Rabbotfest - Day 2: Touch Starved
Robby sighs. He knows. He’s been told by every member of staff at some point today, as if he can’t feel the headache and unnecessary sweat beading at his temples. Jack pointing it out is just the cherry on top. “Thank you.”
A cool hand finds its way to Robby’s forehead. He freezes like a deer, relishing in the welcome chill that pours over him from Jack’s skin.
Jack hums unhappily. “I can’t believe you came to work like this.”
“Come on,” Jack says. “North four is open; I’m gonna look you over.”
Robby scoffs. “No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am.” Jack locks his hand around Robby’s elbow and drags him through the hall. “If you wanted to be trusted to take care of yourself, you should’ve called someone in to cover for you instead of spreading your shit all shift.”
“I’ve been wearing a mask the whole time.”
“Don’t fucking argue with me, man.”
“You’re always telling me to get a hobby,” Robby jokes. Jack pulls him inside the exam room and ushers him to the bed like he’s a patient.
“The quieter you are, the quicker you can go home.”
“I can get up and leave whenever.”
“And I can call Gloria and make sure you’re taken off the schedule.”
Bastard. Robby scrapes his tongue over his teeth. “You want to waste your time with me instead of helping real patients?”
“Yep.” He places the end of his stethoscope over Robby’s heart and his other hand on his back. The gentle fingers fit in the grooves of Robby’s spine. “Deep breath in.”
All Robby can focus on is the way Jack’s hands slide over his scrubs. The slight pressure strikes him like a soft buzzing electricity, making the hair on his arms stand.
They repeat the process until Jack is satisfied.
He presses his bare fingers in the junction under Robby's jaw. The temptation to make a smart comment about needing to use gloves is suppressed by the overwhelming sensation of his own pulse beating against Jack's fingertips.
“Alright, look up,” Jack whispers. His gentle hands press along the length of Robby's neck. "Doesn't feel swollen."
"I told you, it's just a cold," Robby murmurs back.
"Not with how hot you're running. In fact..." He grabs a thermometer and aims it at Robby's forehead.
"That's really not necessary."
"I'm the doctor, you're the patient. I'll decide what's necessary." A low beep rings from the device, "103.2. Jesus Christ, that's no cold."
Guilt squirms in Robby's chest. "It wasn't that high when I came in."
"Take your mask off, let me look inside your throat."
Robby does as he's told and lets Jack inspect him with the flashlight. He doesn't use a tongue depressor, instead delicately taking Robby's chin in his still bare hands and encouraging his mouth wider. A tingle spreads under his beard.
"No white spots, but it's pretty red."
"Started feeling sore around noon," he admits.
Jack crosses his arms and frowns, disappointed. "Why didn't you call me? I would've come in for you."
"I'm off for the next two days anyway."
"Good." Jack stands and washes his hands. "I am after tonight, too. I'll swing by your place after with some soup."
"I can take care of myself."
"Clearly, that's not true." Jack sighs. He settles back on the stool in front of Robby and taps his knuckles against Robby's knee. "Please?"
The tenderness brewing on Robby's face jumps to his legs. It wouldn't be so bad to have Jack stay for a few hours, or a few days. "Okay."
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