around?" Jack snorts in protest, leaning back on his hands. Looking down his body at Robby kneeling before him, silently pulling his residual limb through the second leg hole of his boxers.
"Lift your ass," Robby says, ignoring Jack's weak attempt at protest. Mumbling a damn near silent "thank you," he swiftly pulls the fabric the rest of the way up his husband's legs.
Once his boxers were all the way up Jack relaxes back onto the bed as Robby's hands fall down to rest over his knees. "Mishka," Jack says, nudging the man before him with his foot.
"Hmm?" Robby hums absentmindedly, his fingertips trailing over Jack's thighs. Once more unable to meet his husband's gaze. Yet also finding it impossible to deny himself physical contact with his husband.
"What's going on inside that head of yours?" Jack asks, leaning forward to tip Robby's chin up with with the side of his hand.
Pulling away from the contact, Robby tips his head forward, burying his face in Jack's thigh. Rubbing his face into the muscle he mumbles, "I need to be doing something. My mind itā¦ it wont shut off."
"Oh Mishka," Jack sighs, carding his fingers into Robby's hair. Scratching his dull nails lightly into Robby's scalp. "Come up here-" Swallowing back a crack in his voice, Jack shuffles away from Robby. Pulling himself up the bed and into his normal spot. Patting the empty space beside him he adds "-please."
A soft, pitiful whimper breaks free of Robby's chest as he forces himself to crawl up onto the bed beside Jack. He barely manages to get his feet off the ground before he's buried his nose into the crook of Jack's neck.
His larger body naturally folding around Jack's smaller frame. One leg slung over Jack's hips, while his head tucks itself underneath Jacks chin. His hand coming up to rest beside his face. Drawing nondescript shapes and patterns into the pale, freckled skin.
Once Robby is secure against him, Jack reaches over to click off the remaining lamp resting on his nightstand.
Settling back down, Jack tucks his arm beneath Robby's neck. His forearm wrapping around the back of Robby's neck so his fingertips could ghost absentmindedly over soft skin of his husband's shoulder.
Jack's hand not resting beneath Robby's neck reaches down to hold Robby beneath the knee. Securing Robby's leg around his hips. His thumb absentmindedly beginning to brush soothingly back and forth, back and forth over Robby's skin. The motion was as much to sooth himself as it was to sooth the fragile man curled in his arms.
"Baby, it's alright-" To Robby's surprise and immense pleasure Jack began to sing one of his favorite songs -Baby by Robert Bradley's Blackwater surprise- to him. "-maybe, you'll stay here tonight. Baby it's alright, maybe, you can stay here tonight."
As Jack continued to sing -his low voice coming out slightly flat but Robby never minded- the vibrations in his chest began to slowly lull Robby's busy mind. Quieting the cacophony of thoughts that were pounding in there moments before.
Between the low vibrations, the comforting sound of his husband's voice, and the soothing, rhythmic motions Jack's fingertips made across his shoulder. Robby quickly began to feel his eyes grow heavy with much needed sleep. His breathing beginning to slow with each pass of Jack fingers over his skin.
Sleepily nuzzling against Jack's chest, Robby mumbles drowsily, "love you Jack."
Smiling at the sentiment Jack continues to sing, feeling as Robby's eyes flutter closed against his chest. His breathing begin to slow to a lulled pace.
Jack knew Robby finally fell asleep when his body ultimately went lax against him, but he kept singing anyways. Finishing out the song to make sure his husband was well and truly asleep before craning his neck to press his lips to the crown of Robby's head. His lips ghosting over the dark brown, almost black locks as he murmurs, "love you too Mishka. Forever and always."
With the knowledge that his husband was finally getting the rest he needed after the day from Hell he had, Jack finally allowed the tension to ease from his shoulders. Melting his tired body down into the mattress.
Between the comforting weight of Robby resting against him and the rhythmic lull of his husband's breathing, Jack quickly found himself drifting.
Jack's eyes fluttering shut against the immense weight of the day. His heartbeat answering to the slower pace of Robby's as his breathing begins to slow in response.
Within seconds of Robby fall asleep against his chest, Jack too fell into the warm embrace of sleep.
They would have to talk tomorrow about everything. Jack knew it would be hard, he knew it would be painful. Ripping open old wounds left far too long to rot and fester in the dark.
But Jack also knew that despite every peeled off scab, over each half open wound, and how profusely they would bleed, he and Robby would come out the other side. Stronger for having cleaned up and sutured shut the wounds marring their battered and bruised hearts.
And some day, a few months from now, they would take a long weekend away and head northeast towards the rural central part of the state. Aiming for a small town Jack read about an hours drive south of Scranton named after some Olympic athlete.
They'd pass through small towns with a residency counts in the low triple digits, and through bustling rural cities aiming closer to quadruple digits.
Theyd find themselves stuck at the head of a long line of traffic stuck behind an Amish buggy -an experience neither of them ever wanted to have again- while traveling through Pennsylvania Dutch country.
At some point during their almost impromptu little road trip they'd pass through Centralia - that little abandon coal town with the fire blazing in it's belly. And Robby would see with his own eyes that even after decades -sixty years to be exact- of neglect, and unsteady foundations from years of burning anthracite life still found a way to shine through.
Forever resilient in the face of the destruction of man.
He'd find seemingly endless patches of tall, swaying grass, with blossoming, vibrant wildflowers amidst looming deciduous trees.
A doe and her young fawn would cross the dilapidated road in front of where they sat in the bed of Jack's truck. Making her way into the field that already housed a family of red foxes chasing each other without a care for the two men in the truck bed.
Vibrant, beautiful life despite the roiling inferno threatening destruction at any moment beneath the top outer layer of earth.
And after almost four decades of living with his own inferno, Robby would finally allow peace to wash over him. Content in the knowledge that if this little ghost town still had life left to give then so did he.
They'd finished up their little impromptu picnic date in the bed of Jack's truck and climb back into the cab of the truck to finish their drive.
Passing through what used to be the downtown. Robby would take in all the old run down store fronts, office buildings and homes, each one abandoned and left to rot a couple decades ago.
And despite the crumbling infrastructure, with all it's half disintegrated roads, and moss covered buildings, Robby would find beauty in the ghost town. A sense of almost comradery settling in his chest as he saw bits, and pieces of himself in the crumbling structures and over grown weeds.
After a few minutes of driving they'd leave the town behind them in the rearview. But Robby would always feel comfort in knowing even in long past damaged things beauty could be found.
Forever slipping through the cracks. Blossoming in the scars left behind by life's swift, often harsh current. Painting over flaws with it's persistence.
Nate is technically adopted. So heās Robbyās stepson and jacks nephew-turned-son. Like I can draw Robby pregnant if thatās what the people want but just letting you guys knowā¦.there was unfortunately no mpreg in the making of Nate
this is completely up to you, but I'd love to see more of Nathan! I love this fankid of yours. if you want ideas, maybe him hanging out with one of the pitt fellas, pretending to be a doctor, or him with a sibling(s) (could be him with an expecting robby, that would be super cute)
Wasnāt hire sure what you meant by āexpecting Robbyā but I do have some Nate and Robby doodles so here ya go! I love drawing them so donāt be afraid to ask at all!
Something, something nerdy!Robby wearing a button up with the sleeves rolled and it opened past his chest while sitting in frat boy!Jackās lap so they can make outā¦
and Jack is wearing a stupid backwards cap and a muscle tank so Robby can run his hands over his bicepsā¦
and their dicks are rubbing together through Robbyās slacks and Jackās basketball shortsā¦
This is so stupid but I've been suicidal for some time now (even though I'm not on the actively suicidal level yet lol) and your art genuinely gives me the will to live,,,,,,, never stop drawing your blorbos
not stupid at all!! Stick around for all the rabbot art in the world and im so honoured<3 never stop believing in the power of blorbos
Rabbot head-cannon ā leaving notes for each other.
Okay so I was thinking, because of the nature of their shifts, Robby and Jack probably rely on text or leaving each other notes to communicate, especially when their sleep schedules are exact opposites. For things not as urgent, they probably prefer the analog way of writing things down.
For Jack, Iām picturing him writing on post-it notes and sticking them on the fridge, on their bedroom door, etc., for Robby to find when he wakes up. He probably has a stack of post-its on his night stand to write things down before he heads off for his shift.
For Robby though, heās grabbing whatever pieces of paper he could find to scribble on, not caring what shapes or form they are in, as long as he can get the messages across. He would be putting pieces of tape on them so that he can slap these notes on random surfaces in their home for Jack to come across, a gift of pleasant surprises.
Please enjoy the notes situation I pictured in my head haha. š«¶š¼ They are so precious!!!
just saw a drawing of robby with abs. like our old man chubby dad bod robby. beautiful artstyle don't get me wrong bc UGH it was texture and sassy and scrumptious....but.....robby tummy......where have you gone....
Idk guys I get being horny for that man because Iām too, but all these posts fixating on ācatching printā and the extreme close ups on his crotch are too far in my opinion. Also, letās please stop circulating pictures of his children??? Like, I get that these are pictures he and his wife posted, but they published them when their accounts were still small, and I have seen them on their profiles as well, but circulating and reposting them is just weird. Yall are sharing family pictures of Shawn holding his son and thirsting over wanting to fuck him. A lot of people are just being weird and uncomfortable. Get a grip.
watching the trailer for The Red Line and freaking tearing up bro. gawd. i neeeeedddd to watch it NOW. before my headcanons from the 30 seconds i've seen spiral too miuch since i'm already thinking bentoncarter
also if some angel could provide me with a link to a pirate or free website for the uk i will love you forever. My limited knowledge searches are futile</33
