Chapter Text
Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch knocked gently on his new neighbour and ex-roommate’s – Jack Abbot’s – new front door, though he knew Jack wouldn’t answer, already turning the handle to come inside. The lights in Jack’s apartment were always off, and Jack was always just… sat. On the bed, in his wheelchair, on the faded old couch that had come with the accommodation…
He just looked like he’d given up with life, allowing himself to slip through the cracks and hiding in his darkened one room apartment that the army had dumped him in.
But Robby wouldn’t let that happen; he walked through the door, eyes adjusting to the darkness before he flipped the light switch on and revealed Jack, laying on his back in his single bed, faded black t-shirt on and barely covering the mass of burn and shrapnel scars covering Jack’s arms and torso; back in med school, Jack had more than his fare share of scars already from a childhood of, what Robby could only describe as, horrific abuse – Jack never even called it abuse though, just labelled it discipline and deflected every time, away from cigarette burns and belt lashings.
Jack’s lower half was hidden by his duvet, though Robby could clearly see where one leg extended and one leg… stopped. He never let himself look at Jack’s leg for more than a few seconds; Jack had only moved in to this tiny apartment a few days ago, and it was already pretty awkward being neighbours with your ex-roommate (ex-hook-up) that you hadn’t spoken to in a decade, without drawing attention to Jack’s new disabilities. So Robby looked away, up at Jack’s face, not down at what wasn’t there anymore.
Jack’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, laying flat on his back, hazel eyes open but lifeless, just staring straight ahead; Robby’ instincts as an ER Physician made him want to rush forward, hold his fingers to Jack’s neck and take his vitals, ensure he was still actually there… but Robby knew Jack was alive. He just didn’t act like it anymore.
So Robby crouched down next to the small single bed, hand coming to rest lightly on Jack’s shoulder as he spoke softly, “Hey, Jack-o,” smiling warmly, trying to coax Jack’s attention over to him – it was hard to tell, sometimes, if Jack understood completely what was going on around him; from what Robby could tell, without access to Jack’s medical records, there was a moderate amount of brain damage caused by the IED that Jack had mentioned, on top of the burns, amputation, and number of lacerations full of shrapnel. Robby continued kindly, fingers moving to card through Jack’s soft reddish-brown curls, “Think you wanna get up today?”
Jack didn’t answer; he rarely did anymore. Back in Med School, he’d been loud, arrogant, chatty, overconfident, flirting with every girl (and Robby) he came across. Now he barely said three words in a day; it wasn’t Jack’s fault though, Robby had to remind himself, it was the brain damage. Jack just… couldn’t talk anymore; it took an extreme amount of effort, unbelievably difficult, and when he finally managed to get a word out it was quiet, stammered, slurred, slow, near impossible to understand.
Robby let his smile drop, just for a second, as his eyes landed on the dining table where a white paper booklet lay, titled ‘Recovery from below-knee amputation – Physiotherapy’. Robby didn’t know this new Jack all that well, he had to admit, but he knew enough that he could tell Jack hadn’t even started his physiotherapy exercises; probably saw it as pointless, hopeless, useless.
“You want to give this a go, Brother?” Robby asked softly, picking up the booklet with his free hand and holding it up for Jack to see – Jack actually looked, just for a second, then gave a frown that had definitely been intended to have been more intimidating, and turned his head away slightly.
An obvious ‘fuck no’.
Robby chuckled slightly, hands on his own knees as he stood up, cracking his back in a way that he definitely shouldn’t have been able to at the age of just thirty five, “Well,” he continued, turning to the side and pulling the wheelchair slightly closer for Jack to transfer into, “I’m afraid you don’t get a choice, buddy. I’ll help you transfer, and then we’ll get started; gotta build your strength back up, huh?”
Jack let out the biggest huff Robby had heard from him yet, which honestly was just adorable more than anything else, and turned a little further away, mouth struggling as his lips refused to cooperate enough with his tongue and vocal chords. When he finally managed to get a word out – his first of the day, low and rough from voice disuse - it sounded almost… pitiful. “F- fu- ck.”
But Robby didn’t pity Jack; he sympathised, yes, but he wouldn’t allow himself to pity the Veteran. He hadn’t said as much to Jack, of course, but he knew that pity was one of the least helpful things he could do for Jack right now – he spent every hour of his working life around injured, sick, destroyed people; he knew how to behave.
“C’mon,” Robby chuckled slightly, checking the locks on the chair as he got it into the right position, hands moving towards Jack as he prepared to help him get up and out of bed, “You’ll feel all the better for it…”
Jack stopped protesting, just for a few moments as Robby sat him up, gently pulling his legs to the side of the bed before helping him transfer across into the awaiting wheelchair; Jack could hardly resist, he couldn’t even stand on his own. Still, Robby tried to find the balance between respecting Jack’s autonomy while also doing what was best for him – maybe not in the moment, but in the long-term for sure.
When Robby finally managed to get Jack safely and comfortably situated, he unlocked the brakes of the chair, rolling him forward slightly to sit him at the tiny, round dining table.
“Can’t do physio on an empty stomach, huh?” Robby joked softly, heading to the kitchen and going through Jack’s cabinets and musty fridge – Jack had only moved in here the other day, and he didn’t exactly have the mobility to go out and buy groceries, so (unsurprisingly) the cupboards and fridge were completely barren. Robby would have to fix that for him sooner rather than later, even if Jack probably wouldn’t bother with actually making himself something – Robby could do the best he could in his spare time. He had a shift the next day, so he’d have to go out for groceries today – he could take Jack with him, first real outing since his arrival.
“I’ll just pop round mine for a moment, alright, Jack?” Robby informed him, crouching down to eye level with Jack as he spoke slowly and clearly for him, “I’ll be less than a minute, okay? Grab some cereal…”
Jack didn’t answer – didn’t even properly acknowledge Robby right in front of him; Robby hadn’t been expecting much more, but it still… hurt. This wasn’t the Jack he used to know; Hell, the Jack he used to know cooked breakfast from scratch every morning, using whatever cheap ingredients he could afford with the part-time jobs he was working throughout Med School.
Robby stood back up to full height, heading out of Jack’s apartment and walking the six feet to his own; his apartment was much bigger than Jack’s. A two bedroom apartment, a good amount of natural light, cluttered but clean, trinkets all over the place, letters from patients and their families pinned on the fridge (and another box of messages from less fortunate patients’ families stuffed in his closet, hidden by his endless collection of jackets and hoodies, only ever being opened to add another letter, never to re-read them…). He flicked the light on as he entered his own apartment, warm golden light filling the space, with the morning August sun shining through the large windows, illuminating the space. He headed into the kitchen, grabbing the cereal boxes from his countertop – he decided on Cheerios, safe for Jack to eat, he couldn’t… choke on them (it broke Robby’s heart that his head had to actually go there).
When he came back into Jack’s apartment, two bowls full of Cheerios and milk, spoons in his pocket, he defended his choice, saying, “Cheerios aren’t the most… controversial, and I wasn’t sure what else I had that you’d like,” not alluding to the fact that he’d actually had to consider choking risks for a 32 year old Veteran, recently disabled in a blast – a grown fucking man.
Jack didn’t seem to care, sat exactly where Robby left him, eyes unfocused and staring at his legs. So Robby gently set the bowl down in front of him, sat down at the table, passed Jack a spoon and got started on eating breakfast.
Jack struggled with the spoon – Just like how he’d struggled with the fork a few nights ago when eating that mac ‘n’ cheese. Robby didn’t comment, didn’t draw attention to it, just kept eating, making occasional remarks like “Should be good weather today – nice and hot, huh?” and “Your hair’s a bit of a mess, man… need some help washing it?”
Eventually, Jack clearly got fed up with the spoon, dropping it into the half eaten bowl of Cheerios and huffing slightly; that was breakfast over then. But Robby didn’t comment, just stood, took the bowls to the sink and rinsed them out to be properly cleaned later.
“So,” Robby started, back turned to Jack from where he stood at the kitchen sink, “I was thinking we could get your physio done now that you’ve eaten, then give you a shower, cos… well no offence, buddy, but you’re pretty ripe, then we could go grocery shopping, yeah? Get some food in these cupboards…”
As he turned back around to face Jack, he noticed him fiddling with that dark ring on his finger with trembling hands – Robby had noticed he did that whenever he seemed overwhelmed or frustrated, or whenever he’d had too much time to think (which was all the time now).
Robby sighed softly, coming to crouch in front of Jack again – his back and knees are going to be ruined with all this crouching – before speaking softly, “C’mon, we’ll get you on the floor, just for ten, fifteen minutes, then shower time, okay?”
Jack didn’t answer, but he did meet Robby’s eyes, just for a second.
Success.
Robby continued gently, “I’ve got a yoga mat at my place – tried to get into it last year, don’t ask…” he smiled softly – he’d been at work when one of the senor nurses (Mom of the ER), Dana Evans, started rattling on about how yoga was saving her as she had to take care of her kids, and how Robby should definitely give it a try before he turned into one of those old guys hobbling about the place with crippling back pain. So he’d listened, gone to a sports shop and picked up a yoga mat – relatively cheap, navy blue, and then… he’d left it in the back of his closet ever since. Hadn’t used it since the day he bought it, when he tried to get into a ‘warrior pose’ and ended up stubbing his toe on his table leg, and hadn’t touched the yoga mat since. Robby shook his head fondly at the memory, chuckling a little, “I’ll go grab it, you stay here…”
When Robby returned two minutes later, the rolled-up yoga mat tucked under one arm, thankfully not too dusty, Jack was still just… sat. Not that he could really do much else, but… it still hurt to see. He came forward, checked the brakes on the chair, talking Jack through what he was about to do, “I’m gonna put my hands under your arms… yep, just like that… stand you up, and lower you to the floor…”
When he finally managed to get Jack situated on the yoga mat, black shorts riding up slightly – just enough to show even more healing scars and bruises – Jack was finally seeming a little more attentive, a little more there.
Robby got started laying Jack on his back, taking him through knee flexion and hip extension exercises before rotating him slightly onto his side, reading through the booklet as he did so, helping him with hip flexion, adduction and abduction, before finally laying him on his front and getting him through the back extension and knee extension.
Jack didn’t talk throughout the entire thing, just letting Robby manipulate his body into the necessary positions – he didn’t resist like he had done back in the hospital, didn’t whimper or whine or try to hit his own legs. Just… let Robby take him through it all.
When they were finally finished, a little over twenty minutes later, and Jack was back in his wheelchair, Robby got started on preparing the shower for Jack. Jack hadn’t even used his new apartment’s shower for the first time yet – he didn’t even own any soap or shampoo or deodorant or any kind of toiletries at all.
He was so… neglected.
So Robby went back to his own apartment for the third time that morning, crossing those six feet between their front doors again and again, grabbing everything Jack would need for the shower. He eventually wheeled Jack into the bathroom, taking extra care with the not so wide doorways (the army had just left him here? In a tiny apartment that barely had enough room to navigate for an able-bodied person, let alone someone recently disabled, still using a clunky and chunky hospital wheelchair?). He helped Jack transfer onto the pathetic plastic chair that had been in the shower when he’d moved in a few days before, a pitiable attempt at ‘accessibility’, demonstrating to Jack how he should use the grab rails. He felt like… like Jack’s personal nurse, just for a second, having to help him eat, help him with physiotherapy, help him get around his apartment – hell, even help him get out of bed, help him shower…
And if it felt like this for him… what must it have felt like for Jack?
He pushed those thoughts out of his head, focusing on the task at hand; getting Jack undressed. They used to do this practically every day back in Med School, getting undressed every night, climbing into the same single bed or stepping into the shower together, or going for a long drive in Robby’s car, pulling over in some abandoned old parking lot, climbing into the back seats and tugging each other's shirts off; Robby always took care with pulling Jack’s t-shirt over his head, while Jack just hastily tugged Robby’s button up shorts up and off, never taking the time to be gentle or to properly appreciate the moment, always terrified of getting caught (not that Jack had ever admitted to that – Hell, Jack had never even described himself as ‘gay’ or ‘bi-sexual’ or anything like that… just called Robby his best friend, as if best friends could be that intimate and close with one another.
Now, though, standing in Jack’s bathroom, he took every care he could in being as gentle as possible, kindly and slowly guiding Jack’s arms out of the sleeves of his t-shirt, being careful with the still healing burns, stitches and lacerations, taking the time to slowly lift the faded black t-shirt up and over his head before moving on to his black Adidas exercise shorts, helping Jack lift one leg at a time to take them off before moving on to… what was underneath. This, strangely, felt more intimate than whenever Jack’d been bare in front of him before; maybe because back then, it was Jack leading everything, overconfident and talking Robby through it all, but now… now Jack just sat silently in the plastic chair, staring off just past Robby’s shoulder, eyes transfixed on the tile of the bathroom. Jack wasn’t leading anymore, he wasn’t talking Robby through it all, he wasn’t even giving that boyish grin that Robby had become so used to – in every partner he’d had since Jack (which, admittedly, hadn’t been that many), he’d searched for that devilish grin, the image of those crooked teeth seared into of his soul, the thought of that arrogant smile, the way his lips curled up at the corners whenever he was launching himself into yet another pointless fight that he shouldn’t have had any chance at winning, and yet always won anyway.
As Robby gently tugged down and took off Jack’s boxers, he pointedly avoided looking at his crotch from nothing more than a medical standpoint. They weren’t the same kids they were in Med School… Jack had been married, for fuck’s sake, even of she was… gone now.
Robby briefly wondered what Jack’s wife – Georgia – must’ve been like. He knew nothing more than her name. Didn’t even know how or when she died, what she looked like, anything about her.
Robby turned the dial on the shower for the water pressure, instantly soaking himself with freezing cold water, right through his clothes – the dial squeaked loudly, and Robby let out a brief, unmanly shriek. That was fucking freezing. He shivered, turning slightly and realising most of the spray had hit Jack…
Fuck.
Jack hated the cold; he grew up in Louisiana, boiling temperatures. When Robby had met him in Illinois, in their first year of med school, Jack had always complained about the cold temperatures, insisting on turning the thermostat in their dorm to full heat, always wrapping up in layers upon layers whenever leaving the accommodation block. Then, Jack had deployed overseas, spent years (on and off) in the desert.
So now Jack was shivering, freezing water dripping down his scarred and burned back, some scars almost as old as he was, others only a few weeks old – he was actually whimpering, shaking slightly, arms moving to wrap around himself where he sat in that plastic chair. Robby just wanted to crouch beside him, hold him tight, and give him every bit of heat he had in his body.
But he couldn’t.
So he ruffled Jack’s hair softly, careful of still healing surgical scars, apologising quietly and adjusting the temperature dial, ignoring his own shivering and soaked clothes just for a moment as he turned the shower back on and aimed the hot water at Jack. Robby gently peeled off his own freezing, drenched hoodie, leaving him in just a too tight (he’d gained a little weight since starting at PTMC – sue him), forest green t-shirt, and peeled off his own black sweatpants and socks, leaving him in just the t-shirt and a pair of dinosaur print boxers (they’d been a joke present – he’d completely forgotten he’d put them on)...
Robby picked up the bottle of body wash he’d brought round from his own apartment, squirting it on one of his hands and lathering it up before gently rubbing it onto Jack’s skin, careful to avoid tender post-surgery areas, soft hands gracing over the still healing bruises. He could feel Jack relaxing, just slightly, probably not even aware he was doing it, leaning back a little in the chair, letting Robby guide his head under the steady stream of water, the smell of BO and hospital antiseptic finally being washed away. Jack’s eyes opened slightly as Robby massaged a small amount of shampoo into his messy curls – Robby watched those deep hazel eyes, now with a little glimmer of light in them, glancing him over from head to toe. He could see the moment Jack noticed exactly how drenched Robby was getting – and he could see the exact moment the corners of Jack’s mouth curled up into that familiar, crooked, boyish grin. The grin he hadn’t seen in ten years.
Jack’s body shook – actually shook – with laughter.
Real laughter.
Robby couldn’t stop himself smiling along with Jack, beaming ear to ear like a total idiot as he spoke, “Yeah,” grinning and chuckling, laughter echoing off the tile walls, “I guess you could say the universe decided I needed a shower just as much as you do, huh?”
Jack snorted – snorted – with giggles, arms unfurling from where they had been wrapped tight around his own bare torso, hands lightly slapping his thighs as he laughed louder and harder.
Robby finally felt like he was actually doing something right. Even if it had involved accidentally drenching himself from head to toe.
Jack had been happy.
And laughter was the best form of medicine.
Jack sat still in that plastic chair in the shower as Robby, still sodden to the bone, grabbed the fluffiest towel he could find from his own apartment and dried Jack as best he could – starting with his hair, gently ruffling his hair with the towel, avoiding the surgery sites that Jack was all too aware of (he hadn’t had his pain medication in days, hadn’t had the energy or the desire to get out of bed or to stop himself hurting – and it was getting to the point where he could barely think, he had let Robby take him through physiotherapy that morning mostly because he couldn’t exactly refuse, and the exercises had left him with a bone-deep ache that just wouldn’t go away). Jack watched on as Robby finished gently wiping Jack’s face dry with the soft towel, moving on to his back and torso, then arms, careful over the burns and lacerations and multiple surgery sites and broken ribs and… just the pure mass of injuries. Then Robby got to Jack’s legs (leg and a half)... Jack felt almost physically sick as the towel absorbed the water from his left leg (the good leg) first, then the… the leg that wasn’t even fully there, stump angry and red and now in need of the bandages being changed.
Robby shouldn’t have had to do that for him.
It was pathetic. Disgusting. He was incomplete.
But Robby didn’t complain. He was just… gentle, careful, kind. Like this was his job – except this had never been his job, not even as a doctor, this was the kind of duties a nurse did, washing and taking care of patients.
Robby wasn’t supposed to be doing that for him.
And yet he was. Because he was Robby. And because he hadn’t changed in the ten years they’d been apart; he was still kind, selfless, caring.
Jack huffed softly as Robby stood him up, supporting his entire weight, shuffling him over half a foot to settle back in the wheelchair. Then… Robby left.
He’d probably said something about going to grab Jack’s clothes, but Jack hadn’t heard him; his ear drums had been ruptured in the blast, and he’d been dissociated since Robby started drying him. So he didn’t hear Robby.
And he started panicking. He was alone, completely naked, stuck in a wheelchair he barely had the strength or ability to use. What if Robby left and just went back to his own apartment? What if he forgot about Jack? What if he went to work? What if-
“Hey, buddy,” Robby’s voice broke through his racing thoughts, suddenly in front of him (Jack had probably dissociated again without realising it), “You okay? I just went to grab you some clean clothes…,” he gestured to the bundle of clothes he had in one of his hands, “C’mon, I’ll get you dressed and we can go grocery shopping… get you some real food, huh?”
Jack didn’t answer, but started giggling again as he glanced at Robby’s boxers – dinosaur pattern, seriously? His body wracked with fits of laughter as Robby pulled on a pair of black boxers for him, along with a pair of black and white exercise shorts, a faded mid-blue t-shirt (Jack honestly didn’t realise he had it – he thought all the clothes he owned were either black or black-adjacent), a white sock and one of beat up black Vans sneaker that he thought he got rid of in 2006…
Robby wheeled Jack back out the bathroom into the rest of the apartment, setting him by the table again and speaking again. “I’ll be five, maybe ten minutes,” Robby said slowly and clearly again – though Jack still struggled to hear him properly, “I just gotta get myself dry and put some fresh clothes on… can’t go out in dinosaur underpants…”
Jack laughed again – it felt weird to smile after so many weeks of just blankness. Robby ruffled his damp hair gently – he’d been doing that a lot – and stepped back, heading to the front door and dramatically checking whether the coast was clear for him – a grown, six foot one, bearded man, drenched from head to toe and clad in just a t-shirt and novelty underwear – to step out and race across the six feet distance to his own apartment.
But as soon as Robby stepped out, the giggles stopped. Because Jack was alone again. He looked down to his hands, folded in his lap, his fingers absently fiddling with his wedding ring again – it should be Georgia taking care of him, not Robby. Hell, it should be Jack taking care of Georgia – preparing for the arrival of their baby, massaging her bump, going out and bringing back whatever cravings she may have had, holding her through the mood swings…
But she was gone, and he was still here.
And she was never coming back.
Realistically, it should be her still here. Jack had gone on a countless number of tours since enlisting, and each was more dangerous than the last; he’d lulled himself into a false sense of security that if one of them were to die, it would be him, and he would never have to live without her.
And when he’d found out she was pregnant? He’d been ecstatic. He’d tried and tried to cancel his deployment, tried to negotiate, had tried to reason that he should be with her for the entire pregnancy. But he hadn’t been permitted.
So they’d written letters to each other every week. And that hadn’t lasted.
And now Jack was alone. No wife, no child, a family he hadn’t been close to since High School. Living next to his ex-roommate (ex-hook-up). Permanently disabled – barely able to hear, unable to speak, unable to stand, walk, take care of himself.
And that would be his life from then on.
Miserable, lonely, dependent on everyone else-
“Hey, buddy,” Robby announced as he re-entered – had it really been ten minutes already? Robby’s hair was now dry, neat and styled, glasses set straight on his nose, wearing a white t-shirt, an old brown plaid shirt that Jack was pretty sure he remembered struggling over the buttons of in the back of Robby’s car in 1996, shirt unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up over hairy forearms, a pair of slate grey cargo pants, with novelty socks peeking out just above the tops of his black converse hi-tops (did Robby own any normal underwear – these socks had little pizzas on them). Robby continued, releasing the brakes on Jack’s chair as he came to stand behind him, hands softly gripping the handles, “Let’s get shopping, hm? I wrote a quick list, just basic necessities, and we can get anything else you could want while we’re out… You got enough clothes? No offence, dude, but when I was finding you fresh clothes, you only had like… one or two pairs of underpants…”
Jack shrugged, still spinning his ring around his finger, shoulder rising slightly where he sat – now hunched – in the chair. He was about to leave the apartment. For the first time since coming back to the US. He was going to be in public. With people staring. Because he was disabled.
Everyone was going to see him.
People would ask questions.
But Robby was already wheeling him forward, talking about a “ten minute walk” and “some fresh air”. And before Jack even knew it, they were outside. Robby pushing him down the sidewalk. The August heat was near unbearable – like he was back there, in the desert. He kept his head bowed low, avoiding the gazes of passers by – he could feel their eyes glancing over him from head to toe, could feel the pity radiating from their stares. He just… wanted… his mom…
He wanted his mom to hold him tight, to come into his room like she did when he was a little kid, to rub his chubby belly until he fell asleep, warning off any nightmares. He wanted his mom to kiss him better, like how she used to whenever he made his father too mad. He wanted his big sisters to hold his hand as they walked to the convenience store together, him in the middle, skipping as they went, innocently going to get daddy his cigarettes and a comic book to share between them.
He wanted someone to love him.
And that’s when he saw her; Georgia. Lightly tanned skin, freckles, brown doe-eyes, gap toothed grin, confident and beautiful. She was walking right towards him. Georgia. She was back. She was here. She’d found him. They could be a family, and they could have their baby, and he could take care of her better, like he should’ve done in the first place.
“J-” he tried, his tongue completely uncooperative, “Geo- ja-”
It didn’t sound right. She looked down at him as she passed, and that’s when he saw it; this wasn’t Georgia.
They were similar, but… strikingly different. Like when you see someone in a dream and they’re them, but… they’re not at all.
“Hey, little guy,” she smiled at him awkwardly, like she wasn’t sure if he could understand her, “What’cha doing?”
She spoke to him exaggeratedly slowly, in a baby voice like he was… like he was just a stupid kid.
Robby answered for him, hand settling softly but firmly on Jack’s shoulder, “We’re just heading to the grocery store… his first big outing,” he smiled kindly at the woman.
The woman just laughed awkwardly before replying, “Oh, that’s so kind of you to take him out… maybe part of him understands what’s going on…”
Jack wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole right there. He wanted to go back in time to that explosion, and to beg to just be allowed to die.
He felt Robby’s grip tighten slightly on his shoulder – it hurt. It was grounding, sure, and Robby definitely didn’t mean to hurt him, and probably didn’t even realise he was doing it, but it still hurt. Robby’s fingers dug in – just slightly – to the burn scars and the areas where the shrapnel had embedded itself in his shoulder (the doctors in Germany had said he’d been extremely lucky not to lose his arm, as well as his leg, but he hadn’t seen any luck about it. He’d just seen everything he couldn’t do now). Jack winced slightly, whimpering as Robby finished the quick but awkward conversation with Not-Georgia. Robby noticed the whimpering. Of course he did.
He immediately crouched down in front of Jack, in the middle of the sidewalk, the woman now walking away (thank God), frantically checking Jack over, patting him down gently.
“Hey,” Robby started, dark brown eyes meeting Jack’s, “You okay? Is it your leg? Do we need to go home?”
In truth, yes his leg was in fucking agony – he hadn’t taken any pain medication in days (self-punishment, not that he’d admit it) – but it was his shoulder. And ‘home’? Really? That tiny, dingy apartment wasn’t home. It was just… just… where he was staying. Home was… somewhere else. He wasn’t quite sure anymore, but he knew home wasn’t here. Maybe it was Louisiana, maybe it was Med School, or maybe… maybe it was a person. If home was a person, it would be Georgia. Without a doubt.
Jack shook his head slightly, staring down at his lap again, at his ring again.
“Did I hurt you, Jack?” Robby asked softly – a clear look of guilt in his eyes. Robby had genuinely never tried to hurt another person – Jack once tried to get him involved in a pointless bar fight, to which Robby had refused, finishing his drink and walking out the bar. He didn’t talk to Jack for a week after that… they even slept in their allocated beds for that entire week, “Fuck, is it your shoulder? Did I squeeze too hard? I’m so sorry, Jack. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you…”
Robby looked like he was close to begging for forgiveness… not that there even was anything to have to forgive – Robby had made a mistake, Jack wouldn't hold that against him.
Jack just shook his head, shrugging his shoulders slightly as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’. Robby, thankfully, seemed to understand, gently rubbing Jack’s shoulder as he stood back up to continue pushing the chair the rest of the journey; only a few minutes left now.
Thankfully, they made it the rest of the way without much more incident, thank Christ, and the moment they entered the store… Jesus, it was Hell.
Kids running around, the beeping of machines, the brightness of the lights, the… the liveliness of it all. But Jack sucked it up, because he’d already caused enough trouble for Robby, and Robby was doing this for him out of the kindness of his own heart.
They started with fresh fruit and vegetables – bananas, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, et cetera. Then meat, pasta, cereals, cooking oil, every kind of ingredient he could need and more. Plus some body wash (the same one Jack had used since he was thirteen, smelling like cedar wood and pine), some new toothpaste, a pack of toothbrushes (Jack had passed it to Robby, automatically buying the multipack that he used to get for himself and Georgia – he tried not to read too much into it, but he knew it’d be in his head for days), some new shampoo Robby found for him that was specifically for curly hair (Jack had always just used his body wash for shampoo – it was a 5-in-one), and deodorant. Jack managed to pay for it with the cash allowance the army gave him every week – he was still working on sorting out a new bank card and all that jazz.
Then they moved on to the next store: clothes.
Some basic store that it seemed like all the guys in the world probably shopped from; Jack wondered, just for a moment, if he would dress differently as a dad. Would he be a sporty dad? A fun dad? A kind dad? He wouldn’t be anything like his own father, that was for sure.
Jack didn’t really care what he bought, just as long as it was cheap, darkly coloured, and he could out of there quickly; it was Robby who insisted on holding everything up to Jack to eyeball whether it would fit or not; it was Robby who stared down a cashier who asked if Jack even needed the left shoe from a pair he was buying; it was Robby who talked the whole time, just giving Jack something to listen to, to focus on, even though Jack didn’t reply even once.
Finally, Robby took him back to the apartment. Jack laughed openly again as Robby had to juggle pushing a wheelchair and carrying at least six bags of stuff. Sure, Robby was probably exaggerating everything just to make Jack laugh, but it was working.
Because, maybe Jack did deserve to laugh.