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Your partner came back from the dead after being missing for decades. Every one of their friends who they went with ended up dying a horrible death.
Now, somehow, their entire mental health is based on the continued life and happiness of this fairground goldfish that they picked up.
Neither of you know the first thing about how to care for even a healthy fish. This fish has been poorly cared for, has multiple diseases and the person who handed it over explicitly didn't expect it to live nearly as long as it already has.
You're frantically googling how to set up a fish tank, where to buy fish food, can you even take a fish to the vet? Your partner wants you to know that they're happy they made it home and survived their horrific ordeal, but also that if anything happens to the fish then they're going to kill everyone on this planet and then themself.
You're honestly wondering if you're even helping the fish, or just prolonging its suffering, but your partner will only accept medical help for their many injuries or engage in basic self-care once they're confident that the fish is being looked after.
So you get a tank. You set up a filter and all that stuff. You learn way more than you ever wanted to know about water temperature and ph and nitrate levels. The fish is safe. You start to develop some affection for the little guy. Your partner begins to recover. The fish begins to recover.
Which is when you learn that in its 'healthy' state, the fish regularly refuses to sleep when tired, keeps begging for food that is obviously unhealthy for it (and struggling to eat the food that you do provide because “it tastes gross”), and continually tries to persuade your partner to take it out of its nice safe tank so it can go explore the wonderful world of Outside, where the slightest mishap will kill it instantly.
Your name is Adrian, and you kind of wants to strangle this fucking fish, statement.
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I love freak hucklerobby but I have suuuch a soft spot for sweet hucklerobby :/
dennis who whispers beautiful the first time robby's bare in front of him, making the older man blush, stutter out a I don't— I don't know about that, den.
dennis who furrows his brow in confusion, leans down to kiss a gentle trail down robby's throat, over his chest, humming against his skin. why not?
robby only laughs, shaky, hands sliding into den's curls, grounding himself. I'm not really the "beautiful" type, den.
dennis hmphs. presses a kiss to the soft of robby's stomach, making him shudder. well, I think you are.
robby softening, feeling so fond he might burst, embarrassingly like he might be about to cry. he shakes his head, clears his throat to get rid of it. sweet boy, he murmurs, a hand slipping under dennis's chin to tilt it up, the pad of his thumb petting against den's pretty pink lips. such a fuckin sweetheart.
it's easy to be sweet to you, dennis whispers.
robby scoffs. kid, you're the only one who thinks like that.
dennis kisses the pad of robby's thumb and robby breaks, tugging dennis up into a slow, deep kiss. panting into each other, robby's groans and dennis's quiet whimpers. it never really goes farther than that, not tonight. just wrapped up in each other, warm and safe.
i love making friends in fandom, i love playing with our toys together, i love coming up with increasingly niche aus, i love lifting strangers up, i love motivating people to create, i love watching someone get excited over an idea and immediately running with it, i love yelling in tags together, i love seeing someone gain confidence in their writing/art because people were kind to them <33
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This is genuinely an attempt at helpful signage directing people to the appropriate bathrooms near to the elevators but it also comes off slightly like the Chicago Public Library (Harold Washington branch downtown) has gender segregated elevators. Victorian-ass infrastructure.
Summary: A mistake. A panic attack. And the longest wait of Robbys life.
Part 14 of the A Good Reason To Keep Going series
Characters: Dr. Michael (Robby) Robinavitch, Jack Abbot (in texts)... and a cat
--- --- ---
The road had been brutal all morning. One of those summer days where the heat shimmered visibly above the asphalt and even the wind felt hot.
Mr. Abbot had been quiet for the last hour. Robby hadn’t thought much of it - the cat often slept during rides, especially during longer stretches with no breaks. And a part of Robby felt like the quiet was a blessing - especially after Mr. Abbot had commented right into his ear non-stop for the last three days.
Robby turned into a gas station and killed the engine. For a moment he just sat there, rolling his shoulders and enjoying the sudden silence. Then he swung his leg off the bike.
“Okay, cat. Break. Let’s get you some food and water, huh?”
He didn’t get a response which immediately felt wrong. The backpack on his back stayed quiet. There was no scratching, no offended meow, no movement.
Something cold spread through Robby and he crouched beside the bike, swinging the backpack from his shoulders, instantly unzipping it. The cat lay on his side, breathing hard.
“Cat?”
Mr. Abbot lifted his head slowly.
Too slowly.
Robby swallowed hard, touching him. His ears were strangely hot, his eyes seemed dull and he was panting, drool pouring out of his mouth. He looked seriously unwell. He didn’t dramatically complain - he was just lying there, lethargic, panting, his fluffy chest moving rapidly.
“Fuck.”
Robby forced himself to take a deep breath - then he moved, years of emergency kicking in instantly. The ABCDE assessment - the very one he taught countless students and residents over the years - rattled through his brain.
“Okay, buddy, let’s see… airway appears patent, increased respiratory rate…” He watched him for a moment. “I guess… forty-two, huh? Okay, what about your gums… a little tacky… really don’t know if that’s normal for cats… altered mental status… and well…” He closed his eyes for a split second. “Fuck, I did this.”
He stood, reached into his saddlebags and after rummaging for a moment pulled out two shirts. He took the bottle of water and tucked it into his back pocket. Then he crouched and took the backpack, walking into the shade next to the gas station shop. He sat down in the cool damp grass and wetted one of the shirts with water, placing it on the ground. He reached inside the backpack, lifted Mr. Abbot gently and placed him onto the towel.
“Let’s cool you down a little, huh?”
The cat opened his eyes for a second, let out a short hiss, then closed his eyes again, going back to panting. Robby swallowed hard when he wetted the other shirt, placing it gently on top of him.
Robby looked down at him, feeling utterly helpless for a moment. His heart was beating fast - he knew exactly what could happen with patients suffering from heatstroke. Inflammation. Brain swelling. Death.
“You’ll be okay, cat.” It took Robby a moment to realize he was using his doctor voice. The calm, steady one. The one he always used to calm down terrified patients - and terrified relatives. “You’re going to be okay.”
Robby pulled out his phone. Jack’s words echoed in his head. You should know where the nearest vet is anyway.
Well, fuck, he didn’t.
He opened his browser, his hands shaking so badly he needed ages to type in something. Then he heard footsteps approaching.
“Um, Sir, if you don’t intend to use the pump you need to move your bike.” A woman stood in front of him. Her eyes flickered from him to the panting cat next to him. “Oh, Jesus, what’s wrong with your cat?”
Robby rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I think it’s heatstroke. I’m looking for a vet right now.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her face softened instantly. “My brother-in-law is a vet. I’ll give him a call right now to come here and take this poor little fellow to his clinic.”
Robby smiled shakily. “Thanks.”
She waved it off and marched back to the shop.
Robby stroked one hand gently along Mr. Abbots back. “C’mon, buddy. You heard that, right? Help’s coming.” He kept talking just to keep himself from going insane. “We’ll take you into the clinic and there you’ll get some fluids and medicine and you’ll be your old grumpy self in no time. Okay?”
Mr. Abbot was still panting, still not really reacting to anything Robby did.
“Don’t do this, okay?” The words escaped him before he could stop them. And suddenly he was scared - because his brain went somewhere ugly. To the possibility of how this could end.
He closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head slightly.
“You’re a fighter, buddy. Right? You’re going to be okay. You can’t leave me. I need you.”
Only then did a single tear run down his cheek.
“Come on, buddy” Robby whispered, gently stroking the damp fur between his ears. “You don’t get to go quiet on me now. I spent the last three days wishing you’d stop yelling into my ear…” He swallowed hard. “I take it back.”
“Hey!” The woman from the gas station shop came back, balancing a bowl. “My brother-in-law is coming - he should be here in a couple of minutes. He said to keep the cat cool with damp towels and try to give it something to drink. So I brought water.”
She lowered it down in front of Mr. Abbot. He opened his eyes a little and tried to lift his head - but he couldn’t. Robby swallowed hard, then dunked his finger into the water and touched it to his mouth. “Here, buddy, come on - just a drop, huh?”
The cat licked the water from his finger. Robby repeated it. Again and again. His own mouth was dry as the panic seeped into every fiber of his body.
The ride to the vet clinic was a blur. The vet - a nice man in his fifties, with a no-nonsense attitude and a firm handshake - transported Mr. Abbot in his car while Robby followed on his motorcycle. He couldn’t tell where they were going - his own mind was occupied with the worst thought imaginable, his attention focused solely on the car ahead of him.
The vet took Mr. Abbot in the back to examine him more closely while one of his assistants brought Robby into the waiting room. “I’ll come and get you once your cat is stabilized, okay?” She gave him a reassuring smile. “And you have to fill out some forms, okay?”
He nodded slowly, sitting down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, the backpack useless next to him. He filled out the forms as best as he could in his current state - he had to correct his own name and phone number twice because he just couldn’t focus.
Then he grabbed his phone and opened the chat with Jack.
Robby:
I fucked up.
The reply came immediately.
Jack:
Michael, what’s wrong? Do I have to come?
Robby stared at the message for a moment. Oh, how he wished Jack would be here, helping him through the wait, helping him to drown the nasty voices inside his own head.
Robby:
No.
Jack:
What’s wrong?
Robby’s thumbs hovered over the screen. He had no idea where to begin. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to take a deep breath - and failing miserably. His phone started to vibrate in his hands with an incoming call.
Jack.
Of course.
Robby took it and pressed the phone against his ear. “Jack?” His voice was small, quiet - broken.
“Michael?” Jack’s voice was the complete opposite - strained, wary, agitated. “What’s wrong? Tell me. Where are you? Do you need help?”
Robby’s composure cracked. “... I think I fucked up.”
This was met with silence. “How bad?”
Robby glanced around the empty waiting room, the faint sounds of people working in the back, the humming of the A/C. “Bad.”
He could hear Jack taking a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me exactly how you fucked up.”
Robby teared up. “Mr. Abbot, he is… I don’t know how it happened but… he was unresponsive and hot and… I didn’t know - and then the woman… I was trying to get help but I couldn’t-”
“Michael.” Jack’s voice became a little softer. “Is the cat still alive?”
Robby started sobbing. His free hand came up to his face, covering it while the sobs tore through him. The hand with the phone slid to his lap. He could hear Jack’s voice in the distance. “Michael? Michael, talk to me.”
The assistant behind the counter shot him a look. “Mr. Robinavitch, are you alright?”
He shrugged and sobbed and shook his head, all at once.
She walked over and handed him a tissue, placing one hand on his shoulder. “The doc is working on your cat right now. He’s doing everything. It looks good.”
Robby looked up at her, grabbing the tissue. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yeah.” She squeezed his shoulder gently. “But I don’t blame you for your tears. It’s always scary when we can’t help our loved ones, right?”
He nodded slowly.
“Michael? Michael?” Jack was still there, still bewildered, still wanting answers.
The assistant glanced down. “You shouldn’t let your friend wait.” Another squeeze then she walked back to her desk.
Robby looked after her for a moment, blew his nose then put the phone back onto his ear. “Sorry” he mumbled. “I’m here again.”
“Thank fuck.” Jack sounded relieved. “Okay, please - what is with the cat?”
“He’s alive” Robby managed with another shaky breath. “At least he’s still alive right now. I think he suffered a heatstroke in the backpack.” He swallowed hard. “I stopped at a gas station and he was barely responsive and lethargic."
“Oh shit!” Jack cursed. “But you stopped?”
“Yeah.”
“You noticed?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re at the vet now?”
“... yeah.”
“Okay. Okay. Okay. That’s good. That’s perfect. You did everything right.” Robby wasn’t sure if Jack wanted to reassure him - or himself. “I didn’t even know cats could get a heatstroke. Every day’s a school day, huh, Michael?”
Robby let out a wet laugh. “I guess.”
There was a brief silence. “How scared are you right now?”
Robby huffed once through his nose, slightly annoyed.
Jack waited. “Michael, answer me.”
Robby closed his eyes. “... more than I’d like.”
“Yeah. That fucker really grew on you, huh?” Another pause. “But I get it. I didn’t even meet him yet and I’d burn entire villages down for him.”
That made Robby laugh properly now. A wet, broken laugh. “That’s the ginger in you, huh?”
Jack chuckled. “Probably. I guess the cat and me - we’re soulmates.”
“He’d trade you for a burger in an instant” Robby said, his voice still small, but starting to feel a little better.
“... yeah. But that’s fine.” Jack swallowed hard before he spoke again, his voice suddenly very determined. He sounded less like Jack now and more like Dr. Abbot. “Okay, we’re fixing this.”
Robby frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“No more midday rides.”
“Um, but-”
“No.” Jack’s voice was firm. “You ride in the early morning. Hell, you’re awake half the night anyway so from now on you have to drag your ass out of bed even earlier. You make a long ass pause around noon - two or three hours, somewhere in the shade. And you let the fucker out of his carrier then.”
Robby thought about it. “Yeah… yeah, that could work.”
“You could also get yourself a room in a no-tell motel for a couple of hours during the day. One with proper A/C” Jack said.
Robby started laughing. “People will think I’m going to do nasty stuff with that cat then.”
“And?” Jack was still serious.
Robby shrugged even though Jack couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
“You better. And - no backpack.”
Robby scoffed. “What else am I supposed to do? Strap him to my chest?”
“... honestly?”
“Oh no. No, no, no.” Robby shook his head. “Nope.”
Jack let out a sigh. “Okay, I’m going to google motorcycle cat carriers right after this call and have something shipped to you overnight. Let me know the address of your motel, okay?”
“Jack…”
“Oh, don’t jack me!” he shot back. “You lost your opinion privileges when you almost cooked that little fucker.”
Robby fell silent. “Oh, wow, that’s rude.”
“It was meant rude.”
He stifled a laugh. “Okay, fair.”
Silence settled between them.
Jack was the first to speak again. “You scared me, Michael.”
Robby looked down at his hands. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize” Jack replied immediately and after a beat added: “No, actually - apologize a little. After I read your text I thought you were doing something incredibly stupid.”
“Like what?” Suddenly Robby’s mouth was dry again.
Another pause. “I don’t know. Trying to crash your motorcycle on purpose or something like that. Trying to die. Something like that.”
Robby's ears started ringing. He swallowed hard. “I need to go - I think the vet’s coming.”
“Okay. Keep me updated. And send me the address of your accommodation, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Robby ended the call, slipped the phone back into his pocket and closed his eyes.
Obviously he hadn’t been as subtle as he thought.
An hour later the assistant called him over to the counter. Robby stood up so quickly he almost felt dizzy when the blood rushed into his legs.
“Is he okay?” he asked immediately, his hands gripping the counter.
“He’s stable. Would you like to go and see him?”
She smiled when he nodded instantly. She led him to the back, where a row of kennels lined the wall. In the last one was Mr. Abbot, still lying on his side, an IV line attached to him, meowing quietly when he noticed Robby.
Robby immediately put his fingers through the bars, rubbing his nose. “Hey buddy.” Tears welled in his eyes and he had to swallow hard to maintain his composure. “Hey, buddy. I’m so sorry, so sorry.”
“Mr. Robinavitch?” The vet approached him, smiling a little.
Robby looked up. “Yeah?”
“He’s stable right now. He still needs IV fluids and monitoring and we’d like to keep him for a couple of days for observation. We just want to keep a close eye on his kidneys and hydration.”
Robby nodded quickly. “Yeah, sounds like a good plan. So - heatstroke?”
The vet glanced at the cat. “Well, I’d say heat stress approaching heatstroke. It’s a good thing you called for help that early. Another hour in the backpack could have had a very different outcome.”
Robby’s stomach tightened at those words and his movements froze for a moment. “Shit…”
The vet gave him a reassuring smile. “The important thing is that he got help and is now on the road to recovery. He just needs a little time.”
“Can I stay here?” The words slipped out before Robby could stop them.
The vet frowned. “You can stay for a little while, yeah. It’s not possible for you to stay overnight or for extended periods. However, you can come back tomorrow morning and we’ll keep you updated during the night, if you want to.”
“Yes. Please.”
“Okay. Great.” The vet gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Focus on the positive. He’s a fighter and chances are good he’ll make a full recovery.”
Robby nodded. “Okay.”
“Great. See you later, Mr. Robinavitch.” He disappeared again.
Robby turned back to Mr. Abbot who was still looking exhausted. When Robby continued to rub his nose, the cat slowly bumped his head against his hand. And… he started purring. It was barely audible but it was there.
Tears started streaming down Robby’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry, buddy” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. I should’ve checked. I should’ve done more research. I nearly lost you because I was so fucking stupid.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. I promise to take better care of you, okay? I promise. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ll take care of it. I’ll make it up to you. Just… get well soon, okay? I can’t bear to lose you.”
Mr. Abbot opened his eyes a little, meowing softly.
Robby smiled weakly. “Yeah, I know, I’m an idiot.” He let out a long breath. “But I’m so fucking grateful you’re still alive.”
--- --- ---
Part 15: And I’d like to meet the cat. You up for that?
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