Chapter Text
It had started as a small sore, right at the bottom of his stump, probably where it rubbed against his prosthesis that he had meant to get refitted months ago. The long shifts, the dehydration, and the poor sleep hadn’t helped as the sore grew larger and angrier over the weeks. Jack had ignored it, taking small breaks in the bathroom to remove his leg and get a few seconds of relief, patting the weeping sore dry before getting back to work. In the ER, the last thing anyone wanted was a sick doctor, and Jack was too proud to admit the pain was starting to get to him. It niggled at the back of his mind, the dull ache that grew sharper and sharper until it became unbearable. He felt the ache in his bone; he could sense the spreading warmth that grew up until it reached his knee, and then up his thigh.
Robby found him sitting on the rooftop, on the correct side of the barrier. His prosthesis was cast aside, the stump dripping pus freely onto the concrete. Jack was bandaging it, wrapping it in gauze as he choked back some pills from the stash of antibiotics he had swiped days ago- they weren’t working.
“The fuck are you doing?” Robby asked, squatting beside him,
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Jack ignored the question.
Robby picked up the prosthesis, the sock was balled up inside, stained a deep crimson with dried yellow pus blooming around the edges. He stands and holds it up to the morning Pittsburgh sun. “I don’t need to tell you that you’ve got an infection, do I? How long has it been like this?”
“It was a tiny pressure sore; it just kept getting worse.” Jack finished the bandaging and gestured for Robby to hand back the prosthesis. Robby didn’t.
“Yeah, that happens when you keep putting pressure on it. Have you seen anyone?”
“I’m not taking advice from you of all people,” Jack bites back as he pulls himself up, balancing precariously on one leg and tries to swipe the prosthesis from Robby’s hand. The taller man only pulled further away
“You should.” Robby handed him the sock, but kept hold of the leg, “Are you in pain?”
“Osteomyelitis tends to hurt.” Jack leaned the barrier and pulled on the sock, cringing at the feeling despite the layers of gauze
“It’s spread to the bone, and you’re still at work?” Robby knelt to help him put it back on, noting the sharp hiss from the other man,
“I’ve been taking antibiotics,” He protests, adjusting to the pain and pressure, taking a couple of short steps
“I’m booking you into the OR, doctor’s orders.”
And that’s how it ended, with Jack being taken into surgery a day later. Robby peered through the glass of the observation deck to make sure they didn’t kill his friend. His fingers found the star of David hanging around his neck and played with it, carefully feeling each point press into his skin. Once they had closed up, he entered the chaos of the emergency room. Dana cornered him at his desk,
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, it looked like it went well; they’re going to call me when he wakes up.”
Dana pulled off her glasses and gave him a sympathetic look, “He’ll be back to work sooner than he should; make sure he looks after himself.”
Robby nods, eyes drifting to the board of patients he had neglected all morning,
“And look after yourself too, you look like you’re gonna cry.” Robby blinked; his eyes felt wet. He shook his head, crossed his arms and lifted his chin,
“I’m not the one with bacteria eating away at my bones.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Dana put her glasses back on and patted Robby’s shoulder before walking away.
Robby pinched the bridge of his nose and headed in the opposite direction. If people were going to pity him and not the man in surgery, maybe he should have stayed home.
Whittaker was the next to find him, appearing at his side in a different colour of scrubs to the ones Robby had seen him in as he walked through hours before. Whittaker must have seen the confusion flash across his face,
“A patient ripped his catheter out and decided to use it for chemical warfare.” He gave a sheepish smile, a pink blush spreading across his cheekbones, tinging the tips of his ears. Robby noted the soft curls that had blossomed as Whittaker grew his hair out, like lamb’s wool all over his head.
“Oh- are you okay?” “Yeah, fine, but, uh, sorry if you can still smell it.”
“No, no, you smell good.” Robby instinctively grabbed the smaller man’s shoulder as he said it. Dennis looks at the hand, then back up at his attending. Robby has only just processed what he’s said, and his mind scrambles.
“Thanks, Doctor Robby,” He said, still smiling, “I just had a question about a patient?” Whittaker graces him with a diversion.
“Of course,” Robby is led outside a patient’s room as Whittaker explains his predicament.
He’s only half-listening; the other half of his mind is screaming at him. He blinks harshly to block out the distractions and forces out a response to Whittaker’s question before finding an excuse to walk away so he can slam his head into the nearest wall. He’s always had a soft spot for the new doctor, seeing his confidence grow over his months in the Pitt had only cemented it. His heart stirred at the thought that he had some small part in that. He curses himself under his breath and finds Langdon, a welcome source of dry sarcasm that can distract him. Langdon is arguing with a patient- all is normal again.
—
The call comes an hour later, and Jack is fully awake and alert. Robby steps outside and lights a cigarette in the ambulance bay. The smoke whorls in the air and drifts away in the light breeze. In the distance, sirens and bird calls echo against the hospital’s brick walls. The sun is a bright white against the sky, and clouds pull in from the distance. Robby places the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, feeling a familiar burn deep in his lungs. He taps the ash away and listens to the nurse over the phone. Jack is fine, the surgery went completely textbook, he’ll be on IV antibiotics for the rest of the day, and then switched to oral. He’ll be seeing the physio and OT later, too, who will assess to see when he can return to work. The nurse tells Robby what ward he’ll be transferred to, and Robby thanks her. He’ll visit after his shift has ended, he knows the staff on the ward, and they’ll let him visit after hours. Robby ends the call and pockets his phone. There’s a breeze in the air, early spring fighting against the last of winter. He relishes the warmth of the smoke, the slight buzz of nicotine settling in his veins. He doesn’t smoke often, not enough to adjust to the feeling. It’s just another bad habit he’s picked up from years in the ER. He knows he uses this excuse way too much. He drops the butt onto the floor and stamps it out before slipping a piece of gum into his mouth. Dana, ever the hypocrite, loves to berate him for smoking.
He walks back into the ER and pumps hand sanitiser into his hands, rubbing them together. The skin is dry and cracking from years of washing and sanitising, but Robby does it compulsively. It’s a way of settling his nerves, of grounding himself. It feels normal, it feels like a reset to his nerves. The nicotine is making his head feel light, and he takes a lap until it passes. Dana is watching him from her desk, peering over her computer screen. A gurney rushes past with Santos and Langdon in tow. The noise settles to the back of his mind- the beeping of monitors, the rushing of feet- it’s all so easy to ignore now. He’s only really focused on Jack, counting down the hours until he can see him, assess him for himself. It’s toxic, but Robby has learned to trust no one’s eyes but his own, and he won’t settle until he can see Jack before him.
Jack is sitting up when Robby arrives, leafing through a trashy magazine. He stands at the door for a moment, just observing his friend. He’s in a single room, a nurse is currently adjusting his IV. The lights have been turned down on the unit; it’s peaceful. Jack thanks the nurse, and as he looks up he spots Robby standing there. He lets the nurse past and steps into the room, sitting in the chair beside the bed. Jack is covered in the thin hospital blanket, but his stump is exposed, wrapped in fresh bandages. Robby nods to it,
“Any pain?”
“I’m on painkillers,” Jack says, “I hope you’re not here as a consult.” Jack laughs, and Robby forces a smile.
Jack sets down the magazine and turns to face Robby properly, “I mean it, I’m fine, Mikey.”
“Don’t call me that; no one calls me that.”
“I always used to, everyone did.”
“Are you getting sentimental?” Robby is fiddling with his necklace.
No one calls him Mikey, it’s an old nickname from med school, but the word feels sour now. Jack only calls him that when he’s either winding him up or being overly emotional.
“Hah, no.” Jack grins, “I just know it annoys you.”
Robby stands and checks Jack’s cannula, then he moves around to the other side of the bed to check his IV
“Didn’t you see the nurse check it a minute ago?”
“I’m checking it for myself,”
“I told you I’m fine,”
“I’m just making sure.” Robby moves to look at his stump,
“Don’t touch it!” Jack moves away, “Just leave it!”
“I’m making sure it looks okay,” Robby goes to remove the bandages, peeling them away, “I need to check-“
“Mikey!” Robby stops. His hands drop, and he hangs his head. Jack reaches forward and grabs his wrist,
“Please, I’m okay, you need to relax.”
“I’m sorry, I just- I need to make sure.”
Jack smiles, dropping his grip on Robby “You’ve done enough, you made me get the surgery, now let the staff look after me.”
Robby sits again, “I’m sorry,” He repeats.
“It’s okay. You never change, huh?”
“I worry about you.”
Jack holds his wrist again, gentler this time. Robby feels his thumb stroking the dark hair, calloused fingers rubbing against his skin. He sighs, the breath feels shaky, uncertain.
“I know you do, but I’m fine.” He laughs, “We’ve both survived worse than this.”
Robby feels himself relax, the tight muscles in his shoulders finally letting go. Jack lets go again, his hand resting next to Robby's, fingers barely touching. Jack gingerly shifts himself over in the bed until he’s near the edge. “I think you’re the one getting sentimental,” Jack says, his voice softer now. Robby just shrugs; he doesn’t move the hand resting next to Jack’s. He just sits with Jack and gives him a run-down of his shift. Jack listens. He lies back in his bed, eyes fluttering shut. The hand next to Robby’s never moves, even as he drifts off to sleep.
Robby doesn’t leave until Jack begins to snore. He shuts the door softly, thanks the staff and heads out of the hospital into the cold air of the Pittsburgh evening. It’s turning dark, and car headlights flash past as he walks home. He slips his earphones in and turns on a song. It’s one he and Jack used to listen to, one Jack would always perform for karaoke at the end of the night. It’s safe, familiar, and nostalgic.
The next morning, he’s hounded by Dana, who has plenty of questions about Jack. He answers them, simultaneously doing his rounds. He's just sitting at his desk when his phone rings, and he sees Jack’s contact details flash onto the screen. His heart drops, and he hurries outside to answer. The air is biting cold this morning, but he barely registers it. His hands shake as he fumbles to answer the call. His voice comes out urgent,
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack replies, “I just had a question.”
Robby leans against the wall of the ambulance bay, “Anything.”
“Can I stay with you?”