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A week into his new job, Jack was feeling good. He'd done a full recon of PTMC, clocking all the escape routes, weaknesses, soft targets. The west stairwell choke point. The empty eighth floor wing, with all its hiding spots. The integrated HVAC system, a perfect vehicle to deliver sarin gas to the whole building.
It was unlikely anyone would be dropping sarin in the city's less-preferred hospital, but you never knew. High-mortality, low-likelihood events were the most dangerous, after all. People overlooked them.
Jack didn't have that problem.
He was contemplating going to check out the air handling units housed on the roof when Adamson found him. He had a watchful tilt to his head, a bird of prey on the hunt, and it made Jack straighten on instinct. "Dr. Abbot, walk with me."
He said it like a request, but Jack knew an order when he heard one. So he closed out his chart and joined Adamson as he walked them to the ambulance entrance. Everyone they passed smiled at Adamson, almost reflexive, like they didn't even realize it. He was the kind of man who left everyone around him a little awed; it was one of the reasons Jack had taken the job. "How has your first week been?" Adamson asked, looking at Jack encouragingly as they stepped outside into the sticky July heat. He still had that watchfulness about him.
"Nothing I can't handle," Jack said with a shrug.
Moving far enough from the doors that no one else could hear, Adamson turned to look at him, dark eyes sparkling. "Now, did that answer my question?" he asked, mild.
From anyone else, Jack would read it as a rebuke, but Adamson had a way about him. He seemed like he was genuinely inviting an answer.
So Jack gave him one: "It's been solid. The facilities are a little out of date, the patient load insane, and the resources thin, but I knew all that. The team makes up for it."
Adamson nodded, like that was exactly what he wanted to hear. "The team is everything. Surround yourself with the right people and there is no challenge you can't meet."
Jack knew that to his bones—had felt that in Iraq and Afghanistan, with his casevac teams and later, the hospital crews; your team was everything. So Jack just nodded and waited. Adamson had a point here. He'd get to it.
"You and Robby seem to get on," Adamson said, an observation so neutral it wrapped all the way back around to damning.
Shit. It hadn't even taken a day for Jack to hear all about how Robby was Adamson's golden boy, the heir apparent, his beloved protégé. Jack knew it wasn't cool to go lusting after the guy, but in his defense, he hadn't been able to help it, not with those big doe eyes and strong hands. Plus, Jack hadn't expected that Adamson would actually clock it. He must be getting sloppy.
"Robby's a hell of a doctor," he said, figuring that was safe enough.
Adamson nodded, almost meditative. "He is. I want you to know I've asked him to get together with you in your off-hours, as a way to welcome you to a new city. If you'll indulge me, please take him up on that. Robby is an amazing physician, but I worry that work is all he has."
Jack half-smiled, impressed. "Nice little trap you set there."
Adamson didn't blink, though his brown eyes seemed to warm as he asked, "Whatever do you mean?"
"You tell him to take the lonely new guy out, you tell me to take the lonely workaholic out, so neither of us can refuse because we're doing it for someone else. A perfect snare."
Adamson's expression warmed even further, like he was fighting off a smile, a battle he didn't mind losing. "What a way to look at it."
Jack grinned at the non-denial denial. "Sure, Dr. Adamson. I'll show your protégé a good time."
***
"Adamson set us up, you know," Jack said into their third beer. Just as Adamson warned, Robby had suggested drinks and when Jack had made all the right noises, he'd led them to this quiet, dingy little dive bar. It was far enough from the hospital that they weren't surrounded by colleagues, but close enough to walk, the kind of place with perennially sticky tabletops, like it was daring you to make a fuss and telling you to pound sand all at once. Thankfully, the music was classic rock, played low enough so people could talk, a working-class crowd, all cargos and work boots. Jack respected that. Robby had promptly ordered a shitty IPA; Jack hadn't had the heart to tell him, ordering a Guinness just to get a rise. But Robby hadn't commented, which was kind of disappointing. Maybe they'd get there.
Robby looked over at Jack's words, some kind of caution there. The Pabst Blue Ribbon neon sign behind the bar lit him up, cool and blue, highlighting his cheekbones, glittering in his eyes. "Did he," Robby said slowly. His hands, always fiddling with something, were still on his beer glass.
Jack just nodded and took a sip of his Guinness. "He told you to help out the transplant and he told me to help out the recluse. Not like we could say no."
Robby looked away again, the corner of his mouth ticking up. "That's an Adamson special. Helping all parties and offering deniability while doing it." He toasted slightly with his glass, then took a sip.
They'd talked about nothing real up until now—the cases of the day, how Jack was finding the hospital and Pittsburgh and his new condo, how absurd it was that Donald Trump announced he was running for president, both of them bullshitting and aware of it. Up close, with no patients to distract, Jack found his interest in Robby sharpening.
It wasn't just the fact that he was stunning—though that was kind of unfair, Robby all broad and tall and striking. No, there was just something about Robby; Jack found himself wanting to make some order of it, this puzzle whose pieces didn't quite fit. A man endlessly kind, but whose mouth could tear into you. A man who gave everyone grace, but would accept none himself. A man of soft eyes and gentle hands and razor-sharp edges carefully hidden. Jack would bet anything there was a real fighter under there. Not that Robby ever betrayed it.
But hell, Jack had been born fighting to get to something just out of reach; he knew the look.
So he decided to push it. "Your boss usually all up in your business like this?"
Robby's eyes flew to his—reading the implication in it, going faintly incredulous—
And then he laughed. "Man, you are something else," he marveled. "You'd never know you were in the army, the way you test boundaries."
Jack licked a bit of foam from the rim of his glass, noting Robby's eyes going to his mouth, then flicking away again. "That's how you find the boundaries."
Robby huffed something breathy and light, unfazed. "It's nothing like that," he said, answering Jack's implied question. "Adamson worries about me. Apparently he decided you're what I need."
Jack straightened on the uncomfortable barstool, shooting him a cocky smile. "Many have said."
Robby didn't get drawn into the charm of it, watching him with some kind of distant attention. A little like Adamson, actually. Bird of prey on the hunt. "Many are already whispering about what a fun time you must be," he said, pointed.
Jack didn't know why it sent a little pulse of heat through him, only that it did. "Why, Robby, you'll make me blush."
He tilted his head and outright studied Jack, a specimen under a microscope now. "I think it's all bullshit," he continued, almost assessing, like he was working it out in his own mind. "A front to distract them from the disaster you're hiding."
Surprise streaked through Jack, fast and bright. He didn't think Robby had been paying that much attention. So he did what he always did at a frontal assault; he launched a counteroffensive. "Oh, yeah? Traumatized vet, bum leg, he must be a tragic tale," Jack drawled, mocking.
Robby shrugged and sipped his beer. "Yeah, maybe."
"Kind of a cliché, don't you think?"
"How do things become cliché? By being true," Robby said, a wry note to his voice, like he knew he was being a dick and was doing it anyway.
"Brother, I am offended that you'd paint me with such a broad brush," Jack said, keeping it light, teasing, because he wasn't actually offended. Mostly, he was impressed that Robby had decided to go straight at it. Usually people awkwardly ignored the elephant in the room.
Not Robby. He dismissed Jack's deflection and just watched him. "Dana saw you walking escape routes," he finally said, quiet, letting it land between them.
Jack stilled, suddenly caught out. He'd clocked Dana watching him, but he'd thought it was just the usual way nurses had of keeping track of doctors, like the unruly children they could be. He hadn't expected her to see him. Nor Robby, for that matter.
"You know what my mistake was?" Jack asked after a moment.
Robby looked at him obviously. "You underestimated the charge nurse."
"I underestimated the fucking charge nurse," he agreed, shaking his head at himself. "Rookie move."
Robby smiled, like now he was charmed, seeing that Jack could admit it. "So what is it? You expecting to bug out? You on patrol? Something else?"
"Just getting the lay of the land," Jack offered with a casual roll of his shoulders. "I'm not hypervigilant or anything."
Robby actually snorted. "Right." His sarcasm was as thick as it was wide.
Jack grinned. "Well, maybe a little," he conceded, delighted at how relentlessly Robby was calling him on his shit. Jack's traitorous interest intensified. Robby really was something else. "But it's not negatively impacting my life, so I figure there's no harm."
"And now you have Adamson sending you off to make new friends," Robby murmured like a coup de grace, a knife slipped between ribs four and five, sweet and mortal.
Surprise made Jack blink. "You think that was for my benefit?" he asked, using his tone to cast doubt. Because Adamson was full of feeling, sure, but between him and Robby, Jack knew who garnered more.
Something conflicted flashed over Robby's face—like he'd hoped, maybe, because then it meant Adamson wasn't worried about Robby—but he quickly blanked it. Obviously dodging the question, he nodded at Jack's left hand, the black wedding band dark against his pale skin. "Is your wife gonna be mad that you're out drinking tonight? Or husband?" he added, like he was just being inclusive, but there was something to it, a tinge of curiosity there.
Maybe they were both trying to figure the other out, Jack realized. He tried not to get distracted by the idea, that he might stoke Robby's interest. That way led nowhere good.
So Jack just smiled, bitter. "Nope." At the look Robby gave him—a nonverbal, really, you're gonna give me nothing?—Jack found himself smiling something more genuine, wanting to tell him.
So he did. "My wife died last year. Car crash. Drunk driver. No survivors."
Robby's face went slack, a crease of pain furrowing his brow. "Shit. Sorry," he said as he looked down, taking a sip of his beer. "That's rough, I know."
Something in his tone got Jack's attention. "Do you?"
Robby looked over, a shadow in his eyes. "My parents died in a car crash. So...yeah."
It shouldn't feel meaningful. After all, car accidents were a leading cause of death in America. Lots of people had this tale. But still, something about it struck Jack. "I guess you do."
A sense of shared understanding settled in the air between them, thick, like a storm coming. It was hardly the deepest revelation—dead parents, many such cases—but the fact that he volunteered it was something. A crack in the strong leader image that Robby projected for all to see, revealing a tenderness underneath. It was a start. Jack knew, on some gut-deep level, it wouldn't be the end. He'd get to the core of the enigma sitting beside him; he just had to be patient.
And hell, Jack knew all about having to wait. For his leg to heal, for his grief to fade, for time to scab over the wounds to his very soul. He'd mostly come to terms with it.
Waiting to unravel Robby didn't seem such a chore, in the grand scheme of things.
It didn't hurt that there was something familiar about Robby. Something that put Jack at ease, enough to bring up Liz, even. He didn't talk much about her these days, having moved away for a fresh start. Weirdly, Robby made him want to.
Robby was just that way, he figured. With those big brown eyes and intriguing edges, he wormed his way in. Until you wanted to tell him everything when you were so used to saying nothing at all.
***
"We should do this again," Robby said as they stepped outside, full night now, the inky darkness offering a respite from the day's oppressive heat. But only a temporary one.
"Look at that," Jack drawled because he'd had four beers and Robby's eyes sparkled, inviting in the streetlights, "I was what you needed."
The hint of a smile threatened, but Robby controlled it and shrugged. "Remains to be seen."
There was a challenge in that, one that sent tingling through Jack's fingertips, his lips, his cock. "Same time next week?" he offered.
Jack wanted to live in the crook of Robby's smile.
***
"I hear you and Robby had a few rounds last night," Adamson said by way of greeting, pausing beside Jack as he charted frantically, before the next patient could code on him. One of those fucking days.
"We went a few rounds, that's for damn sure," Jack said, dry as the dust he left a lifetime ago.
Adamson's eyes lit with some secret mischief. Amused at something, though he wouldn't be sharing with the class. "I'd expect nothing less from the two of you. Did you come to any conclusions?"
"His taste in beer is tragic," Jack quipped.
Adamson huffed something fond, dropping a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll rectify that eventually."
With a ghost of a smile, he was gone. Only in the wake of his fading footfalls did Jack think to ask why Adamson was so sure he'd have the chance.
But then, maybe that was a door best left closed.
***
It became a thing after that, Jack and Robby meeting up at the bar once a week, even on their off days. Jack had to admit it was...nice. He hadn't expected to make a new friend at this stage in his life. Ater Liz, he hadn't expected anything meaningful at all. No one made friends pushing 40, in a new city, with no roots. He'd resigned himself to acquaintances, colleagues, polite nods to the other owners in his building. Faces he recognized, but everything shallow, distant.
Robby...he was the opposite of all that. He felt like a brother in arms, like someone he'd always known, even though Jack didn't know much about him at all. Could you know the core of a man absent any details? Because Jack watched him at work—so determined, always trying, his devotion plain to see—and he felt a kinship, deep in his bones. This man meant something in the grand scheme of things. He was consequential.
It made no sense. But sense couldn't touch the certainty that flowed through Jack every time he saw Robby. Part of him wanted to ask Adamson about it—Adamson, who knew Robby best, who could confirm that they were men of a singular nature—
But then he'd have to actually talk about it...and that just was not done.
So Jack let it be and forced himself to accept that good things could happen.
All evidence to the contrary.
***
Jack heard the roof door swing open, a screech of protesting hinges, sounding louder at someone else's hand. He'd have to tell Facilities to deploy some WD-40 up here.
The footfalls behind him were unhurried, like the person wasn't alarmed to see Jack on the other side of the safety railing, which meant Robby, probably. Jack didn't turn, just stood there taking in the light dying over Pittsburgh. It was a good view up here. God's eye view. Jack wondered if that made him a god.
The boots stopped behind him and to the right, up against the railing. Robby's voice, when it came, was dry: "That bad already?"
Jack lifted his hand and waved it in a seesaw motion. "I came up here to check the air handling units. A single vial of sarin deployed through those would take out the whole building. All you'd have to do is disable a couple sensors, drop it in, and Bob's your uncle."
Robby's pause went careful. "You planning on testing that?"
Jack did turn then, shooting him a glare. "Fuck you," he said, no heat to it, letting a corner of his mouth tick up.
In the fading light, Robby's lips twitched. The red glow of the sunset warmed his skin, turning him flushed and glowing. Unfair. "Who's gonna go dropping sarin in the least impressive Pittsburgh trauma center?" he asked, like this was some unimpeachable logic.
"Well, if it were obvious, it wouldn't be a good plan, would it?" Jack shot back.
Robby snorted. "But you're not hypervigilant."
"Appropriately cautious," Jack corrected.
"Reaching," Robby corrected right back.
"You'll sing a different tune when someone exploits these shocking security failures."
"Come over to this side of the railing and tell me all about it," Robby said, light and inviting.
Jack just rolled his eyes and ducked under, joining him. "Brother, I wasn't going to jump. I was communing with the gods."
"That's way better," Robby deadpanned. "No red flags there at all."
"You'd know, being the king of red flags and all," Jack said, eyeing him steadily.
Robby's grin lit up his face, the lines around his eyes creasing, where his delight lived. Some days, Jack wished he'd met Robby when they were younger, before the beard; he'd bet those dimples were something to see. Robby seemed unaware of his regard, clapping a hand on Jack's shoulder as they headed to the door. "Takes one to know one, my friend."
***
A few weeks later, Robby passed by central, humming. Jack's eyes automatically tracked him as he went into South 15 to check on a patient. He could feel Dana watching him from behind central, so he looked over. "What?"
"What?" she shot back, a shade more aggressively. She'd been testing him a little bit, he thought, which he mostly didn't mind. It was smart to figure out what you were dealing with.
So Jack ignored it and asked what he really wanted to know: "Does he seem happier to you?"
"Does he?" Dana asked back, maddeningly neutral.
Jack narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd say so."
"Regular sex will do that to a man," she drawled, like she well knew.
Surprise swept Jack, though he tried to hide it. Robby hadn't mentioned seeing anyone. Not that Robby mentioned his relationships, come to think. "You know it's weird that you know that, right?"
"You know it's weird that you're asking?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow.
That actually threw Jack. Was it? "A friend can't be interested?"
"Is that what you two are," she said, not really a question. The fact that Dana was throwing that out there made Jack kick himself a little bit. He really must not be hiding things well.
"A boy can dream," he said, light, a joke to distract her from the moment.
Dana didn't take the bait. "Uh-huh."
"The hell did I do to you?" he asked, going on offense, a little annoyed now. He'd only been here a month and he was pretty sure he hadn't run afoul of her. Pissing off your charge nurse was inviting a shitstorm to take a dump on your head. Jack had already suffered through the US Army. He knew all about shit rolling down on him. He wasn't about to sign up for more of it.
"I don't need you upsetting my apple cart, Abbot," Dana said, a full-on warning in that.
Not that Jack was about to cop to anything. Even if there had been anything to tell. Which there was not. So he splayed his hands, open and inviting. "I would never."
Dana nodded, once. "Good. Make sure you keep it that way."
And with that, she turned to her ringing phone, effectively dismissing him. Jack knew a lot of other attendings would take offense, bristle, get all up in their pride and ego. He just laughed.
"Good talk."
***
"Someone's in a good mood," Jack said to Robby when they were seated at the bar and half a beer in. He never could leave well enough alone.
Robby's eyebrows rose as he glanced at Jack, then away again. "I know you don't mean me."
"Uh-huh," Jack said, teasing. "C'mon, who is she? Or he, whatever." He made it casual, like he wasn't burning with curiosity. Because if Robby could throw that out to him those weeks ago, he could throw it right back.
Robby sighed like he was very put upon. "Her name is Marie, she's a librarian, and she's very nice. Now can we drop it?"
Something rolled in Jack's gut, but he kept it off his face, choosing to favor Robby with a smirk. "Banging a hot librarian. You are living out so much porn right now."
Robby's look was deeply unimpressed. "Really?"
Jack tsked. "Like you didn't think it."
But Robby was still working through his offense. "And what makes you think I'd go for porn-star hot? She could be a girl next door."
Jack waved a hand at Robby's...everything. "Man, I have eyes." Robby blinked, which told Jack that was probably a little too much, so he rushed on: "Good for you, brother. One of us should be getting laid."
That successfully distracted Robby. "Right, because there's no market for built war heroes with tragic eyes," he snarked, taking a sip of his beer.
Jack made an interested noise and leaned in, nudging Robby's shoulder, his body warm against Jack's. "Built, you say."
"We're not having this conversation," Robby said promptly, staring into his beer, his long fingers tense on the glass.
"Which conversation? The one about your thoughts on my chiseled, manly physique?" Jack asked, deliberately provocative.
"That's the one," Robby nodded, still not looking at him, taking an actual gulp of beer this time.
And wasn't that interesting.
But Robby had tensed in a bad way, so Jack decided to leave it, leaning back into his own space, going easy again. "I can assure you, being down half a leg cancels out the rest."
Robby's frame loosened slightly, like a fist unclenching. He looked over, eyes those soft pools that Jack always wanted to drown in. "I doubt that." His voice was laced with something, Jack wanting to probe it, even as he knew Robby would just shut down again if he tried.
So Jack shot him a wicked look. "Let's ask Marie."
Robby just huffed an amused breath and flipped him off.
***
A week later, coming back from North 2, Jack noticed a group of paramedics clustered around security, where Williams took center stage, cash in hand. Robby hovered at the edges of the gathering, a tired smile in place.
"I am taking all your money," Williams was saying to the paramedics, writing something on a post-it. He looked up at Robby with a teasing smile. "What do ya say, Mikey?"
Robby's smile dropped, expression suddenly arctic. "Don't ever call me that." The turn in his demeanor was so abrupt, a couple of the paramedics laughed...right up until they realized he wasn't joking.
Because he looked furious.
Surprise swept Jack, a side of Robby he hadn't seen. He'd got caught on the man's edges himself, so he knew about those, but there were edges and then there was a stab to the heart. This was the latter.
Williams hadn't expected this, either, for all that he'd known Robby for years. "Oh, I'm—sorry, man. I thought—never mind. No problem," he stuttered out, clearly taken aback, but trying to roll with it.
Robby swallowed into the awkward silence, like he'd realized that was an overreaction, and shook his head. "Forget it. Put me up for twenty on the Pens to lose in OT."
Williams bobbed his head, going lighter, writing it down. "Now that's some optimism right there."
But the moment lingered with Jack. That was something.
***
At the bar, he and Robby were two deep when the doors opened, admitting a gaggle of finance-bro types, slumming it, laughing and clearly already wasted. Awesome.
"Yo, Mikey, over here!" a voice called out to them, the group following it deeper inside.
Jack slanted a weighing glance at Robby, to see how he was doing with that.
Robby was staring into the dregs of his beer, seeming transfixed.
"You okay, man?" Jack asked, low.
"My parents called me that," he said, answering the real question in that way he had. Where he could read Jack's mind and cut right through to the heart of things.
"Ah," Jack said, another piece of Robby slotting into place. A childhood nickname, deployed in jest, unintentionally hitting the soft spot of parents gone too soon. No wonder he'd reacted badly. Jack didn't say anything more, letting Robby pick up the ball if he wanted.
Apparently, he wanted: "It was always, 'Mikey, get out of the street.' 'Mikey, the school called again.' 'Mikey, stop stomping through the mud.' I was a troublemaker, you know. That kid," he drawled, some kind of dark humor to it. Jack couldn't imagine, that image so at odds with who Robby was now.
Then again, he did have those edges. Maybe they were vestiges of a different life. Evidence of the child Robby used to be.
But Robby wasn't done: "That's just how it was with my parents, my whole life, right up until I got into a fight at a kid's birthday party and they had to come pick me up early. Only they hit a patch of black ice on the way, spun out, and boom. Both DOA. So I became Robby after that. And I never got in trouble again," he said, quiet, letting it sit for a moment. Then he drained his glass.
...oh. Jack ached for all that held and all that flowed from it. The sad-eyed kid who blamed himself for his parents' death, so he became perfect, or near as he could. But no one was perfect, nor could ever be, so all it led to was a life of never measuring up, no matter how hard he tried.
"How old were you?" Jack asked, soft.
Not looking at him, Robby pushed his glass aside. "Eight."
Jack nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder, resting it there longer than he otherwise would. There was no use saying anything because there was nothing to say. "Another round?" he asked eventually, pulling his hand back.
Robby looked over, gratitude in those full brown eyes. "Thanks."
***
The next week, Jack followed Dana's pointed look all the way into South 18, where sweat dripped down Robby's temple as he stubbornly continued chest compressions, trying to will the patient's heart to start. Jack hadn't caught much about the case—leg pain while walking, middle-aged tiredness, pulsatile tinnitus, nothing obvious—until the patient up and coded on Robby, seemingly out of nowhere.
Now, after rounds and rounds of epi, he was still at it, even though the guy was obviously gone. But still, Robby worked on him, a firm set to his jaw that kept anyone from questioning him. Adamson had left him to it ages ago with a supportive pat to the shoulder, silently announcing that it was Robby's show.
One he didn't seem too keen on ending.
"You ready to call it?" Jack challenged, catching the grateful look the nurse shot his way.
"He'd riding the edge," Robby shot back, still pumping the guy's chest.
"You're the only thing keeping him there," Jack said, moving closer.
"I told him he could go home soon," Robby bit out, his voice strangled, "that he'd be out in time to pick up his kid."
"You gave him the information you had at the time," Jack said, stepping right up beside Robby. "Things change." He ghosted a hand over Robby's elbow, the lightest thing, just to let him know he wasn't alone.
Robby breathed out—
And finally held compressions. The flatline sounded loud and accusing in the small space, Robby's forehead creased, eyes gone sightless. "Okay," he finally said, slowly pulling his hands back, away from the patient. He glanced at his watch. "Okay. Time of death: 1328."
With that, he bailed. Like he couldn't be here anymore.
The nurse turned off the telemetry monitor, cutting off the sound of the flatline. "Thanks, Dr. Abbot."
Jack just nodded and headed back out to central, where Dana looked like she knew exactly what happened. Hell, she probably did. She cocked her head, blue eyes regarding him steadily...
And then she softened. "Okay, kid," she said, like a judgment entered into the record. Like he'd just passed muster.
"Really?" he asked because that was nothing—a few words, some silent support, kicking Robby out of his head. That was what it took? "And what's this 'kid' business? You're not even that much older than me."
Dana raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "That where you wanna take this conversation?"
"No," he quickly said, shaking his head for good measure. If his charge nurse had finally decided to like him, he would not be arguing. Or calling her old.
Her lips twitched. "Good choice."
***
Robby didn't speak at all at the bar. Not through the first beer or the second.
In the middle of the third, he broke. "The guy who killed your wife," Robby said, prompting. "If he'd survived, would you want him dead?"
Jack felt it like the slice of a razor—clean and true, pain only registering after the cut was finished. Jesus, this man.
He swallowed it down to think. Because this was another clue to Robby, to whatever was going on in that head of his. And he'd been asked a question.
Jack swallowed a sip of his beer. "Yeah," he finally said, rough. He was not so elevated as to forgive the asshole who'd taken Liz away. He could admit that.
Robby nodded, like he completely got that. "I killed my parents," he finally said, as if that made any sort of sense.
And yet, as an insight into Robby's brain? It said everything.
"Except you didn't," Jack said, like you know that. "Not like my asshole."
"Close enough. It's about responsibility, in the end. Who bears responsibility for the things that happen in the world." And now, Robby took on the responsibility of saving everyone, an impossible mission that he was destined to fail.
"You know what I learned at war?" Jack asked, voice hitching because he never talked about this shit. People didn't get it, so why bother? But he ignored that thought and kept on going: "Sometimes shit just happens. We tell ourselves stories after the fact to make it make sense, but it's all just random. A Humvee swerves to not hit a kid and hits an IED instead. It lands on the Humvee behind, killing all but the doctor, who has to tourniquet his own leg so he can fire back at the ambush it's become. He shouldn't have even been on that side; he'd switched seats because he'd strained his neck and couldn't cover his normal sector. Is that fate? Is it god? Would it have gone down differently if he'd taken his normal spot? Or is it all just fuckin' random and the poor saps left behind are trying to make meaning out of nonsense."
Robby eyed him steadily, like he was at school drinking in a lecture that would definitely be on the final. His eyes glittered dark in the low light of the bar, a wash of sympathy there, but no pity. "Or maybe that's just easier to believe," he finally said, like he couldn't not.
God, Robby was such an asshole. Jack almost resented how much he was into it. Almost.
"Nah, man. It's harder. Because in that version, there is no 'responsibility.' There's nothing to do. No amount of self-flagellation will make a damn bit of difference. Even if you saved every single patient you saw, it wouldn't make up for anything. Because it's all just...chaos," Jack said, spreading his hands, gesturing to the world.
Robby's lips turned up into a smile, but it was as bitter as his hopped-to-shit IPA. "That's the difference between you and me. At least I try to tip the scales."
Jack scoffed. "Fuck you," he said, no heat to it. "You're not trying; you're punishing yourself."
Robby sat back on his barstool, jaw flexing. "How I enjoy these chats of ours."
Jack tipped his barrel-aged stout at him, a kind of toast. "Always here for you, brother."
***
A few weeks later, Robby was on a different sort of tear. "They always say the same thing," he said, picking at the label on his beer, bottled this week. "I'm too closed-off. I can't connect. They don't really know me."
"Is it true?" Jack asked, making sure it held no judgment, just curiosity.
"I don't fucking know," Robby muttered. "I wish I knew what they all wanted me to say."
Literally anything about your feelings, Jack thought, not that he'd voice it.
"Sucks, man. But I guess that means it wasn't right. Because either Marie didn't get you or you didn't want her to."
"I just—why can't it be easy?" He gestured between the two of them. "This is easy."
"Well, we're not fucking," Jack pointed out with a grin. "So there's that."
"A relationship's a relationship," Robby argued back. "Do you feel like I'm closed off? Like you don't know me?"
"Man, you are a closed book in a locked vault buried a mile underground," he drawled, the truest thing he'd ever said. "And I know exactly who you are."
Robby stared at him, something working in his eyes, not that Jack could identify what the look meant. "...yeah," he finally said, his voice thick.
A hint of danger rose in the air, the two of them on the precipice of something. Jack decided not to say anything more.
He'd been telling the truth, all those weeks ago. He wasn't about to jump.
***
They headed out the exit and into the empty sidewalk, the cool night feeling good against Jack's skin. He turned toward home—
The shove jolted him back, Jack stumbling into the side of the building, the brick scraping bright and jarring against his back. Jack breathed out with the surprise of it—
And then Robby was in his space and kissing him. Not a tentative peck, either, this was a full court press, firm mouth sliding against his, tongue darting out to lap at his bottom lip. Jack sucked in a gasp—
Robby took that opening to sweep his tongue in, lighting Jack up everywhere. He made some soft noise into the kiss, tasting the remains of beer and what had to be Robby after a long day, the slick slide of their mouths a revelation, heat tingling everywhere, going straight to his cock.
It sent Jack reeling—Robby liked men, Robby liked him, that weird tension that flared between them was desire, layered underneath the edges that caught on each other and the way they shielded their tenderness.
A rough hand gripped the back of Jack's neck, Robby pulling back to breathe, tilting his head the other way and leaning in to kiss him again—
Jack dodged away, aware he was breathing hard and unable to help it. His lips tingled as he licked them. "How'd you know?" he asked, hearing the rough burr of desperation in his voice because he was unfailingly discreet. Years in the army had trained him in not pinging even a little bit. And Robby didn't seem like the type of guy to throw caution to the wind and plant one on his straight buddy he'd met all of three months ago.
The corners of Robby's mouth ticked up, like Jack was less subtle than he thought, but he gamely answered: "You said, 'We're not fucking.'"
Jack just stared at him. "Yeah..." he said, prompting, not getting it.
Robby ran a knuckle over Jack's jaw, admiration dancing in those big brown eyes. It made Jack a little weak-kneed to see it. "A straight guy would say he's not gay. Saying, 'We're not fucking,' leaves it open as a possibility."
Jack huffed, annoyed that he was right. "I'm not gay," he said, just to be contrary.
Robby's amusement sharpened, his smile cutting across his face. "Neither am I," he shot back, undeterred. "So you coming back to my place?"
***
As soon as Robby got the door closed behind him, he planted Jack against it, mouth taking his like they'd been doing it for years. Jack gave himself up to the kiss—to the wanting—kissing him back, fierce and hot. Robby tasted like beer, the shitty IPA softened on his tongue, thank god, the rush of the kiss going straight to Jack's head. This was probably a terrible idea, what with the way they were both a little fucked up, but Jack wanted it. And didn't he deserve to get something back, after all the fucking loss?
Robby's hands on his belt snapped him out of it, Jack moaning into the kiss as clever fingers unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, stealing inside his cargos to feel the shape of him through his boxer briefs. Jack thrust into that hand, clutching at Robby's shoulders, the lust rushing down his spine making him a little lightheaded. Robby's hungry rumble into the kiss was like its own caress, Jack feeling himself flush in a mix of pleasured pride. There was nothing like someone wanting you.
Robby pulled out of the kiss, catching sight of Jack's expression. He flashed a grin, something like fondness there, but Jack didn't quite catch it—
Because Robby was dropping to his knees and all thought promptly flew out of Jack's head. He could only stare dumbly as Robby drew his cock out, made another hungry sort of noise, and swallowed him down.
Heat and wet and fuck yeah was all he could think, Jack flailing to get a hand in the fine strands of Robby's hair, the other gripping the doorknob tight, metal biting into his skin. He stared at Robby's face as he bobbed his head up and down his cock, the fan of his eyelashes against his cheeks so delicate. Robby looked fucking regal down his knees, sucking cock like it was something holy, strong hands pressing Jack's hips to the door, holding him down so that Robby could suck him how he wanted.
The idea set off fireworks in Jack's brain, orgasm gathering on the horizon, too soon. "Robby," he panted, a warning buried there as he gripped Robby's hair tight.
Robby read it perfectly, pulling off Jack's cock with an obscene pop. He smirked up at Jack, hand sliding where his mouth had just been, fisting Jack's cock, slick with spit, making him shudder. "Yes, Jack?" he asked, all prim and proper, sending a fresh rush of lust through him.
"You want anything more than me shooting over your face, we should move this along," Jack said, short.
"I'm shocked a man of your advanced age and experience has so little control," Robby said, twisting his wrist on the upstroke like a dick.
Jack grunted and brushed Robby's hand aside so he could take hold of himself. "Whatever, man. It's all the same to me," he said, jerking himself off quickly, positioned to make a mess of Robby's face and beard.
Robby gripped his wrist, hard. "Don't you fucking dare."
Jack grinned.
***
Climbing on top of Robby, naked on his sheets, lived up to every fantasy and then some. Robby's hands were quick and strong, touching him everywhere, even as the two of them kissed and kissed, hungry for each other.
"Inside me," Robby mumbled between kisses, scraping blunt nails down Jack's naked back, the pain stoking the pleasure.
Already dizzy at the idea, Jack flung a hand out, yanking open the nightstand drawer. He looked quickly, grabbing the condoms and lube, then dropping them beside Robby's body. He sank back into their kiss for long moments, the hot press of their tongues sliding through him, all the way down to his cock, hard against his thigh.
Jack pulled himself out of it, then kissed his way down Robby's body—kissing his Star of David, scraping his teeth over a nipple, peppering kisses down his soft belly, all the way to cock, long and hard and already wet at the tip. Robby was hung and Jack couldn't help his moan as he sucked him down, Robby instinctively bucking into his mouth with a ragged cry.
He pinned Robby's hip with one hand, the other grabbing the lube, and then Jack went to town. He sucked him, and slicked him, Robby tight around his fingers, loosening by degrees, his choked-off moans and pleading nothing less than beautiful. Before long, Jack had him writhing on three thick fingers, sweating, his hole slippery and spasming, Robby panting out, "Now. Fucking now, Jack, Jesus Christ."
On a laugh, Jack pulled away to roll on a condom, quickly slicking himself with more lube. When he turned back, Robby had moved onto his hands and knees, his legs parted, waiting. The sight of it slid through Jack, his cock pulsing in want. Generally, when a lover offered their ass like this, he didn't question it, but something about this gave him pause. Robby's back heaved with his breaths, his skin glowing in the warm light from his bedroom lamps, reflecting off the light sheen of sweat. He looked debauched and glorious, even before Jack got his cock inside him.
And yet.
Jack was an instinctive guy and he'd learned to trust those instincts, so he didn't question himself. He just shoved Robby onto his side and followed after him, ignoring Robby's surprised yelp.
"The fuck?" Robby bitched, but Jack was already moving between his legs, nudging him onto his back. Robby opened right up for him, thighs spread wide, cock hard and bobbing in the air. Jack gripped it, stroking lightly, sending a shudder straight through Robby as he got harder in hand, his body slumping as he gave in. "Are you always difficult?" Robby asked, but his voice was strained, lust-rough.
Jack released his cock, hard and leaking, flat against his belly now. Beautiful. "You want to get fucked, this is how I want to fuck you, problem?" he asked, shifting up between Robby's thighs, his own cock hard and shiny with lube.
Robby's gaze was hot on it, hungry. Instead of answering, he pulled his thighs up toward his chest, opening himself.
Jack snorted. "That's what I thought." He pressed the head of his cock to Robby's hole, teasing a little, just holding there as he looked up to Robby's face—
Robby's lips were shiny and parted, expression yearning, sweat dotted over his skin. Realizing Jack wasn't moving, he found Jack's gaze, his eyes gone lust-dark and pleading. "Jack..." he breathed, plaintive.
Jack was many things, but he wasn't a monster. At that plea, he pressed his cock in, both of them gasping at the feel of his cock sinking into that tight heat. Jack sucked in a steeling breath and worked his way inside in little thrusts, going deeper each time. Even with all the prep, Robby was tight, his body gripping Jack's cock, pleasure so intense he had to pause just to breathe, so he didn't come like some amateur.
When he finally sank all the way inside, Jack leaned down to kiss Robby, both moaning at the change in angle, the way it lit them both up, pleasure rocketing from Robby to Jack and back again. He could feel Robby's heart beating hard and fast, his chest expanding as he breathed, the incredible heat of him. Fuck.
"Okay," Robby breathed into his mouth, kissing him open and wet. "Okay, I'm—you can—"
Jack caught his mouth and obliged, withdrawing a little so he could sink back in, setting up a rhythm. He kept close, kissing Robby, breathing against his mouth, resting their foreheads together as he fucked him slowly, but thorough. Robby's hands clutched at his sweaty back, hips shifting up to meet Jack's thrusts, making hot, desperate noises against his mouth.
Robby got a leg around Jack's ass and tried to pull him in faster. "Fuck, Robby," Jack muttered, going with it, fucking him harder, sweat slicking everything, pleasure like lightning under his skin.
Robby's hands spasmed on his back. "You—it's—call me Mike," he panted, rocking up to meet his thrusts, taking Jack's cock beautifully.
The name burned through Jack, hips bucking uncontrollably, the rightness of it settling at the base of his spine. "Fuck. Mike," he growled, fucking him in earnest, the headboard thumping against the wall.
"Yes," Robby hissed, head arching back, baring his throat, a sign of submission that sent another rush of ecstasy clear through him. "Jack, fuck, please."
Jack braced himself on one hand and got the other around the back of Robby's neck, moving him so he could see—
His eyes were completely black, fathomless, mouth open, lips puffy and red, his expression lost to pleasure. This was Robby undone—this was Mike—and he was exquisite. "There you are," Jack breathed.
Robby choked out something high and desperate, shoving a hand down to his own cock—
Jack gasped as Robby's body gripped around him, clamping down as he came hot between them, Robby shuddering out his pleasure, working himself through it. The sight of Robby losing it was so hot Jack's own orgasm rushed up to meet him, sucking him under. He shook as he came, thrusting into Robby as he chased wave after wave of white-hot bliss, ecstatic and perfect.
Time warped, Jack riding the orgasm for endless moments—
And then he came back to himself, still propped up over Robby, their breaths loud in the room, a mess of come and sweat between them. "Fuck," Jack said succinctly.
Robby snorted a laugh and met his gaze. He looked fucked out, a hazy edge of satisfaction to his expression, and Jack couldn't help the surge of pride at sight of it. He did that. Jack leaned down to kiss Robby, slower than before, lush and lingering, an odd tenderness suddenly sliding through him, whisper soft.
When he started to soften, he pulled out, sliding away to take care of the condom. Robby didn't even move, like he was just fine to stay planted right where he was, fuck everything else.
It made Jack entirely fond. He tossed the condom in the bedside trash, then crawled over and grabbed some tissues from the box on the nightstand so he could wipe Robby down. It wasn't ideal, but he didn't have crutches here and he wasn't putting his leg back on if he could help it.
"What a gentleman," Robby mocked as Jack cleaned up him, voice lazy with pleasure.
"My reward for being nice to you," Jack shot back, tossing the tissues. "Mockery."
Robby just hmmed and rolled closer, slinging an arm over Jack, warm and strong and inviting. "Sucks that you love it."
Jack sighed. "God help me." He traced light fingers over the tattoo on Robby's arm: Memento Mori. Remember that you must die. "You're kinda fucked up, you know," he said idly, no heat to it, the two of them just breathing, enjoying the feeling of skin and closeness.
"I know," Robby agreed, not seeming all that worried about it. "That gonna be a problem?"
Jack found his eyes, letting his mouth curve up. "That'd be pretty hypocritical," he offered.
Robby's lips twitched. Fondness, maybe. "It would," he said, meeting Jack's gaze evenly, not even trying to downplay Jack's own issues.
Which was fuckin' refreshing. He snorted. "Yeah, all right," he said, not even clear on what he was agreeing to. All of this, maybe. Becoming a them.
Robby's smile bloomed, making him seem younger. Or maybe lighter, unburdened, something. Jack hadn't seen it in him before. "You can stay over, but you should know I have no food," he said, burrowing into a pillow like he hadn't a care in the world.
"We'll have to work on that," Jack shot back, taking the other pillow. His pillow, he decided.
Robby eyed him, curious but not pressuring. "You planning to make a habit of it?"
Jack just shot him a haughty sort of look. "Well, Adamson did decide that I'm what you need."
In the warm lights, Robby's brown eyes sparkled. "Could be."
There was an offer in that. An open hand.
Jack was going to take it.
***
Fin. Feedback is adored.