#prompt response

"It's a process," he'd amended. A very generous description of how poorly Jack was actually dealing with his own demons - of how he was incapable of sitting still even for a minute at a time, of how he needed to have something to do with his hands, always, of how he needed to be on the move, of how he didn't dare face the stillness of his empty kitchen and the stillness of his empty couch and the still, dead silent, placid, disgusting serenity of his bedroom, lest he actually go clinically insane.

In the stillness, he could hear bullets and wounded cries of young men. In the stillness, the heat of Iraq was far too close on his skin, regardless of the season in Pittsburgh.

In the stillness, her laughter followed him from room to room. Her voice sought him out, called him out, told him to fucking grow up and move on and stop being such a sad fucking sack of shit, he had promised her he wouldn't be like this after she died, he had promised-

So no, Jack hadn't exactly dealt with his demons. But he was the very picture and poster boy of mental health compared to Robby - that fucker had spent his final pre-sabbatical shift all but handing out verbal suicide notes, begging for help, begging for someone to save him from his stillness. So Jack took matters into his own hands and promptly slashed both tires on that donorcycle death trap suicide machine.

And now, with Robby knocked out cold on some zolpidem and quetiapine, wrapped up tight in a blanket with the AC blasting freezing air into Jack's bedroom, the stillness isn't all that bad.

It isn't so empty. Robby's here, head on Jack's shoulder, face almost pressed into his neck.

It isn't so quiet. Robby's mumbling a little in sleep every now and then, but he doesn't sound distressed, so Jack leaves him be. (His words from earlier are still bouncing around inside Jack's head as well, like a ferocious little bouncing ball. Quiet and tear-filled, simply asking "Can I stay with you? In there?" Jack hadn't answered with words, had simply tugged him along into bed and into his arms.)

This stillness isn't all that bad. It has purpose. It has heart. It has Robby.