Rabbot who - even way before dating - constantly get themselves into "there is only one bed" situations deliberately.
One too many beers at Robby's? Jack can’t walk home and the couch fucking sucks. At first they pretend to be reluctant, but it quickly turns into one grunting "sleep?" and both heading towards Robby's bedroom like there was never another option.
Medical conference? One room is easier anyway. "Oh, brother, I was sure I booked two twins." Jack never does. He stops using that excuse after the third time.
Jack's day off so he wasn’t there to see Robby at handover? Jack's place is walking distance from the hospital. Robby is just too tired to take his bike, he tells himself, Jack would be mad if he did. So what if he uses his spare key and when all the lights are still off, he simply strips his scrubs and crawls into Jack's bed.
fanfiction is so beautiful because what do you mean i can read the same characters falling in love 92737389 times in different scenarios and not get tired of it.
idk what episode but i remember near the end of s1 when that car ran into the gurneys and it shocked everyone who was outside but i remember replaying that scene because i swear that robby gripped both parker and john and sort of pulled them behind him, and i swear it was done in instinct because he was looking at that car in shock, and it just makes me so !!!! emotional because god wdym his instincts were to protect his kids wdym he was using himself to cover them wdym he was pushing them out of harm’s way wdym
Robby will admit that he was initially sceptical at Jack's therapist's suggestion that he replace his work with the TEMS team with joining a book club. Jack had found golf too boring to keep up for more than a few weeks, and his clubs had sat gathering dust in his hall closet for literal years until he'd finally gotten rid of them when he moved in with Robby. If hitting something really hard with a stick was too dull for a guy who needed movement, purpose, adrenaline, Robby couldn't see Jack being super engaged by a stack of thick paperbacks.
But Jack had been surprising Robby for more than a decade now, so of course it turned out that he loved being part of the Reading the Classics book group at the local library. "Turns out that not having to write papers about them takes the pressure off," Jack says, when he comes home on Saturday morning with his library books under one arm and a bag full of farmer's market produce under the other. "Who knew?"
"You've got depths," Robby said, and smacked a kiss on his cheek and put their lunch plates on the table. "I knew that."
Jack may not have to write essays about what he's reading, but Robby still gets feedback about the books all the same. Dickens isn't a huge hit; Jack turns to the last page in A Christmas Carol and says that eh, he prefers the Muppet version. He works his way through Dracula and his eyebrows keep rising over the tops of his readers and he'll reach over every so often to where Robby is sitting on the other side of the couch and pat blindly at his arm and say, "Listen to this", and he'll read aloud some passage that will have Robby agreeing that yes, Bram Stoker probably needed therapy.
"Or at least some way of coming to terms with the whole repressed gay thing," Jack says, shaking his head. "Were we ever that bad?"
"Well," Robby says, "I don't remember either of us ever scaling the walls of the Pitt like—" and laughs when Jack tackles him, and smiles while kisses him until Robby's entirely lost track of the game he was supposedly watching, and Jack's book lies forgotten on the living room floor.
But Pride and Prejudice is the first book club selection to really grab Jack's interest. Robby gets home from a shift one evening to find Jack stirring a stew pot with one hand and with the other holding up the book while he reads intently.
"Hey," Robby says as he drops his keys in the bowl by the door and shucks off his shoes.
"Darcy is a punk," Jack says, and it kind of goes from there.
Robby has a vague sense of the book's story-line because he sat through that one movie version of it when he was still with Janey. "Oh, it's really not good as an adaptation," she said, reaching for another tissue, "but it does make me misty. Hands!" For Jack, though, it's all new and he revels in it. He says "Shh!" if Robby tries to interrupt him before the end of a chapter, and one night Robby is brushing his teeth in the bathroom and jumps a mile when Jack shouts, "Wickham did what? She's a fucking kid! Jesus Christ."
When he gets near the end, Jack holes up in bed to finish it all in one go. He's got the book, the notebook where he scribbles down things to bring up at the book club meeting, and a large cup of coffee. He's wearing a faded old band t-shirt, he's got his glasses on, and his curls are all askew from where he keeps tugging at them. Robby is pretty fucking fond of him.
Robby sits next to him, laptop propped up against his knees and working through a backlog of admin paperwork. Every so often, he lets himself look over at Jack's profile as a reward. Jack caught up in something is always a beautiful sight.
After a while, Robby decides he needs a refill on his coffee. "You want one too?"
"Wait, what the fuck, Darcy was at Lydia's wedding?" Jack hisses in response, "And it was a secret? What?"
"I'll bring you another coffee," Robby says.
Robby makes them both coffees and sandwiches, and when he carries the tray into the bedroom, Jack looks up at him wide-eyed and says, "What the fuck is Lady Catherine doing at Longbourn?"
"You're going to have to find out and tell me," Robby says, and that's very much what happens. He gets a fits-and-starts recounting of the denouement of Pride and Prejudice that culminates in Jack doing a fist pump and saying, "Yes! That's what I'm talking about!"
"Happy ending?" Robby asks, and Jack looks over at him and smiles, curls gilt in the late afternoon sunlight and hazel eyes bright, and takes Robby's hand in his and holds it tight and says, "Yeah, definitely. Yes."
Every now and then, about once a week, there’s a hot guy sitting alone on a bench in the park.
He looks older than Jack, but not by much. They probably could’ve gone to high school together.
Most of the time the hot guy is reading, but occasionally he looks up and people watches. Jack knows because he’s spotted him watching Jack and his friends skating.
Jack really, really wants to talk to the hot guy, he just can’t think of anything to say. He could ask about his book, but he worries about looking stupid because Jack doesn’t read for fun. He’s considered throwing caution to the wind and asking the guy out to dinner after a quick introduction, but he’s not sure if the hot guy likes dudes or not.
Months pass with Jack watching hot guy from the corner of his eye. The cute sweaters he wore in the chillier months turn to loose t-shirts Jack wishes he could slide a hand under.
Finally, one day in the spring, Jack decides his skateboarding is good enough to impress the guy, and when he knows he’s watching, Jack does a trick he’s been practicing.
Ideally, he’d land it, look super cool, and the hot guy would feel compelled to come talk to him after experiencing that super slick maneuver.
In reality, Jack face plants on the concrete.
He comes to a few seconds later with the hot guy leaning over him. The sun creates a halo around his fluffy hair; he’s even prettier up close. He’s saying something. Slowly his voice clarifies in Jack’s ears.
“Jack? Jack? Can you hear me?”
“Ya’know my name?” Lord, maybe Jack is dead.
Hot guy smiles. It knocks the wind out of Jack all over again. “Your friends here told me. My names Dr. Michael Robinavitch, I work at the ER nearby. How do you feel?”
Jack does his best to answer all of Michael’s questions. He knows the year and who the president is, he’s able to count how many fingers Michael is holding up and can follow Michael’s hand even with his pretty face distracting him in the background.
“You’ve given yourself a nasty headache. Minor concussion maybe, but you’ll be okay.”
“Thanks.” Jack stands and dusts himself off.
“Do me a favor and don’t skate for at least a week.”
Jack scoffs. Fuck his head. After that bruise to his ego this park will never see his face again. “I’m throwing this board out as soon as I get home.”
Michael’s lips quirk. “That’s a shame. I thought you were really good.”
Jack’s heart flutters. “You did?”
Michael hums. “Invest in a helmet and I think your skating career will recover.”
“Oh. Good.”
Jack can’t think of a reason to keep the conversation going, but he doesn’t want it to end, so he stands there like an idiot instead. Staring at the beauty in front of him.
“Well,” Michael says. “Good luck. Swing by the hospital if your headache gets worse.”
“Can I buy you dinner?”
Michael’s eyebrows shoot up. Fuck Jack and his stupid big mouth. “Dinner?”
“As a thank you. For checking on me.”
“Just a thank you?”
Jack’s cheeks blaze. “Well… I, uh—“
Michael grins. He pulls out a pen and scribbles his phone number on Jack’s arm. “If you still want dinner when you’re no longer concussed, give me a call.”
Jack gapes, watching wistfully as Michael walks away. How long does it take for a concussion to go away? A week? Couple days? Maybe a few hours? Yeah that sounds right. Jack will call him tomorrow.
I need more of Jack just relentless pursuing Robby. Just like a dog with a bone. Robby isn't uninterested or anything, he's just not prepared for this level of attention from anyone. Jack is so ready to just lock Robby down for life and he is not letting anything stand in his way.
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
gummygunk
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
vaporwave
turnnoffyourmind
