Chapter Text
September
The walk home feels longer than normal. His feet thud against the sidewalk like weights have been strapped to his ankles, and now and again, there's a twinge in his knee that reminds him of his age.
For a moment, as the street ahead looks never-ending, he wonders if he's actually asleep and this whole day has just been a nightmare. He can't help but feel like he's stuck in that part of the dream where he runs and he runs and never manages to make any progress.
That feeling slips away when he reaches his gate. The metal screeches as he pushes it open, a daily reminder that he keeps forgetting it needs oil. There are a hundred odd jobs around the house he's been meaning to do for years and never done. There's a loose floorboard in the bedroom, peeling paint in the bathroom, and a wobbly chair in the living room.
Jack offers to help every now and again. He's handier with tools than Robby will ever be. Robby is grateful for the offers, but he turns them down each time. They're his problems to fix.
Pushing open his front door, he's greeted with a pitch black hallway and silence. He's gotten used to coming home to a dark, empty house, but that doesn't mean there isn't an ache in his chest every time he steps through the door.
Using muscle memory, he reaches for the light switch by the door and floods the hallway with a golden tungsten light. The bulb flickers a couple of times as Robby's eyes adjust to the brightness.
His footsteps echo in the sparse hallway. He's been meaning to put a rug down to soften the sound ever since he moved in. His life outside work sometimes feels just like a series of broken promises to himself that he'll sort his shit out. He's lost count of the number of times he's told himself he'll sort it tomorrow, he'll do it at the weekend, it'll get fixed next week, it'll happen soon.
Work is where he breezes through his to-do list, where he's able to keep track of twenty-odd patients' statuses in his head at one time. Home is where he struggles to remember to buy milk.
With a shrug of his shoulder, his rucksack swings off his back and he dumps it on the floor by his coat closet. Then, on the side table, he drops his EarPods, his keys, and his badge in a dish he'd bought solely for dumping his shit in after too much time spent searching the house for all the things he'd left in various places. Finally, he toes off his sneakers, kicking them off into a dark corner where he won't trip over them in the morning.
Having shed everything from the outside world, he stands in the hallway at a bit of a loss. On any normal day, he makes thousands of life-or-death decisions for people at their most vulnerable. The combination of daily decision fatigue on top of everything that's happened over the last fifteen or so hours has left his brain completely scrambled.
He knows he needs food. He doesn't remember the last time he ate something, and his stomach cramps from how empty it is. He's used to working on very little sustenance, his body used to the long gaps between meals and the crap he eats when there's leftover cake or pizzas in the staff room. Jack tells him off for it, of course. Tells him he should look after his own body better.
"It's the only one you got, Robinavitch," he's told Robby more than once.
He thinks back to those sandwiches from Primanti's that Adamson's sister had sent and he'd walked away from, but the memory brings a surge of grief back up to the surface unexpectedly, and he shuts that thought down quickly. Every year she sends them, like some crappy consolation prize. Sorry, your friend and mentor died. Here are some sandwiches.
A yawn disrupts his thoughts, reminding him he needs sleep, too. He's mentally and physically exhausted. It would be so easy to go upstairs, strip down, and climb into bed and be done with the whole day. It's a tempting thought, but then he breathes in and can't help wrinkling his nose. He stinks of sweat and blood and that distinctive hospital disinfectant smell that seeps into his clothes.
Shower first, it is.
He trudges up the stairs slowly, his legs aching so much that each step feels like an achievement. Thankfully, his bedroom is the first door at the top of the stairs, and as he pushes the door open, his eyes have to readjust to the darkness. The blinds are still open from this morning, and the glow from the streetlights illuminates the room just enough for him to navigate around the bed without turning the light on.
He crosses the room without stopping, stepping over the loose floorboard automatically on his way to the en suite. The light clicks on, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the drip, drip, drip of the leaking faucet. Another thing on his to-do list.
His eyes avoid the mirror above the sink as he passes it to get to the shower. The last thing he wants to do is be confronted by what the day has left him looking like. He knows his face will be pale, the bags under his eyes will be dark. He knows there will be a pain in his eyes he's not ready to face yet.
Instead, he sticks his arm in the shower and gets it going. When he's satisfied with the temperature, he yanks and pulls at his clothes like he's Houdini attempting to escape from a straitjacket. The discarded clothes drop to the tiled floor at his feet, and then he finally steps under the blisteringly hot spray.
It's a powerful shower head. One of the few luxuries he affords himself. It beats down on his back and immediately flattens his hair to his head. His skin automatically goes pink under the blazing water. The sound of running water fills his ears, and he closes his eyes and lets the rushing sound take over for a moment.
The water sluices down his naked body, washing away the sweat and grime. Mentally, he knows he could stand in the shower for hours, and he'll never really feel clean. There's blood on his hands that just won't wash away.
Jake was right. He should have saved her.
He doesn't notice at first. The liquid running down his cheeks could be mistaken for water. It's not until he lets out a sob that he realises it's tears. His cries are drowned out by the roar of the water hitting the tiles, and his tears are immediately washed away.
It's just grief, leaving the body.
His shoulders shudder as he lets it all out. He shivers, despite the heat. It's all too much; he can't hold it back any longer.
He flinches when an arm suddenly reaches out and slowly turns the temperature down a few degrees. It's a familiar arm, one he's woken up to slung over his chest more than once in the last six months. His shoulders slump, and when his whole body leans back, it meets the warm, solid wall of Jack's chest.
He didn't hear him come into the bathroom, didn't notice him shedding his clothes, his prosthetic, and climbing carefully in behind Robby.
"Look at me."
Robby barely hears him over the shower. He considers pretending like he didn't, but Jack is too stubborn to be ignored. It's one of his most irritating and yet captivating qualities. Robby pivots in the tight space until he's facing Jack. He wasn't expecting him to follow him home, not after a shift like that. Jack needs his own space, too; he would have understood. But here he is, naked in Robby's shower.
The problem, sometimes, is that Jack knows him far too well. He knows what Robby is thinking just with a look. He sees right inside Robby with those sharp, deep brown eyes.
He stares down at Jack's chest, determined not to give Jack what he wants. It's unavoidable, really; he should know that by now. Jack's hand reaches up, cups Robby's cheek, wipes away a tear with his thumb, and finally, Robby looks up.
If Jack knew the physical effect eye contact has on Robby, he'd use it to his advantage. It steals the breath from Robby's lungs, even now when his chest heaves with grief.
"You're alright…you made it through," Jack murmurs until the tears stop coming.
He doesn't deserve to be comforted right now. He wants to tell Jack he should leave. He's shit company and certainly won't be able to offer anything in return. Sex is the furthest thing from his mind. The words don't come out, though; instead, he drops his head down onto Jack's shoulder, and they stand there in the shower until their fingers start to shrivel.
Before they get out, Jack hands him a cloth, a dollop of shower gel squeezed onto it, and he waits for Robby to wipe himself down before he takes the washcloth back and does a quick wash of his own body, holding onto the bar Robby installed for him for balance.
By the time he steps out of the shower, Jack has hopped over to the toilet, flipping the lid down so he can sit. The crutches he leaves at Robby's are now leaning up against the wall beside him, and as soon as he has a towel wrapped around his waist, he reaches for them.
Robby works on autopilot, grabbing a clean towel of his own and patting himself dry. He pads back into his bedroom naked, heading straight for the set of drawers by the door. He pulls out some sweats and an old loose t-shirt, then picks out something for Jack to wear too. They'll be a little big on Jack, but Robby guesses he followed straight after him and didn't stop off at his apartment to pack a bag. They'll have to do. He drops the clothing on the end of the bed and yawns as he dresses himself. Jack's there a moment later, silently pulling on the clothes Robby left for him.
"Have you eaten today?" Jack asks.
Robby shakes his head.
"C'mon, I'll make you something."
He doesn't push, doesn't insist, just starts heading downstairs to the kitchen. There's a part of Robby that wants to say no, though he doesn't know if that's because he's too exhausted to even think about eating, or if it's an easy way to punish himself - bed without dinner.
He listens to the clack of Jack's crutches on the hardwood floor, getting further and further away from him. It's funny how things work. When Jack isn't around, Robby feels like he can handle things on his own. He doesn't need help. When Jack is here in his home, by his side, it feels like he's always belonged there, an indispensable component in his life.
It's the reason why he follows Jack down the stairs, finding him with his head inside the fridge.
"You don't have much. When was the last time you went grocery shopping?"
Robby shrugs.
"Grilled cheese it is."
He grabs a block of cheese from the shelf and the mayo from the door, then places them down on the side before grabbing some bread out of the freezer. Robby sits down on one of the chairs in the breakfast nook as Jack makes himself at home in Robby's kitchen. Robby's never been much of a cook anyway; it's definitely something Jack prefers, and slowly, over the last six months, Jack has replaced a lot of Robby's cooking utensils with better ones. Jack thinks Robby hasn't noticed, but he has.
Jack hums softly as he spreads the mayo over the slices of bread and cuts slices of cheese to add inside. Robby watches him work silently, supporting himself on the worktops, sneaking a slice of cheese, and hopping over to the sink to wash his hands. It all feels domestic in a way that Robby still isn't used to.
It was just sex at first, him and Jack. Then Jack started staying till the morning, and Robby would pull him tight against his body to stop him from leaving. Then, they started making actual plans together outside of the bedroom. Nothing big, but it felt monumental anyway. Coffee on a day off, a baseball game, trips to the gym, and movie nights on the couch.
He's very aware that everything has been on his terms. Jack treats him like a skittish deer sometimes, like he'll bolt at any moment if Jack pushes too much. Jack initiates sex because they've always been good at that, always on the same page there. But anything involving feelings or discussions about their relationship is left completely to Robby to initiate. Jack's always been the more patient one out of the two of them.
Robby's the one who lost his temper today, more than once. It just builds up inside him until he has no control over the way he lashes out at the people around him. He's lashed out at Jack before. Jack isn't the slightest bit bothered by him, though. Just blinks and asks if he's done. He keeps trying to push Jack away, yet Jack never leaves.
"Here."
He doesn't notice the plate placed down in front of him at first.
"Robby?"
He blinks, snapping out of his thoughts, "Hmm?"
Looking down, he finally acknowledges the perfectly grilled cheese sandwich on the table. The filling has already begun oozing out onto the plate.
"Eat it all, okay?"
There's no room for arguments. Robby does as he's told, though he has no energy to savour it. He chews and he swallows robotically until there's nothing left. Jack uses the time to clean up, then swipes Robby's empty plate the minute he takes his last bite.
"Better?" Jack checks.
"Yes, thanks," Robby answers, his first words since arriving home, his voice hoarse. His stomach feels full, and whilst it'll be a couple of hours before the energy boost kicks in, he already feels a little more human.
Jack starts making his way up the stairs slowly while Robby checks that the front door is locked and turns off all the lights downstairs. By the time he gets upstairs, Jack has ducked back into the bathroom to brush his teeth with the toothbrush he'd brought round a couple of months ago and left in the cup alongside Robby's.
Robby slips in behind him, reaches past him for his own toothbrush and the toothpaste, and as he starts brushing, their eyes meet in the mirror. Jack smiles around his toothbrush, then ducks down to spit. He waits for Robby to finish, slipping over to the side a little to give Robby access to the sink. After he's spat and washed his mouth, Jack reaches out. His hand goes to Robby's waist, his fingertips just dipping under the hem of the shirt.
He leans in slowly, allowing Robby time to back away if necessary. Robby doesn't back away. He lets Jack press their lips together in a soft kiss. It's not meant to lead towards anything more, though Jack's lips linger against his like he's reluctant to pull away.
"Missed you today," Jack admits as he steps back.
Robby wants to argue that he was there the whole time, but he understands what Jack means. It's hard sometimes, orbiting each other at work, unable to do much more than greet each other with a hug. Sometimes they go days with just a ten-minute handover in the middle of a very public emergency department before they go their separate ways. Today was particularly hard, being so close but unable to lean on each other the way they might want to.
"C'mon, the bed is calling your name."
The sheets are cool when he slips underneath them. He notices as he settles against the pillow that his cell is already on his nightstand, charging. He's not sure when Jack did that. He checks the alarm set for the next day and finds it's been pushed back an hour. While Jack climbs in on the other side, he changes it back. It's nearly midnight. He'll be back at the hospital in less than seven hours, the time ticking away like a bomb counting down.
"Are you still going back in at two?" He checks, swallowing away the sudden bitter taste in his mouth.
"Hmm? Oh, Shen insists it's covered and I'm not needed, gonna keep my ringer on just in case," Jack says as he makes himself comfortable under the covers.
It didn't take long, after they started sleeping together, for Robby to view the left side of the bed as Jack's side. There's a book on the nightstand that doesn't belong to Robby and a spare charger for Jack's phone. He doesn't know how to feel about the way Jack's carved a niche into Robby's life a little bit at a time.
They don't always sleep curled up together. Jack runs hot while Robby always feels the cold. They'll drift off, Jack pressed along the length of Robby's body, an arm tucked tightly around his waist, and in the morning, they'll be on opposite sides, fighting for the covers.
Once Jack is comfortable, he looks to Robby for guidance. It's up to him to decide what comfort he wants in his bed. It's another decision he has to make, but one that comes easily to him.
"Turn onto your side," Robby requests.
Jack does as he's told, shifting around until he's facing the nightstand. As soon as he's in place, Robby moves over, tucking himself in behind, his forehead pressed into the nape of Jack's neck. He doesn't sling his arm all the way around like Jack usually does, just rests a hand on Jack's flank and feels the way Jack's whole body shifts under his fingers as he breathes in and out slowly.
"You good?" Jack checks.
Robby is the furthest thing from good.
"Yeah," he lies, knowing he can only get away with it in this position.
He falls asleep fairly quickly, thanks to bone-deep exhaustion and the warmth of Jack's body against him. It doesn't last, though. He wakes up just after three, Jack snoring beside him.
Less than four hours until he's back in that place. Forced to stare at that fucking fox on the wall. As he lies there, waiting for his alarm to go off, he makes a new to-do list.
He has to speak to Dana, check she's alright. He won't be surprised if she calls out on Monday morning.
He has to talk to Gloria, inform her of Langdon's problem. He's not looking forward to that at all.
He has Javadi, Santos, Whitaker, and Mel to check on after their baptism by fire.
He has a mountain of paperwork to complete.
He has to check stock levels on all supplies.
"Stop thinking," Jack mumbles.
It makes Robby jerk in surprise. He hadn't noticed him turn around or crack an eye open.
"Go back to sleep."
"I'm not sure I can," Robby admits.
Both of Jack's eyes are open now. "Want me to sort out a zolpidem script?"
Robby shakes his head. He might regret saying no at some point in the future, but he's a stubborn middle-aged man.
"C'mere," Jack reaches out and tugs him close.
Robby lets himself be manhandled without complaint. Jack pulls him in, wrapping an arm around his back and forcing Robby to use his chest as a pillow.
"We'll figure it all out in the morning, I promise."
Jack doesn't know about Langdon yet. He'll probably be a whole lot more understanding than he was. He'll know what to do, Robby can rely on that at least.
He closes his eyes, focuses on Jack's steady breaths in and out once more. He feels Jack's fingers run through his hair, grazing against his scalp softly again and again. He resists at first, but it doesn't take long for him to slip back under.
He wakes up an hour later than expected. He shakes his head when he realises Jack changed his alarm again while he slept.