Rabbot head-cannon — Jack’s prosthetic
Been rewatching the Pitt and can’t seem to get this scene out of my mind. My heart aches at the way Jack cleans up his prosthetics after a hard day… and my mind automatically goes to Robby, him being a person whose love language is acts of service and all — during the days where Jack hardly had the strength to take care of himself, Robby’s probably taking care of Jack’s prosthetics for him without even mentioning 🥹😭 …it got me thinking 🥰 so here’s a ficlet based on my brain worm. Plz enjoy!!
Robby has always been someone who expresses his love through actions.
When they first started spending nights at each other’s, Jack often found himself wondering just how on earth Robby was the way he was — he had so much love to give, and he offered it with such an ease that made it seem like loving and taking care of Jack came to him as naturally as breathing.
Robby’s condo came with a coat closet right next to the front door, and within a week after moving some of his stuff to Robby’s — during which Robby insisted on helping despite them living only fifteen minutes apart — Jack found himself staring at a renovated closet section customized for his crutches and prosthetics. Robby even had a separate space dedicated just for his athletic prothesis, and a drawer underneath for his extra sock liners and supplies. The way everything was organized allowed Jack to switch from his prosthetic to crutches with such convenience that it even exceeded the setup at his own place.
Jack was caught off-guard and left in awe as he struggled to get words out, his throat tight with emotion. He’d never had anyone do something like this for him, someone to put such care to and have such understanding about maximizing his comfort, providing things that Jack didn’t even know he needed.
When he found Robby and circled his arms around him, Jack held on with so much gratitude and affection and all the emotions in between left unsaid, conveying them through the most tender kisses. Robby just smiled softly and acted like it was nothing. Even later, when they were lying in bed, face to face, coming down from the high Jack curated to repay Robby the way he knew best, he found himself staring into those big brown eyes that held so much fondness and devotion and felt so incredibly loved.
Jack was so full and warm that he thought he might burst, affection brimming over and spilling from every inch of him.
After a double shift in the ER, it was almost expected that his shoes and the legs of his cargo pants would come home bearing the grime and stains of a hard night spent saving lives. And on especially intense nights, those marks would expand and seep through the cotton fabrics and land on the surface of his prosthetic leg. As a result, Jack had gotten used to spending sometime cleaning his prosthetic and wiping his shoes after arriving home, going through the familiar steps absentmindedly, his thoughts carried away, reflecting.
But Jack had lost two kids that one specific day — both under five years old, and he barely had enough will power to drag himself back to Robby’s condo, it being closer to the hospital than his own place. The last image he had of those kids followed him relentlessly—small, fragile bodies lying still, ET tube protruding out from their mouths long after it failed to keep them breathing. He felt like a soldier carrying the weight of the fallen home, even though he no longer had bodies left to bear.
He was so desperately drained that it took every bit of him to reach the front door. As soon as he detached his prosthetic from his stub, Jack grabbed his crutches and stumbled into the living room, leaving behind his prosthetic leg in the pile of his shoes and scrubs — his shedded sorrows.
I’ll take care of those when I wake up. He thought as he collapsed onto the sofa in one exhausted motion, ignoring the dull ache spreading up his leg after the tension had been released. Clinging to the possibility of an attempt at finding respite within the subconscious mind, Jack drifted off.
What he didn’t expect was waking up to the smell of a home-cooked meal and soft jazz bellowing from the record player. As he slowly gathered his senses from a dose of restless sleep —nearly three hours, he registered as he squinted at the face of his watch — Jack recalled the state of himself before he passed out on the sofa. He winced slightly, fragments of memory surfacing piece by piece.
Blood on the floor. Machines beeping, people running.
And oh, the kids. The tiny body bags, too light for anything to feel real at all.
As the events of the day came back to him, he found it harder to breathe. His eyes frantically searched the room and found what he was looking for — Robby across the space in the kitchen, spatula in hand, swaying and humming lightly to himself. As if sensing Jack’s gaze, Robby turned his head, wearing the most endearing smile, eyes glinting behind his glasses.
Hanging onto the light of those pupils he so longed for, Jack breathed out, air finally finding its way back to him.
“Hard day?” Robby greeted, and Jack hadn’t realized how starved he'd been for the sound of Robby’s voice until it reached his ears. It sounded like home.
Robby was there, at home with him.
“How about some pasta, and you can tell me all about it while we cuddle and drink some wine?”
As he processed those words, Bruce Springsteen echoing in the background, Jack realized he was helplessly falling in love all over again.
It was after a meal together, followed by lots of comforting hugs and kisses and a bit of tears, when Jack finally reached the final part of recounting his day.
He didn’t know how much time had passed with them sitting like that, in each other’s arms, Robby’s hand gently brushing through his curls, his way of offering silent support and encouragement for Jack to keep going. His gentle giant.
“And I came home, and got my leg off, and went straight…” As if recalling something, Jack pushed himself up, his head turning towards the foyer.
“Shit, I totally forgot —”
Between the hearty meal and emotional conversation drifting into the deep waters, Jack had completely forgotten about his prosthetic he left lying on the entryway floor.
He went to grab his crutches, before quickly landing a peck on Robby’s lips apologetically.
Jack prepped himself up, heading to the front door to take care of the scattered mess he left behind. But to his surprise, there was nothing to greet him.
Instead, the prosthetic leg that was supposed to be on the floor was now tucked away neatly in its place in the closet, all traces of that hard day gone and replaced by the shiny reflection of clean carbon fiber. His wet shoes were dry, and clean, and his liner sock — folded nicely in the drawer — had been washed.
Robby. Jack realized. Robby had taken it upon himself when he arrived home, cleaning Jack’s prosthetic and putting everything into their places while Jack slept.
Nobody had ever done something close to that for him before.
People always assumed that it was a personal matter and treaded gingerly around him. Even on rare occasions where Jack had asked his late wife to help him with the care routine, him suffering too much from phantom pains to do it himself, she had approached each step with such careful tentativeness, checking with Jack along the way, as if the prosthetic leg she held in her hands was something foreign, fragile and reverent. She did the best she could with so much love, care and understanding, and Jack wouldn’t have asked for it any other way.
But Robby? Robby just did it.
He hadn't handled the prosthetic like an artifact or an object worthy of extensive care, nor did he see it as foreign or some delicate representation of distant grief. Robby treated the whole process with the same unthinking familiarity like it was among the most ordinary rituals of caring for and loving someone — instinctively and matter-of-factly, as though it had never occurred to him to do otherwise.
Robby did everything without mentioning anything. Like it was as unremarkable as folding a shirt or putting a book back on the shelf — not because it was insignificant, but because it was Jack’s. And anything that belonged to Jack simply belonged in Robby’s care.
Because in Robby’s mind, Jack was his. In all of his entirety.
Overwhelmed with emotions, Jack turned back to look over his shoulder, finding Robby’s eyes. He had been staring at him this whole time, gaze so soft that Jack’s heart swelled and grew impossibly full.
“I…Robby…What —” Jack tried, not able to find the right words that would carry the weight of his emotions.
Where was his knack for words when he needed them?
“I love you too.” Robby said, finding Jack’s words for him, his expression saturated with love.
“Now get yourself back here so I can kiss you some more.”
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
stormborns
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart
