Jack doesn't check who's calling when he picks up the phone, he already knows. He has a sixth sense about it, can always feel Robby before he's there. Even over the phone, even thousands of miles away, he always knows when it's Robby.
"Hey, sexy," Jack says as he picked up the phone.
Robby sputters out a laugh in that way he does sometimes. It always makes Jack grin.
"Pretty sure that's sexual harassment," Robby says and Jack smiles into the stew he's making.
"We're not at work," Jack points out, sliding the sliced carrots into the crock-pot.
"I'm not sure that's how that works."
"What are you gonna to do, report me?" He's grinning now, not even bothering to keep cooking. Just leans back on the counter and takes a relieved inhale.
"This sounds like the start to a bad porno," Robby laughs, and Jack can hear a car drive by in the distance.
"Guess there's only one way to find out and that's by coming back." They haven't fucked before, but it's always seemed inevitable- the ultimate terminal of their relationship. Eventually they will fall together and never fall back apart. "Where are you?"
"Oklahoma. There's this giant concrete whale in a little pond. Old Route 66 attraction. It's got a baseball hat on."
"Sounds cute." He's happy that Robby's on Route 66. The farther away he is from Head-Smashed-In, the happier Jack will be.
"It's kind of creepy actually- It's got one eye half-closed so it kind of looks like it's leering at you." A pause. "I'm inside of it right now."
"And what are your thoughts in the belly of the whale, Jonah? You regret giving God the run-around yet?"
"Not yet." A pause. "I like it. No one else is here, it's peaceful."
"Sounds nice. I wish I was there." He would go see as many dumb tourist attractions as Robby wanted as long as he knew he was safe.
"I'll bring you a t-shirt." And Jack likes the sound of that. Robby returning to bring him souvenirs from the trip means that Robby is returning. The anxiety in his chest eases a little.
"Get me a magnet, too."
"Demanding," Robby tsks. "Do you even put magnets on your fridge?"
"I will if they're from you." He'd take as much useless shit as Robby would give him as long as it means he's here. "What's next?"
"Museum of Osteology. Probably more Route 66 after that."
"Nerd. You haven’t seen enough bones in your life?" Jack scoffs.
"These are animal bones," Robby explains. Jack doesn’t point out that humans are animals too. "They have a blue whale skeleton."
"I see how it is. You emerge from the belly of the beast and want to see it's corpse hung from the ceiling. Didn't know you were so heartless." Robby laughs again and Jack grins in triumph. "A whale skeleton does sound cool. Get me something from there, too."
"Bossy and greedy, a real winning combination."
"What can I say, I'm a catch." Jack pauses. "I miss you."
"I miss you too. I think this would be more fun with you." It hits Jack square in the chest. Robby, normally so evasive, actually being honest for once. And then: "I mean- really, who's supposed to take my picture with this cement masterpiece?"
"You want me to fly out there to be your camera man?" It's a real offer; Jack would do it, in a heartbeat. He has the time off banked.
"No need for all that. But maybe one day we take a road trip together. They sell these National Park passports."
"Do they now? Sounds like something we need to invest in." A road trip together sounds good. His breath is coming easier than it has since the minute Robby rode off.
"We can argue about what stickers to put in it."
"Oh, there are stickers now? Sounds very official."
"It's how the book's set up." Robby explains. "You get the stamp from the park and there's space for a sticker above it."
"More things for you to buy," Jack points out. "But let's do it. I have very intense sticker preferences, you know."
"You have very intense preferences about everything. You'll probably come back as a ghost to argue about the way we threw your funeral."
"You just want me to haunt you, I can feel it. Can't be without me for a minute, you just gotta drag me back from the dead."
There's a pause. "You've done that for me before. Just trying to return the favor." And then, in typical Robby fashion, he decides to bail when things get a little too close to the truth. "I'm gonna go, I want to get to Oklahoma City before dark."
Jack doesn't mind, he's just happy to have been called at all. "Okay, Jonah. Give the whale a kiss for me before you go." It's utterly unconscious, the way he says the next part. "I love you."
"Love you too." And then Robby's gone. And Jack thinks. Well, at least there's that, sorted. The words are out there now, and miracle of miracles, Robby said them back.
He returns to his cooking, and a minute later his phone buzzes with a message. A picture of the whale, which is very charming, even with it's squinted eye. And then a second picture, of Robby kissing it's cement mouth. Jack grins.
Per their therapists, they both needed to get a hobby. Jack's therapist had said that he needed one to replace the TEMs shifts, and Robby's therapist had said he just needed hobbies, plain and simple.
"I have hobbies," Robby whined, flopping back on Jack's couch with all the dramatics the situation deserved. "I hike and I watch sports with you. Those are hobbies! One's even an outside hobby. Why do I need more?"
"It's bullshit," Jack agreed, handing him a beer. "One's social, one's active. I made the same argument to my therapist and he just said that I needed a hobby with less gunfire and mortal peril."
"Can I just quit therapy?" Robby asked, settling further into Jack's side. "I gave it a fair go, but it's obviously not working out."
And okay, Jack wasn't about to let that happen. It was time to bring out the big guns. "We could do it together. That way we both get a good grade in therapy."
"Et tu, Brute?" Robby put a hand to his heart, shocked by this great betrayal. "I thought you at least would be on my side."
"I am on your side. And my side. If we both have to be miserable, we might as well be miserable together." Jack's logic was sound. And if he got to spend even more time with Robby... well, it was justified. It was therapist-mandated, in fact.
And that was how, one week later, they ended up at a rock climbing gym.
Jack was not a stupid man. He had prepared: he read the website, read every line of the waiver, and got a doctors note. (If the note was signed by one M. Robinavitch M.D., that was between him and his doctor.) So he was quite annoyed when the teenager at the front desk took one look at his prosthesis and said "Sorry, man. I can't let you climb; it's a liability."
"I have a doctor's note," he pointed out, handing it over. When that didn't work- "I signed the waiver."
"I get that, but that waiver wouldn't hold up in court."
Jack's eye twitched.
Robby had to shuffle them out of there real quick before steam started coming out of his ears. He had a whole rant scripted and everything. So rock climbing was a bust.
Jack's next big idea was a baking class. He knew how to cook and he liked to eat baked goods; surely, this was going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
It was not. Half-way through their first class, Jack forgot about the whipping cream he had going in the mixer and by the time he remembered it, it had transformed into extremely sweet butter. Robby, with his perfect whipped cream, had taken one look at the contents of Jack's mixing bowl and started to laugh.
Jack wasn't about to take that lying down, so he reached into his bowl, scooped out the butter, and smashed some into Robby's face with all the passion of a groom who found out that his new wife had cheated with a groomsman minutes before the cake cutting.
Robby let out a noise that could only be described as a squawk and immediately moved to retaliate: he stole some of Jack's butter and rallied his own attack. By the time the teacher got to them, all hell had broken loose. At some point, Robby had decided to sacrifice his own whipped cream to the cause, and the talent disparity within their creations was very apparent in the sheer amount of beautifully fluffy whipped topping in Jack's hair.
Outside of the baking studio, Jack received the teacher's ire with a battle-honed stoicism, while Robby was trembling with the force of his suppressed laughter. Jack agreed that yes, it would be for the best if they never returned, absolutely, he would pay extra for the cleaner, and yes, they understood why their actions were unacceptable. Next to him, Robby was turning a delightful shade of puce from how much effort he was putting into his appropriately contrite expression.
The second she walked away, they both burst into great, gasping laughter, bent over at the waist.
"Hey," Robby said, when they had both (mostly) gotten it under control. "You have a little..." With that, he pounced, really rubbing the whipped cream into Jack's curls.
Jack responded in kind, scooping the butter from Robby's shirt and smearing it over as much of his face as he could manage while they both tried to knock the other's hands away. This scuffle in the streets lasted until the curious glances of the onlookers turned into increasingly concerned stares. Without a word, they decided to beat a swift retreat.
Okay, baking was a no-go. They decided to try pottery next.
Pottery didn't turn out because Robby had set the speed on the wheel too high, sending his vase flying. When Jack doubled over in laughter, he accidentally smashed his vase in turn.
Next, Jack signed them up for craft club at the library. He pictured a knitting group, run by sweet old ladies. Instead, they were doing tie-die.
"I feel like I'm at summer camp," Jack grumbled, dunking his shirt.
"Maybe it's all the 8-year-olds around," Robby quipped.
That got Jack's attention. With an increasing sense of horror, he looked around the room and realized that it was all 8-year-olds. They were the oldest people in the group, by a margin of 40 years.
"The website said all ages!" He defended.
"All ages of kid, probably."
Deciding it would be more weird if they left, they kept their heads down and dyed their ties. Of course Jack's shirt looked like someone had taken a bad acid trip in a downpour, while Robby's looked incredible. It was beautifully done: the colors a perfect compliment, the pattern flawless. It practically looked professional.
And because Robby was an asshole who loved to rub his triumphs in Jack's face, he wore it constantly.
Next up, they decided to try card night at a game shop. Except when they walked in, it became immediately apparent that they were thinking of the wrong kind of cards.
Jack thought it might be a fun poker night, maybe they'd learn to play gin rummy or canasta or something. Instead, the room was filled with what seemed to be a deeply tense game of Magic: the Gathering.
"You know," Jack said, trying to save it. "I played Dungeons and Dragons in college. It was pretty fun."
"If you're honestly about to suggest that I play a roleplaying game, I will kill you." Robby huffed.
"No roleplay?" Jack let out a heartbroken sigh. "I guess you'll never get to see me as a flight attendant, then."
Robby smacked the back of his head.
Robby picked the next hobby because obviously, Jack could not be trusted. He found a crochet class for beginners held at a local yarn shop. It was everything Jack had thought craft club would be, with a reassuring lack of children.
Jack thought crochet wouldn't be too bad- after all, everyone said how easy it was. It was not easy. Not at all.
He looked on in open hostility when Robby turned out perfect granny square after perfect granny square, while Jack's creation looked less like a granny square and more like someone had tried to make a doily in a pitch-black room, using only their thumbs, after having the concept described to them.
Robby had a masterpiece. Jack had a tangle of yarn with aspirations.
Of course, the instructor just had to rub it in.
"These are amazing!" She exclaimed, looking over Robby's work. "You've never crocheted before?"
"Never!" He grinned, the absolute suck-up. "It's not that hard."
Jack knew a pointed jab when he heard one. He stuck his tongue out at Robby behind her back.
"You must have magic fingers," she said before moving on, causing Jack to laugh so hard he stabbed himself with his crochet hook.
"Oooh, Dr. Robinavitch, can I get a demonstration of your magic fingers?" He purred, batting his eyelashes.
"I'm going to shove my magic fingers up your ass," Robby threatened.
Jack would love that, actually. "Don't threaten me with a good time," he quipped.
Robby flipped him off.
Jack was never going to let him live that down. Found an airway when everyone wanted to intubate? "Look at those magic fingers go." Dropped something? "Magic fingers not working too well, huh?" During a tense procedure, he just muttered, "Magic," while wiggling his fingers back and forth.
None of their coworkers asked. It was just another one of the many esoteric jokes the two of them shared.
Their next outing was to a Paint and Sip class at a cafe. There was going to be alcohol and Robby had promised him it was going to be easy- that they were aimed towards beginners and all you had to do was follow the instructor.
Jack was great at following orders- after all, he had been in the military for seven years. However. It seemed he was not good at painting.
"How are you this bad at everything?" Robby snickered, taking in Jack's canvas. "You're one of the best doctors I know."
"One of?" Jack asked, already offended.
"After myself, of course."
Jack glared at him and before Robby could react, he leant over and painted big red slashes all over Robby's canvas.
Suffice to say, they got kicked out of Paint and Sip too.
On the way home, Jack threw his painting in the first trash can he came across, but Robby hung his up in a place of pride on his living room wall. He was such a fucking asshole.
Deciding that Jack needed a win, Robby let him pick the next activity.
"We should try fencing," Jack declared at hand-off.
"I am not spending my precious spare time rebuilding your fence." Robby was already exhausted from the all the hobby-finding, he wasn't going to give Jack free labor on top of it.
"No, like with swords," he explained, miming stabbing Robby in the stomach. "Legally approved violence. Haven't you ever wanted to stab me?"
"Only every day for the past 30 years," Robby grumbled. He was not a sporty man. However, he did feel a little bad for all the misadventures recently, so he agreed- albeit, with much complaining.
It turned out, they don't just give you foils- not swords- when you walk through the door. You have to earn your foil by learning footwork first. Robby should have realized that telling Jack, the most competitive person he had ever met, that you needed to prove your worth would spell disaster.
Jack became obsessed; he was going to get his foil come hell or high water, and he was going to drag Robby along with him. They spent weeks doing the same drills over and over, doing lunges until Robby's thighs ached, but it was almost worth it for the way Jack's face lit up when the instructor handed them their practice blades.
Almost, because now, instead of watching a nice football game in their downtime, Jack made him stand in the backyard in 90 degree heat wearing their heavy fucking fencing jackets, practicing. Robby regretted ever meeting him, ever going to therapy, ever being born.
Eventually, they got their electric foils and electric vests and were set loose in the class to actually fight. If Robby thought that maybe he would get a break now that Jack had other kids to play with, he was dead wrong. Jack wanted to win.
Twice a week, they attended lessons for an hour, followed by another hour of matches, where Robby sweated buckets in his stupid jacket and stupid mask and got stupid bruises all over his thighs from blows that glanced off of his chest.
Jack however, was thriving. It was unfair, actually, how good Jack looked in his get-up; he even insisted on buying fencing knickers, to Robby's great consternation. The first time he saw Jack in his stupid breeches with the suspenders, he had to do a deep breathing exercise lest he pop a boner in the middle of class.
While Robby looked like a steamed lobster post-bout, Jack looked like he had just climbed out of a magazine. Soaked in sweat, curls a little smushed from the mask, he was still the most beautiful thing Robby had ever seen. Torture. It was sheer, utter torture.
The torture was somehow worth it for the way Jack crowed with delight the first time he won a bout and then immediately came over to ruffle Robby's hair.
"Do you want to get a beer after this?" Jack asked as they left the fencing studio. Thankfully, he had taken the suspenders off of his shoulders, though they still looked unfairly good, hanging around his thighs.
"We smell disgusting," Robby pointed out. Fencing was not like going to the gym, you really sweated an obscene amount in those jackets. "We'd likely get kicked out of any bar right now."
"We wouldn't get kicked out of Danny's," Jack wheedled, bumping his bag against Robby's.
Robby shuddered. "You are not dragging me to that health hazard disguised as a bar. Pretty sure I got typhus last time you took me there."
"Okay," Jack dragged the word out. "Then we could go to my house."
That sounded much more appealing. "I'll need to shower when we get there," Robby said. He really was disgusting.
"Wanna share?" Jack asked casually, not even breaking his stride.
"I- uh- well, yes?" Robby stuttered. Not his most eloquent moment, but it wasn't every day your best friend of 30 years asked you to shower with him.
He waited for Jack to take it back, to say that he had just been kidding and of course, he would never actually want to shower with Robby, but he didn't. Instead, Jack slung his arm around Robby's waist and kissed his shoulder.
Okay, maybe- just maybe- their therapists had the right idea about this whole hobby business.
Jack is in the middle of speaking when Robby kisses him for the first time. It’s just a peck on the cheek, a dry press as he heads out for the night, thoughtless and tender. Jack doesn’t mention it, too scared Robby might never do it again. Robby flushes scarlet and Jack gets the impression he hadn’t meant to do it at all. He flees out the front door and Jack finds himself wishing, for the first time, that Robby’s mouth had landed just a few inches to the right.
Loving Robby has been second nature to Jack since they were both thirty years old, cocky and stupid and so utterly ridiculous. Wanting Robby though, that’s new.
It’s not new, it doesn’t feel new, more like maybe he’s only just looking at it head on, calling it what it is.
Wanting Robby, he suspects, has in fact been brewing for a very long time indeed. It’s so easy to do; Robby is the most competent man alive, he’s a dork, he’s one of the best emergency physicians in the country, he wears flip-up sunglasses and Jack wants him. Oh, he wants him.
Jack won’t have him, though. Can’t risk it. One bashful kiss on the cheek does not a relationship make. Doesn’t even prove an attraction, on Robby’s part. Why would he? Jack is a one legged widower with mental health through the floor and a hobby that involves high powered rifles that on principle Jack doesn’t remotely approve of (in anyone’s hands but his).
Robby comes round again, beers and burgers and nothing different.
Robby kisses him again. Leans across his cheese and ketchup smeared plate and plants one right on his mouth. His lips are cool from the neck of his bottle, his hand trembling where it’s fisted in Jack’s t-shirt.
“Was that, uh. Okay?” Robby’s eyes are huge and sad and wet and Jack wants him so badly.
“Yeah. Yeah I’d say it was more than just o-”
Jack is in the middle of speaking when Robby grins, bright and full of joy, and kisses him for the third time.
LOOK I CANNOT RESIST A SWEET POPECARTER ART PROMPT
Just because John’s boyfriend lives in California doesn’t mean he’s not real.
He’s real! Andrew’s real! He exists, no matter what Susan and Carol say. He’s just... shy! And sort of a criminal? So he doesn’t like his face on social media, that’s all. And they’ve been dating for almost six months, but they’ve only spent a half-dozen weekends together because of the whole distance thing and John’s job and Andrew’s job (jobs? his crimes?)... so okay, he gets why they might be suspicious, but. He’s busy with his residency! And Andrew’s busy with crime and stuff! They can’t be flying cross-country every few days!
They’d met when John had been at a conference in San Diego, presenting a paper on intubations under adverse conditions, and had gotten mugged in an alleyway trying to find a restaurant he’d read about in a magazine. Andrew had appeared out of nowhere like an avenging angel and had knocked the knife from the guy’s hand, recovered John’s wallet and watch, and sent his attacker fleeing into the darkness. He’d knelt down beside John, helped him up, and John had fallen in love the moment Andrew’s worried hazel eyes met his.
It had taken him a couple hours to wear Andrew down, but eventually he’d taken him out for a late dinner and then back to his hotel room and had had a very enjoyable evening together (and morning together, and afternoon too), and then John had put his number in Andrew’s phone and told him they were dating, and that had been that.
He hadn’t said anything at work, not right away, but then last week someone had asked what he was doing on his days off and it had just... slipped out. Going to California. Oh, why? Visiting my boyfriend--
And then of course, Susan wanted to see a picture of him, and Carol wanted to know details, and Benton pretended he didn’t care but definitely was hovering waiting to hear what he said, and that’s when John realized he didn’t have any pictures of Andrew, and that he didn’t know much about him beyond his name and his phone number and he way he moaned when John was inside him, and. Well. It had been suspicious to his coworkers, apparently.
But this week he’s visiting Andrew for five whole days and he’s determined to come back with evidence. Proof! And not just the marks on his body from being incredibly well-fucked for nearly a week, because he’s planning to spend most of those days in bed with a few breaks for food and stuff. He’s booked a king suite at a nice hotel and he brought enough lube that he’s really hoping the TSA didn’t get suspicious.
Andrew’s waiting in his truck outside the airport, ballcap pulled low as he glances around to check for people watching him or cops or whatever, and John can’t help the huge grin on his face as he climbs into the passenger seat and leans in, catching his lips in a kiss.
Andrew’s mouth is still for a moment before he kisses back with a pleased noise deep in his throat, and he always seems surprised when John’s happy to see him, which is adorable and also sort of heartbreaking, too?
John pulls back after a moment, because he knows Andrew’s not super comfortable in public outside his usual routine, and slides as close as the seatbelt will let him as Andrew pulls out of the airport pickup. Once they’re on the highway, Andrew’s hand curls around his tentatively, and John weaves their fingers together tightly.
They’re already kissing again when the door closes on their hotel room--thank fuck for remote check-in and keys on the app, John loves a physical key but he loves not having to wait to get to their room more--and when he spins Andrew around and pushes him down on the bed, Andrew’s gasp of surprise makes his cock twitch in his pants.
Because Andrew’s strong, and muscled, thick and gorgeous all over, freckled on every inch, and John’s got the physique of a slightly overcooked plate of spaghetti, but he’s stronger than he looks, especially when Andrew’s this thrilled to be tossed around.
He climbs on top of him, unbuttoning Andrew’s shirt quickly, tugging it open so he can mouth down Andrew’s chest along muscles that bunch and twitch under his attention. He could die in Andrew’s beautiful abs, could smother himself in Andrew’s pecs and probably go pretty happily, especially when Andrew’s hands slide into his hair, tugging on it just right.
And when a few minutes later he’s braced over Andrew’ letting himself be worked open as he gasps and blushes, John’s glad he packed a gallon of lube, because in five days they’re going to need all of it. He’s probably not going to be able to lift Andrew up and down on his own cock the way Andrew’s doing to him--arms bunching, cock filling John up, thighs working while John just holds on for the ride and tries not to come immediately--but he is planning to take Andrew apart slowly, bit by bit, making him lose all that tight, tense control.
And this is a good start--Andrew’s wide eyes, the way he’s biting his lip, the way his hips are stuttering a little every time John bears down on his cock--and when John comes in an explosive wave over his chest, cock untouched, Andrew can’t help but follow him over the edge.
John doesn’t take a picture of Andrew gorgeous and passed out and still damp from his post-coital shower, face down on the bed fully naked, because consent and all that, and his gorgeous butt is pretty recognizable, but god is he tempted. Instead he curls around him, face pressed to his shoulder, and lets himself fall into the sleep of the exhausted and fucked-out.
~~
It’s early--earlier than John wants to be up, even with the time zone difference--but Andrew’s giving him that look, the big-eyed yearning that says I don’t want to tell you how much I want this, but I want this, and so John stumbles out of bed, lets Andrew bully him gently into the bathroom to brush his teeth and floss, then hand him gym shorts and his socks and sneakers (tutting at the state of John’s socks, the worn-thin heels and the greying bottoms, promises to buy him new ones as if John’s not the heir to millions), and tug him towards the door. And if John pauses to kiss him against the door--and if that leads to Andrew dropping to his knees and sucking John down sweetly and with brutal efficiency before getting up to brush his teeth again while John pants against the door and tries not to collapse on the nice hotel carpet--that’s just a bonus.
But it does mean that John’s legs are shaking within a few minutes on the treadmill, running beside Andrew at about a quarter the speed, mostly watching the droplets of sweat slide down his boyfriend’s cheekbone and along his thick, gorgeous neck.
John knows nobody gets a body like Andrew’s by accident, knows it’s partly genetics and partly a hell of a lot of hard work that John is absolutely grateful for and completely uninterested in doing for himself. But Andrew asks him for so little beyond his presence that he follows him through his routine, letting Andrew lead him through lifting weights and using machines that look like medieval torture devices and stretching parts of his body he’s not sure he remembers the names of.
There’s a whole segment of their workout that involves passing a big, heavy ball back and forth, and every time their hands brush Andrew’s eyes brighten a little, and fuck, John’s in love with this guy, drunk on the way he doesn’t hide how much he wants John, filled up by his lack of bullshit and pretention as much as he’d been by his thick fingers pressing into him last night.
And when Andrew finally says okay, I’m good, and steps close to run his hands along John’s body, checking for soreness, for tenseness, rubbing at his shoulders briskly and wiping the sweat off his cheek with a gentle thumb, John can’t help it--he pulls out his phone, wraps his arms around Andrew’s back, and urges him closer. The gym’s mirrored wall is huge and clean, and John’s just a few inches taller than Andrew, taller enough that he can tuck Andrew’s face against his neck. “Just stand there and look pretty,” he murmurs into his ear, and Andrew shudders a little, goosebumps rising on his neck, and John snaps the picture just like that, Andrew’s broad, muscled back, thick neck, round shoulders all dripping with sweat, John’s pink, satisfied face pressed close to his damp hair held back by his backwards cap.
He shows Andrew, who gives that tiny, private smile John loves, the one he only sees when they’re alone, the one that’s full of sweetness and doesn’t have the shade of little shit Andrew has when he’s being clever or smug or snide. Andrew takes the phone from his hands and sends the picture to himself without a word.
~~
“Holy crap,” Susan says, staring down at her phone. “He’s real.” She leans in closer, zooming in on the instagram post. “Oh no. Is he hot?”
(this is also on ao3 and if you liked this you will probably like my other two popecarter universes)
Summary: Robby finally finds a way to give something back to his community
Characters: Jack Abbot, Michael (Robby) Robinavitch, a little bit of Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker
Robby x Jack (Rabbot)
Part 1 here
--- --- ---
Robby stood on the sidewalk beside Jack, wearing jeans and a white shirt, every movement of his arms accompanied by the rattle of the countless colorful bracelets hanging there. He wore sunglasses and had a handful of rainbow-colored tattoos scattered across his arms and cheeks. He was smiling while he held up a sign:
FREE DAD HUGS
The font was rainbow-colored and a glittery heart sat in the corner.
Jack, who was holding the same sign, glanced at him. He was wearing the same outfit as last year - white tank top, his trusted pair of camo pants and the rainbow bandana tied around his waist. “Never change a running system” as he claimed.
He was happy that Robby stood there, finally feeling like he was part of the community, finally able to give something back. Because the signs had been Robby’s idea.
Kind of, at least.
He hadn’t said it with words. But a couple of months ago Robby had started sending Jack videos, mostly without context, mostly just accompanied with emojis.
A man standing at Pride in Sydney, giving out over seven hundred hugs to kids that had been rejected by their parents for their sexuality.
A father holding a cardboard sign and hugging a young man who was crying so hard he could barely stand.
A video about the “Free Dad Hugs” movement.
Robby had never actually said what he thought about any of it - he had simply sent the videos. Once he commented one with “This is nice.” Once at two in the morning, when Jack was on night shift, with “People should do more of this.”
Jack had noticed what he was trying to tell him. So now Robby was standing in the middle of Pittsburgh Pride holding a sign he had apparently wanted badly enough to spend months pretending he hadn’t.
Jack smiled, his hand touching Robby’s arm for a second. “You happy?”
Robby shrugged. “I’m doing this for you.”
“Bullshit.” Jack laughed. “You sent me approximately eighty videos of people doing this.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about” he replied, adjusting his sunglasses. He paused, then- “But no one seems to want to have a free hug. Maybe they can smell we’re not dads.”
Jack laughed softly and bumped his shoulder against Robby’s. “Give them time.”
Robby nodded, even when he felt nervous. He was scared that no one would want a hug from him. Maybe the younger generation today didn’t need reassurance from strangers. Maybe they’d laugh at the sign. Maybe they’d think that he was a creep and the whole idea was stupid.
A young man - maybe nineteen or twenty - approached him a couple of minutes later. He was wearing a rainbow bandana around his neck and slowed down when he saw the signs, glancing first at Jack then at Robby. “You guys are offering hugs?”
Jack smiled. “Absolutely.”
The young man laughed nervously, his whole expression changing. “Um… can I?”
Robby opened his arms, a smile spreading across his face. The young man stepped into his arms and hugged him. Robby hugged him tightly back.
For a moment he didn’t say anything, then- “What’s your name, kid?”
“Carter.” The answer was almost shy and he didn’t let go.
“I’m proud of you, Carter” Robby said simply, his heart racing, hoping and praying he wouldn’t fuck this up.
There had been a time when he could have used a hug like this himself - and if he was absolutely honest with himself he still needed them.
The young man didn’t answer but when he finally pulled away his eyes were wet. “Thanks.”
Jack watched him, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. He stepped closer to Robby and pulled him into a kiss. Robby gasped in surprise but melted into it instantly.
“I’m so damn proud of you, Michael” he whispered, giving him a gentle smack on the cheek before stepping back, holding up the sign again.
And with that - more people came. Some asked shyly, some approached laughing. Some simply pointed at the sign and held their arms out.
Robby hugged them all, taking his time with every single one of them. He never quite knew what to say afterward, so usually he settled for asking about their names or a simple “Happy Pride” or “Take care” or “I’m proud of you”.
It seemed to be enough.
He had just hugged a tiny woman named Suzanna, who had told him about her family rejecting her for coming out, when he heard a familiar voice cutting through the noise. “That can’t be!”
Robby gave Suzanna, who was already turning to leave, a little wave then turned.
Trinity Santos stood a few feet away, wearing denim shorts and a top with bold lettering across the front: I DON’T DO ARTS & CRAFTS BUT I STILL SCISSOR.
She had rainbow sunglasses perched on her nose and temporary rainbow tattoos covering her arms and legs, sporting a half-smile. She looked at Robby’s sign, then at Jack and back to Robby. “That sign should say Free Dad Jokes given your history with them.”
Robby blushed - it wasn’t that he was embarrassed to be seen here, but he hadn’t taken into account that some of his residents would walk around here.
He looked over to Jack like he could rescue him, but Jack was just laughing. “I agree, but we wanted to make people smile not make them run away.”
She grinned, then stepped closer, her sunglasses slipping slightly down her nose as she looked him over. “Never thought I’d see the day on which Dr. Robby offers emotional support.”
Robby made a face. “I usually don’t. But it’s Pride.”
“Damn right.” She nodded, then paused. “I also didn’t know you two were dads.” She gestured toward the sign.
Jack shrugged. “We have involuntarily adopted like twenty residents behaving like toddlers half the time. That absolutely qualifies us as dads.”
“More likely as ringmasters” Robby huffed.
Trinity nodded slowly. “Yeah, well, fair. You also got Huckleberry house-trained, so…”
“Hey!” Dennis, who was standing behind her, wearing black jeans with a matching black denim jacket over a fitted black tank top, topped with a silver chain around his neck and a couple of silver earrings. “That’s not funny!”
“It is” Trinity replied with a shrug. “It’s actually hilarious.”
Jack grinned. “So, you guys want a hug?”
Dennis and Trinity exchanged a look. “Nah, we’re fine. Would be weird, actually, with you guys being our bosses and shit” she said with a shrug. “But it’s pretty cool you’re doing that.”
Dennis nodded quickly. “It’s great.”
“We need to go now. I need something to drink and Huckleberry needs to go potty.” Trinity grinned.
He blushed. “She’s just joking” he said hastily.
Jack smiled. “Yeah, we figured.”
“See you on Monday, bosses.” Trinity waved her hand, then took Dennis’s hand and dragged him along.
Robby and Jack watched them disappear into the crowd, shaking their heads.
“It’s like watching a trainwreck” Jack said.
“But a very entertaining one” Robby added, dryly.
Jack looked at him. “You okay?”
Robby nodded. “Yeah.”
That earned him a clap on the shoulder. “Good.”
They held up the signs again - not a minute later a group of teenagers was approaching. “Can we get hugs?”
“Yeah, sure. That’s what we’re here for.”
Robby smiled and opened his arms. “Come here, kids.”
When the first one hugged him he closed his eyes for a moment. People really should do this more often.
Robby was still getting back into the swing of things, post sabbatical. Jack watched, amazed as he tried to hit on Noelle and as she let him down gently. Apparently women don't like it if you vanish off the face of the earth for three months. Who would have thought?
Jack whistled as she walked away. "He shoots, he scores!"
Robby wheeled on him. "I didn't say shit when you puked on Julie Matherson's shoes at our first college party."
"Yes, you did. You brought it up to every one of my girlfriends for the next seven years!" It wasn't one of Jack's best moments, okay- sue him. But college is for making mistakes, everyone knows that.
"Oh." Robby slumped into a chair at the hub. "Well you can't blame me. It was funny."
"I still maintain they spiked the punch with ipecac." Ignore the fact that Jack didn't even drink the punch, thank you very much. A man must have his pride.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Robby shrugged, like an asshole.
Jack wasn't about to take this lying down. "You know who didn't say shit? Me, when you sneezed in Margaret Wheeler's face while trying to kiss her at prom."
"The decorations were dusty!" Robby was blushing, bless him. Jack had missed that blush.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Jack replied with a smirk.
Robby also, apparently, wasn't going to take this lying down. "You’re the one who told Bubbe I broke her favorite lamp when we were nine!"
"She was terrifying! I was trying to save my life." There were many things you could say about Jack, but he always knew when to pick his battles. Being the cause of Bubbe's anger was not a battle he would ever choose to fight.
"She was 67 years old!" Robby scoffed.
Like that meant shit. "You were scared of her too!"
"I respected her. There's a difference." Robby said primly. Jack rolled his eyes. "Besides, she always blamed you for my corruption. I was a perfect angel before you came along."
"Sure, sure. An angel. One who handcuffed me naked to a flag pole during my bachelor party."
"I let you go!" Robby whined.
"We were chased- on foot- by the cops while my dick was flapping around in the breeze!"
"You had fun!" Robby defended, which was true! But also not the point.
"And then you and Tommy Stevens stood outside the window of my hotel room on my wedding night singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall until four in the morning!"
Robby shrugged. "That was your fault for getting a ground-floor room."
"And then!" Jack continued, really on a roll now. "You stole my car."
"I didn't steal your car!" Robby protested with all the conviction of the wrongfully accused. "Grant Palmer stole your car... I just didn’t stop him. And if you didn't want your car stolen, you shouldn't have dumped an industrial-sized trash can full of water from the roof during his wedding pictures."
"I waited until the pictures were done!"
"You ruined his wife's dress."
"That was Tommy's fault. Tommy was supposed to pull her out of the way; Grant was supposed to be the only one in the line of fire." Grant's wife had never forgiven him. She had only gotten a little wet; saying her dress was ruined was a gross exaggeration. "And I distinctly remember that you were the one helping me hold the trash can."
"That doesn't sound like something I would do," Robby sniffed. "Besides, Sharon thought the whole thing was funny."
"You had Sharon fleeced." Sharon had thought they were so cute, even when Robby was an absolute terror. Did Jack deserve the torture for the many pranks he had played in his younger days? Of course. He still didn't have to like it.
"You’re just mad she liked me more than you." Robby picked up a tablet like he was about to work, the bullshit artist.
"She was my wife! She married me, not you."
"Yeah, because you had better health insurance. Everyone knew she liked me more."
"Wow. You are so delusional." Jack huffed, coming around the desk to shove Robby in his chair. It sent him rolling back a few inches.
Robby didn't acknowledge the shove, just raised a judgmental eyebrow. "Who did she live with during your deployments?"
Neither Robby nor Sharon had been handling his first deployment well, so Jack had suggested they stay together until he came back. He had hoped they would find strength in each other. They had found strength, alright. The strength to team up and make Jack's life a living hell.
"Are you saying you fucked my dead wife?" Jack raised his eyebrow right back, and his voice to go along with it. Robby hadn't actually fucked Sharon, but everyone certainly thought he did. It had made Jack laugh himself silly when he found out.
"She wasn't dead at the time!"
"Oh yeah," Jack scoffed. "Like that makes it better."
"It does, actually." Robby argued, like he had the moral high ground in this conversation. "Necrophilia is a crime. Fucking your best friend's wife is just a dick move."
"So you admit it was a dick move!"
"Well my dick certainly mov-"
"Oh my god!" Trinity groaned. "Just kiss already and stop making your sexual tension everyone else's problem!"
As one, Robby and Jack turned to her. She put on a tough face, but her eyes made it clear that she wished the earth would swallow her whole. Historically, the combined force of Robby and Jack's disappointment had brought even the strongest resident to their knees.
"That is totally inappropriate!" Robby scolded.
"We could go to HR." Jack backed him up.
"We should go to HR!"
"It's sexual harassment!"
"Enough!" Dana yelled, taking her glasses off to point them menacingly in their direction. "We have had enough of the Robby and Jack show!"
"It would be the Jack and Robby Show, if anything," Jack pointed out. "Rolls off the tongue better and we all know who the star is."
"Jacob Christopher Abbot, I know you missed Robby, but if you don't get the hell out of my ER right now, you will regret it. Flirt on your own damn time and stop harassing the children!" Dana's glare was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Oooh, you got full-named," Robby whisper-taunted like they were back in Mrs. Glenn's 3rd grade classroom: the place they met, the fire they were forged in, for better or for worse.
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving!" Jack put his hands up in surrender. Again, he knew how to pick his battles, and Dana might just be scarier than Bubbe ever was.
"I'll come over when I get off so we can finish the argument," Robby consoled him. And it did console him. Jack had really fucking missed him.
read this thread. this is by far the most concise explanation of a lot of different issues that i’ve seen in fandom spaces in a while. cosigning both the linked thread and the thread about aus/uk/can law that’s linked in-thread.
If someone has never taken a class that includes copyright law, they may not know this stuff, so I don’t necessarily blame random people for not knowing what copyright is, but like… maybe just maybe it’s something that should be taught????
Just another reminder, because this always drives me crazy, but even if monetizing your fic was 100% unambiguously legal and protected, AO3 would still not let you do it because AO3 was founded and is supported by people like me who want a fandom community that is completely divested from making money off of fic.
Yes, this. Lots of fanworks on AO3 are unambiguously legal. Fics based on Shakespeare plays and fairy tales and Greek mythology and The Great Gatsby and your original character from your D&D game are not violations of copyright, because no copyright applies to those things.
AO3 still doesn’t let you monetize those things on the site, because we don’t want the site to be commercial! Because that’s not what it’s for!
It’s not there for you (generic you) to make money off the efforts of the people who build and maintain the site for free! We aren’t getting paid for the work we do to give you a nice site to use, just like you aren’t getting paid for the work you do to create whatever art you share there. Because fandom is supposed to be a community where we share with each other, and therefore we all benefit.
The deal is, we give you a free, stable, safe platform to host your works. In exchange, you get a site that isn’t covered in ads and tip jars and links to gofundme and “read the next chapter at my patreon”. You get one goddamn place on the internet that isn’t trying to make money off you. And we will defend that space and keep it non-commercial.
If you want to make money off your fics, you can instead post them somewhere like royal Road. “Oh, but Royal Road’s culture is so much more negative and stressful and lacks the supportive norms of AO3!” Yeah, because people are trying to make money there. Half the userbase is treating it as a storefront and hustling is the natural social consequence of that. AO3’s culture can only exist because it’s not commercial.
I really really really love flirty Jack especially when it comes to the people around him, he's a charming guy and knows exactly what to say to have such an effect on people. But when it comes to Robby his charm seemed to have no effect on him, he often gets tongue tied and says the most dumbest things whenever Robby talks to him.
And Robby being Robby sees Jack's treatment of him as indifference and believes that Jack likes everyone else but he absolutely hates him and secretly finds him annoying, and it pains him to come to this realization when he also admits to himself that he likes Jack.
It becomes this huge misunderstanding cause they weren't able to communicate their thoughts and when Jack suddenly confesses that he likes Robby the man just bursts into tears, cause how cruel was his hatred that he would willingly get Robby's hopes up when he knows that this could all be a funny gag for Jack to brag about to his friends.
"Just how much do you hate me that you'd need to do this? You know that I like you but I'm not an idiot. Do you like me suffering that much? Take your stupid prank elsewhere, I'm not falling for it."
"But I'm not lying, I like you Rob- wait you like me too what?"
"Stop acting like you don't know it!"
"But I didn't know. I just liked you too much that I started acting stupid around you cause I didn't know what to say, I didn't want to scare you off either."
Robby is welcomed home to the sight of his husband bent in half, completely nude.
"Jesus, Jack," he laughs. "All the curtains are open."
"No one can see me from here," Jack says. He slides forward into a lunge. "And shouldn't you want to show me off anyway?"
"Not like this." Robby slaps the jiggle and laugh it gets out of Jack.
"Knew you liked it."
"Never said I didn't. I'm taking a quick shower; wrap this up, we need to be out the door in thirty minute."
"Sir, yes, sir."
Half an hour later, Robby reenters the living room to find Jack, graciously, dressed. His collared shirt stretches around his shoulders handsomely; Robby kisses him as a thank you. "You clean up nice, Dr. Abbot."
Jack hums. "You're one to talk." His hands fall around Robby's waist and pull him closer. They share a languid kiss. Or at least that's how it starts, it doesn't take long for Jack's hands to start worming their way downward.
"Mm, no," Robby shakes his head. "Not this time."
"Oh, come on. It's just dinner."
"'Just dinner' at the most booked restaurant in the city," Robby argues, though it's half-hearted. If he weren't so hungry, he'd be tempted to give in to Jack's offer. "Besides, this is the second time I've had to make a reservation with them. We missed the first time because you got your way, remember?"
Jack gives him another squeeze. "Boy, do I."
"I swear you get worse with age."
"It's better than age, baby. Like a fine wine."
"Well, I'd like some actual wine tonight, and if you're good, maybe we can have dessert at home."
Robby scoffs. "Sure." He makes it one step out the front door when a swift hand lands on his ass. "Jack!"
"Your pants are so well tailored, and I was getting you back for earlier."
"Jack."
"I'll be good at the restaurant, I promise."
Jack's wide smile shimmers in the sunset. The pretty lines on his face highlight the gleaming joy in his hazel eyes. Robby sighs, he'd have to be a much stronger man to resist another kiss.
