Rabbotfest - Day 5: Soulmate AU
Jack rubs his eyes until stars dance in his vision.
He’s lost it. He’s finally cracked. After decades of emergency medicine, Jack Abbot has lost his goddamn mind to the point of hallucinating, because there is no way in hell what he just saw was real.
His name, in his very own squashed, chicken-scratch handwriting, sprawled in an arch over Michael Robinavitch’s right hip.
Of all the things he expected to happen today, Robby getting sprayed with an unfortunate bodily fluid and having to change his scrubs wasn’t high on the list, but it’s not entirely out of left field. However, seeing a soulmark on him was.
Jack recounts every time he’s seen Robby change before. There’s not many. Unlike Jack, who happily strips wherever is convenient, Robby tends to maintain his dignity by finding somewhere private before taking anything off.
He should leave it alone. Jack only caught a quick glimpse before it was covered again, and he easily could have misread what it said. It might not even be a soulmark; Robby has plenty of voluntary tattoos, he might have gotten another and didn’t feel the need to share it with Jack.
But the script nags at him. Jack has signed his name thousands of times; he likes to think he knows his own writing, and, he’s seen it before, nestled under his wife’s breast that he would trace and cherish every day until he lost her.
The scar etches itself in Jack’s mind as permanently as it is settled in Robby’s skin.
He lasts a month before the bubble brewing in his chest bursts. “Hey, Mike. Got a minute?”
Robby turns around, exhausted. He’d already given up a full day off to help out with the night shift; Jack is certain the last thing he wants is for this to be brought up, but he can’t resist any longer. He’s been staring at the hem of Robby’s scrub top all night, hoping it would raise enough for him to get another look, but his undershirt kept getting in the way.
“Yeah,” Robby rubs a hand over his face. “What’s up?”
“Uh.” The bright hospital lights blind him. “Not here. Walk with me.”
Robby frowns, but follows. Once they’re a safe distance away, Jack tugs uncomfortably on his backpack strap. He forces the churning in his stomach to relax enough for him to speak.
“I, uh, if I’m wrong, I’m really fucking sorry, and we can just forget this whole thing,” he starts. “But it’s really been eating at me, man, so I gotta ask.”
Robby stares expectantly. “Well?”
“A few weeks ago, I saw something on your hip.” All the color drains from Robby’s face, and he takes a wonky step back. “I might’ve misread it,” Jack rushes out.
A trembling hand massages the lines decorating Robby’s forehead. “Jesus Christ.”
“I might’ve misread it,” Jack repeats weakly.
“You know you didn’t,” Robby’s gruff voice shakes the ground beneath them.
An eerie silence settles between them. Jack rocks back and forth on his feet, keeping a nervous eye on Robby. He wouldn’t put it past him to bolt and never be seen again.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Jack starts, tentatively. “And I don’t think it’d be a bad idea.”
The wrinkles on Robby’s face deepen. “What?”
“We get along, and you’re a handsome guy—“
“No,” Robby barks. “Don’t.”
“No!” Robby’s white face blooms with red splotches. “Don’t do that. Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not!” Jack insists. “I think we’d be good together.” He points toward the hospital, “We make a great team, and I like guys—“
“Don’t tell me that,” Robby’s voice cracks. He takes another step back, his head shaking frantically. “I don’t want to know that.”
“Because it’s like you’re…” Robby inhales a shaky breath. “You’re close, but out of reach, and I don’t want you getting closer when I still can’t have you.”
“But that’s what I’m saying, Mike, you can. We can; we could have a real go at this.”
Robby’s bottom lip quivers, “No.”
“Why not?” Jack can think of worse fates than waking up next to Robby every morning.
A hard sniff rings through the air. “Do you have my name?” He asks. “Or just hers?”
Instinctually, Jack’s hand raises to trace the name embedded on the back of his neck. For a lot of his life, he despised that it was impossible for him to see directly; after his soulmate died, he was grateful that it didn’t mock him every time he got dressed or looked in the mirror. Now, he wonders how often he’s turned around under the pressure of Robby’s gaze, thinking he was trying to get his attention, when really Robby was willing the writing to change to match his own.
“I know you don’t have mine,” Robby’s wet voice burns Jack’s ears. “You would’ve said something by now.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be together.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” Jack reels. “I wasn’t lying before, I like you.”
“Well, I love you.” Tears shine in Robby’s eyes. “Known each other for fifteen years, Jack. You’re my soulmate. I’m past ‘like.’”
“I’m not saying that I’m in it the way you are. Not yet, but I could be. I know I could. You’re a great man.”
“I don’t want my soulmate to have to learn to love me.”
“That’s not what I meant—“
“If she didn’t have your name, would you have married her?”
“That’s…” different, he wants to say. But it isn’t.
The tears streak Robby’s cheeks in a feeble path. “I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’m never going to have the real soulmate love everyone else gets. It’s not going to be any easier holding your hand,” he laughs bitterly.
“It might be,” Jack says.
“Live some fantasy, knowing you’ll never love me as much as I love you? Waking up every day knowing that, at best, I’m the second greatest love of your life?” Robby’s head shakes in a violent twitch. “Sounds like torture.”
A cruel laugh breaks from Robby’s throat. “I’d rather be friends. Fuck. I’d rather be strangers.”
Jack fidgets uncomfortably with the tag hanging from his bag strap. He doesn’t want that. No matter what name, or lack of, is on his skin, he’ll always be grateful to have Robby in his life.
“The day I met you was the happiest day of my life,” Robby tells the sidewalk. “And then you turned around, and I found out you were married. Jesus, Jack. You have no idea. I wanted to die.”
Jack’s own eyes begin to sting with guilt.
Robby wipes his face, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” Jack chokes. “Whatever I can do to help; anything you want, Mike. I swear.”
“Start by calling me Robby,” he says. All the fight has drained from his voice; only miserable acceptance remains. “Like everyone else.”
He’s gone before Jack can argue.
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