Liliana

you sit on the edge of the crinkling paper of the examination table in exam room 4, a dull, throbbing ache radiating down the left side of your neck. every time you try to tilt your head, a sharp reminder of the sudden impact flashes through your muscles. a minor fender-bender on the way home from your daughter's hockey practice left you with a stiff, aching neck, but thankfully, nothing more. next to you, your twelve-year-old daughter is swinging her legs off a plastic chair, her hockey gear bag resting by her feet. she’s still wearing her team jersey and, next to her, your five-year-old son is entirely unbothered by the clinical surroundings, happily coloring on a piece of scrap paper. the minor accident had sent your heart into your throat, but as you look at your children, the overwhelming wave of maternal relief keeps you grounded.

"it seems to be nothing more than a little muscle strain," dr shen says softly, his gloved hands expertly palpating the base of your skull, his expression a soothing balm to the lingering adrenaline in your veins. shen steps back, charting something on his tablet with a soft, reassuring smile. "the kids are completely clear, not a single mark or tender spot on either of them. i’m going to order a mild anti-inflammatory for you and then you are free to go home and rest."

"thank goodness," you sigh, reaching down to ruffle your son's hair. "i just wanted to be absolutely sure they were okay."

outside the glass doors of the exam room, jack is walking fast, clipboard in hand, listening to an intern rattle off a patient's vitals. 

“send for dr. fitz, he’ll know what to do. and call me when you get the results. what’s the state of the girl in bay one?”

jack turns then towards the intern as she starts listing the latest lab results on the young patient that just arrived a few minutes ago. he is in full doctor mode. focused, distant, and professional. 

that is, until he passes the curtain of your bay, a sudden movement catching his eye. it’s a high, dark auburn ponytail swinging back and forth. a very specific, familiar ponytail.

the same one he usually fights with on his days off as he helps his daughter get ready for practice, earnestly trying to avoid any bumps or stay hairs hanging from the ponytail. jack stops dead in his tracks, causing the intern to almost crash into his back.

jack looks through the pale curtain, eyes widening. the clipboard in his hand feels suddenly too heavy. and it only gets worse once he notices a second head poking though the curtain, this time his baby boy. his entire world is sitting right now in exam room 4. 

he abandons the intern mid-sentence, pulling the curtain aside, his usual collected demeanor completely evaporating.

"jack?" shen looks up, surprised by his sudden entrance.

but jack isn't looking at him. he rushes straight to the side of the table, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, wide with a rare, raw panic. "what happened? are you okay? are the kids okay?"

"hey, breathe," you say instantly, reaching out to catch his hand. your fingers lace into his, and the grounding touch immediately lowers his shoulders, though his chest is still heaving. "we're okay. i promise. just a stupid little bumper-to-bumper on the way home from the rink. someone short-braked ahead of us."

your daughter rolls her eyes playfully. "mom took the hit like a champ, dad. you should be proud."

"daddy!" your five-year-old chirps, abandoning his coloring page to scramble off the chair and throw his arms around jack’s leg.

jack immediately drops to one knee, wrapping his strong arms around your son, burying his face in the boy's hair for a brief, fiercely protective second. he looks up at your daughter, reaching out to squeeze her knee. "you're sure you're both okay? nothing hurts?"

"we're totally fine, dad," she reassures him, giving him a warm smile.

only then does jack stand back up, turning his attention fully to you, eyes glowing with adoration and relief. his hand cups your cheek, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone.  "and you? your neck?"

"just a little stiff," you murmur, leaning into his touch, completely accustomed to how deeply he cares for his family, even if he keeps it hidden from the rest of the world. "dr. shen was just checking me out. he says we’re good to go."

speaking of which… the room is entirely silent as four sets of eyes turn to the doctor.

you look past jack’s shoulder and notice that dr shen is standing there, his jaw slightly slack. on the other side of the curtain, the intern who had been following jack is staring open-mouthed, and a bunch of other nurses, including lena, have paused in the hallway, completely transfixed by the scene.

the great private dr. abbot is currently looking at you with a softness none of them knew he possessed, his hand resting tenderly on your waist while a local little league hockey player calls him dad.

jack blinks, finally realizing the audience he has gathered. he straightens up, but he doesn't let go of your hand, the other one resting on top of your son’s head. he clears his throat, the faint trace of a rare, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks at his stunned colleague.

"john," jack says, his voice regaining its usual steady cadence, though it's much warmer now. "i believe you've met my wife. and these are our kids."

shen blinks, a massive grin suddenly breaking across her face. "your kids? jack, you have a whole family!”

“i do,” he says, smiling softly.

“and you didn’t think of sharing that information with the group.”

"i like my privacy," jack defends himself. he looks down at his kids, then back to you, the sheer relief of knowing you are all safe overtaking any awkwardness about his secret being out. he leans down, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to your lips right in front of the entire observation window. " i'm glad you're all safe."

"we are," you whisper, smiling against his lips. "now, can you sign our discharge papers, dr. abbot? we want to go home."

"consider it done," jack says softly. he turns to the staring interns outside with a mock-stern raise of his eyebrows, and they instantly scramble back to work, whispering excitedly among themselves.

For what it's worth, you still sleep next to each other that night. But where Jack would typically hold you close the whole night through, he's instead turned onto his side, practically hanging off the edge of the bed he seems to want to be so far away from you.

You lie awake the next two hours replaying things over and over again until your thoughts have turned into a jumbled mess, like a tangled ball of yarn needing to be unwound. The dishwasher hadn't been draining correctly the last two times you ran it, so you'd only asked if he could please take a look to see if he could figure out what seemed to be the matter.

His expression had shifted in an instant—from cool and collected to resentful and irate.

Has he finally had his fill of you, then? Have you grown to be too much for him to handle? Does he desire returning to bachelorhood again?

Turning onto your side as well, you make to reach out to him; to rest a loving palm against his back. But just as quickly, you retract the limb before moving away once more, deciding to let him cool off instead.

That night, you cry yourself to sleep.

The past week has been so silent in the house that you could hear a pin drop at any given hour. Jack has made little effort to speak to you, so you've in turn kept your mouth shut as well—terrified of setting him off again.

Things are just as bad at work.

Maybe worse.

Because there, where he's your superior, he feels justified in taking his persistent anger out on you by continuously barking orders and pointing out every time you make a mistake—right down to when the laces on your tennis shoes are coming undone. You've deferred so extremely to his authority that you've stopped calling him Jack, instead replacing it with either Dr. Abbot, or, later on, 'Sir'.

It'd tasted like vinegar when you did so. Surprisingly, the first time you tried it out—just to see how it'd feel, but also to gage his reaction—he'd stumbled over himself while advising a patient on the surgery they'd soon need to have scheduled in order to remove a swollen abscess, but ultimately returned to business as usual not long after.

Disappointment had settled into your chest at how unbothered he seemed by it. If not preferential toward it.

His behavior is wearing on you more than you initially thought it would.

Like at dinner and lunchtime, where you used to devour your meals because your days were so jam-packed with work, errands, and chores that you would always be starving when mealtime came around, you now only pick absentmindedly at your food, finding it to be of little interest as your appetite seems to have gone.

You're not sleeping well, either. The night finally came—not too long ago, in fact—where you were so exhausted that you opted to silently slip away to the couch... Only to wake up back in bed when your alarm went off.

Maybe you sleepwalked back to it.

Wanting nothing more than for the endless series of berates to end, you start giving Jack a wide berth in the ED, choosing instead to blend into the wall whenever you're in a room together by standing out of the way, allowing him space to work where you can't be an impediment.

People seem to have noticed, but after bearing witness to what earning his ire gets you, they've kept their mouths shut about it.

You've never felt so alone.

You take your time placing your things in your assigned locker before nightshift begins—fighting against the hot tears that well in your eyes from exhaustion all the while.

You can't imagine being on your feet for the next ten to twelve hours in this place. You can even more scarcely imagine going home to a house that's grown so cold and devoid of even a modicum of love or happiness that stepping over its threshold now feelings akin to walking across a minefield.

Something has broken between the two of you that you don't know how to fix. You still fold his laundry, put leftovers away for him to eat when he gets hungry, and make his side of the bed. Meanwhile, Jack changed the oil in your car a few days past, despite you making an appointment to have it done at a nearby autoshop because you were so incredibly afraid of asking him to. You deemed the extra cost of a hundred dollars worth it if it saved you from a fight.

When you glanced out the window and saw him lying on the ground beneath the front of your car, however, you disappeared into the bedroom to sob.

You don't know why.

Now here you stand, staring down at the stethoscope he bought you, wanting to pop the pieces off and throw them in the garbage as a way to take out the simmering anger you've been bottling up.

Instead, however, you shove it down like always and drape the object across your neck before gently pushing your locker closed with a soft click.

When you look up, it's to the sight of Robby standing half a dozen paces away with crossed arms and a thoughtful look on his face.

"I thought you went home," you remark.

He shrugs slightly before stepping closer. "I'd hoped to catch you alone so that we could talk."

You glance toward the end of the hall, knowing Jack will be looking for you soon. If you're so much as a minute late to starting your shift, he'll have your head. It'll be one more excuse for him to bite it off.

You want to scream at him for it.

Focusing on Robby again, you softly shake your head. "I can't. Jack will—"

He comes closer. "To tell you the truth, I really don't give a shit what Jack wants right now. My sole concern is for you."

You shift on your feet.

Robby reaches around and plants a hand firmly against the middle of your back while guiding you toward the elevator. "C'mon, we're gonna go talk somewhere private."

"But—"

He shakes his head gently. "No buts. C'mon."

The world seems to fall away from up here. The city of Pittsburgh somehow seems so very inconsequential when you're looking at it from an angle of thirteen stories up.

Too bad you can't tend to patients on the roof.

Seating himself upon a railing near the ledge while still facing the direction where the two of you just ascended a flight of stairs, Robby grips the steel beneath him. "I'm not going to pretend to know, or even understand every facet of your two's relationship."

You gently cross your arms as a subconscious form of defense.

"But what I can tell you is that the way he's been treating you isn't sustainable. Every night when you two come in, he goes one way, you go the other, and from what I've been told, the only time he bothers speaking to you is to reprimand you. For things that absolutely do not warrant it."

Taking a sudden interest in your shoes, you stare at them while shrugging—ignoring how a lump is quickly forming in your throat. It's really becoming quite the hindrance in every day conversation as of late. "He's just—" You sigh, then start again. "We—" Your nostrils burn. "It's a rough patch. I can fix it."

"Y/N, look at me."

You blink back tears while tracing the loops of your shoe's laces with your eyes.

"Look at me, Y/N," he insists.

Lifting your head, you do as he asks while brushing away the tears that're now slipping down your cheeks.

"He's going to steamroll you if you stick around. How long is it going to take before you finally see that it's only going to continue getting worse?"

You scowl. "He's supposed to be your best friend. So why are you doing this?"

He throws his hands up before slapping them against his thighs. "So, because he's my friend, I can't hold him accountable when he's emotionally abusing you?"

You flinch as if you've been hit. "It... It's not like that—"

"Then tell me what it is like," Robby says while standing. "Tell me that you're not afraid when he walks into a room, because I've sure as hell bore witness to behavior that tells me otherwise." He swipes an index finger through the air—gesturing horizontally with it. "He comes in the room, and you can't get out of it fast enough."

He comes closer. "You dare to voice a thought or opinion, and it's all he can do to not list every single reason why you might be wrong. Why he knows more than you."

Your chin wobbles. "He's just going through a hard time."

He chuckles, but it's mirthless. "Well, that makes two of us," he states while sliding his hands into his pockets. "Difference is, I could never imagine treating you the way that he has: like his own personal fucking punching bag."

You ball your hands into fists at your sides. "Stop it."

"Why? Am I telling you things you don't wanna hear? Am I finally making sense?"

You grit your teeth and practically snarl like an animal cornered.

"You want somebody to take it out on?" He questions. "You wanna hit me?" Robby asks while studying your fists. "C'mon," he says while gesturing toward his chest. "Give it your best shot, sweetheart. I can take it."

Your fuse having finally run its course, it bottoms out against dynamite.

As if you've gone feral, you begin beating against his chest with your fists. "Just shut up!" You scream. "Stop it! Stop talking about it!"

You pummel his pectorals. "I fucking hate you! I hate you! Why did you do this to me?! Why?!"

You claw at his zip-up hoody with vehemence. "What did I ever do but anything you asked?! Why wasn't it enough?!"

Robby stumbles back slightly before planting his feet once more, letting you continue on with working this pent-up rage out of your system.

"Why wasn't I? I'm not stupid! I'm not a nuisance! Why've you done this to me?!"

Soon, you begin to grow weak, and the sides of your fists sore. Your righteous anger turns to sorrow, and your screams to sobs while your fists loosen to instead grasp at Robby, now desperate for comfort. With wobbling knees, you stumble before finally falling against him.

He quickly catches you up in his arms and wraps them around you to hold—one tightly around your middle while his opposite hand cups the back of your head. "Shh. It's alright. It's over now."

You gasp for breath between violent, all-consuming sobs. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but fall short when all you can release are strangled cries.

Your body trembles as you grow cold all over. So hard that it begins to shake even him.

Robby releases you only momentarily to shrug off his jacket before draping it over your shoulders and zipping up the front to keep you warm. Cupping your cheeks between his hands, he forces you to meet his gaze. "Tomorrow, you're taking the day off."

"Rob—"

"Let me finish," he interrupts. "Because the day after, you're joining the day shift."

Your eyes grow wide. All hell will break loose if you do that.

Animatedly shaking your head, you mean to tell him no, until he grips your upper arms. "That right there is what I'm talking about: you're not wanting to tell me no for any other reason than because you're afraid of how he'll react. When things have reached a point where you're walking on eggshells and always being the one to acquiesce unless things end in a fight, is when it's time for a change."

You throw your head back and stare up at the stars in an attempt to calm your breathing before you try to change his mind.

Watching as your shoulders rapidly rise and fall, he continues. "Maybe you're just around each other too much. It's the only reason I can come up with. Unlike most people, your jobs don't serve as a daily period of separation. Instead, you're constantly together. For some, maybe an arrangement like that works out for the better. Others? It's a recipe for disaster, which you two are quickly coming to learn. So, I'm putting you on dayshift with me starting the day after tomorrow. It'll give the two of you some space."

You lower your chin. "He won't be happy about it."

Robby shrugs while crossing his arms. "I couldn't care less. I'm doing this for both your benefit. If he has an issue with it, then he can take it up with me. I find out he's taking it out on you, and he won't like the way things go after."

You open your mouth to defend him—God knows why—until Robby interrupts. Again.

"I know I'm not your attending. But I am an attending, nonetheless. So what I say goes. My decision is final."

He takes a small step forward, and slides his hand along the curve of your neck, slowly tilting your head back until you're looking up at him. "Two days from now, you're mine."

To his credit, Robby pulls Jack outside to the ambulance bay to inform him of your new working arrangement so you don't have to.

And he blows up in spectacular fashion.

So extremely does his anger set ablaze that Santos records their argument from afar while somebody behind you—McKay, you believe—quietly mumbles "Worldstar" before walking off. Meanwhile, all the rest of them stay captivated by the quarrel.

Until Dana shouts for everyone to get back to work.

Meanwhile, you stay put—utterly mortified as you watch Robby stand there with crossed arms and a set jaw while Jack loses his fucking mind in front of him.

Once things seem to have finally settled—as much as they can, anyway—Jack comes storming back in while Robby merely grants you a small smile, coupled with a reassuring nod from the doorway, before turning and setting off for home.

Turns out that working separate shifts most certainly does put some distance between the two of you. As in...all of it. Not only are you getting distance at work, but you're both just missing each other when you come home.

But not talking has become the norm for the both of you, after all. It's become routine, really.

It makes you upset to think about the fact.

You do your best to enjoy your new daytime shift, though, which isn't incredibly hard to do now that you're being given regular audience with the sun and don't live in perpetual darkness anymore. Literally or figuratively.

And Robby has been a balm to your ragged nerves.

You're not afraid to go to him with questions, or to voice your thoughts aloud when a new patient is presented with curious symptoms. Instead, he listens patiently, commends you for your intelligence, and takes what you say to heart. But in the best of ways.

All that's really left is for him to plaster a gold star on your forehead at the end of every workday to complete the whole adoring teacher ensemble.

Initially, you'd told yourself that working a shift opposite your usual one wouldn't last long. Maybe a couple weeks, then things would get better, you and Jack would make up, and things would finally return to normal.

But the longer you spend away from him, the less you find yourself wanting to return to your "usual" routine. Such a desire makes you feel guilty. Having you there to confide in had meant something to him. When he would tell you his darkest thoughts—like memories from overseas he'd rather forget—or when you would massage his aching leg while he bit back tears, mumbling over and over again that 'it wasn't really there'.

And you miss making love to him. Or...him to you. Feeling him sliding inside of you once he'd worked at your body with his tongue and teeth and fingers until you were dripping and literally begging him to sink himself between your thighs is a feeling you now ache for.

Does he remember those moments too, or only you? Does he care to?

You wish you could ask him.

Just when you've unlocked your phone and have pulled up your texting app does Robby call your name. Looking up, he waves his hand for you to follow him. "C'mon, sweetheart. Just got another case I want your help on."

Tucking your phone back away, you follow in his direction.

Time has stood still for Jack on so many occasions that the sheer amount of instances overflows the fingers on both his hands and instead now slips through them like water. But this one, in which an ambulance is incoming with a woman matching your exact description, makes an entire life potentially lost race through his mind's eye—blowing apart any plans he once thought plausible for the two of you, like dynamite collapsing a mine.

And it will have been all his fault.

Why hadn't he added your name to the deed for his house? He told you it was yours just as much as his, and yet he never made it so literally. At his age, why has he not gotten down on one knee—refusing to waste even one more moment by not binding the two of you together so that death alone may be the factor which serves to part you?

Most of all: why did he allow it to reach this point? Where there used to be no room between the two of you—literal or otherwise—there is now a gaping chasm. Is there even enough apologies that can be said to serve as thread to stitch this frayed bond back together?

Has Jack done too much damage and thus turned you away from him entirely? Your clothes are still in the closet next to his, your soaps neatly placed in the shower caddy beside his Old Spice body wash, and your tennis shoes rest by his running shoes near the front door. But is it all merely out of habit, or because you're still committed?

As Jack nears the doors to the ambulance bay, a thought which nearly cleaves his world in two crosses his mind: none of it may matter soon.

While EMS rattle off vitals while pulling an occupied gurney from the back of the ambulance, Jack remains on stand-by, unable to look—to really see.

"Is... Is it her?" Jack asks, though the words hardly feel like they came from him.

Parker turns back to him with furrowed brows while gripping one side of the gurney to begin wheeling it inside. "What're you talking about?"

Jack swallows thickly. "Is it—"

Like a rubber band snapping into place, his mind returns to itself. He's wasting precious time staring, but he has to study every facet of the unfamiliar face, so as to reassure himself that his reaction was wholly unwarranted after all.

Not you, not you, not you.

Gripping the other side of the gurney, Jack flies into action by rattling off orders and moving his new patient inside.

If there is a God, he's just given him a second chance to fix what he's broken. And he'll be damned if he wastes the opportunity.

He's left you a few voicemails, as well as a couple sweetly written notes on the fridge. Small, but nevertheless precious things you hold close to your heart while deeply hoping that this is the beginning of a new start for the pair of you.

Jack had said in one voice message that he'd laid everything on the table with his therapist—that he hadn't been entirely honest with them for a little while because he was so ashamed of his treatment toward you. And because he wasn't disclosing it to the one person he should've been, he thus found himself unable to stop. He'd made clear that that was no excuse for any of it, but rather an explanation. If you were looking for one, that is.

That between burnout, and PTSD-riddled nightmares he never divulged to you...yes, he turned you into his own personal punching bag. Just as Robby had said. But now there was admittance, and thus, forgiveness and understanding could be granted in kind.

When you go to your daytime attending with the happy news that things seem to finally be on the mend between you and Jack, he seems happy enough to hear that his friend is doing better, but somehow still perturbed.

"I still don't see how it'll work out," he'd said.

You'd merely given him a quizzical look.

"You have three options," he'd explained. "One," he'd begun by holding up a thumb. "You stay on dayshift with me and the two of you continue never seeing each other. Two," he'd said while flicking up his pointer finger. "You return to nightshift and hope for the best—that things don't go sideways again."

Finally, he extending his middle finger. "Three, you find a different place to work."

You'd reeled back, causing him to reach out to you. "That isn't me trying to fire you, sweetheart. I'm just telling you how it's probably going to wind up. I'm not saying there isn't a scenario in which you don't go back to Abbot's shift and the two of you end up the happy couple again. He keeps being honest in therapy, and that may very well happen. But if it doesn't?"

He cocks his head to the side and shrugs. "Then I guess you'll have your answer. Once and for all."

"About...?"

"Whether the two of you are meant to remain together in the long run."

You had rubbed nervously at your arm with your opposite hand; your head now full of doubt where a moment ago it'd been filled with relief for the first time in weeks. "I don't...want to be alone again."

Robby had stepped forward before placing a firm, affectionate kiss to your forehead. "You won't be."

Jack feels lighter than he has in months. He's doing well in therapy, the two of you are talking more—including you sending him a couple risqué photos from your shared bed which had given him cause to excuse himself to the men's room at work in order to get his dick back under control—and his residents are flourishing. Except the time Toomarian got hit on by a middle-aged drunkard who Abbot had to practically restrain in order to get him to stop flirting with the poor woman.

She'd found the situation mildly entertaining, at least.

So, safe to say that things are going good.

Or so he had thought until he ran into McKay in the parking lot one evening and she pulled him aside and told him something which opened a pit in his fucking stomach.

"Maybe he's just being nice. Trying to...undo what..." She'd sighed. "I'm just gonna be straight with you, Abbot."

He'd nodded. "I'd prefer it. Shoot."

"You really did a number on her, as I'm sure you're well aware. At first, I just thought Robby was trying to get her comfortable working the new shift. Reassuring her, y'know, so she'd know that he was approachable. But before long... It's like he was dead-set on keeping her practically glued to his side."

A muscle in Jack's jaw feathers.

"He bought that stupid fucking motorcycle and started talking about a damn sabbatical, then he switches her shift and," she swipes her fingers through her bangs, "He wasn't doing well. You could practically see that fact from space. And I'm not saying he's out of the woods yet. But I'm afraid that she's jumped from the frying pan and into the fire. It's like unless he's with her, he's a miserable son of a bitch. But she obviously doesn't get to see that side of him because with her, he's Mister Fuckin' Rogers. I don't want to put myself in the middle, but I'd be willing to put money on it that he's trying to work toward splitting the two of you up so he can have her."

Jack shakes his head. What she's saying is absolutely ridiculous—they're not the stars of some shitty teen drama where a poor innocent girl is caught between two warring pubescent boys. "No. No, Robby wouldn't do something like that to—"

"When you're at the end of your rope, you'll do anything you damn well please. Because you just don't care anymore about what may happen when you do."

With you having already gone home, and possibly already being asleep, he heads into work to stew on what he's been told. To figure out his next step.

Robby has been giving you...quite a lot of extra attention as of late. To the point where it's bordering on being smothering. Every time you turn around he's at your side. A fact which had initially endeared you to him because it gave you ample opportunity to learn. But then he stopped wanting to talk as much about medicine, but instead about... Well, you.

About the places you've been, and the ones you'd still yet like to see. Your hopes and dreams for the future. Flattered, you'd indulged his curiosity. Especially since it came during a time when you and Jack were at your lowest. Where you were craving love and validation, but not getting it from him, Robby had seemed all to happy to grant it.

Well, not love, of course, but kindness, surely. He was just being a good friend. A good superior by looking out for his suddenly vulnerable subordinate.

You haven't told Jack yet for...obvious reasons. Number one being that it will set three lives ablaze when you do...but you went riding with him one evening. He drove for so long that the two of you nearly crossed West Virginia's state line until he suddenly swerved and turned the two of you back the way you came.

You'd lost yourself a bit that night in the temptation of the open road.

In him.

You'd clung to his back, smiling softly as the stresses of your daily life disappeared with the miles Robby put between the two of you and what lay behind, awaiting your inevitable return. So it came as no surprise that an overwhelming want to tell him to keep going eventually came over you.

But you instead bit your tongue—same as always—and held close to him, not wanting to plant a seed of temptation where it ought not grow. It seemed it did anyway, however, but in different form. Because when he brought you to an empty parking lot to 'let the motor cool for awhile', he'd said, you each crossed a line.

Or...came close to it.

You're unsure. If the roles were reversed and it had been Jack with another woman, you know you would've undoubtedly considered it cheating.

Robby had been leaned back against the bike while you stood between his legs—the two of you laughing and going on about something you can no longer recall. What you can, was his hand snaking under the back of your shirt to caress your naked skin while you carded your fingers in his hair and tugged playfully at his beard. Occasionally, you pawed at his stomach, appreciating how he was a bit soft in the middle.

He'd pulled you close and gazed up at you with eyes full of adoration—the two of you illuminated only by a dim overhead streetlight—before placing his other hand at the back of your head and guiding your lips down to meet his own.

You'd hovered there—a mere inch away—close enough to feel his ragged breath against your mouth while your heart pattered away in your chest like a machine gun let loose to fire.

Something came awake in you in that moment. An unexpected desire. For him. You could feel the heat building between your legs from it.

But for all the sensual thoughts in your head...you pulled away. An action which left you feeling both empty and hollow, and perhaps a bit sick. Mumbling a quiet apology, you'd been unable to look at him.

Until he stood, walked over to you—his boots thumping against asphalt; a sound you found incredibly sexy and dangerous—and leaned down before pressing a long, heated kiss to your cheek... Which then traveled lower, to the corner of your mouth.

Robby had refused to make it easy for you when he groaned, "If you want me to stop, then you're going to have to tell me to."

As you gasped for air, he moved to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there—likely to leave a mark (as was his intention)—before traveling lower and running the tip of his tongue along your collarbone. An involuntary 'Oh God' exited breathily from your mouth as you held yourself close to him, desperate for a bit of relief from the pressure that was gradually building between your legs.

Robby had slid his hand upward and unclasped your bra in one swift motion before pushing at the hem of your shirt, desiring to have as much of youself as you would allow him to.

When his calloused hand skimmed the soft skin beneath your breast is when you finally stumbled back, only just noticing that he'd managed to undo the front of your pants as well.

"Jesus Christ," you'd quietly cried while trying to gather yourself with shaking hands. "What are we doing?"

Robby had stalked toward you. "Whatever the hell we want."

"No!" You'd shouted with an arm outstretched in his direction. "This isn't..." Your chin wobbled. "Jack and I are still together."

Feeling incredibly close to the edge of the kind of freedom he'd only been able to dream about for the last few months, he finally spoke his mind aloud. "Maybe you shouldn't be."

Reaching beneath your shirt with trembling hands to fasten your bra back into place, you'd shaken your head in an attempt to clear it. "You don't know what you're saying, Robby. We're both just... God, where the hell even are we?" You'd exclaimed while looking around.

Pressing the heels of your palms against your forehead, you squeezed your eyes shut and just breathed. "I need to go home. I need you to take me home." Opening your eyes a moment later, you filled to the brim with regret from the absolutely shattered look you found upon his weathered face.

"Robby," you'd started while walking toward him.

He'd merely turned back to his bike and swung his leg over the side before bearing down on the kickstart. Without a word, he held out his helmet for you to take.

And now here you sit, stirring a cup of Easy Mac while hiding amongst the staff lockers, hoping for a bit of peace and quiet before you submerge yourself in blood and guts and sickness again in just a bit.

Like your thoughts are able to manifest themselves in real time, he comes around the corner and smiles at the sight of you. "Was wondering where you wandered off to," he says before leaning down and seating himself heavily beside you.

"Just getting something to eat before I go back to it," you mumble while idly stirring what is now lukewarm macaroni.

He doesn't take his eyes off of you, despite the staring making you want to squirm. "We haven't talked about it."

Elephant, the doctor will be seeing you now.

"I know," you say quietly.

Pursing his lips, he studies you for a moment. "Do you regret it?" Robby asks hesitantly—the tone of his voice one of pure hesitation; a man awaiting his sentence.

Not in the moment, because things had been so awful between you and Jack. But now that they're improving and you still have yet to disclose it to him?

"Yes and no."

Robby is silent, but not for long. "You have nothing to feel guilty for if that's your reason for saying yes." He shrugs while rubbing his palms together. "I mean," he separates his hands before quietly clapping them together and folding his fingers. "I'd say he sort of drove you to it, wouldn't you? You did everything you could for him, and in reward he made you afraid of his very presence."

You suddenly decide that you don't want the macaroni anymore.

"We're working it out."

He snorts. "What? Over text? Has he even tried to—I don't know—make arrangements so that you can speak in person, or—"

You set the macaroni aside. "Would you have really done that to him that night?" You turn to face him. "Had I not stopped you, how far would you have gone?"

The closer his sabbatical looms, the less he feels he has to lose. "As far as you would've let me."

Your eyes flit between his in surprise. "So...some cheap motel, or your own bed or—"

"Whole nine yards, sweetheart," he retorts with no remorse behind it.

You feel like you may be ill.

At least the restrooms are close by.

"I—" You clamp your mouth shut. He's left you utterly speechless from how cavalier he's being.

"Had he not been in the way, wouldn't you have done the same?"

In the way? Is that how he thinks of Jack now? Someone who's done so much for him? The man who, as far as you know, is still his emergency contact? His brother by choice being the deciding factor?

You sputter for an answer and wrack your brain for a way to deny what he's just said. You'd not been thinking clearly that night. It was late, you and Jack were still on the outs, and it'd been just you, Robby, and the open road with no set destination. So, yes, you'd thrown caution to the wind, but only for a moment.

"Robby—"

Cupping your cheek in his palm, he cuts you short. "Come with me when I go on my sabbatical."

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"We can get away from this fucking place. Together. I'll—"

"Robby, we need you."

Seeing McKay standing at the end of the hall, blood rushes to your cheeks from a sense of mortification. You turn away and gather your forgotten snack before wandering off to toss it in the trash. A small moment that you utilize to try and get ahold of yourself.

You need to talk to Jack, and as soon as possible. Come clean about...whatever is happening between you and Robby.

You've played and replayed so many scenarios during sleepless nights of how such a conversation—rather, more likely a rip-roaring argument—will go. Will it be the end of your relationship once and for all?

Every time you think for any length of time on that possibility, though—of it being you and Robby, and you fixing whatever it is which you see broken in his eyes—you fill with a sense of sheer purpose. And something more...which you don't yet have the words to describe.

One evening.

It's all the two of you need to finally set things completely straight and for you to begin thinking with a clear mind again. No more withholding. No more distance. No more secrets.

It's all or nothing.

Once your shift is through, Robby walks you out to the parking lot with an arm slung lazily over your shoulder—his way of keeping you close to him.

It feels like you're the only warmth left within his life that has gone cold, like a corpse lying unclaimed in the county morgue.

You're all he has left.

Robby pulls you even closer, causing you to stumble into his side before he presses a kiss to the side of your head. "You have a good day today?" He asks quietly.

You merely nod. "I did. Did...you?"

He feigns a smile, though you can't see it. "Always do when you're around."

"What's goin' on?"

Jerking your head up, you're greeted by the unexpected sight of Jack standing near his truck with crossed arms and a peeved look on his face.

Breaking away from Robby's side without hesitation, you make way toward him. "You're here early," you remark with a welcome smile. One which he thankfully returns; a gesture which causes an only recently occurring tension in your chest to dissipate.

He cups your cheek and you step into the much wanted embrace. "Was hoping we could talk. I thought an extra half an hour could give us some time to."

You nod eagerly. Although...is thirty minutes enough time to disclose what occurred not too long ago in another parking lot with the man who stands but a few paces away from the pair of you? You feel slightly nauseous at the thought of it.

Robby walks over to his bike and quietly straps his bag to the luggage rack on the back before leaning back against it.

He has no intention of driving off one way while you and Jack go the other, however.

Everything changes tonight.

"Of course we can," you say with a nod while taking his unoccupied hand in your own.

He turns not even half a step before Robby dives in head first. "Got a lot to talk about then?"

Jack halts and a muscle in his jaw feathers. He looks toward him, but speaks not a word. He allows the intensity of his gaze to do the talking for him. Seeing the two of you tonight—how closely he held you to him—has already lit a fire under his ass. He thinks it best he not address it now, however. It's a conversation best saved for another time. Because right now, you—your relationship—is his priority.

Having backed into the spot, Jack pops open the passenger side door for you.

"Did she tell you about the parking lot yet?"

Your head snaps back in Robby's direction while your stomach drops to your feet.

His brown eyes flit to yours. "Or were you going to do that now? I could just save you the trouble."

Your heart now wound up like a child's toy, you feel utterly breathless with panic. "Robby, don't," you spit.

Planting his palms against the leather seat behind himself, he looks at Jack, who otherwise is looking at you.

"What's he talking about? Parking lot?" He shuts the door. "This one? Did something happen? With a patient or—

"Nope," Robby interrupts. "Not this one," he supplies with a shake of his head. "It was a few weeks ago. I had us about thirty minutes from the West Virginia state line. I had half a mind to keep going, but with only the clothes on my back and my wallet in my pocket, I couldn't have exactly provided for her the way that I mean to."

He's just lit a match to your entire fucking life.

Having grown hot all over, you take a step toward him. "Robby, stop it!" You shout while wiping away angry tears that've sprung forth without warning.

He turns his head in your direction. "I had no intention of making this easy for you by letting you go back to him without a fight. You knew what you were getting into the night you climbed on the back of my bike. This is me finishing the job by making sure it's all out in the open so that you know you have another option."

Looking at Jack, he continues. "I pulled us off the interstate to let the motor cool. We didn't kiss on the lips, but there was plenty else that we did do," he states with a shrug of indifference. "Heavy pettin', if that's what you wanna call it. She only pulled away once I had her bra unclasped and her pants undone."

"Please!" You cry.

"Thing is, I could've had her that night had you not been in the fucking way," he hisses. "It was the only reason there was even a moment of hesitation on her end." Robby runs a shaking hand down the back of his head, which he jerks to one side, then the other while studying the lined parking spaces around them.

It feels like the world has shifted on its axis, leaving you standing on unsteady feet. Turning back to Jack, it's with a mouth that repeatedly opens and shuts as you grasp for words to right this wrong.

"I don't believe you," he whispers while stumbling back into the side of his truck.

"I—I wasn't thinking clearly," you supply uselessly.

"I fixed what you broke," Robby calls out. "Gave her everything you'd been withholding: approval, affection, attention. And in return I gained a reason not to. The only one I've got fucking left," he says with a humorless laugh while slapping his hands against his thighs before wrapping his arms around himself once more.

"You just burned a fucking bridge," Jack replies—his voice breaking. "One of the only ones you had left."

With trembling shoulders and quickly emptying eyes, Robby shrugs while nodding toward you. "As long as I have her I don't need anything else," he states while wiping tears from his damp cheeks.

Jack takes a small step forward. "You'd do that to her? Are you really that far gone that you'd lay the weight of your own survival—your fucking life—on her shoulders? You think that she's what? Going to fix you? She's not your solution, Robby, she's a goddamn midlife crisis!"

You stumble back like you've been struck.

Robby begins to slowly rock himself. "We're the same age. So what's that make her to you?"

Jack clenches his jaw while shaking his head—now at a complete loss for words.

Robby trails his line-of-sight back to you.

Your hands have gone numb, like you're not really here. This moment feels like a nightmare, which you pray you'll soon wake from.

"I can give you what he can't," Robby starts. "Come with me, and I'll take us three thousand miles from this fucking place. Just you and me. We'll go out West. I'll marry you, buy you a house—whatever you want. Whatever I have to do to keep you. To make you happy. But you have to come with me now, because I'm done. I can't stay here another day."

His eyes flit from Jack, then back to you. "You have to choose."

"She comes with me, and then what?" Jack asks while making to step toward you.

Robby snorts, while shrugging. "I follow through."

He should feel ashamed of himself for handing this responsibility to you. But he can't. Not right now, or his mind will fracture. The two of you have to stay together, because you're the only one left who won't leave him behind. The only one who will stay, and look after his wellbeing because he just can't anymore.

You're too maternal not to. He's seen it so many times since bringing you onto his team. How sweet you are with kids, how thoughtful you are with adults, and how selfless you've been with him.

When he looks at you, your ears begin to ring, and you take note of how you're beginning to feel rather lightheaded. Perhaps you should go back inside the hospital where its safe; leave the mess you've created outside where it belongs. Someone else can clean it up.

"Please," Robby begs while staring at you through bloodshot eyes. "Come with me. Just get on the bike."

You open your mouth, then shut it. You... You can't make a decision like this with no time to think.

"You're the only thing I have left," he continues. "I can't live without you."

Jack tugs gently on your forearm, but you remain looking at... No longer his best friend. You feel like you might shatter at the realization.

What have you done?

Finally, he takes your face between his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You can't fix him. You know this. It fucking—it pains me to say it; to see him like this, but you cannot climb on the back of that bike. Just get in the truck and I'll take you home. Baby, I drove you to this. I know I did. We've both done enough damage, so let's just... We're even, alright?" Releasing you, he takes your dominant hand between each of his own. Jack kisses your knuckles before pressing your hand to his chest. "I forgive you. Just like you've forgiven me. Nothing has happened yet that we can't come back from."

Animatedly, your head slowly maneuvers back in Robby's direction. For the first time, you see just how far gone he truly is.

How weak his body seems as it folds in on itself. How gaunt his face has become. How hollow his eyes have grown.

Pulling away from Jack, you take measured steps toward Robby, whose head hangs ashamedly between his shoulders.

You clench and unclench your hands at your sides before finally sliding a finger beneath his chin and tilting his head back. "I need you to give me a few minutes." You rest a palm atop his shoulder. "You owe me that."

His eyes flit between your own—you want so badly to wipe away his tears; to love this agony out of him—before he gives a single, solemn nod.

Turning back, you return to Jack and embrace him without a moment's hesitation.

It's like you're no longer in control, but acting on such strange form of instinct instead.

Knowing little else of what to do, you go with it.

Standing on tiptoes, you wrap your arms around Jack's neck while squeezing your eyes shut. "I love you," you whisper into his ear. "A part of me will always love you; will always feel that I have a home in you, even if the day comes when I don't because you've moved on."

He chokes back a sob while wrapping his arms around your middle—practically crushing you to him. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can meld you to him so you'll never be parted again.

"I forgive you," you continue with reassurance. "Don't you ever think for one moment that I don't. But I..." You swallow thickly. You have to get this out before the lump in your throat becomes too much for you to bear. "Only one of you needs me. You'll be just fine on your own," you murmur while running your fingers through familiar curls. "I'm so sorry that I hurt you. But you'll make it through this, just like all that which came before. He... Robby needs me. I can't leave him. Not like this."

Pulling back, you crush your lips to his, and you pour all your love and sorrow and hope for his future that will be spent without you into it.

When you withdraw, you both gasp for air. "Know that this has nothing to do with you. That he cares. And try, if you can, to one day forgive him."

You press your forehead to his. "Promise me that you'll take care of yourself."

Jack tugs against your hips. "Please stay."

"Promise me."

He nods.

You break away then and step quickly over to Robby before you can change your mind; make a decision that will cost a life in due time.

It's not even day-by-day or even hour-by-hour that his mental state is diminishing now. Seeing how he's shaking like a leaf, and wiping his running nose against the sleeve of his jacket as his world crumbles around him, you see that it's minute-by-minute.

One hand comes to cup his cheek while your other tilts his head back. "Take me home," you say quietly. "I made my choice."

His chin wobbles. "M-Me?"

You nod slowly, then press a kiss to his forehead. "You."

Pulling you close, he buries his face between your breasts and begins to sob.

You shoosh him, run your fingers through his hair, and caress his feeble shoulders.

Meanwhile, he quivers so violently that it shakes your entire body.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here now," you mumble comfortingly, despite being unsure that the latter part of your statement is entirely true.

It feels as if somehow you've melded into him. Become a part of his very being and psyche. When did it happen, you wonder?

Sliding his hands up your back, he begins taking calm, measured breaths.

You wonder then if Jack is still watching. You pray not.

Robby leans back once more, and you swipe tears from his reddened face with the pads of your thumbs. "Let's go home," you insist before leaning down and finally pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is soft, like a whisper on the wind; consoling and passionate. His jaw shakes as he opens his mouth to draw in a lungful of air, and you tease his bottom lip with your tongue.

If you try hard enough, you may actually believe that you've made the right decision for everyone involved.

Finally, you pull away—tracing the curve of his lips and the stubble which surrounds them with your thumbs.

Robby nods then, and you step back while he throws a leg over the side of the bike before getting it into position and bearing down on the kickstart. Once it's rumbled to life, he extends his helmet toward you. Situating yourself behind, you hold firmly to his waist while keeping your face turned away from where Jack's truck lies.

You can't face him now. It's paramount that you remember him the way he was a moment ago, with his lips against your own and a nod of forgiveness granted.

As Robby pulls out of the parking lot, Jack walks to the edge of it and watches in silence as taillights disappear into the dark.

There's a pin-up in the Lounge with a long list of everyone's birth dates with balloon clipart placed crookedly at the top, so surely someone will have remembered and gotten you a cheap cupcake, or even just a basic card with a couple signatures scrawled within.

As you take a peek inside while passing by, however, you see nothing of the sort awaiting you. Just an empty table, and counter space full of upside down mugs and a coffee machine—same as ever.

Deflating, you mentally shrug and make your way to your locker. It's better this way. Had anyone remembered—or just known in general—then word would spread like wildfire all the way up to reception, meaning you'd have to awkwardly thank every well wisher who crossed your path for the remainder of your shift.

Saves you the trouble.

You're working up an individual who came in complaining of lower back pain and difficulty urinating—which you've pretty well chalked up to most likely being kidney stones—when Robby raps his knuckles against the propped open door behind you.

Glancing to him over your shoulder, you briefly halt your assessment of your patient. "Yeah?"

He beckons you forth with an index finger. "C'mere, something I need to talk to you about." He feigns a smile for the middle-aged man in front of you and states that you'll be back momentarily.

Following him out, Robby pulls you into an empty room and shuts the door after you've entered.

"Is something wrong?" You ask innocently while gazing up at him with furrowed brows.

"Do you remember the woman from earlier? Mrs. Jacobson?"

You nod.

"She's been up in Plastics waiting for an hour to be seen because her chart was never finished down here."

Your stomach sinks. You'd meant to get to that before being side-tracked by needing to use the restroom, and then there'd been a thing with Whittaker's patient vomiting all over the floor, so you'd fetched housekeeping, and then—

"So imagine my surprise when one of their nurses takes time out of her day to come down asking after it and I find out you've already moved onto another patient."

You open your mouth to reply, until he holds up a palm to stop you.

"You know our protocol," Robby says sternly. "If they're being referred to another floor or physician, you make sure their information is up to date and their chart complete before you begin work on anything else." He takes a small step forward, and you shrink into yourself.

With him towering over you like this, you feel like a child being scolded by its parent after it forgot to do an assigned chore on the daily chart.

"So I trust you have a good reason why you didn't do as much," he states while folding his arms.

You blink back tears. "I—I forgot. I'm so—"

He throws his head back, pinches the bridge of his nose, then returns to his previous stance. "That's no excuse for being neglectful. Gloria is up my ass all day long about patient satisfaction bullshit and now this!"

Your chin wobbles.

"Get back in there," he says while pointing at the wall to the right, where your patient awaits your return on the other side, "Finish up with what you're currently doing, then get both charts done. Understood?"

You nod while sniffling. "Y-Yes."

He rolls his eyes, then steps past you to the door. Once he's opened it and waved you out, you scurry past him in a panic.

You keep your head down for the remainder of the day. Figuratively and literally. You're diligent in your work, and hold your bladder so long at one point—just to get a bit more charting done—that you nearly have an accident in the hallway.

When evening time rolls around and your workday is coming to a close, Robby goes in search of you to apologize for his earlier treatment after his temper has cooled, but when he comes into your line-of-sight, you turn and hurry in the other direction.

Thinking he may be able to catch you outside, he makes for the doors to the ambulance bay and only just catches the sight of you speed-walking past Abbot while mumbling a quick 'Goodnight' before marching on.

"The hell did you do to our girl?" Abbot asks while readjusting the strap of the camo backpack that's slung over his shoulder.

Robby sighs and sinks his hands into the pockets of his coat. "She got behind on a patient's chart who went upstairs and I might've been a little hard on her about it because I was already in a mood. She's been avoiding me all day because of it."

Jack glares at him. "So, in other words, you've been taking frustrations with HR bullshit out on our star pupil?"

He shakes his head and goes to step away.

"Do you want her to leave us for Westbridge?" Jack calls from behind him.

Gritting his teeth and looking skyward, Robby huffs in irritation before turning back on his heel. "She isn't that damn fragile, Jack."

He shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. But you get snippy with her again and I'll put her on night shift with me."

Robby curses lowly. "It was one conversation. You don't need to jump to extremes just because you want her all to yourself."

Jack purses his lips and Robby smirks. "Since we both know that that's what this whole conversation is truly about—less her and more you."

Turning his back on him, the vet shoots up a middle finger before hobbling inside.

On the way home, you pick up a small cupcake that's your favorite flavor and decorated with pretty, sparkly swirls of icing on top, as well as a small pack of multi-color birthday candles.

Once you're settled in for the night, you save the sugary treat for dessert after eating a filling dinner.

Sitting in the silence of your apartment, you quietly sing 'Happy birthday to me' before blowing out the singular candle stuck in the middle of your pastry before plucking it out and taking a bite.

Somehow by eating it alone, however, it doesn't taste as good as you'd hoped.

"Oh! Oh, Y/N!" Mohan calls from the nurses station.

You glance up from the manilla folder you're currently carrying to Trauma 4 and meet her smile with a raised brow.

"We're playing this game that involves astrological signs," she explains.

Santos shakes her head. "It's stupid. Trust me, you do not wanna bother."

Whittaker grins. "I dunno, I think it's kinda neat."

"What's yours?" Samira asks.

You clutch the folder to your chest and snicker. "No offense or anything, but I don't believe in all that. I just think the definitions are broad enough that you can make things fit if you really want to."

When you make to step away, she shrugs and begins typing. "Well, I could just pull up your employee profile to figure it out for myself."

Your eyes grow wide when you turn back in her direction. Tripping over your own feet, you stumble over to where she sits. "Oh, no, that's fine! I could just tell you what it is. I'm a—"

"Oh," she says with slight surprise.

"What, is she the crab or whatever?" Trinity asks.

Mohan looks up to you with knitted brows. "Your birthday was yesterday."

You don't see it, but Robby, who's standing a handful of feet behind you reading over an EKG, turns to look in your direction over his glasses.

Jack, who's just exited an exam room, meets his gaze and shakes his head. Not because he's disappointed in Robby per se, but rather the both of them for not knowing, or so much as making an effort to keep such an important date in mind.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Mel questions while walking over.

"I..." You grasp for explanation.

"Yeah, we would've gotten you something," Mohan reassures sweetly.

"Maybe Huckleberry could get you a pumpkin from the farm," Trinity adds sarcastically.

"It's just another day on a calendar," you say quietly. "It isn't important." Just another year spent alone, you think.

Jack's heart shatters for you.

"Well that's depressing," Trin commentates before pushing off the counter and getting back to work.

You swallow thickly while taking a step back. "I'm just gonna—" You wave the folder you currently hold in the air before walking away.

"How did you not know?" Jack questions from beside Robby.

Throwing his glasses down on the surface before him, which his elbows rest upon, he runs his hands down his face. "I had other things on my mind, like taking care of patients. Not cake and balloon animals," he says while clasping his palms together and turning his head in Jack's direction.

Jack crosses his arms. "She got you a gift for yours, or have you already forgotten that fact?"

It'd been simple, but handmade. Which made the item mean even more to him: an embroidered piece. The Shema Prayer in Hebrew. When you found him during PittFest in Peds, you'd heard him reciting it. Had gone so far as to ask quietly about it later.

He cried the night he hung it up in his home because you had cared enough to make such a loving gesture in the first place while the others simply purchased a cheap card from a Hallmark store down the street.

"Of course I remember," he says lowly. "I touch it every night when I get home and every morning before I leave. Because she's the one it came from."

You'd pulled him aside that day—had held the tips of his fingers as you led him into the Lounge before presenting it to him with shaking hands.

"The letters might be a little crooked," you'd explained quietly. "But I did my best."

His eyes had grown glassy as he cradled it between his palms.

"Do... Do you not like it? That day... Maybe I've upset you—"

He'd shook his head while sniffling. And then he'd smiled. "No, sweetheart, it's perfect. Thank you...for being so thoughtful."

It'd felt so right when he pulled you against his chest before wrapping his arms around you.

"Then we need to fix this," Jack retorts.

He nods. "I know."

"Hey, doll," Dana calls to you while adjusting her hair clip.

"Yes?"

"Somebody dropped off some snacks earlier in the Employee Lounge. One of those assorted chip boxes. Go grab ya a couple before everybody else takes 'em."

"Oh. Okay."

Heading in that direction, you secretly hope that there's Cheetos. Or maybe white cheddar popcorn. Classic Lays sounds good, too, though.

Alright, so maybe you're feeling just a bit peckish.

Swinging around the corner and into the aforementioned room, you halt in your tracks. Sitting atop the table that's pushed off to the side is a glass vase filled to the brim with soft pink roses and baby's breath. Clutching it is a fluffy brown teddy bear.

It's not... It's not for you, though. You know that.

Glancing around, you fail to spot the box in question. Maybe it's already been emptied?

Sighing with disappointment, you turn to exit, but are stopped by Robby blocking the doorway. Leaning against it with crossed arms, he smiles warmly at you. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

Your eyes flit between his as a lump develops in your throat. "It... It's for me?"

He nods, then glances to it while jerking his chin in the direction of your gift. "Read the card."

Turning around yet again, you wander over to it and pull the item in question from the cardette.

The day of your birth is more than worth celebrating. Without it, we wouldn't be able to look forward to seeing you every day.

Love, J & R

Tears brim in your eyes and you sniffle quietly. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you keep hold of the item while repeatedly telling yourself not to cry.

You jump slightly when the chair next to you is pulled out and Jack seats himself heavily upon it. "Do you like it, then?"

You nod and a tear slips down your cheek.

Coming to stand at your side, Robby pulls you against the wealth of his chest just like before, which you snuggle contentedly against, appreciating the softness and warmth it provides.

"I always wanted flowers delivered," you whisper. "On my birthday. Or...Valentine's Day."

Jack's eyes flit to Robby, who smirks and gives him a knowing look. Future plans.

"But never had anyone who'd..." You trail off. "Well, never had anyone."

Jack grabs your hand and tugs you down onto his thigh. "Getting a cake delivered last minute was sort of out of the question, but—"

You shake your head. "I got myself a cupcake last night."

Somehow, that makes the pair of them feel impossibly worse about the whole situation: the thought of you at home having just a singular cupcake on your lonesome. They'll certainly be unlikely to forget your birthday next year, if nothing else.