Chapter Text
He’s not sure the exact moment he knew he fell for senior night shift attending, Jack Abbot, but Robby thinks it may have been a particularly hot day in June, and ice cream, of all things, was involved.
Dana informed him that the other attending was on the roof, unprompted. Robby just nodded even though her attention was elsewhere, making quick work to the elevator, having done the route so many times, he could do it with his eyes closed. Oddly, he feels it’s all a guidebook and map to the other attending. It feels right.
Jack is standing against the guardrail and barrier of the roof. Robby takes a second to appreciate that the other man is not beyond it, no, he’s safer and further back from the roof edge. His hair looks lighter in the bright morning sunshine. His silhouette takes Robby by surprise. Has Jack always stood so casually with square shoulders and scrubs that fill him out well? Or is he just now noticing?
Jack turns. Robby zeros in on the two ice cream cones he’s holding. Jack jerks his head at Robby in a non-verbal “Hey.” Robby is smiling before he knows it. He thinks the other attending is the only one who can do it, draw things out of him, even if he doesn’t want to.
The early morning sun is already abnormally hot. It feels even more sweltering on the roof. There’s a thin shine of perspiration on Jack’s brow. His freckles have been coming out more from being in the sun. Robby files that away, that he’s noticing that about the younger attending as well. Why is he–
Jack holds up the melting ice cream. “My DoorDash guy, Marco, knew a guy. It’s hot, so I felt like ice cream.”
Robby slowly unzips his hoodie as he approaches, trying to unpack that sentence. It’s not the strangest he’s heard from Jack, nor at the start of a shift, although it still makes him cock his head in confusion and affection.
Even in spring and summer, Robby is apt to wear something that covers him. He tries not to see it as a metaphor for the walls he keeps up, and something to shield himself from people getting too close. It doesn’t feel as odd, shedding the garment in front of Jack. They’ve known each other for about a decade. Robby feels he can lower some of his defenses when around him. He wouldn’t do it around anyone else, except maybe Dana.
He picks up on Jack openly staring as Robby ties his hoodie around his middle, the morning sun already seeping into his black scrubs, and all over his exposed arms, warming him. Jack’s smile may worm its way into him too, his cheeks feeling hotter. Maybe.
“It’s not even seven AM, Jack.”
Jack finally snaps his attention back up to Robby’s eyes, not looking even a little bit sheepish that he was blatantly ogling his arms and was caught.
Jack has flirted with him subtly over the past few months. It’s all been casual and more of a joke. Robby was flattered. Is flattered. He also doesn’t know what to do with it and with Jack in general. They get along, though, and they’re friends. He trusts Jack’s skills and honors his advice. They share similar interests and share a lot of the same views when it comes to patient care. He’s looked forward to their morning handoffs more and more. It doesn’t have to be overly complicated. It can’t. Not after Heather. So he lets Jack look at him, and, yeah, maybe he looks right back. Looking is free. It can’t be anything else. Or so he keeps telling himself.
He allows himself to look at how strawberry ice cream is melting and tracks a pink trail down Jack’s tanned and muscular wrist. Ok. Maybe he has noticed more and more things about the other attending when he doesn’t mean to.
The younger man extends a vanilla cone to Robby. “I know. I just really had a craving, and it’s hot as hell out. I didn’t know what flavor you liked. Everyone likes vanilla, right?”
Robby takes the offered cone slowly. It shouldn’t be surprising, taking the dessert from the other attending, standing side by side, and close on the roof, which has quickly become “their spot”, and eating ice cream in blazing summer sunshine with him before his shift starts, but it is. Jack Abbot seems to have been thrust into Robby’s life wholly and completely, taking up more and more space.
He watches his ice cream start to melt. “Yeah, I can do vanilla,” Robby quickly draws the cone to his lips to lick at the spot where the ice cream threatens to get all over his hand. He cannot believe he’s eating it, and he hasn’t even had his morning coffee yet. That would be an interesting start to his shift: sticky hands and having to bypass everyone to thoroughly wash his hands in the bathroom. He can only imagine how much Dana would laugh at him.
Jack is already openly watching him when Robby chances a look. Robby’s tongue is mid-lick at the side of his cone, and Jack’s interest is zeroed in on it. It’s good ice cream, and he knows where Jack got it from. It’s way too hot outside, even with taking his hoodie off. Jack’s unflinching gaze seems to add on even more layers. Robby feels sweat pooling at his lower back.
The younger man leans back. Robby hadn’t even noticed he was closer, a strange expression donning his face while blinking rapidly. Jack clears his throat, gaze finally glancing away. Robby finds it peculiar how he tracks when Jack’s throat bobs. He has a nice Adam’s Apple.
“What flavor do you like?”
Robby is desperately trying to catch the ice cream from dripping all over, and Jack is attempting something similar on his cone. He is also trying to catch up.
Exchanges and experiences with Jack are always a bit unpredictable. They’ve seen each other and have been there for each other through some brutal and emotionally draining shifts. He’s found Jack standing further from the guardrail on the roof more than once, dangerously close to the edge. This seems like a whole new level. It shouldn’t, but it feels different, like dipping a toe over a line.
It’s fascinating watching how pink Jack’s tongue is becoming as he quickly darts it out to catch some dripping ice cream. Robby tells himself he needs to look away as if he’s preserving Jack’s modesty. They’re colleagues and friends. Jack seems to know Robby is watching, and licks at his cone methodically, licking a large bite. Robby, finally, wrenches his gaze away, face flushed, internally berating himself. This isn’t who he is. This is not them. Looking is one thing, and maybe he shouldn’t even do that.
He forces himself to check his watch, juggling the still-melting cone. He doesn’t feel like he’s lying when he announces he needs to clock in and start his shift.
Jack’s attention is on him immediately. His posture is still open despite strawberry ice cream dripping onto the roof. The younger man’s face is weirdly blank.
“You never said.”
Robby, stupidly, tries to balance the cone in one hand and untie his hoodie with the other. It’s futile as it drips everywhere. He shoots Jack a bewildered look. The younger man sees Robby’s predicament and takes his cone for him. Robby murmurs a thanks under his breath, face hot, and body feeling even warmer as he shrugs on his hoodie.
“You never said what flavor you like?” Jack cocks his head ever so subtly, both flavors of ice cream running down a wrist. Robby has an insane thought of asking Jack to extend his arm to him so he can help him. With what? To dab at it with his hoodie? With his mouth? What!?
Jack is a lot closer, peering up at him curiously. His eyes smile before his lips do.
“Is that a hard question, Dr. Robby?” All teasing in Jack’s words and eyes.
It’s Robby’s turn to clear his throat in reflex. He immediately regrets his decision to put his hoodie back on. God forbid anyone sees him without his million and one layers, and the tattoos no one is allowed to see, for reasons he himself doesn’t even understand. Jack is still gazing at him.
“I don’t know.” Robby’s hands are sticky. It curiously seems like less than a bother when Jack smiles softly.
“I don’t eat ice cream before coffee. Chocolate, I guess? I’m not very picky. And I need some coffee, I mean. And to get back, uh, I mean start.” Robby’s brain and mouth are not connecting at all. He watches a pink track slide down Jack’s appealing wrist again.
“Do you want to finish that for me?” Robby motions to the vanilla cone. He hates how his voice squeaks and is higher-pitched.
He also dislikes the flash of something behind Jack’s eyes. Hurt maybe. There and gone in a blink. Jack is all easy-going smiles and rounded out back, as if it didn’t happen. Robby’s stomach does somersaults. He saw it, though. The twinge of disappointment in the younger man’s eyes.
“Sure.” Robby notes how clipped Jack’s tone is; it only makes his stomach sink further.
“I mean, thank you for getting it for me. It was good. I’m going to be late. Anything I need to know?” He slowly backs away like Jack is some kind of wild animal. It’s insane. This isn’t him. They never have issues being around each other.
A look comes over Jack again as he sighs slowly. Now it looks and sounds like wariness.
Jack goes over a couple of patients as Robby takes a couple more steps back gingerly. Jack sounds cold and detached. Everything is wrong.
Robby forces himself to smile, but it feels fake, and he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. He watches as Jack holds the melting ice cream cones in both hands.
The sun must be in Robby’s eyes. It must be the blazing morning sunshine because even though he’s left his friend and colleague in the lurch, and to take care of his mess, not for the first time, it’s still a sight to see. Jack’s curls are being lifted by a rogue breeze. It ruffles his scrubs. His scent, along with the sweet smell of the dessert, wafts over to Robby. The younger man holds himself openly and with a straight back.
Yeah, it’s a nice sight, and one that Robby isn’t allowed to see.
Dana does make fun of him. More for how he keeps his head lowered and makes a quick beeline to the bathroom.
“Your Depends failing, old man?” Some old joke between them from a million years ago. It doesn’t land.
His smile is terse and weird as he makes it to the men’s restroom, blessedly, without anyone else stopping him or noticing.
He thoroughly washes his hands, unnecessarily scrubbing and rinsing as if it can wash away the last fifteen minutes and encounter on the roof. He braces himself on either side of the sink, head lowered. He doesn't want to look at his reflection like a coward, but forces himself to after a few breaths. He’s a professional. He’s a doctor. He faces countless and spontaneous situations constantly that require split-second decisions. He’s a leader.
He takes in how startled he looks in the mirror, and quickly looks away, as if he needed to look at himself to confirm, yes, he was checking Jack out. He did it more than once, and then ran away like a frightened child when he realized it. And somehow, it's all surprising to him.
He lowers his head again, hands braced on the sink, trying to control his breathing. He can’t focus on how disappointed Jack looked and sounded. And for what reason?
It feels cliché as he splashes cold water on his face. It barely drains away the residual heat he feels or awakens him. Jack’s clean smells. The way he was quickly licking his ice cream.
Someone enters the bathroom, and it’s the shock Robby needs to move. He quickly wipes his face with a paper towel and leaves. He’s already wasted so much time.
He avoids Jack as much as he can, and by admitting to himself that he’s doing it, it makes him feel that much guiltier and shittier. He withdraws into himself from the shame of it. This isn’t who he is.
Jack is still all unruffled smiles in the Pitt’s central Hub a couple of days later during the morning handoff. His rate of speech is normal. He holds himself openly, with his hands in his pockets, switching to his stethoscope around his neck.
Robby tracks everything about the other man. This isn’t new knowledge, but it’s all magnified and honed in somehow as he consciously catalogs. He hates how he looks over Jack’s scrubs, thinking he’ll see an ice cream stain, which is utterly ridiculous. As if they both don’t own nearly dozens of pairs of the same drab black scrubs for that exact reason.
Jack is wearing the same Carhartt khakis that Robby has. They shared smiles and an amused chuckle when they realized it a few weeks ago. They admitted they bought them for comfort, and for the versatility with all the pockets and how sturdy they are, and how they hold up. Back when they were on the roof in their spot, standing close, sharing a laugh about their slim wardrobe options at the Pitt, and talking about other things they like. Before it happened.
The night shift attending is speaking, he always is, loving the sound of his own voice, but Robby caught little of it, slowly turning over in his mind that he’s had revelation after revelation about Jack, and it’s all a little too much like the man himself. Things were far away and in the distance, and are now forcibly shoved into Robby’s direct line of sight. It’s a cumulation of a lot of little things, all adding up to a big thing. A huge thing. A Jack thing.
Jack is angled away from him, back against the nurses’ station. His eyes slide to Robby’s.
“You ok?”
Robby embarrassingly and visibly startles. A child caught falling asleep in class. They both blink at how Robby flinched. It’s not new that Jack can read him. How he’s always read him easily, and how in sync they are. Robby’s reaction, however, is new, and also disparaging. He feels endless waves of shame lap at his chest.
An uncomfortable minute stretches. Robby idly scratches his beard.
“Yeah, I didn’t sleep much,” he forces his gaze up to the patient board. He also forgot his reading glasses at home, which he never does. He’s been slip-sliding and making dumb little mistakes. He feels Jack’s ever-watchful gaze on him. Robby sort of hates how intuitive Jack is, and how easily he’ll see through the lie.
Jack speaks more, and Robby lets it wash over him. Jack finishes, and Robby nods as if he understood. He did not. Then he knocks the top of the nurses’ station and walks away without another word or a backward glance.
Madness. He feels a familiar set of dark eyes boring holes into his back. He just rudely left the other attending in the dust. What choice does he have? He’s suffocating. Adrift at sea without a life preserver. Drowning.
It’s all his fault. Robby knows this. He reminds himself constantly as the morning handoffs, now never on the roof, become increasingly awkward and strained. Jack doesn’t make much eye contact. His voice is rougher and always detached. His scant smiles are forced.
Robby feels he is continuously falling and cannot reach the bottom. And the killer is, he doesn't know how or when it all started, and how to fix this. Should he fix this? Is somehow admitting that there is an issue going to make it worse?
It’s all too much, taking in how Jack dips his chin and avoids his eyes. His gaze is lowered, and he hugs himself. Robby misses his easy smiles and his laugh. He is not allowed to think those things. Not after he apparently caused all this. Didn’t he?
Failure grips his heart like a vice.
It’s been two weeks since the incident. Since the extremely hot morning, and ice cream on the roof. His exchanges and handoffs with Jack are shorter and more bleak. Robby used to look forward to them. Now that he’s ruined it, he realizes just how much they meant to him.
He’s increasingly been making mistakes, although thankfully not regarding patient care, much to Gloria’s relief, even though the patient satisfaction scores are still not where she wants them to be.
Forgotten badge and glasses. Shoes untied. His hoodie inside out. Spilled coffee. Hitting his shin on random things. It’s like he’s back in his undergrad or med school days, awkward and floundering. His body liquid and taking up too much space.
His moods are more sour and darker. He puts on the show with a smile and focus for the patients, who always come first, and he is able to block most of it out. He’s spectacular at pushing things aside. It’s the times in between the emergency, or teaching, or running back and forth through the Pitt that he allows himself to think. That’s when he nearly slips on something. Forgets where he’s meant to be. Misplaced something. It’s a disaster. He’s a disaster.
“What is going on with you?” Dana peers at him from over her glasses.
He left to do something, got turned around as the thought left him, and just as fast marched back to his station, patting himself down for glasses he forgot at home. Again.
Dana is looking at him, unbelieving.
“I don’t know,” he replies sharply, searching himself for glasses he can’t admit he forgot again.
He winces when Dana remains rooted in her spot, unmoving. He forces himself to look at her. Her eyes are hard, hands on her hips.
“I’m sorry,” he admits, finally giving up the ghost and his desperate search. He tries and fails to give her a placating grin.
She is not fooled. “You haven’t been yourself. I just saw you walk towards twelve and come back like you forgot where you’re going, with this dead-eyed look. What’s going on with you? Are your parents alright? Is it Jake?”
Guilt that hasn’t really ever left Robby seems magnified, hearing the general concern in her voice. He needs to cut this off at the pass. He needs to get a grip. Even though he isn’t making mistakes with treating patients, he is still making them in the Pitt, and he’s distracted. Others constantly look to him for guidance. He can’t keep doing this. What that means, Robby can’t even begin to fathom.
“No, they’re fine. I’m just…” Robby has no idea how to finish the thought.
Dana is leaning over the nurses’ station, attention very focused on Robby.
“I don’t know,” Robby shrugs helplessly, mortification setting in. He cannot and won’t lie to her, for a lot of reasons. Namely, for their friendship, and secondly, because she can always sniff out his deceit.
“A lot of little things are adding up. Jack and I–”
Dana finally looks away, nodding, a look of understanding coming over her. Like a string was cut, and as if she were anticipating it. Robby’s mind whirls with the implications, wishing a hole would appear in the floor so that he can jump into it.
“We haven’t really been seeing eye to eye.” He feels the white lie is all he can muster, his voice frail and weak, wringing his hands so tight his knuckles are white.
He catches the wide eyes of dubious surprise from Dana before Jesse pulls her into what looks like an urgent matter. Robby takes the opportunity to quickly turn away. He’s amazing at doing that, too. Running. Sprinting away from anything that remotely will cause him discomfort.
He prides himself on being able to take a lot. Maybe it’s from decades of being an ER doctor. Maybe he’s always been a slight masochist. Maybe he has more mental health problems than he thought.
He can shoulder a lot of trauma, including his own. He keeps replaying Dana’s concerned eyes and tone.
He’s weak and worn down. His resolve is low. He’s in some vicious cycle he doesn't know how to get out of.
He does a rare thing, and he takes a five-minute break to step outside and get some air. No urgent matters need attending to. He practically sprints away again.
He can take a lot. He is holding a lot in, and he’s reaching some kind of limit. He feels emotion prick the corners of his eyes when he forgets he doesn’t have his glasses as he scrolls through his phone. The sun is in his eyes. Thoughts of Jack on the roof holding two ice cream cones filter into his mind without his permission.
He figures he can kill two birds with one stone. He can text Jake to see how he is, and to have the teen mercilessly tease him about the predicament he’s about to confess, some incoming existential crisis.
Because it is a predicament. Jack Abbot is the embodiment of a problem.
Robby squints at his phone like he did that morning on the roof. He squeezes his eyes, trying to push the memory away.
“Hey. How are you? So I may have a huge crush on my co-worker? Help!”
His eyes strain as he finally sends the text to Jake. He paces a bit, having too much excess adrenaline. The warm June evening that carries the scents of fresh flowers does little to settle him. He just admitted to the seventeen-year-old that he may be harboring feelings for Jack. Because he is. Because he has. He feels lightheaded. There may not be much to unpack or divulge. He does have feelings of some kind for the other attending. He also feels something akin to relief. He finally told someone about the issue he’s been dealing with.
His five minutes are up, and Jake has not responded. It’s not completely unusual. The teen is out of class and is practically glued to his phone, but he may be at a friend's house or shooting hoops. Maybe his phone is dead. It’s possible Janey grounded him and took his phone away temporarily. That has only happened once. The teen is a really good kid. Janey always tells him when that happens, too, so Robby doesn’t get worried.
His phone buzzes in his hand. He scrambles to unlock it to squint and read the text.
“I’m ok, brother. I was sleeping. A little confused all around about this, and how I can help, but hell yeah! Rock on. That sounds great. Who is the lucky person? I guess let me know what I can do.”
There’s a sudden ringing in his ears. His vision flickers, and then seems to grow distant. Tunnel vision. His fingers are tingly. His phone slips from his hand.
He’s not sure how long he stands there in the ambulance bay, pathetically eyeing his phone that’s on the pavement.
McKay’s voice is close and behind him, startling him and bringing him back to the present.
“Robby? We need you. What are you doing?”
Robby snaps out of it, picking up his only slightly damaged iPhone with fumbling fingers, and quickly follows McKay back in.
His head pounds with the realization.
I just texted Jack Abbot the confession. I just confessed to him by accident, thinking it was Jake. He knows.
The subsequent texts from Jack go unanswered.