Sheplayedthefiddle
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“I just — I’m trying to piece together how you got here,” Robby protests. “How you’re in my department, after all this time, right back in our city. Pittsburgh. You hate Pittsburgh.”
“So do you,” he spits. “You wanted to leave so badly, it was all you ever thought about, and yet you’re still stuck here.”
“Well, I was supposed to leave with you.”
“Gee, Michael, I’m sorry your entire universe revolves around me.”
Robby straightens up his back, levels out his shoulders. He tosses his rag away, flips up the rails on the gurney, takes out all the wires from the boy’s body, and wheels him out. When he comes beside Jack, he stops. His tone is bitter and sharp, but it comes out controlled and measured, “I think you should do your work somewhere else.”
or,
an AU where Jack and Robby knew each other in high school and planned to go to med school together, but Jack left for the army instead. Cut to several years later where Jack has been medically discharged and finds himself working emergency medicine in PTMC.
Bookmarked by Sheplayedthefiddle
17 Jul 2026
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Robby is sick but he's sure this time is different. Last time was a big deal but he's just under the weather. There's no need for everyone to get so worked up and there's certainly no reason that he should have to do a pregnancy test "just to be sure."
Bookmarked by Sheplayedthefiddle
09 Jul 2026
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The trick to Jack Abbot's coffee was that there wasn't one, and Robby had learned it anyway.
At a quarter to six Robby was at the counter, hair still wet, scrub top inside-out, half-assembled for the day shift, when Jack wandered in. He had no business being awake—it was his night off—but years of working nights had worn the ordinary hours smooth in him, and he'd never quite managed to sleep through Robby's side of the bed going cold. So he got up, the way he always did the mornings he was home, to stand in the kitchen and see the man off. His coffee was waiting on the counter—black, scalding, two sugars he'd deny to his grave that he took. Robby had made it, the way Robby made it every morning Jack was home to drink it: the one with somewhere to be looking after the one without. Jack picked it up without breaking stride, the way you'd pick up your own hand. He didn't say thank you. Thank you was for strangers. He bumped his shoulder into Robby's on the way to the window and that was the whole sentence, subject and verb and object: you, here, this.
Or:
The one where Robby finds out that Jack has been receiving mail addressed to his late wife and decides to do something about it.Bookmarked by Sheplayedthefiddle
04 Jul 2026
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“I’m sorry,” Robby says slowly, stiffly, “I think I must have misheard you, because I’m pretty sure I just heard you tell me that my mother, whom I haven’t seen in almost fifty years, came to my place of work today, the one time this week that I wasn’t there.”
Bookmarked by Sheplayedthefiddle
29 Jun 2026
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Robby sighed, and shook his head, hands scrubbing at his beard. “A wiser man would say that we’re using casual intimacy to hide from the emotional turmoil we should be working out in therapy,” Robby called out as Jack walked out the door.
The other man barked out a laugh. "Yeah, and when you find him, tell him I said hi."
(Or: Robby can't sleep, Jack decides to help. It goes exactly as well as you'd expect.)
Bookmarked by Sheplayedthefiddle
03 Jun 2026