they call it a sabbatical because that’s the word that doesn’t make anyone choke.
it moves through the department in a low current, under the fluorescent buzz and the steady percussion of monitors. sabbatical. time off. a long ride.
it sounds earned. it sounds sane.
it does not sound like a man quietly putting his affairs in order.
the pitt has always known the difference between a pause and an ending. it lives on thresholds between breath and no breath, between blood loss and stability, between “we’ve got him” and “time of death.”
it recognises when something tips past the point of retrieval.
the air shifts around robby all shift, subtle but unmistakable. he moves like a man who has already stepped out of his body and is just finishing the paperwork.
there’s a softness to him that doesn’t belong in emergency lighting. no barked orders. no sharp-edged humour. just careful hands and eyes that linger: on the scuffed floor outside trauma two, on the cracked edge of the nurses’ station, on the ambulance bay doors that have swallowed so many screaming nights.
he’s memorising it. not like someone nostalgic. like someone committing a crime scene to memory.
no one says anything. they orbit him instead.
the looks stretch a fraction too long. the silences thicken and then collapse under the weight of routine. everyone keeps performing, another gurney rolling in, another chart signed, another life yanked back from the brink, but beneath it runs the quiet knowledge that this is the last shift of something.
not a contract. not a job.
a man.
he doesn’t falter. that’s the worst of it. if he cracked, if he raged, if he gave them something jagged to grab onto, maybe someone would try. but he is composed. almost reverent. as if he’s already been forgiven for whatever he’s about to do.
outside, the night waits with open palms.
they follow him out without meaning to, drawn by the same instinct that makes people turn toward sirens.
the ambulance bay doors yawn open, letting in the cool dark and the smell of asphalt. the hospital light spills over him in sterile gold as he approaches the bike, that old black machine that has carried him away and brought him back.
tonight it feels like a hearse.
he runs a hand along the handlebar, almost tender. there is no tremor in him. no theatrical hesitation. just a man standing at the edge of his own mythology.
patron saint of one way trips.
for once, this is what makes it unbearable, he reaches for the helmet.
he never does. he trusts the wind, his reflexes, the thin illusion of control. he has always ridden like someone who doesn’t mind if the road makes the final decision for him.
tonight he fastens the strap with deliberate care.
it is not safety. it is intent.
the realization moves through them like a ripple. no one steps forward. no one calls his name. the pitt, that relentless cathedral of second chances, finds itself mute.
it has trained them to intervene, to intubate, to shock, to compress, to drag the unwilling back across the line. but this is not a body on a table. this is a man choosing his exit in plain sight, and there is no protocol for that.
he swings onto the bike and settles like he belongs there more than anywhere else. the engine turns over. the sound vibrates through bone.
he looks back once.
not searching. not pleading. just… acknowledging. as if to say you did what you could. as if to say this part is mine.
there’s helplessness in the way they stand there, washed in ambulance lights and institutional glow. helplessness in the hands that remain at their sides. in the throats that don’t form words. in the collective understanding that some departures are not accidents but devotions.
he eases forward, unhurried. the bike glides toward the mouth of the street, toward the long stretch of dark that opens up like a corridor without return. no dramatic throttle. no spray of gravel. just steady motion.
the red of his taillight burns for a moment at the end of the drive, small and defiant.
then it disappears.
the hospital doors close with their usual mechanical sigh. inside, a monitor starts its relentless beeping again. another patient arrives. another life to salvage. the ER resumes its rhythm because it has to, because it always has.
but there is a space now, a hollow in the fluorescent hum, where a man used to stand.
somewhere beyond the reach of antiseptic light, beyond the thin promise of rescue, a bike cuts through the night. a helmet gleams under streetlamps. a road unspools.
and pittsburgh, that brutal chapel of survival, can only watch its patron saint of one way trips ride into the dark and offer no miracle at all.
Summary: While on his Sabbatical Robby texts Jack... with a question no one ever wants to answer.
*PING*
Jack sighed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
2:36 am.
It was his first night of - well-earned, he might add - six days off and he couldn’t sleep. He was used to being awake at this time, running the ED, barking orders, saving lives. Sleep didn’t come easily when your body still thought it was mid-shift.
*PING*
*PING*
Whoever was texting him at this hour was determined. Maybe one of the interns on duty, panicking over something minor. Or someone wanting to vent about a colleague. It definitely wasn’t the ED staff group chat - he had that on mute. His far younger colleagues liked to send memes and rapid-fire messages at alarming speeds and Jack was simply too old for this.
He reached for his reading glasses, unlocked his screen and opened the messages.
How does it feel to die?
Jack was wide awake instantly.
He checked the sender.
Robby.
Of course it was Robby. Of course this kind of shit hit the fan in week six of his god-forsaken sabbatical en route to Alberta. Apparently the ghosts had finally caught up with him.
He read the next messages.
I can’t breathe.
I am sorry.
“Fuck!” Jack muttered.
His thumb hovered over the call button. He hesitated. If Robby wanted to talk, he would have called. Instead, Jack typed.
Where are you?
He stared at the screen, waiting for the three dots to appear. After a minute - probably the longest minute in his life - they did.
Motel.
Jack exhaled sharply. “Don’t overwhelm me with details, Robinavitch.”, he muttered.
He typed again.
Can I call you?
The dots appeared again. Then - a thumbs-up.
Jack didn’t let a second pass. He hit the call button like he could teleport himself to Alberta if pressed hard enough. It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then - a click.
“Hey…”
Robbys voice. But somehow not Robby. It was hoarse, thin, like even that single word cost him effort.
“Fuck Robby, I’m glad you picked up!” Jack didn’t even try to hide the relief. “How are you?”
A sound came through. Maybe a snort, maybe a broken laugh. Then nothing. Just fast, shaky breathing.
Jack straightened. “Okay. Michael, listen to me. Breathe. In for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight. You know this.” He closed his eyes, forcing his own chest to stay steady. This wasn’t about him. .
“In… hold… out.”
He kept his voice calm, measured - the same tone he’d used on patients, on soldiers, on people who thought they were about to die.
“In… hold… out.”
He could hear Robby trying.
“In… hold…”
“Jack I think I might be dying.”
The words were flat. Quiet. Defeated. It was the worst he had ever heard him. Panic flared in Jacks chest, but he swallowed it down.
“You are not dying, Robinavitch” he snapped, maybe a bit too sharp. “You are having a panic attack. And your body doesn’t know the difference between a panic attack and actually dying. That’s all. Now breathe. And tell me about three things you can see in your room.”
Robbys breathing hitched. “My … my shoes.” he whispered.
“Very good. Two more. You’ve got this, Michael. Please, Do it for me.”
“My… my backpack…” A pause. “And my … the helmet.”
Jack nodded into the darkness of his room. “That’s good. Stay with me. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.”
He listened to Robby breathe. “You are safe.” Jack continued. “You’re lying in your bed, right?”
A small, muffled sound. Close enough to yes.
“You are in some middle-of-nowhere motel in Alberta. You’re in a bed. You’re fed. You’re a little drunk. You just came face-to-face with your demons. That’s all. And that’s okay. Do you hear me? It. Is. Okay.”
Another shaky breath on the other end.
“I am … not okay.”
“I know that’s how it feels right now.” Jack said softly. “Your mind isn’t okay right now. But your body is. You are not dying. You are not in danger. You are safe. I’m right here. Okay?”
Silence. Long enough that Jack’s throat tightened.
Then - “Okay.”
Jack let out a slow breath. “Good. That’s good.” He listened. Robby’s breathing had steadied. Not normal, but no longer spiraling. Maybe the worst has passed.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Jack asked carefully. “We were on the phone a couple of hours ago. You sounded fine. You even sent me a picture of that cowboy-hat guy who bought you a drink.”
He heard Robby swallow. A quiet smack of lips. Jack knew that sound. Robby was editing. Softening. Rewriting the truth into something more manageable.
“I went to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump.” His voice was flat, steadier now. More Robby.
“Okay.” Jack said gently. “I’m listening.”
“And I was standing on the cliff.” A pause. A breath that hitched. “And for a second…” Silence. “I wanted to jump, Jack.”
Jack froze. Not outwardly. Not in his voice. But his body went cold, like someone had poured ice water down his spine. His mind started racing - images he didn’t want, calculations he couldn’t stop. He forced himself to breathe.
In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.
“Okay.” he said finally. Calm. Measured. “But you didn’t jump.”
On the other end he could hear a soft broken sound. “No. But I wanted. I wanted to, Jack.”
That hurt.
God, that hurt.
Jack swallowed against the pressure in his throat.
“You were standing on a cliff.” he said slowly. “A famous native hunting ground. A place where people drove buffalos - and themselves - over the edge. You were surrounded by history and ghosts. And you’re surprised they whispered to you?”
He let that sit.
“You’ve been outrunning your own ghosts for years, Robby. Of course they caught up eventually.”
His voice softened.
“But you didn’t jump.” A beat. “You didn’t.” He let the words land. “You didn’t jump. That’s not weakness. That’s strength. That’s you choosing to stay.” He exhaled. “And you are still here. Talking to me. That matters. That’s everything.”
He waited.
“Do you understand me? Do you understand this?”
He heard him swallow again. “I don’t know.”
At least he was speaking. Jack took this as a win. He could feel Robby hovering on the edge of something more, so he waited. He had known this guy for over thirty years. He knew how to wait.
“For a second the thought of jumping felt… quiet. Like everything would just … stop.” A shaky breath. “Maybe my body is hating me now for not -”
“No.” Jack didn’t raise his voice. But it cut through the line like a blade. “No. You don’t go there.”
Silence.
“Don’t you dare turn this into something poetic. Like some sort of siren song you almost followed.” His jaw tightened. “You don’t get to romanticize a trauma response and call it fate. You are a doctor, Robby. A bloody good one, I might add.” He had to control himself not to snap. “You know exactly what a fall like that does to a body. It’s not instant. It’s not cinematic. It’s broken bones and internal bleeding and agony and a slow death in the middle of the prairie."
Silence.
“I am not going to sit here and let you talk like this was some kind of calling.” he added softly.
For a long time he could only hear Robby breathing. He pictured him lying in bed, jaw clenched, hating that Jack had a point. Then - a deep sigh.
“You’re right.” Robbys voice was barely audible. “I am an idiot. I am sorry.”
“You are not an idiot. For once. You are just human.”
“Thank you.” Robby still sounded hesitant, but that was kind of normal.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Jack said, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
Robby murmured something he couldn’t quite catch. Jack decided to count it as a win. A moment later he heard a stifled yawn.
Good. Exhaustion would soon take over.
“Are you tired?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard it.
“A bit.” Robbys voice was already distant, fogged at the edges.
“Do you want me to stay on the phone?”
Silence. Then - “Yes.”
Jack smiled. “Okay, let me update you on the latest chaos at the pitt. As you probably read the gossip in the group chat there was a shouting match between Langdon and Santos during hand-over. It was … something. And Whitaker needed stitches after he somehow managed to injure himself on a farm tool while helping this farmers wife, whose husband died in the ICU last year. Hm, what else?”
Robbys breathing had already deepened, slow and steady. But Jack kept talking. Ordinary things. Mundane things. Safe things. And while he did, he walked over to his laptop and opened it.
—
When Robby woke it was already way past noon. Sunlight flooded the motel room. He squinted and groaned. His head throbbed. When he rubbed his eyes, they felt like splintered glass. He kicked off the blanket and sat up slowly. The room swayed for a second. He reached for the bottle of water on the nightstand and drained it in one go. It helped.
A little.
Then he picked his phone up. He turned it over in his hand, indecisive.
Last night came back in fragments. Drunk. Alone. Texting Jack. Crying. Saying things he hadn’t meant to say out loud. Giving him a glimpse of the darkest corners in his head. And Jack being so typically… Jack.
Calm. Stern. There.
A flicker of shame tightened in his chest. He knew he didn’t need to feel it. But he did.
He unlocked his screen and opened their chat. After a moment he typed:
Just so you know, I’m okay. I think I was just too drunk. Don’t worry.
He hit send.
One gray checkmark.
Robby frowned.
That was … strange. Even when Jack slept he never turned his phone off.
He waited.
Nothing changed.
His stomach tightened.
He typed again:
Everything okay?
Still one checkmark. Robbys lip began to tremble.
He tossed his phone onto the bed and stood up. He tried to swallow the panic but it was nearly impossible. The thought of Jack completely out of reach sent chills down his spine. Maybe he had forgotten to plug his phone in last night.
Or maybe he was finally fed up with Robby.
Robby began pacing the room. Two steps to the mini-fridge. Turn. Two steps back to the bed. Turn. His hand flew to his neck, rubbing frantically. He could feel himself spiraling.
Maybe Jack had decided Robby was too much work after all. That he’d already spent too many years anchoring him. That dragging him out of dark thoughts at three in the morning was exhausting.
That he’d decided that Robby in general was … too much.
He stopped, closed his eyes and bit into his fist as a scream clawed its way out. It came out muffled. He didn’t want to alarm the other guests.
It helped. A little.
Maybe he should get back on the road. Cut this stay short - even though this was supposed to be the glorious highlight of this trip. Instead he’d found his demons. His fear of mortality.
Great job, Robby, he scoffed inwardly.
He started shoving his shattered belongings into his backpack. So focused that he didn’t hear the first knock at the door.
The second knock was louder. Harder. Persistent.
He froze and stared at the door.
“Fuck.”
Someone must have heard him.
He exhaled slowly, bracing himself. Plastered a fake smile on his face. Opened the door.
“About time, Robinavitch.”
Jack stood there, an old army bag over his shoulder. Eyes locked on him.
“Move.”
Robby stepped aside automatically, still shell-shocked. Still trying to catch up with reality.
Jack dropped the bag on the floor and turned to him.
“Your face is priceless. I should take a picture and hang it on my fridge.”
Robby blinked. “What the fuck-?”
“Surprise. Did you really think you could text me that shit last night and I wouldn’t show up?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “How many years have you known me?”
Robby blinked. Then he stepped forward and pulled Jack into a tight hug. Jack hugged him back instantly.
“Fuck you for coming here.” Robby mumbled into Jacks shoulder.
“Fuck you for scaring me.” Jack murmured.
Robby smiled against him. The hug lasted longer than their usual. When Robby finally pulled away, he did it slowly.
Jack cupped his chin and made him look up.
“You look like shit Robinavitch.”
Robby scoffed. “Fuck you too, Abbot.”
Jack grinned. “There he is. Welcome back.” The grin faded. “But seriously. When was the last time you ate? A proper meal I mean.”
Robby shrugged. “I’ve been on a … mostly liquid diet.”
Jack clenched his jaw. “Drinking yourself to death in the middle of nowhere in Alberta sounds like a really shitty plan. Lets get food.”
Robby hesitated. “Why are you here, Jack?” His voice was quiet now. “I mean - why are you really here?”
Jack blinked. “You texted me asking how it feels to die. What did you expect me to do ? Stay home and hope it sorts itself out? I was worried sick. I needed to see you.”
Robby looked down, jaw tight. “I’m okay.”
The distance in those two words was unmistakable.
Jack grabbed his chin again and forced him to look up. “Don’t you dare ‘I’m okay’ me, you dumb fuck. I care about you. I don’t want you standing on cliffs thinking about jumping. That’s why I’m here.”
Robby swallowed. “I would’ve been fine alone.”
Jack stepped back, crossing his arms.
“We’ve known each other for over thirty years. Been lovers almost as long. You’ve always flirted with death - that stupid motorcycle outside proves it. But you’ve never sounded like you did last night. Not once.” His voice hardened. “So don’t push me away because me caring makes you uncomfortable. If you don’t want me here - fine, say it. I’ll grab my bag and leave. But don’t hide behind this I’m-okay-lone-wolf-bullshit.”
Robby stayed silent for a long time. Then his shoulder dropped and he let out a slow sigh. “Did you even sleep? Your flight must have been early.”
Jack felt the rush of anger immediately. He knew Robby. This was deflection.
“You really wanna talk about logistics?” Jacks voice was flat now. “Fine. No, I didn’t sleep. Flight left at six. Layover in Toronto at nine-twenty. Shitty airport coffee. Surprisingly decent tuna sandwich. Rented a car. Drove here. My ETA’s still valid from the EMU last year.” He leaned closer. “Anything else you want to know before we circle back to what the fuck is actually going on?”
Robbys jaw tightened. “No, I think that covers it.”
Silence stretched between them.
After a moment Robby sat down on the edge of the bed and dragged a hand through his hair.
Jack exhaled, still irritated - but softer now. He sat beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulders. Robby leaned into him automatically. Jack could smell his cologne. Familiar. Dangerous. Earthy. Still enough to make his stomach flip after all these years.
“Do you want me to go?” Jack asked quietly.
Robby tensed. Then, almost reluctantly - “No.”
Jack pressed a slow kiss to his temple. “You are a piece of work, Robinavitch” he murmured. “But you are my work. You know that.”
Robby let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“Don’t push me away just because being cared for makes you uncomfortable.”
Another long pause. Then Robby nodded.
They sat in silence for a long time. The soft hum of the fridge and the distant noise from the street were the only sounds in the room. Jack felt Robbys warmth beside him and then, suddenly, he felt him begin to shake.
At first it was subtle. Then harder. A single muffled sob. Then more.
Jack felt Robbys tears soaking into his shirt. He didn’t move, he just held him tighter.
“It’s okay” he murmured into his hair. “It’s okay.” He repeated it like a mantra.
After a while the sobs softened. Became more controlled. Robby tried to shake off Jacks arm, but Jack held on. Robby might be stubborn, but Jack was battle-tested. And this was not a fight he intended to lose.
“Fuck” Robby whispered hoarsely. “Fuck. Fuck. I am so … fuck Jack, I am so … sorry. I don’t even know where this came from.”
Jack huffed softly. “Maybe from the part of you that isn’t completely fucked up. This is the first human reaction you’ve shown since I got here, so - thank God for that. You are still in there.”
He tightened his arms around him. Robby clung back like Jack was something solid in a storm.
“I’m glad you can still cry.” Jack added quietly. “Sometimes I worry we are getting numb to everything.” A pause. “I hope you feel a little lighter now.”
Robby shook his head while nodding at the same time. “Yes. No. I … don’t know. Maybe.” His voice was still rough, but it sounded more like him. “I still don’t feel like a hundred percent.”
“That’s enough.” Jack said gently. “We’re nearly fifty. We don’t need a hundred percent. I’ll take eighty. On good days.”
A wet, exhausted laugh escaped Robby. “Fuck you for calling me old.”
Jack grinned. “I don’t sugarcoat facts.”
Robby pulled back just enough to look at him - a real smile finally breaking through. “Oh, I know.”
Jack brushed his fingers through Robbys hair and leaned closer. “I’m really glad you are still here, Michael.” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” A small pause. “Honestly. I mean it.”
Robby looked down for a second. “I am glad too.” he said at last.
Jack kissed him. Slow. Intentional. Not desperate - grounding. Robby kissed him back like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words.
They stayed like that for a long moment before pulling apart.
“So now - let’s get some food into you.” Jack stood and headed for the door. “That place across the street looks like it makes mean burgers.”
Robby frowned. “I am not really hungry.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Good thing I didn’t ask then.”
Robby laughed. “You are insufferable.”
Jack nodded. “Took you a long time to figure this out. Now come on. Daddy’s hungry.”
Robby stood begrudgingly but he grinned.
—
Jack took a big bite of his cheeseburger then set it back on his plate. “That’s not bad for a Canadian burger.” he grinned, wiping his hands on his napkin. He took a sip of his beer and looked at Robby, who was devouring his own. “And I was thinking - tomorrow we are going back to that buffalo cliff thing.”
Robby stiffened.
“I want to see the place that seduced my boyfriend harder than I ever could.”
Silence. Robby exhaled, his shoulders dropped.
Then - “That’s an absolutely tasteless joke, you fuck.”
Jack grinned. “You know me.”
Robby looked at him. His face softened. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
Jack smirked. “Oh and don’t worry - the things I am planning to do to you later will be far more tasteless.”
Robby rolled his eyes, but a small grin tugged at his mouth. The thought alone was thrilling. “You are insufferable.”
Imagine you're told that there is a Prince of Vampires in your city. And their job is to keep all of the vampires (even and especially the terrifying, strong, violent, and monstrous ones) under control and safe from human discovery.
You'd think wow, they must be the most terrifying, strongest, volatile and monstrous vampire out of any of them.
kinda love the idea of whitaker stepping up while robbys on sabbatical.
almost unknowingly too.
there's an energy missing without robby, everyone feels it but isn't sure what to do about it.
there's a trauma case that happens and everyone's one step too tired or fried to work it out/know what to do next. a second of silence between the doctors and nurses, the machines that are shrieking.
and whitaker just takes over.
he helps and it helps. good time.
he is ordering tests and telling people what to do, and everyone just.. falls into place.
he is easy to follow, to understand.
it becomes common in the ed to ask whitaker a second opinion, he is the first one the new students go to, without even thinking about it like it's automatic to go to whitaker.
the ed feels like a breath has been released, everyone falls into a new momentum, a calmer, fresh momentum.
it's only when robby comes back that people realise they were relying a lot on whitaker.
there's comments like
"he's been a real help while you've been gone"
"took over like a champ"
"careful now, it almost felt calmer with him running the ship"
there's a moment where robby and whitaker are looking over the board togerher when a student doc comes up asking for help/second opinion. robby automatically goes to answer until said student asks specifically for whitakers view on the matter.
its not unsaid, but kept quiet, that the day shift of the ed has not just one captain running the place, but co captains.
(maybe people start calling him den/dr dennis as a nickname like dr robbys (I know it's not his actual first name but hear me out on this) simply because people are feeling so comfortable and safe with him, maybe even gets the nurses saying "ah, den here is a really good doctor, you'll be safe in his care")
Okay this pmo.. Yeah Ik Robby is the main character and this season is focused on him and his ‘sabbatical’ but like what about Santos?! She’s been sitting at that desk for the past couple episodes doing nothing basically… What about that scalpel she stole?? There’s one episode left and we still haven’t done anything about that which is so annoying. Like the charting jokes are funny, yeah but I really just want to see my girl Santos in some action or conflict
if robby doesn’t adopt that damn baby i’m gonna lose it.
i know people think that he’s not stable enough to take care of a child however i think it might actually be beneficial for him! it gives him something outside of work to live for and care for, and that’s exactly what he needs. also, three months is the average time period for maternity leave, which is how long he took off for his sabbatical. also the conversation he had with mohan… all signs point to fostering/adoption!
i also saw a tiktok comment (i’ll try to find the user) saying that we see whitaker helping amy, a single parent, which also means we might get whitaker helping robby if he chooses to adopt which leads to hucklerobby crumbs!!! o joyus day for hucklerobby shippers!!!! i think they also said it might be a fic soon so when i find it i’ll share dw!
i wish we had learned more about digby and his story! i’m hoping that he comes back for season 3. also i was dying when he was walking around with whitaker’s badge and his cart of things from the hospital 😭 he’s amazing i love you digby
