Chapter Text
It’s cold at night in the woods. Robby’s in a clearing, has a fire going and his bedroll spread out, even an extra blanket that he traded some fence building for a few weeks back. The coffee’s hot, but it’s never as good as the coffee in town, grounds rough and bitter on his tongue.
He’s dreading putting the fire out. Worst part of traveling alone. A coyote screams in the distance, and Memory lets out a loud whinny.
“You’re alright, girl,” Robby soothes. She’s a good old mare, even if she is a mite skittish. He makes soft noises, horse settling for him.
Robby lies back and looks up at the sky, big and black as a beetle. Full of stars the way it never is closer to civilization. He looks for constellations, eyes tracing over shapes. Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Casseopeia. North Star.
A twig snaps, startling Memory and Robby both. His gun is on his belt, hanging off his saddle bag, but he has his knife. He wraps his hand around the hilt and waits, eyes scanning through the trees.
“Thought I smelled coffee,” a voice rasps from behind Robby.
Robby relaxes, tension melting out of his body. He scrubs his free hand over his beard. “Jack,” he says.
The man materializes out of the dark. He smiles. “All worked up over little ole me?” he asks, nodding at the knife in Robby’s hand.
“You’re like a bad fucking penny.” Robby rolls his eyes and sets his knife down. Last he’d heard of Jack, he was patching up wounds on a cattle drive. He’d left a letter for Robby at the post office in Denver. It had taken Robby three months to get it.
Jack sits down on Robby’s blankets, his bed, like he has every right in the world. “You missed me,” he says, certain. Cocky.
Robby wishes he didn’t love that about him.
“Maybe,” Robby says. He sits up, crosses his legs. He knocks his knee against Jack’s. “But at this range, my aim is bound to improve.”
Jack lets out a big belly laugh, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and shows his crooked teeth. Robby would do almost anything to hear that laugh. Not that he’d ever tell Jack. His horse wouldn’t be able to stand the weight of his ego. Chance is a good boy. He doesn’t deserve that.
“I looked for you in Wichita,” Jack says. He’s holding his hat in his hands, fussing with the band. Robby bought that for him, five or six years back.
Robby shrugs. “Wasn’t there. Decided to go south for the winter instead. Sent you a telegram.”
It was short, but money didn’t always come so easy. Fewer and fewer towns were able to afford a trained doctor, settling for a dentist or a quack with a wagon full of snake oil instead. Even when he had patients, sometimes he got paid in eggs or vegetables.
Jack nods. “I got it. After I’d been looking for two weeks.”
They don’t speak for a long moment. Robby tries to avoid Jack’s gaze, but Jack ducks his head until he meets Robby’s eye.
Jack’s eyes. Robby would trade all the gold in California to spend every day looking into Jack’s eyes. They’ll never have that. Never be safe. They don’t even ride together all that much anymore, now that it’s been long enough since Jack’s wife passed that people expect him to look for another. She was a good woman. Robby loved her almost as much as Jack did. Robby’s a lost cause, gets himself seen just often enough with just the right kind of woman to establish himself as not the marrying kind. There have been a few good women in Robby’s life, but he couldn’t very well settle down with his heart in the pocket of Jack Abbot’s shirt, could he?
The fire crackles, and they both look away. Jack keeps his knee pressed right against Robby’s. “Nobody out here but us and the horses, Mike,” Jack says. All quiet like, afraid of what might happen if he tries to have this conversation too loud.
Robby nods. He doesn’t know what Jack wants him to say. No good can come of clinging to something you can’t have. “You eat supper yet?”
Jack lets out a huff. “You won’t talk to me, but you’ll worry if I’ve got enough to eat?” He runs a hand through his hair, grayer than the last time Robby saw him. It suits him, Robby thinks.
“Yeah,” Robby says, flat, gives Jack an unimpressed look. That’s how they’ve always done things. He doesn’t know why Jack wants to act surprised now.
“I ate,” Jack relents. He leans more heavily against Robby, presses against him shoulder to hip. “You think you could spare some of that coffee?”
Robby would give Jack the lungs from his chest. “Well, if you’re gonna be needy.” He picks up his tin cup and hands it to Jack, watches Jack drink from the place Robby’s lips touched not fifteen minutes before.
“You’re a generous man,” Jack says with a smirk. He sets the cup down and brings his hand to Robby’s shoulder. “Mike,” he says, soft like before. He presses his forehead to Robby’s temple.
Robby can smell Jack’s pomade, his soap, leather and tobacco. Jack smells good. Jack smells like home. Not that Robby has one. If he did, it would be inside Jack’s ribcage. Admitting to that would be akin to opening a vein.
“Go get your blankets,” Robby says. He brushes his fingers over the back of Jack’s neck. This man is more precious to him than all the stars in the sky. He’ll never say it out loud as long as he lives. “You can lay behind me if you take first watch over the fire.”
Jack grins, face lit up by firelight. He’s so beautiful that Robby’s chest aches. “Anything you need,” Jack says.
He turns his head and captures Robby’s mouth in a kiss. Robby lets him.