Agarthan Laboratory

Right, first of all thank you for your patience! You sent this ask in March and now it's July, and it's just because I took this question so seriously I got anxious about giving an incomplete answer and ended up with thousands of words in a Google Doc.

Secondly, for anyone who hasn't read it, here is the fic under discussion

So, backstory and inspirations...

TITLE: It's Your Heart That Holds Your Fate Chapter 1 Fandom: The Pitt Wordcount: 11,548 Rating: M (this chapter; sexual content) Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch / Jack Abbot Characters (this chapter): Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch, Jack Abbot, Montgomery Adamson, Samira Mohan, John Shen, Mel King, Frank Langdon

Summary: Master Robinavitch of the Coruscant Temple has everything he needs - mentorship, students of his own, a relationship with the Force that sustains him and an occasional, if much-missed, partner - but when the galaxy starts to fall apart, will that be enough?

Excerpt: Jack's gaze has narrowed, eyes calculating sharply. "And how do you feel about that?" he asks bluntly, cutting to the chase in a way Robby feels he has missed. "Being the Council's default choice, apparently, for the Temple's lost babes?" Robby knows his small shrug must look inadequate. "I've never had any intention of turning them away." "No, of course you haven't," Jack sighs. He slides a hand across Robby's shoulders. "Tell me you find joy in it, at least - the teaching." "I do," Robby says instantly. "It's - the ends to which I do it that elude me." "You've always been too much of a philosopher for your own good." "Strong words from the anti-Code man," Robby says, standing up straight with a grin; the night with Jack was always going to improve his mood and the words between them have helped even further, the Force settling within him into a quiet contentment. "You should get cleaned up if you're going to impress this current crop of initiates. They have high standards." "Lead and I'll follow," Jack says, his eyes firmly on Robby and voice low as Robby steps away.

"Are you researching chemical treatments to save some of your energy when you're Force-healing, or just so you can demonstrate how smart you are after you've already exhausted yourself performing the cure?" "You really know how to go for the jugular, these days. Does the Senator appreciate you running that mouth around her constituents like a wild reek in a bazaar?" "Oh, she loves it. Saves us all a lot of time."

#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek Day 7 prompt - All Alone - 2,271 words

FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied

Excerpt, Day 7: "I can't watch this," someone else says, sounding sick.  "Ahmad?" Robby forces out. "No can do," comes the response, choked up. "I'm sorry, Dr. Robby, you know I can't - " "Where are the goddamn cops?" Dana yells, to anyone. Robby thinks the shot has hit Jack in the shoulder, perhaps from the back; he is holding his left arm awkwardly, fist folded up into his sternum. To his other side, suddenly, he slams his hand flat onto the glass, his thumb tucked in, four fingers extended.  Four. Robby's mind races, because Jack Abbot doesn't move a muscle without intent. Four? Four bullets left, a nasty whisper says in the back of his head.

#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek Day 6 prompt - Oxygen - 1,279 words

FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied

Excerpt, Day 6:  A bang on the door. Mateo is there, now with Lena and Ahmad, all of them looking far too concerned for Robby's liking. "Hey!" Mateo yells, his voice muffled. "Five more minutes for the decontamination protocol!" "Uh-huh," Robby sings, giving them two clumsy-feeling thumbs up. He decides to sit down, because there's not much else he feels capable of, and fetches up with his back against the wall, kicking a foot idly at Jack's titanium ankle. "Stop that." "Make me." Jack's returning glare is ever so slightly saner than he looked a few moments previously, which Robby thinks must be a good thing. "You always like this when you're high, Robinavitch?" "Like what?" "A fucking brat," Jack grouses. "You always a fuckin' grumpy old man?" "You know me, forever a sloppy drunk." "I will report this to HR," Lena calls warningly from outside. 

#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek Day 5 prompt - Unhappy Customer - 1,302 words

FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied

Excerpt, Day 5:  Robby dares to twitch one eye open slightly, looking sullenly upwards. "You're no fun." "Right now I'm not, no," Jack says, still in that light, too-polite voice. He turns slightly to the side to pick up a handful of steri-strips. "I wonder why?" Robby squints with his one eye. Over Jack's shoulder, he just about makes out the shoulders of Perlah and Princess turning away in a hurry. Beyond them, Whitaker and Santos are openly watching, hands still on their charting keyboards. Kwon is tapping a pen against her teeth, eyes narrowed like she's committing something very deliberately, rather than passively, to memory. "People're staring," Robby mumbles. "Let 'em." And oh, okay. That's what this is about. Robby would blush, if he wasn't sure it would make his cheeks redder and more blood-filled than they need to be right now - so instead he closes his eye again, takes a deep breath, and lets Jack continue, every brief brush of scrubs or skin against him confidently whispering Mine, mine, mine - 

#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek Day 4 prompt - Flashlight + Pupillary Response - 1,867 words

FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied

Excerpt, Day 4:  It is possibly the most surreal thing Robby has ever experienced, and maybe later he'll be able to reflect on exactly what that comparison entails. How is his little corner of existence so quiet, how is his traitorous body so heavy? How is it that he has ended up in safety, as boots pound and men scream and bullets somehow fucking miss? There is no pattern to the violence. They are too far away to catch the real gist of commands and shouts being hurled around the walls, and the gunfire is irregular, keeping the adrenaline pumping and coursing under Robby's skin.  A fucking hour passes. How is that possible? How is anyone still alive? Micah beckons him back to the storage room window at one point, gesturing to what looks like the hulk of a truck half-hidden by the gates, burning. "One down?" he asks to the air. At 8:15, something rumbles in the air. Robby scrabbles to one of the larger windows, peering against hope. "Helicopters?" "Fuck yes," comes the delirious response. "Those are MD 500-Es, my friend!"

#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek Day 3 prompt - Overwhelmed + "Don't touch me." - 1,491 words

FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied

Excerpt, Day 3:  "This is week two, I'm due back after week three. Then another week of fuckin' debrief. The state of my inbox, brother, you would not believe - everywhere from Quantico to San Diego wants intelligence on the Tuaregs. Pity that doesn't extend to actually funding MINUSMA, but that's apparently above my paygrade." Robby squints. "You're gonna make it your problem, aren't you." Jack's grin is sharp. "Aw, you know me so well." As his head starts to pound marginally softer, Robby sees that Abbot is in desert fatigues, dusty, his temporary UN and USA patches already faded on his sleeve. The blue beret, though, is still sharp and painfully bright, and he's done something to his hair, high and tighter on the sides than Robby is used to. For a brief moment something in him mourns the memory of Jack's curls, though it eases a moment later when he sees some, still, sweaty, creeping out onto Jack's forehead. God, he looks loveable, and Robby loves him.

#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek Day 2 prompt - Insomnia - 1,719 words

FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied

Excerpt, Day 2: Another myth busted, one which Robby had examined far too closely over the years of him and Jack occasionally, frequently, always ready to share a bed - Jack's nightmares are creatures which predate his discharge, and even as an officer with semi-private space available for his use the communal habits of the Army had bred the screams right out of him. The dreams are near-silent, shaking affairs, and all that happens when he wakes is a brief, gasping huff of air, a dead-eyed stare up to the ceiling and his hands on his own throat, physically forcing down the panic. Robby reaches over anyway, lays his hand palm-up on the pillow next to Jack's head. "You there, brother?" "Yeah," Jack mumbles, immediately. "You?" "Yeah." Jack gingerly rolls over, loops an arm over Robby's waist; the gauze on his wrist scratches at Robby's hip. "Go the fuck to sleep, Robinavitch. You need it." "Yes, sir." Robby doesn't.  On the fourth morning he sits up, looks back over his shoulder, and Jack is a corpse. Alabaster-white, perfect, whole, and extremely dead. 

#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek Day 1 prompt - Tied up - 1,956 words

FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied

Excerpt, Day 1: Robby turns to the hub; he slips his headphones back into his pocket, pulling out his phone instead. Dana is waiting for him, iPad on her hip, peering at him over the edge of her glasses.  "Any messages?" she asks, immediately clocking the increase in Robby's pace. "No missed calls. You?" "Nothin'. You gonna try?" It only takes a moment - Robby's favorited phone numbers list only has a few permanent residents. The first indication that his day is about to take a turn for something very much worse is that the call is picked up within half a ring. "You Doctor Robinavitch?" Robby can sense Dana watching him as his free fist clenches. "Yes. This isn't Jack. Where is he?" "Ah, hell. You're the emergency contact we have on file, I was literally dialing this number when you called." "Is he okay?" "Unclear."

He wasn’t in the United States. He could tell from the faint stars scattered across the dusky sky—just a handful, shy and distant, visible in the space before true nightfall. And he wasn’t in Casper either. The sky felt different here, clearer somehow, and the conifers that surrounded him whispered of a faraway place he’d never seen.

I’m dreaming, Gale realized, cautious even in sleep. 

The night isn’t over. Gale’s exhausted body and unraveling mind are pulling him deeper, guiding him—slowly, torturously—toward the truth of what John truly means to him.

CHAPTER 11

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59161987/chapters/164266393

Thank you for asking about this! I’m so excited—I could talk about it for ages. 😄

What do you do when you’re in two extremely niche fandoms? Obviously, you start thinking about a crossover fic, making the readership even more microscopic! 😂

So, my wish is to turn this into my little Advent project. I haven’t fully plotted it out or written anything yet, but I’ve got a few clear ideas:

It’s set in the MOTA Stalag era, a couple of weeks before the march, so right at the tail end of WWII.

River is a British spy in Germany, sent there to spread misinformation about D-Day (still need to check if the timeline works). He was one of the spies the Allies sent, knowing they’d likely die captured and tortured by SS, thinking they knew the real plan. <- this bit is historically accurate and, well, tragic.

OB and Charles Partner were the ones who sent him to die, but Lamb, sensing the danger, gave him instructions to save his ass.

River ends up in the Stalag while pretending to be an RAF pilot (remember the spy accusations during Bucky’s interrogation?). He saves another pilot’s life by covering for his defection, but the other RAF pilots treat him like crap because he is a spy, so he ends up befriending the 100th men.

River saves Bucky’s life by catching him when he’s walking toward the fence while Gale isn’t there and later promises Bucky he’ll help save Gale. This earns both Gale’s and John’s trust.

River still has a mission: sending info about a mole (probably Charles Partner, working with the SS!) to Lamb. He plans a suicidal mission, because of course he does. He gives Gale instructions on how to reach Lamb in London, promising in return to protect John, who stays behind with remaining 100th men.

River gets shot while protecting Bucky, who is protecting the runaway Gale. Partner sends men to kill River, so Bucky decides to pass him off as an American pilot to get him back to England.

Gale goes to Lamb for a tense meeting. Lamb reads Gale’s story through his body language and scars, sees his love for Bucky, and insults him, of course. But he also asks for news about his Joe, his boy.

John manages to save River, and they return to Thorpe Abbotts. Lamb meets him there, in the dormitory (Partner’s spies are still hunting for him).

The bottom line is that River embodies elements of both Gale and John, just as Lamb does. I think these two couples help each other reveal the most obvious feelings. ❤️