Noah

Chapter 1: The Childhood Lie

He was drowning.

Or at least it very well felt like his lungs were replacing life saving oxygen with ice cold water. Dragging him further and further into the seemingly depthless dark.

He could see Jack above him, treading water like it was air. A blur of light surrounding him like an angelic halo. A beacon taunting Robby as the tempest of water wrestled for his life.

And so far she was winning.

He tried to scream, desperate to get Jack's attention. But the hopeless cry died in the water sloshing around mockingly in his respiratory system.

His legs thrashed against the biting cold water. His arms flailing in a vain attempt to swim to the surface. To reach Jack.

To reach salvation

Nothing worked. If anything, every kick of his legs and panicked pull of his arms made him sink further, and further into the inky depths.

He was losing consciousness.

He could feel his awareness dimming around the edges of his vision. An all consuming pressure beginning to build in his veins. Threatening to burst him like a balloon. Forcing his lungs to constrict painfully inside his ribcage. Expelling the water he'd sucked down earlier in a desperate attempt for air.

Streaks of swirling crimson float before him like a neon sign flashing death is imminent in his hazy vision. The metallic tang of his blood filling his mouth was the last thing he could focus on before everything went black.

====

Robby sits up with a jolt. His lungs expanding around a desperate gulp of air, burning the respiratory organ like a freshly lit match. Hot, sticky sweat soaking through the thin cotton of his pajama top.

Instinctively Robby reaches up to grab at the golden six point star pendant that permanently hangs around his neck. It was a gift from his Bubbe during his Bar Mitzvah, one he hadn't taken off since his Grandmother placed it around his neck. Even after he began to question his religion.

When his hands comes back empty a chilling fear floods his veins. His eyes frantically flicker downward, hoping that his hand was simply missing it as it lay askew from his fitful sleeping.

His vision tunnels, mind going blank, static beginning to ring in his ears as his eyes settle on his old favorite pair of matching dinosaur pajamas. The same pair he hadn't fit into since he was eight or nine. Curled up on his Bubbe's lap. The patchwork quilt she'd made when he was born covering them both.

The jarring realization that he was back in the bedroom that had been his up until his mother cut and ran when he was eight hit him like a ton of bricks. Jostling his heart violently beneath his breast bone. Threatening to dislodge the organ all together.

"Mein Schatz." His mother's soft, honeyed voice -a sound he hadn't heard in almost five decades- carries it's way down the hall, through his closed bedroom door.

"Mama?" Robby's voice cracked over the achingly familiar term. Severing a precarious lock on a door long since slammed shut in his heart.

Tentatively Robby swings his little legs over the side of his childhood bed. Out of an ages old habit he grabs his soft, pastel blue blanket -better known as his blankie- and his well worn stuffed polar bear -dressed as a seafarer, and affectionately named Mr.Rabbit- before standing from the bed.

The old hardwood floor was cold beneath his tiny feet as he silently pads over to his bedroom door. The familiar old creak sounding off as the solid oak swung on it's hinges.

Peeking around the doorframe, Robby was greeted by the sound of his mother's favorite record -Al Green Explores Your Mind- spinning around the turntable they kept in the living room.

His mothers soft lilt singing along slowly begins to flood his ears as he shuffles down the hall. His baby blanket and stuffed bear tucked safely under his arm. Squeezed tight and secure against his little body.

Shuffling to the end of the hall Robby glances around the corner. His eyes quickly landing on a sight he never thought he'd see again, one that filled his chest with an aching warmth, and his stomach with a boiling nausea.

His mother was standing in her favorite dress, her floral apron tied around her full waist. The skirt of her dress flowing around her shins as she swayed back and forth to the dulcet tones of Al Green floating in from the living room. Her long, curly, black hair shimmering in the faint morning light casting through the kitchen windows as she shovels scrambled eggs onto a plate.

Squeezing Mr. Rabbit tighter to his chest -the bears blue and white striped shirt beneath yellow polyester overalls, crinkles beneath his arm- Robby fights off the urge to cry as he takes in the sight of his mother so carefree.

If someone asked present day Robby the last time he remembers seeing his mother this happy he wouldn't be able to answer. But somewhere deep in his subconscious he would conjure up this exact image. His mother practically glowing in the dewy, morning light. Barefoot in their tiny two bedroom apartment, the kitchen barely bigger than his bedroom, but big enough for the two of them. Big enough for young Robby's whole world to fit within it's four walls.

There at the end, before she left for good, his mother had taken a turn for the worst. Locking herself in her room for days, leaving Robby to fend for himself before turning around, and becoming the most attentive mother there ever was.

Robby prayed for those few days of warm, all-encompassing sunlight amidst weeks of never ending cold, bitter rain. Of hours spent curled up in his mother's lap while she read to him. Her warm, honeysuckle and citrus -blanketing an underlying sweet vanilla from her days spent baking- scent enveloping him in it's comforting embrace.

Twirling, Robby's mother finally catches sight of his small frame huddled against the corner. "Oh Mein Schatz, there you are." She gasps, a lovely, full smile brightening her soft features as her hand comes to rest over her bosom. "C'mere Leibchen," she beckons softly.

In Robby's heart of hearts he knew this was who Johanna Robinavitch truly was. All soft edges, bright smiles, and welcoming warmth. Always on the brink of a full bellied laugh.

She was not the dark, stormy woman seconds from snapping who took over his mother, practically possessing her, at random. Holding on to her for days, weeks, sometimes even months if it got too bad.

He'd learn later on -once he was in college states and a decade away from that home- that what his mother was suffering from was Bipolar Personality Disorder. Common enough among women, but so often left ignored or misdiagnosed. Especially when he was a kid.

The hurt little boy inside of him wanted nothing more than to fold himself into her welcoming arms. Tucking himself securely against her full chest in a hug he so desperately craved.

But he faltered.

He always faltered at first when -as he called her- Good Mama came back. His young mind perpetually scared that it was all a dream and he'd wake up to find Bad Mama never actually left. Constantly stuck in a jarring state of fight or flight.

"C'mon Mikey. C'mere to Mama." Johanna smiles reassuringly at him, waving him into her arms. "We're gonna eat breakfast, and then we're gonna get around to go to Bubbe's."

"Okay Mama," he mumbles, tentatively shuffling over to his mother. Mr.Rabbit and Blankie clutched in his little fists at his sides. Like his own personal anchor to peace and protection.

Reaching his mother, Robby pulls his bear and blanket up to his chest before folding into her open arms. His nose nuzzling instinctively into her chest. Breathing in her familiar scent.

Craning her neck, she presses a soft kiss to his temple, murmuring, "good morning, Mein Schatz. How did you sleep?"

Robby's only response was to bury himself further into her embrace. A soft whimper involuntarily coming from his chest the only warning he had before the tears welling up in his eyes broke loose. Soaking into the fabric of his mother's favorite dress.

The same dress she was wearing that last time he saw her. When she was waving goodbye to eight year old Robby sitting on his Bubbe's porch.

He'd remembered that day like it was yesterday. It had been a surprisingly warm and sunny day for early spring in Pennsylvania. He was on spring break from school so his mother had to have his Bubbe watch him while she went to work.

It was routine by this point. Something that happened every time he was off of school and his mother had to work. He'd go to his Bubbe's from around seven in the morning to about six in the evening. Like clockwork.

So when six in the evening rolled around little eight year old Robby was packed and ready to go. Waiting patiently for his Mama on his Bubbe's porch with Mr.Rabbit and Blankie at his side. Ready for his Mama to come get him after her shift.

So when his Bubbe came outside almost two hours later -after it began to go dark- to bring him back inside he was more than confused. His Mama was going to be there any minute. So why was Bubbe trying to get him to come back inside? And why were her eyes shiny?

Bubbe never cried. It wasn't in her nature. So it couldn't be that.

Right?

He slept beside his Bubbe for months -almost a year- after that. Too afraid that if she wasn't in the same room as him she too would leave.

"Mama." The term came out as a broken plea as he burrowed into her. Sobs wracking his tiny body.

He missed his Mama.

Despite everything he missed her.

"Oh Leibchen," she gasps softly, squeezing him tighter to her. Confused over son's sudden outburst. "Whatever is the matter?"

Unable to form words around an almost fifty year long ache, Robby hiccups, grinding his forehead into his mothers sternum. A pitiful whimper tumbling from his lips into Mr.Rabbit's head, his tears continuing to drench every bit of fabric they could reach.

Sighing Johanna kneels down on the ground before him. Her arms never leaving their place wrapped around Robby's tiny, shuttering form.

Leaning back from her son, Johanna reaches one hand up to push back Robby's shaggy locks. A soft, soothing smile brightening her face as she says, "talk to me Mikey."

With a sudden, striking clarity much like finally breaking through a patch of dense fog, Robby realizes he knows this scene. Has lived this exact moment before forty-odd years ago.

The day his mother left.

The last time he saw her honey brown eyes, and deep chestnut -almost black- curls. It was the last time he'd see her sweet, cheek splitting smile, or smell her honeysuckle and citrus scent with it's gentle undercurrent of vanilla.

That moment would come an hour from now.

When he was standing beside his Bubbe -Mr.Rabbit and Blankie clutched in his left hand, his little backpack filled with all the things a child thought was a necessity strapped to his shoulders.- on her porch saying goodbye as Johanna left for work. His right hand waving vigorously after her disappearing form as his little voice yelled out, "bye Mama! Love you!"

The last words he'd ever hear from her carrying through the still morning air. "Goodbye Mein Schatz! I love you to the moon!"

"To da moon!" He'd call back, his tiny voice so chipper and carefree. A stark contrast to the broken, confused warble he'd have eleven hours from that moment. When his Bubbe would bring him inside to explain to him that his Mama wasn't coming back.

He could hear the words his mother was about to say before she could form them with her cherry red lips. "Mama can't help you if you don't tell me what hurts, My Love. Is it your tummy?"

Leaning forward Johanna presses her lips to his forehead. Feeling for any possible sign of fever in that way all mothers do. Making it a show of affection, and not one of concern. "You're not warm. What hurts baby? C'mon you've gotta help Mama." Leaning back from his tiny form, she instinctively reaches up to wipe at the smudge of red lipstick left behind on his forehead.

"No!" Robby cries, one of his little hands flailing out to stop her from wiping away the mark of love, of care, from his skin.

Robby knew what his problem was that day. He knew that despite his impossibly young age there was an anxious pit digging into his stomach. That morning eight year old Robby woke up with one of those bad feelings like waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop gnawing at his bones.

"Whoa!" Johanna gasps, holding her hands up in surrender. "What is going on with you Michael? Where's my sweet Leibchen?"

"I just… I wanna go to Bubbe's," he cries, stepping away from his mother's embrace. Seconds from a temper tantrum to rival an over tired toddler.

Robby vividly remembers the feeling clawing under his skin. The roiling of his stomach in protest of something he had yet to live through. The overstimulation from too many emotions and suspicious feelings he couldn't name threatening to stop his little lungs all together.

He wanted to scream as loud as his little lungs could.

Wanted to throw his little body down on the cold hardwood floor and refuse to move until his Mama decided to call out of work, and reschedule her clients. Chose to stay with him.

But he didn't do that. He couldn't. Not after so many years of living through his mother's mood swings. And how they taught him that a tantrum -even if it was well deserved and on par for a tired kid his age- would get him nowhere.

Instead he squandered what little time he had left with his mother by demanding he be dropped off early with his Bubbe.

And he hated himself for that demand every day, for all these decades. Some part of him forever blaming himself for his mother leaving. Believing that his selfish want to be out of their house -a childish belief that maybe being out of their house would stop the bad feelings- was the reason his Mama left him.

He made her think she was unwanted. That was the only logical reason she would have left him.

Right?

His vision began to blur around the edges again. The kitchen beginning to morph and shift around them. His chest begins to tighten as the scene starts to transform into his Bubbe's porch. His mother was no longer holding him in her warm embrace. Instead she was disappearing down the street. Her deep chestnut curls haloed by the golden rays of the morning sun. Her favorite dress flowing around her legs as she walked away without a care in the world.

She didn't hear his screams.

"Mama no! Come back!" His desperate cries went unanswered. Neither woman so much as flinching at his pleas.

Dropping Mr.Rabbit and Blankie to the old worn down porch Robby makes a run for it. Chasing after his mother as he continues to scream, "Mama please! I'll be good, I promise! Mama come back!"

No matter how fast he ran, how hard he pushed his little legs to clear the distance between himself and his mother, she stayed the same distance from him. His little heart pounding like a jackrabbit's foot in his chest. His lungs burning with the effort to run after her.

His screams began to turn into shallow whines as his limbs began to tire from the effort. His sprint slowing down till he finally collapsed to his knees. Concrete scrapping through his jeans, stones embedding themselves into his skin.

"You said to da moon," he whimpers, his little body curling in on itself. "I'll be good, I promise."

His tiny voice crackles around one final, despondent plea, "Come back Mama please, I love you."

====

Waking up with a shock, a broken plea dying in his throat as he gasps "Mama!"

This time the shirt that clung to his skin from his own sweat was Jack's old, worn out college t-shirt. The light gray fabric turning dark as it adhered itself to his skin. Boston University emblazoned on the front in bright, bold, red letters.

Like before in his dreamscape memory, one of his hands finds it's way to his chest, grasping for his pendant. Unlike in his nightmare, he breathes a sigh of relief when his clammy fingers clasp around the golden six point star. His heart rate slowing as the sharp edges dig into the pads of his fingers. The slight sting anchoring him to reality.

His hand not holding his necklace reaches over to the other side of the bed, desperate for his husband's touch. He finds the mattress cold, the bed long since made empty of Jack's body heat. "Fuck," he groans, the realization that Jack was on shift that night snapping back into place.

He hadn't had a dream about her in months. Years even. If he was being honest, he couldn't exactly remember the last time he dreamed about his mother. It had been a long time. That much was for certain.

It made his skin crawl.

Closing his eyes against the dim light of the moon, Robby sucked in a breath before turning to face the alarm clock perched on his nightstand. The bright green numbers flashing 2:30am.

He releases another deep groan, covering his face with hands. Flopping back over onto his back, his well worn hands scrub down his face. Calluses catching in his salt and pepper beard.

He needed to get up.

He couldn't stand the suffocating feeling pressing down on his chest. Weighing him down like a brick of tungsten sat on his sternum.

His mind was swimming. Thoughts of his mother swirling around his brain. Building like a pounding pressure in the base of his skull.

He didn't just need to get up, he needed to do something. Just sitting in his and Jack's townhouse would only serve to drive him mad.

Turning to check the time again, hoping in vain that it had changed and it would be closer to shift change. And change it did, but only in that slow, endless drag of a minute stuck within the purgatory of one's own mind. The bright green letters now flashing 2:32am, almost taunting him.

"Fuck it," he sighs, flinging the navy comforter over to Jack's side of the bed before swinging his legs over the edge.

Sitting upright, Robby's hand fall to his thighs with a slap. Dull fingernails scratching at the hair covered skin. "Oh Michael what are you doing?" He mumbles to himself, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

Shaking the remnants of his dream from the edges of his memory, Robby pushes himself to stand with a grunt. Padding softly towards the ensuite, still half bleary from sleep ended too soon.

Squinting into the harsh, white light of the ensuite bathroom mirror, Robby splashes cold water onto his face. Trying to wash away the bone deep ache left lingering like a house guest who overstayed their welcome from the memory of his mother.

A sharp lump forms in his throat, his splashing turning into harsh scrubbing as he fights off the tears welling in his eyes. He'd mistakenly thought that after nearly fifty years of living with this indescribable ache, it would've dulled around the edges. Just enough to no longer cut him like shards of broken glass beneath bare feet.

"Get it together Robinavitch!" He groans, slapping at his cheeks. Shaking his head, he finishes up in the bathroom before shuffling back out to his and Jack's bedroom.

He needed to go to work. Needed to be useful. Needed to do something with his hands. Something he was good at.

Needed something, anything to avoid the memories pounding at the door of his mind. Threatening to breach containment of the room he'd locked them away in decades ago.

Routine is what he needed. Routine was safe.

Willing his hands to steady, Robby pulls on a fresh undershirt, and scrub top before pulling on his favorite loose cargo pants.

Full dressed Robby makes his way out of the bedroom. Sitting down only long enough to lace up his boots before grabbing his backpack hanging by the door. Patting his pockets one final time to make sure he had everything, Robby heads out the door. Locking it shut behind him with a click.

Stopping in his tracks Robby stares absentmindedly down at his carabineer of keys and the myriad of knick-knacks hung by key-rings. Fiddling with the keychains, his tired eyes catch on the small green plate that harbored his daughter's first school picture.

She was at Jack's ex-in-laws for the weekend, leaving Robby alone in the townhouse while Jack was at work.

Jack's wife's parents were the closest thing she had to grandparents. With Robby's mom having abandoned him as a kid, his Bubbe long since deceased, and Jack's parents having died while he was in college. So she often spent weekends away at their house a few blocks over. Her Pappy Tony, and Granny Taz were wrapped around her little finger the day Jack and Robby brought her home.

Despite the turmoil spinning in his brain, Robby couldn't help but smile down at the keychain. His daughter's wide gap-tooth grin -she'd proudly lost a central incisor the night before- catching on the faint, blue glow of the street light. Her auburn curls slicked back into two little pigtails was so achingly like Jack's. Her honeyed chocolate eyes a lighter mirror to Robby's.

Despite her not biologically being theirs, Jack, and Robby had a running joke that they hatched her from an egg. She looked like such a perfect mix of the two of them, that if it weren't for the fact that they were two cis males incapable of procreating together, anyone would believe that one of them carried and birthed her.

They'd adopted her almost six years ago now, when she was roughly six weeks old. After her mother abandoned her in the chairs bathroom on the fourth of July.

Her name was Mathilde Siobhan Abbot-Robinavitch. Named for her Abba's German heritage and her Papa's Irish one. They called her Tilly-Bug or just Tilly. And she was the light of their life.

Rubbing his thumb over her picture, Robby brought it up to his lips. Pressing a soft kiss to the cold metal, allowing the thoughts of his daughter to clear his mind of any remnants of his mother before heading off down the street.

Grabbing his earbuds from his sweatshirt pocket, Robby sticks them into his ears. Letting the dulcet tones of Rain by The Teskey Brothers fill his ears, drowning out all other noise.

====

Their redbrick townhouse sat within a fifteen minute walk from the hospital. Something both of them had on their deal-breaker list when they first decided to move out of their one bedroom apartment and into a more family friendly home.

So when Robby walked through the glass ambulance bay doors at three o'clock sharp, he was the only one not surprised by his sudden appearance. Making a b-line for the lockers, he did everything possible to avoid as many people as possible. Especially his all knowing husband.

While he'd thought through leaving the house and going to work on the first day of his week long vacation. He did not think through having to explain to his husband -who he knew would be instantly on high alert- why he'd come to work when he should be sleeping.

He was decidedly not ready to see Jack. Not yet at least. If he was being completely honest with himself, he would rather avoid his husband altogether until he went home.

Quickly and quietly, Robby stuffs his backpack and keys into his locker. All the while keeping an eye out for Jack, or anyone that would report his presence to his husband.

His invisibility didn't last long. Not when he accidentally bumps into someone upon exiting the locker room. That someone being the very man he was trying to avoid. His husband.

"Robby?" Jack mutters, hands automatically reaching out the steady the taller man. "What… what are you doing here? I…is something wrong with Tilly? Is she here?"

Clearing his throat, Robby flinches slightly. A pit forming in his stomach at Jack's concern. "What? Jack No." Shaking his head, he swallows harshly adding. "No um… no Tilly's fine. She's still at Anthony and Tasha's. I just… I woke up early a…and I decided to come in a few hours early instead of sitting at home alone," he mumbles, forcing himself to make eye contact with his husband.

Jack's brow furrows, first in confusion then in inconcealable concern. A sort of sixth sense for his husband ticking loudly in the back of his head. "Robby you're not even on shift today. We're supposed to take Tilly away for a long weekend before school starts. Remember?"

"Shit," Robby mumbles under his breath. His hand coming up to scratch nervously at the nape of his neck. "Like I said Jack, I woke up far too early. Couldn't go back to sleep and I didn't want to sit in the house by myself. So I figured I'd come in for the last push. I know you guys are down a resident tonight."

Jack knew something was wrong. He could feel it in the way Robby tensed under his touch. He could see it in the way Robby barely met his gaze, or in the way his shoulders slumped more than normal -almost as though he was defeated. Jack could practically taste it, all bitter self deprecation, and the almost coppery tang of emotional pain.

With a sigh Jack chooses to trust that his husband will come to him when he's ready. So instead of rushing for the answers he so desperately craved, Jack replies, "alright. But you're only working till shift change." At this Jack fixes a knowing look on his face. Daring Robby to protest.

"I-" he begins to protest. Thinking better of it at the terse look on his husband's face, his hands lift up in a show of acceptance as he sighs, "fine. You win. Now give me a run down of the board."

"Alright yeah, c'mon." Jack mumbles, releasing Robby's shoulder to softly smack the juncture of his neck and jaw.

Pulling Robby down, Jack presses a quick kiss to his husband's cheek -right above the coarse hair of his beard- before pulling him towards the desk.

"Right first things first, we've got Mr. Richter in north four. Eighty year old came in with dementia like symptoms, but after a urinary test, Ellis diagnosed him with a UTI. So he's just waiting for a bed upstairs." Jack begins, clapping his hands together in front of his chest.

On and on he went. Updating Robby to every patient currently in the ED. From the bigger cases all the way down to the smaller ones. With Robby only interrupting him every now and again to ask a few clarifying question. They'd done this for so long now that it was as easy as breathing, or intubating a patient.

"Then lastly, we've got Mrs. Rosenbaum, seventy four, in south fifteen. Active history of lung cancer. Her husband called for an ambulance when he woke up to her seizing. According to the EMTs the seizure was over before they arrived on scene. Though once we got her in a room she had another one this one only lasted about three minutes after we pushed point five milligrams Lorazepam. She just got sent up for an MRI before you came in so we're waiting on results." Jack finishes, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leans back against the charge desk.

Squeezing at the back of his neck, Robby nods, blowing a raspberry through his lips. The chief attending side of his brain filing away all the important information for later use. "Right so, I'm just going to act as a spare pair of hands. Let you keep the reigns of your -what is it you call them? Nightcrawlers?"

Grinning cheekily, Jack claps his hands in front his chest as he replies. "Cause we're the weirdest and the wildest of them all, Babe." Winking at Robby, Jack clicks his tongue, his hands rubbing together excitedly.

"Don't I fucking know it?" Robby chuckles, shaking his head fondly at his husband's antics.

Grabbing at both ends of his stethoscope hanging from his neck, Robby leans over the charge desk. "Right Lena, you and I both know you're the real one in charge here. Where do you need me first?"

"I can't even argue," Jack sighs, slapping his palms down on the cold desktop. "By all means Lena he's in your hands, I have a patient to check up on. Robby-" he turns to face his husband, a knowing look in his eyes, his brows pinched slightly in concern. "-page me if you need me, yeah."

"Dana and I have you both trained well I see." Lena grins, looking up at the two attendings. "Woman in central nine hasn't been seen yet. Cut her hand while up late baking."

Nodding, Robby clapped his hands together grinning in response, "right, to central nine I go." Mock saluting Lena and Jack, Robby turns from the hub and stalks off.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Robby allows his mind to slip into doctor mode. His shoulders, slightly less heavy now that he has a task to complete, straighten from their slumped position.

Out of habit Robby pushes his hand under the sanitizer dispenser -the soft whirring sound it omitted almost comforting Robby with it's familiarity- before pushing backwards into the room.

"Hello I'm Dr. Robinavitch, most people call me Dr. Robby." He greets, a soft, reassuring smile plastering itself onto his face. "I understand you gave yourself quite the cut doing some late night baking?"

Blushing, the roughly thirty year old woman sitting cross-legged in the center of the hospital bed mumbles, "uh yeah. I mistakenly decided to make an apple tart from scratch at one in the morning and well…" She trails off, raising her hand wrapped in it's bloody hand towel.

Robby clicked his tongue in wordless response, scanning his badge to open her patient chart. "Right well let's take a look and see about stitching you on up."

Nodding mutely the woman -Sara- rested her arm on the small rolling table Robby brought over after snapping on a fresh pair of gloves.

"Let's have a look then, shall we?" Robby mumbles, slowly beginning to peel back the makeshift bandage. He let's out a long, sharp whistle as the wound was exposed. "That's certainly a doozy, but definitely something a few stitches can fix."

This was what he needed. Something he could do with his hands. Something he was good at, that could, and would take his mind off of unwanted memories. Memories that continued to claw and tap incessantly at the door to their enclosure. With each stick of the needle, and pull of the surgical thread, Robby slipped another lock into place on the aforementioned door.

Once he'd finished stitching Sara's hand, Robby left her with a prescription for antibiotics and a gentle, fatherly chiding. "Maybe we don't bake, or cook when we're half asleep in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah, probably not my brightest moment, but I really wanted that apple tart." Sara winces, pulling her freshly sutured and bandaged hand back to her chest.

"Buy one next time, maybe?" He chuckles, throwing away his gloves as he adds, "right, a nurse will be along shortly to go through your discharge paperwork."

Slipping from the room, Robby scans the ED, looking for the tell tale mop of his husband's silver curls.

Turns out he didn't need to look for his husband. He just needed to listen, because seconds later he heard Jack's deep voice calling out. "Alright Nightcrawlers, what do we have next?"

His chocolate brown eyes snap to look in the direction he heard his husband's voice call from. Instantly catching sight of the shorter man, like a ship to a lighthouse on a foggy night.

Much like that proverbial ship Robby steered clear of the rocks. Avoiding an on coming shipwreck to his mental faculties by slipping away into the crowd of the ED. Searching for his next patient.

His next distraction.

====

He was functional.

Well, define functional.

If anything he was functioning on autopilot. Which technically does fall under the category of functional. Just not the best side of that particular category.

He was present enough to safely and properly do his job. Which was what really mattered.

Right?

Though mentally he was only partially focused on the job at hand. The other half of his mind was still swimming with the echoes of his nightmare-memory-hybrid dream.

So when he walks into south fifteen, and introduces himself to Mr. and Mrs. Rosenbaum, he didn't take in anything that wasn't medical.

"Hello I'm Dr. Michael Robinavitch, I'm the chief attending physician here. Most people call me Dr. Robby or just Robby." He smiles, shaking first the elderly man's hand -he was sitting nearest the door by the side of his wife's bed. Then the frail, smooth, yet visibly wrinkled hand of the elderly woman lying in the bed. "I understand Dr. Abbot was taking care of you." He continues rattling off his normal spiel around their silence as he scans his badge. Booting up the computer with Mrs. Rosenbaum's chart and her MRI results.

"We just got your MRI results back, and Dr. Abbot was busy so I figure I'd-" His rambling was cut off by a soft feminine voice coming from the hospital bed.

"Leibchen?" Mrs. Rosenbaum's calls softly from her spot amidst the wires and IV lines, tucked beneath clinical hospital sheets. Her voice like smooth, aged honey.

Robby knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere, in any crowd. Hell he'd heard it -although it was five decades younger- in his dreams only an hour before.

Robby froze. His fight or flight response kicking in. Frying his normal functions into, more or less, a pile of mush.

He wanted to run. Needed to leave this situation, and fast.

But at the same time he wanted to lean into the comforting familiarity of her presence.

Instead he glued his eyes to the bright white screen before him. A shrill ringing gradually raising in pitch in his ears.

Slowly he swallows around the sudden dryness in his mouth. Mechanically forcing his lungs to expand, dragging in much needed oxygen.

He'd manages to make it through approximately a handful of deep, calculated breaths before the overwhelming scent of honeysuckle and citrus crashes into his senses. It's undercurrent of sweet vanilla so achingly familiar that he physically began to hurt somewhere in his chest. A jagged rock catching in his throat.

Blinking away the blur in his vision, Robby forces himself to focus on the patient file before him. One last ditch effort to prove to himself that he wasn't going insane.

And he wasn't. By some cruel trick of fate he was not going insane.

There it was. Right in front of his own two eyes. In bold font at the top of the patient chart. Johanna Rosenbaum.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Robby pulls his glasses off his face. The black plastic sliding down the long bridge of his nose as he croaks, "Mama?" His voice coming out barely above a whisper.

"Mein Schatz it is you!" The woman who -now that he really looked at her- was the spitting image of his mother just aged up a handful of decades beams at him.

Except she couldn't be his mother.

Well she could be, she had his mother's name, and birthday, and eye color and -god that smell, it was like home despite years of separation.

No! She wasn't. Should couldn't possibly be. His mother left him, left Pittsburgh, damn near fifty years ago.

He'd officially gone insane. That was the only logical answer. His nightmare really did a fucking number on his psyche apparently.

Shaking himself free of his internal monologue -more like cataloguing his mental breakdown- Robby says, "no. I'm sorry Ma'am, but you've got me mixed up with someone else. I'm just the doctor here to give you your MRI scan results."

"Leibchen, you know me. It's Mama," she says, a soft, almost shy smile fluttering over her cheeks.

"Ma'am I'm not who you think I am. If you don't want me to give you your results that is fine. I will go get another qualified doctor to do so." Robby cuts in, clicking angrily at the screen. His fingers smashing at the keys of their own volition as he pulls up her MRI results.

She falls silent at that. No doubt the brisk tone of voice Robby used spooking her. And logically he knew he should feel bad. And part of him did -the human part that worried about everyone and everything under his care.

But that wasn't the part of him that had taken the reigns this morning, when he woke up in a cold sweat. Memories of his mother leaving him, and Jack abandoning him to drown spinning like a fucked up zoetrope behind his eyes.

No, the part of Robby that had taken the reigns that morning was the version of him who guarded himself. Who always found the darkest corner of the room to hide in, pushing all light and offers of help away. Convinced he only had himself and that was all he needed.

So no this Robby didn't allow himself to feel guilty for the woman's sudden silence. Especially if this truly, by some cosmic joke, was his mother -and all signs pointed to it being her- he couldn't bring himself to care about her feelings.

She certainly didn't care almost fifty years ago when she left her young child with her mother and never looked back.

Blowing air through his pursed lips, Robby surveys her MRI scan. Trying to keep himself in doctor mode long enough to diagnose and treat so she can be on her way as soon as possible. As far away from him as possible.

Sighing, Robby pushes his glasses back up his nose. His decades of training the only thing keeping his face calm, and relaxed as he took in the three tumors practically glaring at him on the scan. All three varying in sizes, each one bigger than the last.

"Right, Mrs. Rosenbaum do you see these spots-" Robby begins, turning the oversized computer screen to face the elderly couple. His pinkie circling each mass on the scan. First -the largest one- at the base of her skull around the brain stem taking up her cerebellum. Second -this one smaller than the last- lodged in her frontal lobe. And finally the smallest of the three camped in the occipital lobe. "-these are brain tumors. Likely a metastasization of your lung cancer."

"What um… what are her options?" The tall, broad older gentleman perched on the edge of his seat asked. His rough, gnarled hand holding his wife's smaller, softer one atop the hospital blanket on the bed.

Robby had forgotten the man -Frederick- was even in the room. Despite the man's large physical presence he'd been as silent as a mouse since Robby arrived. Not making so much as a peep during the awkward interaction between mother and long abandoned son.

No doubt the calm to his mother's storm. The listening ear to her endless chatter.

Shaking the intrusive thought from his mind Robby forces himself to focus on the moment.

Studying the man Robby couldn't help the questions spinning through his mind as he took in his silver hair and soft blue eyes.

Did you marry her knowing she abandoned her only child? If so how do you sleep at night knowing your wife was able to walk away from her eight-year-old son and never look back?

Swallowing around the words he wanted to say, Robby clears his throat. "I'll have neuro send someone down to go over your scan and talk to you about your options. But just looking at the placement of these tumors, I'm not sure how operable they will be. I suggest you both prepare yourselves for that outcome. I'm sorry."

The room was getting smaller, the air thickening with a clawing heat. An indescribable pressure growing with each second longer he spent sitting in the space. Staring at the woman who birthed him, and loved him for eight years before walking away like it was nothing. Pretending that he didn't recognize the soft crease of her brow, or the underlying scent of vanilla that meant she'd been baking recently.

He needed to get out.

And he needed to get out now.

"I'm s…sorry I… I need to-" Robby trails off, hastily logging out of her chart before standing abruptly. The stool spinning wildly before thumping dully against the drywall.

"Dr. Robby what's wrong?" Frederick startles, standing from his own chair is response to Robby's sudden outburst.

"Leibchen?" Johanna croaks softly, her brows knitting in concern.

Robby didn't hear them. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring of blood in his ears, and the shrill ringing pounding at the base of his skull.

He couldn't breath.

He needed to find Jack. Jack would help him to breath. Jack always helped him to breath.

With his vision blurring at the edges Robby pushed blindly at the ED room door. Stumbling from south fifteen, desperate to find his husband.

A never ending spiral of intrusive thoughts ringing around his skull like a mallet striking a timpani.

If it was her that would mean she'd been somewhere within the fifty-eight square miles that made up the city of Pittsburgh this whole time. And yet she never came back for him. Not even so much as a birthday card to let him know she still cared. That she still loved him, and thought about him everyday.

He couldn't think about that right now. Couldn't bear that thought and all it's added weight to his already heavy shoulders.

Where was Jack?

He needed Jack!

His heart constricted painfully in his chest as he was confronted with a decades old ache, "can't… breath." He wheezed, grimacing as his knuckles dig into his breastbone. His feet continuing to fumble against the starch white tiles.

"Robby! What's wrong?" Lena called, stepping into Robby's blurry line of sight. "Hey! Look at me. What's happening? Do you need me to get Jack?"

Robby didn't need to answer that because the silver haired veteran was already stalking towards them. His steps growing in speed as Robby's blatant distress became more and more visible.

Clearing the ED in record time, Jack instantly moved into Robby's field of vision. Lena wordlessly clearing all the nosy hospital staff with a pointedly raised brow. A trick she'd picked up from her daytime shift other half, Dana.

On instinct, Jack reaches up to hold the back of Robby's neck in one hand. His other resting over Robby's hand currently digging into his sternum, stilling it. "What happened, Mikey?" Jack mumbles, pulling Robby's head down so their foreheads were touching.

Jack had gotten Robby out of enough panic attack over the years that he knew that getting as many points of skin on skin contact as was possible was always the first step.

"Sh…she -fuck!" Robby stutters, his breaths starting to come in short, rapid bursts. His panic threatening to drown him in it's icy waters. Images from the day his mother left him flashing like strobe lights from Hell behind his eyes.

"Who?" Jack asks, brow furrowing his nose brushing against Robby's -anything to pull his focus- as he murmurs, "Robby you have to breath."

Jack no longer cared that everyone in the ED was staring at them. Even as Lena shooed them off, trying to give the two husbands some space. All Jack cared about was getting Robby back to a baseline.

Squeezing at the back of Robby's neck, Jack guided him through breathing forcing his lungs back to a regular rhythm. All the while his mind was running through every possible thing he thought could have set Robby off. "Breath, Mikey, just breath."

"Back… sh… she's back." Robby wheezes, his heart thundering like mad in his chest.

Rubbing his calloused thumb over Robby's beard, Jack locked eyes with Lena around his husband's shoulder. "Lena, do you know what he's talking about? Or at least do you know which room he was in last? What he was doing last?"

Lena checks her watch like somehow the small round time keeper would have all the answers to the universe. "Um… he came out of south fifteen." Looking up, she stares off in the direction of the charge desk.

Jack knew she couldn't read the board from here, but she rattled off the patients info as though reading a script. "Mrs. Rosenbaum, seventy-four, came after having a seizure in her sleep. Currently being treated for lung cancer. He must have gone in to go over her MRI results with her."

Without taking too much of his attention off of Robby, Jack runs through a checklist of everything he could remember about the elderly woman and her husband. Neither Mrs. or Mr. Rosenbaum seemed capable of doing something bad enough to set Robby off.

As Robby's breathing began to normalize Jack leans back to properly take him in for the first time since he'd crossed to ED. The pressure in the back of his head -something he called his Robby sense- pounding like a drum out of nowhere.

Gazing into his husband's milk chocolate eyes, Jack was struck with a wave of Déjà Vu. One he'd had earlier in the night when working with Ellis on Mrs. Rosenbaum. It crashed over him like an icy cold ocean wave, slamming the final piece of the puzzle that was Michael Abbot-Robinavitch into place.

"Robby is she… is Mrs. Rosenbaum your mother?" Jack mumbles, keeping his voice low enough that only Robby and maybe Lena -but she'd never tell- could hear him.

Robby's breath hitched violently as his thoughts were finally given form outside of his own head. Forcing him to accept the brutal truth of his situation. His mother -the woman who abandoned him when he was only eight years old- has fallen back into his life after nearly five decades.

And it wasn't just her that dropped in out of nowhere. No, that would be too easy, and the universe -as Robby learned at a very young age- was never easy on him. His mother came back and she brought three deadly tumors and a sprinkling of stage four lung cancer with her.

She'd come back on borrowed time, and he didn't know if he had in himself to even talk to her, let alone forgive her.

For fuck's sake he couldn't even tell her he recognized her too. Let her know he knew who she was. That even after forty-six years and the soft blurring around the edges that brought to ones memories, he knew her by scent alone. No matter how much that knowledge felt like a scalpel to the jugular. No matter how much he wished and prayed -something he did even after the violent act of losing his faith- to forget her entirely.

"She's-" he swallows harshly, his adams apple bobbing against the lump in his throat. "-she recognized me Jack. After all these years she… she recognized me."

Internal alarm bells go off, ringing like a struck gong inside of Jack's head. Every sleepless night that Jack held Robby in his arms after the older man woke up from a nightmare inspired by the very woman sitting two rooms down. Not to mention the years of wrestling with Robby's inherent urge to push people away, and be the first to leave. All of those moments spiral through his mind as he cups Robby's cheeks.

Jack never met the woman, but god did he loath her.

Quickly Jack shoves Robby into the nearest empty room. Shooting a hasty "give us a few" over his shoulder at Lena. The charge nurse giving him a mock salute was the last thing he saw before shutting the door behind them.

"Sit." Jack instructs, lightly pushing at Robby's broad shoulders. Guiding him to the hospital bed in the middle of the room.

"Jack," Robby sighs, reluctantly leaning against the edge of the hospital bed. "I'm fine, I just had a bit of a shock. I'll hand her off to Shen or Ellis, and I'll just steer clear of this part of the ED."

"No Robby, that's not… I mean it is, you can't treat a family member… estranged or otherwise." Jack says, one hand resting on his hip as the other waves flippantly in the air. Punctuating his frustration. "What I'm more concerned about is the fact that your mother -the woman who abandoned you almost fifty years ago- showed up in our ED."

Slapping his hands down on his thighs, Robby snaps, "I fucking know that Jack! But what do you want me to do? I can't fucking make her leave, she's got-" Robby trails off, the damning words dying in his throat as he shuffles back onto the bed more fully.

"That's not-" Jack starts, moving towards Robby. A long sigh loosing itself from his nose, he moves to stand toe to toe with his husband. "-that's not what I'm saying, and you know it."

Like the snap of an old, overused rubberband, Robby's shoulders slump. What little fight he had exiting his body in a silent release of breath. Much like a routine excision of a failing organ. "She's got fucking brain tumors," Robby says, his voice barely above a whisper. "At least one of which is more than likely inoperable."

"Liebe," Jack sighs, the german nickname rolling off his tongue like soft butter on hot toast. A habit he picked up from Robby's Bubbe well over a decade ago. Slowly he pushes his foot between Robby's calves, gently nudging his husband's legs apart. "Do you… do you want to talk about it?" He asks, stepping into the space he'd created between Robby's legs.

Crossing his arms defensively, Robby rests a hand on his cheek. His shoulders shrugging in defeat, as he sighs, "what is there to talk about, Jack? She's here, she knows I'm here. There's nothing that can be changed. We have a… a duty of care above all else."

Twisting his wedding band around his finger, Jack replies. "That does not in fact negate your feelings in all of this." He nudged Robby's inner thigh with his knee, punctuating his statement.

"I just… I want to get back to my job Jack. I want to be useful for a few hours before we have to go get Mathilde." Robby grumbles, pushing himself up to stand. Jostling Jack slightly in the process.

Scoffing Jack steps to the side, allowing Robby the space and freedom to leave. As much as he wanted to keep Robby locked in this room, hashing out the muddled feelings he was having, Jack knew he couldn't push. He knew that Robby would only shut down in response, and who knew how long it would take until he was willing to open up.

Turning from Jack, Robby wills his legs to move. Carrying him past the embrace of the man he desperately wanted to fall into.

"Robby just wait! Please just wait one second." Jack calls, his hand flying out to catch Robby around the chest. His palm flattening against the soft flesh resting over his husband's thundering heart.

Pausing his pursuit of an exit, Robby turns to face his husband. Waving his hand in the empty space between them, a silent invitation for Jack to go on.

Turning to fully face his husband, Jack's hand slides up from his chest to cup the side of Robby's head. Pulling him down to rest their foreheads against each others.

Brushing his nose against Robby's, Jack murmurs, "you can run and hide from this for now. Do what you need to cope for now, but when shift change happens. And we go home, you and I will be discussing this before picking up Tilly."

"Jack," Robby groans, trying to pull away from his husband.

"We made a promise to each other and to her, the day we brought her home. We promised to always tell each other when things get bad." On reflex, Jack pulls Robby in for a quick kiss. "And this… this qualifies as gotten bad. And I can't… correction I won't have you going home, and being around her without at least talking about it first."

Robby's breath hitches as he fights off a sudden wave of fresh tears. His voice coming out broken and crackling as he mumbles, "Jack I…"

Pulling back to look at his husband, his hand cupping Robby's cheeks, Jack says, "I know." Smiling reassuringly at him Jack steps back from Robby's personal space. His hand reluctantly leaving Robby's warm skin. "Come find me when you're ready to talk. About this or about why you came to work in the first place, yeah."

Nodding silently, Robby smiles at Jack in an attempt to reassure him, but Robby knew it didn't reach his eyes. He couldn't find it in himself to care about whether or not his smile seemed genuine. At this moment in time all he could care about was getting out of this room and as far away from prying eyes as possible.

He just wanted to go back to work. To be as useful as possible for as long as possible.

Slipping from the room, Robby allowed the comforting hustle and bustle of the ED to center him back into the present. Shaking his head Robby tries -failing miserably- to excise any lingering thoughts of the woman in south fifteen from his mind.

Chapter 2: Title tbd

• As a result they haven’t done more than some heavy petting before Jack’s rut (Robby’s apologetic but Jack kinda likes it, he feels like a teenager again)

• When Jack’s cycle does roll around, he doesn’t want to spend it with Robby for the sole reason that he wants their first time to be when they’re both clear headed

• Robby understands but his pride is still wounded

• The first day of Jack’s rut, Robby spends most of the day running around the city trying to distract himself from the delicious alpha back home

• He considers getting a hotel room, but is too worried about Jack potentially being dehydrated so he goes home to check on him

• The second he walks through the door, Jack’s instincts flare. Mate! Mate’s here!

• It’s quite a show, watching him try to greet Robby at the door. Naked, hard, hopping on one leg from wall to couch trying to get to him.

• Robby settles him on the couch and gets some water in him. He tries to maintain Jack’s dignity by only looking at his face, but it’s impossible. His mouth waters at the sight, but Robby stays strong.

• Strong ish…

• Jack is whining and begging for his omega, and it’s making Robby dizzy, realizing Jack wants him in this way. Primal desire

• He ends up holding a toy for Jack to fuck into, which quickly turns into Robby laid on his back, keeping the toy steady between his legs while Jack buries his nose in his neck

• By the time Jack knots the toy, Robby is soaking wet. And since Jack is tied to the toy, and not him, he’s able to move downward pretty easily

• He’s too stupid with rut to figure out how to take Robby’s pants off, so he ends up trying to eat him out through his jeans

• Robby is moaning and sweating like he’s in heat, but it’s not enough. He pushes Jack away and takes care of himself in the bathroom while the alpha whines outside the door

• The next day, Jack humps the bed, or Robby’s leg while keeping his nose tucked in various high scent places (neck, armpit, crotch)

• The day after that… Robby has work :(

• By the time he gets back, Jack’s rut is mostly over but the smell of miserable, lonely, horny alpha has seeped into every corner of the house

• Jack apologizes for what he did while in rut, but Robby waves him off, sheepishly admitting he enjoyed it

• To Jack, that changes everything. “I’m through the thick of it, but I’m still a little pent up, ya know.”

• Robby is also tightly wound from two days of intense over the clothes action

• Their first time is clumsy, awkward, and desperate. But it’s also perfect.

• Jack learns that Robby’s a squirter and he unexpectedly gets one last knot out of that information

• Robby apologizes, and Jack’s like “for what?” Then he says alpha’s don’t usually appreciate the mess outside of their cycles

• Jack very much appreciates the opportunity to lick up the mess