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And as I try to make my way to the ordinary world
I will learn to survive
— Duran Duran
Maybe today was the day.
Jack stood on the wrong side of the railing that surrounded the roof of the PTMC parking garage. It wasn’t actually a railing—more like an anchor point for workers to clip their fall arresting devices onto. He was a fourth of an inch closer to the edge than usual.
It was the miserable span of time between Thanksgiving and the Epiphany. Dark when he got up for work and dark when he came home.
Jack observed the ground fifty feet below. It was snowing; fat fluffy flakes floated down and quickly gathered on the road and surrounding roofs. An ambulance rolled by, lights on but no sirens, and its tires left tracks that exposed the pavement beneath the snow.
He had promised himself—and Robby—that he wouldn’t do anything stupid while Robby was working.
Well, Robby was off today.
He had seen lots of falls. Usually a stubborn, cheap husband who didn’t want to hire someone to clean the gutters and then pitched off a twelve-foot ladder into the rose bushes surrounding the house. Construction workers. Children. Once, he triaged a drunk college student who had attempted to jump into a pool from the roof of an adjacent house. He missed, landing on the concrete pool deck instead. He was considered lucky to survive with “only” a complete transection of the spinal cord between T12 and L1, rendering him a paraplegic.
But the case he recalled most vividly was the first. He was achingly young himself and looking down at someone who could have been a brother. Jack never heard for sure whether the kid jumped or fell. Most people didn’t jump off buildings facing backwards.
There was a crowd in the street when they arrived and over the murmur of Pashto, Jack could hear someone howling. He had seen some shit prior to this but that sound was new and awful. The soldier’s patrol partner was still on the roof, attended by others who had come for relief, and he was screaming.
Jack knelt in the dust, his current self noting how much easier it had been to kneel without a prosthetic leg and hips that had all their cartilage.
The first clinical observation was the worst one. Agonal breathing, meaning brainstem injury. Rivulets of blood ran from his ears and nose. Jack could tell that his clothing and body armor were all that held him together. Every bone seemed disconnected from its neighbor. His body was leaking from somewhere. There was a thick, red stream trailing from under it and running down the angle of the street. Jack felt lightheaded looking at it.
The memory was a tapestry interwoven with guilt. He had seen the aftermath and still chose this way.
He wondered if it would hurt.
He heard a noise behind him and fully expected it to be a police officer. Maybe he’d finally scared someone at work into calling for actual help. He was going to have to take time off. Fucking embarrassing.
But it was not a cop—just Robby.
“Been a while since you’ve done this,” he said.
Not accusing or sarcastic, just observing with empathy.
Jack kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, where a strip of muted pink was growing like an opening eye. He wondered when he last saw daylight.
“Yeah. Thought I was getting better for a while there. Guess not.”
“Did something happen tonight?”
“Nothing that hasn’t happened before or won’t happen again.” It was a shitty answer but it was true. “I caught myself hoping for an exciting case because I wanted to feel adrenaline.”
“And? That is a hormonal process that stimulates the release of dopamine. Makes you feel better.”
Jack looked skyward in frustration. He didn’t want to spell it out. “You know what I mean.”
“Your brain doesn’t care how you get it," Robby said. "It doesn’t mean you want people suffering so you can get off.”
Jack had to take a breath after how hard Robby hit that nail on the head. Finally, he said: “Why are you here on your day off?”
“Ellis called me. She said you missed the handover.”
Jack cursed.
“It’s not a bad thing to have people who care about you,” Robby said. “That’s why I came.”
Jack still didn’t look at Robby. He didn’t dare. “I’m thinking about hanging it up, Dr. Robinavitch. I’m tired.”
“Okay. Am I still in your will for the Porsche?”
Jack surprised himself by laughing. He loved how dark their jokes could be. “You don’t know how to drive a stick.”
“You haven’t taught me,” Robby said. “So when was the last time you slept six to eight hours?”
Jack was imagining the horror of sitting in the passenger seat while Robby destroyed the clutch and transmission in his mid-life crisis baby. “Not sure. Haven’t been sleeping well.
“I have your bag and your coat. I figured we could grab coffee while we walked back to my place.” Robby paused. “Take a couple steps back for me.”
Jack did as he was told. The metal railing was cold on his back. “So we’re gonna have a suicide watch sleepover. That bad, huh?”
“Sorry, brother. I can’t let it happen.”
When Jack was finally on the safe side of the railing, Robby dusted the snow off his shoulders and handed him his coat. A glance passed between them; Robby’s brown eyes were weary but affectionate, and he didn’t let go when they hugged. His huge, warm hand cupped the back of Jack’s snow-damp head.
“It would fucking kill me if something happened to you,” Robby said quietly. “Do you understand?”
Jack didn’t answer, instead resting his head on Robby’s shoulder. He was so tired that his body hurt. He was angry at himself, embarrassed, guilty. But Robby swayed almost imperceptibly, like he was rocking him.
Their shoes squeaked in the snow that had gathered on the sidewalk. Jack could see what he knew were Robby’s tracks coming from the opposite direction, a long-legged and loping stride almost covered by snow again. Robby had been running to PTMC.
Fuck.
“I appreciate you for not, you know, having me admitted,” Jack said, focusing on the warmth of the thick paper cup in his hands. Instead of coffee, he opted for a spicy herbal tea with no caffeine. He figured he didn’t need to make sleeping harder than it already was.
There was a change in the shape of Robby’s shoulders but no other indication of distress. “Stupid question since I found you on top of the parking garage, but do you have immediate plans to commit suicide?”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut and cursed. This was exactly the conversation he wanted to avoid. “Usually I go up there just to think. Take a breather. But today…” His voice trailed. “No, I don’t have plans. Promise.”
“When do you see your therapist next?”
“Friday.”
“Call them. You need to be seen today.”
Jack thought to protest but knew Robby was right. And Robby was so infuriatingly gentle about it that Jack couldn’t even lash out.
The sun was up by the time they had walked the mile to Robby’s apartment. The light was dim behind the heavy, snow-filled clouds that were moving in.
“Okay if I shower?” Jack asked.
“Of course,” Robby said, wiggling the key into the deadbolt. “You’ve got clean clothes here, too. Throw your scrubs in the hamper and I’ll wash them.”
Jack didn’t know why that gave him butterflies.
His therapist said she could see him at 4:00 that afternoon. That left time for a long shower and hopefully some sleep.
He liked Robby’s shower because it had a ledge he could sit on, and grab bars that were actually placed correctly. A lower leg amputation and wet, soapy tile did not mix. He had learned that lesson a couple times. He sat under the hot water until his extremities stopped aching from the return of circulation, then scoured himself. Robby said he showered like he was scrubbing in for surgery.
His clothes were on the bed with a towel that had just been pulled from the dryer. He felt guilt before he pushed it down firmly.
It’s not a bad thing to have people who care about you, he reminded himself.
He put on an old, baggy t-shirt with a hole in the collar. Then he was reunited with a pair of sweatpants he had been missing but could not find. Underwear he forgot he owned. Socks. His own clothes, smelling like Robby’s detergent.
Robby was in the laundry room, folding towels. Jack came to stand in the doorway.
“Did the shower help?” Robby asked. “You look better.”
Jack tugged near the collar of his own shirt. “Thanks for this,” he said, evading the question.
Robby nodded. “Do you want to eat something?”
“Not hungry. But I’d like to crash on your couch.”
“Take the bed. I’ll make sure you’re up before your appointment.”
There were the butterflies again. They must have been made from lead because Jack felt cemented where he stood. Robby was back to folding towels until he noticed Jack was still standing there, staring.
Jack had been told on many occasions that he had an awkward, piercing stare. Offputting, even. But he couldn’t help it, and honestly didn’t understand why so many people thought his eye contact was weird. Robby never made a big deal out of it, but he was looking concerned right now.
“You okay?”
Jack blinked. “Yeah, just—“
I love you, he thought. I love you.
“Time for bed, Grandpa.” Robby was starting to fold again. “I think you’re sundowning.”
“Asshole,” Jack laughed.
But it was true that he was not himself.
It wasn’t his first time sleeping in Robby’s bed. Heck, it wasn’t even his first time sleeping alone in Robby’s bed. But they were doing this stupid thing where they pretended they weren’t together when they actually were. They kept separate apartments and sometimes only saw each other at shift exchange for weeks on end. Robby was hot and then he was cold. Rarely in between. Robby, who committed to nothing, and Jack who had once committed to everything and lost it all.
That wasn’t really true. He had his girls. They were adults now, with their own grown-up lives. One was in the Navy and worked on a nuclear submarine, currently deployed but unable to disclose where. The other was a medsurg nurse. She was spending the holidays in Thailand with her pediatrician boyfriend.
He was fiercely proud of them both. But they didn’t need him like they did when they were little, or even when they were teens. It had been just the three of them after his wife—their mother—died.
There was the guilt again and he couldn’t push it down this time. If he threw himself off that parking garage, Meredith and Kristin would essentially be orphaned. It would be a shitty, selfish thing to do and yet…
Jack recognized the growing disorganization of his thoughts. He needed to sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed and folded the silicone sleeve down his leg, the same one he had just wrestled onto damp skin. Despite repeated fittings, a revision surgery, and the best high-impact padding he could find, he still hurt after standing on his prosthesis for an entire shift. It felt good to set it aside and lie horizontal.
He must have slept a few solid hours, because he woke up in a damp spot where he’d been drooling. After that, he tossed and turned and woke up frequently. He couldn’t get comfortable despite the luxurious mattress beneath him. He dreamed in vivid snatches, half-awake while his subconscious listened for noises like the pager he hadn’t carried for ten years. He simply could not sink deep enough to get restful sleep.
He thought he was still dreaming when Robby touched his chest to wake him. He kept his eyes closed.
“Don’t make me do a sternum rub,” Robby said, playfully teasing the press of his knuckles into the bony space in the center of Jack’s chest.
“Alert and oriented,” Jack murmured. “GCS of 15.”
“Good. Your appointment is in thirty minutes. Did you get some sleep?”
Jack rubbed his eyes. The sun was already getting low in the west. “A little.”
He took the video call in Robby’s bed, unable to muster the energy to look halfway decent or even sit up. His therapist asked if he was somewhere safe and had someone with him. They talked about things that could be bothering him—chronic pain, shortened daylight hours, difficulty sleeping, the stressful night shift job and the pervading isolation it caused. She suggested he contact his daughters, even if they were busy. She encouraged him to lean on Robby.
Yes, his therapist knew all about Robby. Their former rivalry, his connection to Jack’s latent bisexuality, their non-relationship, all of it. And once she teased from him the information about where he was staying, she seemed more relaxed about his situation.
Jack left the call feeling better, but he was bothered that it was already dark outside. Maybe she was right about him not seeing enough daylight. He wondered if he was brave enough to bounce that idea off Robby. It felt silly to think that maybe his renewed suicidal ideation was brought on by something so simple.
Medice, cura te ipsum. Physician, heal thyself.
Jack found Robby sitting on the couch, trying to make himself look like he wasn’t waiting. He looked up when he sensed Jack in the doorway. Something about it was sweet.
“Good session?” he asked hopefully.
“Yeah, it was needed.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything. I was just… anxious to hear how you were feeling. Come sit.”
Butterflies again. Jack sat on the sectional caddy-corner from Robby. Their knees brushed. Jack leaned forward, suddenly intense.
“Can we talk?”
Robby almost looked like he regretted his invitation to share. “Sure.”
“Woah, nothing like that, sorry. A medical thing. My therapist talked about seasonal affective disorder.” Jack was trying to settle down and stop making it weird. That was just one of his many charms. “Maybe I’m not getting enough exposure to natural light.”
“Because you work the night shift and it’s midwinter,” Robby said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of people using a small UV lamp to dose themselves.”
“Huh. I should try that.”
“Let’s do a blood panel too. You know, there’s research suggesting a correlation between deficiencies in antioxidant nutrients like vitamin D and mood disorders.”
“I love when you talk dirty to me,” Jack said.
Robby waggled his dark eyebrows. “For foreplay, I’ll send you the research paper that I read.”
“Ya know, I like the idea of properly cited, peer-reviewed sex.”
That, combined with his intense gaze, was enough to make Robby blush. There was a brief pause before they both broke eye contact, laughing and apologizing awkwardly.
It made Jack feel unexpectedly alive.
They went for a snowy walk to pick up Chinese takeout, and then migrated back to the couch to watch hockey. Jack took off his prosthesis like another person might kick off shoes. This act always amused Robby; he was smirking as he lifted his arm so Jack could tuck himself against his side.
He took his therapist’s advice and sent messages to his daughters. Kristin was simple enough. He could text her. He kept it short and sweet.
Meredith was a bit more complicated. Being on a nuclear submarine meant all her incoming and outgoing communication went through a secure channel. There was a whole list of things he could not talk about, because causing stress to a person essentially trapped underwater in a pressurized tin can was a bad idea. Jack figured the same brief message didn’t break any rules.
Thinking… of you, baby… doll, he typed. Love you… Dad.
“You need reading glasses,” Robby said.
“The fuck I do,” Jack protested. He hadn’t realized Robby was watching him. “Uncle Sam paid for my LASIK eye surgery.”
“Yeah, and how long ago was that? You know they over-correct and you end up needing readers, right?”
“Not me. I’m built different.”
Robby laughed. “Oh, you’re different all right.”
Jack responded by setting his phone aside and nestling closer to Robby, who started petting his freckled upper arm.
“Checking in. How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Jack said. He expressed it with a yawn. “That’s all.”
“…Would you take an Ambien?” Robby asked. “The lack of sunlight is one thing, but I think a huge part of this is you not sleeping.”
Jack considered. “I don’t know, man. What if I have one of those reactions where I end up sleepwalking naked in a convenience store?”
“You won’t,” Robby chided, amused. “They’re extended release. You’ll fall asleep and stay asleep. Next to me.”
Jack didn’t need to ask why Robby had a script for Ambien or why he was willing to share. He knew. And it was not a medication to fuck around with, but he was willing to try just about anything to get some actual rest.
They slipped into opposite sides of the bed. Jack was doubtful about the whole thing because the Ambien hadn’t kicked in yet. It had been fifteen minutes. Robby looked over at him. Jack realized they were both lying flat on their backs and staring at the ceiling.
“What do you think about staying here a while?” Robby asked. “I like having you around.”
Jack fiddled with the hem of the sheet. “It’s not always gonna be like this. You know, a cute little sleepover every night.”
“Says who?”
Jack gave a brief, wane smile. He liked the idea. Robby made him feel safe. But he knew himself, knew that he was not always pleasant to be around. Difficult to love, an ex had once observed. Maybe it was better to keep Robby at arm’s length to preserve what they had.
His silence must have stretched longer than he thought because Robby spoke again.
“I know it’s not a good night to be making a decision. So just think about it.”
Jack slid a little closer and rolled to his side, propping himself up on his elbow. There was a muted jangle—his dog tags under his shirt. And he knew he was staring one of his fervent stares, but couldn’t help it. He was searching.
“I love you, you know that?” he finally said.
“Yeah. I love you too, Jack.”
He was still staring when he put his free hand on Robby’s furry chest. An invitation for Robby to do that thing he did. He gave Jack two chaste kisses in quick succession. One at the corner of his mouth, another full on the lips. Jack knew he was a goner when he felt his dick jump in his sweats just from that tiny bit of contact.
He wanted to make out but an unfamiliar sensation was dragging at him. A sudden, aching need to sleep. Robby must have recognized this, because he gave no more kisses but encouraged Jack to lay down.
It came over him quick. Like falling unconscious or—he thought wildly—permanent lights out after throwing oneself off a parking garage. But there was no sickening whap! on pavement preceding it, just his head getting heavy while Robby coaxed him to get comfortable.
He woke up in a completely different position—on his stomach, no pillow. The lights were off but the room was illuminated by dim sunshine. Robby was rubbing him between the shoulder blades.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
Jack did an assessment. He was stiff from laying in one position for so long but he felt… pretty decent. Like he could get up and go to the gym, actually.
“… ‘mmokay,” he mumbled. “How long was I asleep?”
“Thirteen hours.”
Jack blinked and saw that Robby was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. Must have let him sleep after he woke up.
“Fuck. Did I do anything weird?”
“You yapped a little bit, after it kicked in and you were fighting falling asleep. All I made out was this is a teaching hospital but you settled down okay.”
“I don’t remember that.” Jack made a noise while he stretched and then lay still again. “We’re both off the schedule for a few days, right?”
“It was cute,” Robby said. “And don’t worry, we aren’t inconveniencing PTMC over a silly little thing like an acute mental health crisis. We are both off.”
Jack snorted into the mattress. If he had seen a patient with the symptoms he had yesterday, he would have been personally calling around to inquire about open beds at nearby psychiatric facilities. But it was himself, and it wasn’t his first descent into hell, so it felt acceptable to rely on a friend instead of the professionals. The guilt was immense.
“Hey. I’m really sorry. I’ve put a lot of heavy stuff on you.”
“Oh, no. No, no, nooo.” Robby recognized the veering into emotional oncoming traffic and grabbed the steering wheel immediately. “We are not going down that road, Dr. Abbot. I took you home because I felt comfortable caring for you, and I wanted to. You were holding something heavy. I had the capacity to help you carry it.”
Jack let out a shuddering breath. “Okay. Right.”
He didn’t cry. He had never been a crier and now it was basically impossible with the medication he was taking. But his throat was tight and he made a little noise when Robby started rubbing his back again.
“I’ve been there. I get it,” Robby said. “It’s going to be okay.”
And that was the first time in a long time that Jack felt it would be.