g.

After you’d determined they weren’t going to answer for about another hour, Robby had turned his attention from your sister to you. He’d made you breathe with a grounding hand on your shoulder. He’d calmly explained everything to you, asking each time if you understood. If you didn’t, he’d explain again, a little slower, until you’d got that your sister’s rash could be cured with some simple antibiotics.

Robby had watched the way the tension left your shoulders, the little tears gathering in the corners of your eyes disappearing with a relief so enormous you swore your heartrate dropped to normal again. He’d sat with you and your sister until your parents came, occasionally having to rush out to help with a different patient, but always coming back to you.

When you’d left that night, exhausted and grateful, he’d internally cursed at never asking for your number.

He was there again when you brought your very drunk friend in after she’d fell over in her heels. You were sober, and more frustrated at having to sit in a hospital when you would have rather been anywhere else. But then when Robby turned out to be the one checking your friend over, the frustration ebbed away. Enough that when he’d sorted out the girl you were with, you’d felt confident in giving him your number. You couldn’t be so frustrated at her after, not when she’d helped you get a date with him.

Your first date with him was unlike any other you’d been on in ages. You were used to cinemas and football games you couldn’t care less about. You weren’t used to dinner in the fancy part of town. Half the food seemed too expensive to even consider, but when Robby ordered with ease a burger three times the price of the one you’d eaten the night before, you decided to get the carbonara. Slightly cheaper than his, but still way too much. You’d seen him raise a brow, but he hadn’t commented anything.

Instead, he asked you about your degree. He wanted to know why you’d taken it (to appease your parents), what you wanted to do with it (you had no clue) and what you actually wanted to do (a question to which you had a myriad of answers). It was the first date you’d been on in a while that wasn’t spent entirely talking about who was sat opposite you. In fact, Robby only lightly touched on why he became a doctor. He said it made him feel old, and he didn’t want to feel old with you.

But he learned that it was inevitable for it to crop up in your relationship.

When he paid the bill for your meal, he said he had to as he was not only the man taking you out, but also almost thirty years older than you. To be fair, it wasn’t something guys your age often did for you. They’d almost always expect you to pay your half, and sometimes ask you to pay their half too. But Robby had done it like the money never really mattered. Maybe it didn’t.

You’d run a hand through his hair when you were round his, admiring each grey strand as if it were actually something special. He remembered asking you once if he should dye it, only to watch the pure look of horror on his face. You started changing the channel when ads for hair dye came on the TV, and routinely checked his cupboards to make sure he hadn’t secretly bought some. He thinks his glasses are something to hide too, claiming he didn’t need them despite having to frequently squint at what he was reading. When you’d found them hidden on his bedside table, you’d practically forced them onto his face and made sure to thoroughly show him how much you appreciated them.

Sometimes he’d make a reference and you’d stare at him blankly until he realised you’d probably never seen the show he was referencing. You’d do it with him too. Sitting on his couch and scrolling through TikTok, you’d mutter sounds beneath your breath that had Robby’s head snapping up to meet your gaze in confusion. He’d been stumped on ‘beekeeping age’ until he’d caved and asked Santos about it, much to his immediate regret.

It was way too clear when you moved in with him. Robby watched you make his home brighter and more colourful. You didn’t take it over, you just made a space that was his into yours and his. But now he slept in a bed with teddies, and fell asleep to movies you’d never seen before that he’d seen when they came out. Your record collection merged with his, bringing a lot more pop to his collection than he ever thought there would be. He had to help you with the instructions on how to build a wardrobe so that you actually had space for your vast collection of clothes that somehow managed to spill into his drawers too.

You’d encouraged him to go to therapy too. It was after he’d had started an argument with you that you just wouldn’t tolerate. You’d glared at him, arms folded across your chest as you stated that grown men went to therapy and little boys ran from their problems. It had been the first time someone had managed to get through to him. Maybe it was because you’d sounded infinitely older and wiser than him, or maybe it was just because you were right. Either way, he’d scheduled an appointment by the time he’d made you an apologetic breakfast the day after.

When you decided to go back to college for a degree you actually wanted, Robby had praised you to no end. He’d said it was good you were doing it then, because he proved that you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. He told everyone about what you were doing now, and would sit up proofreading your essays when you refused to put them through any sort of AI checker for fear of that somehow proving you used it. He’d buy you snacks when you wouldn’t move for hours whilst researching for endless hours. He never pulled you from it; he would’ve hated anyone doing that for him even when he needed it, and he assumed the same was true of you. Instead, Robby would open his arms when you would finally collapse into bed, listening to you mutter explanations sleepily.

What really amazed Robby was your insatiable energy despite it all though. He put it down to you being in your twenties and so eager to live your life, but he really didn’t know where it came from. He’d walk behind you as you ran through fields on weekends when you insisted the city was the last place on the planet you wanted to be. He watched you sing along to every song on the radio at the top of your lungs, insisting he join in with you, which he always reluctantly did. It was worth it though to see the smile split across your face.

He was always sore after fucking you too. He hated to blame his age, but… it was definitely his age. Every part of him would ache after putting all his energy into work. It was why he’d gotten used to you riding him instead, which he’d had to learn you loved after he actually did put his back out once. Robby did thank himself for finding it out later however when your insatiability carried into sex too. That and the collection of vibrators he’d bought you for Valentines (which he’d found entirely weird, but you’d adored, and that was what counted).

And afterwards, he’d always tuck you into bed, whispering, “I love you, sweet girl,” into your hairline.

I headcanon that Jacks got some kind of scarring from the incident where he lost his leg, maybe burn scars or just general shrapnel wounds around his stomach and chest.

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