What A Mess

"Hey, open the fucking door." 

Robby looks at him and mouths Patrick like Jack knows who the fuck that is. Robby's never mentioned a Patrick in all the time they've known each other. 

"Uh- sorry guys. I'm-" 

"Have you got someone in there?" Another voice, a mass of them then, from the shuffle of their shoes. 

"No, but-" 

"Then let us in." Patrick, this time. 

He looks to Jack so he offers a guilty full-teeth grimace, oof, raising his shoulders and rolling his lips in a sorry kid, what can you do?

"I- I- cant." Is what he settles on. Yikes Robby. Jack grimaces. 

"Probably sucking off some guy like a fag." It's mumbled, but the laughs that follows isn't, it ripples through the group like oil through water, sticking to Jack's throat when he tries to breath. 

Or not breathe, more like, because it's like all the air is suddenly sucked from the room the way Robby freezes and straightens. 

He turns to look at Jack and then quickly back, shoulders drawing up. 

Oh.

…

Oh. 

Jack at once feels all of his fifty years old, thinks he's about thirty years too late, and knows he has no right to be seeing this at all. 

Robby- his Robby- wouldn't want him seeing this.

Because this isn't a Robby he knows. This one's got baby fat still hanging on under his jaw. His hair is floppy and unruly and longer than Jack's ever seen it. The shirt's buttoned all the way to the throat, top button and all, like Esther checked before he left the house and he didn't even think to undo it once he was out of sight. And more than that, it hangs off him. He hasn't grown into his own shoulders yet. His hands flex to his sides, fingers pressed flat against his own thighs. 

His Robby is a fan of a wink, an eye roll, a subtle deflection and a flat little ha. He gives nothing away. 

This Robby has learnt none of that. This Robby looks back at him stricken, eyes watering a little like someone who very much is a faggot, after all. 

Oh Michael. 

"Yeah Mikey? You bein' a little faggot?" Patrick adds, the cruelty sharpened. 

"No! I don't, no." He looks briefly at Jack again like Jack can help him, like he wouldn't just be confirming it if he did, puppy-dog eyes wide and, christ, already a little wet. Jack shakes his head, deflect, laugh it off, make a joke, be so fucking gay you're straight Mikey. "I'm not-"

Theres a gentleness to this Robby, a sweet disposition that's still there in the version he knows but protected, guarded. There's no walls here though, nothing to protect him from their words. 

It makes Jack's stomach ache. 

"Listen to him! Fucking- n-n-no-" More laughter. "Keep the door closed. Don't wanna see that shit. When you're done being a fucking homo were going to Ben's house at Atwood. Lilly made us invite you even though I told her you wouldn't come. Fuckin' loser. Make sure you swallow Mike, no one likes a spitter." 

Theres a thud at the door that makes Robby flinch. A chorus of laughter, slaps on the backs, good one's thrown between them like a baseball, and then- fucking mercifully- they finally fucking leave. 

Robby's shoulders heave with the air he's trying to suck into his lungs. 

After a few painful minutes, Jack coaxes softly, "Michael." 

"They're not- normally they're-" He stops, shoulders rising to his ears. He shakes his head. Starts again. "I don't even know why I-"

When Jack blinks, he sees him painted on the back of his eyelids- goofy and easy, grinning while Esther's mahjong ladies caw at him over the clack of tiles, calling him bubbeleh, telling him to sit, eat, asking why is he so skinny, and Robby just laughing along, refilling someone's seltzer, letting himself get folded into their warmth.

"Michael."

"I shouldn't have said stuttered like that, that was so stupid, why did I say-"

"Hey." Jack keeps his voice level and steady, because the Robby coming apart at the seams. "Come sit down."

He doesn't move. "I'm not gay Jack. I'm not a- a- faggot." 

"Okay. Come sit anyway. I can't fuckin' get up and-" He waves his hand. "-just come here. Please?" 

Robby hesitates for a moment, but his compassion clearly gives out as he sheepishly comes over and goes to perch as far as he can to the other side of the bed. Jack grabs him before he can and drags him closer, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Robby sniffs into his chest. 

"M' not gay." He says again, muffled. 

Carefully, Jack says, "you know, it's okay if you are." 

Robby stills in his arms, and ever so slowly, Jack extradites him so he can tilt his chin up. Robby's eyes are ruddy, and glistening but he's not letting the tears fall. Brave. 

"What?" 

"If you are. It's okay." 

"It's not." He sniffs, breath hitching a little. "It- I can't be- it's not right." 

"Yeah? That sucks for me then I guess. Wish I'd have gotten that memo." Jack laughs at the way Robby's eyes widen, the quick up and down he gives Jack as he reassesses him. "It gets better kid. It's- I know its maybe a bit rough right now, but things do get better, you've gotta trust me on that." 

"Is it-" Robby brings his finger to his mouth and bites at his nail. "What's it like? Where you're from? Not that I'm - I just want to know." 

"Sure. Marriage is legal now and we have a lot of queer media everythings more visible, more rights, less homophobia, where we are things are pretty liberal, people don't really bat an eyelid. Things are good." Jack shrugs. "Don't get me wrong people are still cunts, you will get dickheads like Patrick but it's not like it is now." 

"Oh." Robby swallows and picks at the bed of his nail where he's bitten a strip close to the cuticle. "In the future are we- is that why you've travelled back here? To me? Are we, um, together?" Robby blushes furiously as he forces it out of his sweet little mouth, and fuck Jack wishes he had any other answer to give him than the truth.

"Ah, no. No, we're just friends." 

"Oh. But you're… gay?" 

"Bisexual yeah, I like both." 

"And you've dated…" 

Jack huffs out a soft laugh, charmed despite himself. "Men? Yeah, I've dated men Robby." 

"Do I know that? In the future?" 

"Uh-huh, yeah." 

Robby's brows furrow, shaking his head seemingly at himself. "Well, obviously, because if you're telling me now I'll know it when I meet you out there-" then louder, "when do I meet you?" 

Jack hums, "lets see, it was… yeah about 2015." 

"That's so far away… And you know that I'm- that I like- that I'm-" Robby groans and shoves his face into his hands, whining almost like a pup. "I can't even say it." He says into his palms.

And Jack feels, more now than any time since he woke up here, the desperate and delicate spool of thread that is time. It winds around his body, around Michael's, around them now and in the future, and if he messes up in this moment he thinks the spool will tighten. 

Even cotton, pulled hard enough, can make blood run.

"No, I didn't know." He says quietly, and Robby's eyes snap to his.

"But…"

"We just- I guess it's just not come up."

Robby looks down at his lap, tangling and untangling his fingers as he processes this. He bites at the other side of his nail.

Jack had wondered, maybe, a few times actually. Robby was quite intense when they first met, he hadn't really known how to read him, and then he'd backed off for a good month when he found out about Liz. Their friendship both slow and winding for the first six months, and then lightening bolt fast for the rest. They'd fallen into place easily over the years, but Robby had always been illusive about dating. There had been Janey and a few others, but he never wanted to talk to Jack about it. Always squirrely and weird when he did. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure." 

"Am I- am I happy? What am I like?" 

It draws him short. 

He thinks of his Robby, big wet eyes that now feel so familiar, and the quiet sadness behind them. 

No, he thinks, I don't think you're happy, particularly. 

He, of course, doesn't say this. Instead, he lets himself smile and think of his Michael Robby Robinavitch. 

"You're the best man I know." He says quietly, huffing out a laugh around his smile. "I mean fuck, where to start. There's so much that I- I guess I should tell you that you're a great doctor, an amazing one. You're chief for a reason Robby and when I get to work with you it's like magic, watching you make those split second decisions and hold someone's life in your hands and… you let me talk you into crazy shit and you just- you just do it like it wasn't even hard. I mean fuck. I've known impressive doctors in my time and you're one of the best. No doubt. The things you do with airways…" 

He thinks too, about Robby on the roof, silhouetted by the sunset as the city sprawls in front of him, cheeks wet from day after day inside the sterile walls that hold such life and yet such death. The blood gets wiped from the floor, but it's soaked into their skin already. 

"But you're more than that too. You make me laugh. You're such a little bitch, pull these- these little bitchy faces sometimes- catty and mean, you deny it but you love gossip. You're always down to watch a game and you buy these ridiculous fancy beers that taste like shit. We hike sometimes and- and you're a good cook, you cook a," he hasn't in a while but… "a lot of Esther's recipes. I never had hers, but I bet she'd be proud because they're good. You care too. So much. There's not many people who I could ask anything of but you're one of them. You'd run yourself into the ground trying to do the impossible if I asked, which is - you're- you're good. Robby. Michael. You're good."

Robby looks at him like a gawping fish. 

"Gosh." He puffs out his cheeks, eyes wide, blowing out the air so it tufts his hair over his forehead up before it flops back down. God Robby isyoung. If he said that to his Robby he's not sure the reception would be the same. 

But it only takes a second for Robby to furrow his brows all serious, looking down again. "He sounds amazing. He sounds like- like a- you must think I'm pathetic right? Compared to him? I mean- with Patrick and everything- I'm just-" 

"Hey, no. Robby, no." Jack takes him by his chin and turns his head to look at him. His cheeks squish between his fingers. "No. Everything that makes him him is in you, it’s here-" Jack places his other hand on his chest- "your empathy and soul and kindness."

In retrospect he really should have seen it coming. 

The signs were all there on his flush cheeks, the widening of his eyes and the tightening of his brow, the parting of his plush red lips. 

He hesitates for a second, and then pushes up and smashes those lips against Jack's own. 

Their teeth clack. 

It reverberates through Jack's skull. 

He'd like to say it was just muscle memory, instinct, whatever you want to call it, the way he tilts Robby's jaw to the side and guides the kiss into less… teethy territory. But really? Really he wants this too. And he's half convinced, still, that this is all a dream. He's not sure what it says about him though, to dream of a young twinky blushing Robby. Gonna have to bring that one up in therapy for sure. 

Jack backs up. 

"Sorry- sorry- I-" Robby starts to stammer, panic starting to set in and well, he can't have that now can he? 

"Slow down a little, let me lead you, yeah?" 

"Oh." Robby squeaks. "Yes! Yep." 

"And c'mere. On my lap." 

"Uh-" 

"Legs either side, there we go." 

Robby scrambles, all gangly limbs and very little grace. "Like this?" 

"Yeah like that Robby." 

Robby's eyes shutter closed. "I like it- when you call me that." 

"Yeah?" Jack smiles, brushing his lips across Robby's jaw. 

"Makes me- makes me feel like someone who- who-" his breath catches, but he never finishes his sentence, because Jack takes his lips again and guides him into a longer deeper kiss. 

He's so obviously fresh with it, his angles all wrong, teeth clacking, but Jack wouldn't change it for the world. This is Robby. It might not be his Robby but it's him all right. 

After a little while of sweet kisses, Robby squirming on his lap, he slips him his tongue and holy fuck it becomes filthy. Spit spills from his lips, messy as he tries to copy Jack. It's okay though, Jack likes it messy. His cock strains in Robby's shorts for messy. 

"Jack- Jack-" Robby pants. 

"Yeah?" 

He pulls Robby's shirt out of his pants and gets his hands up inside. Robby's skin burns under his touch. He moans beautifully into his mouth. 

"I want- please?" 

"What d'ya want?" 

"Touch me." 

"I am touching you." 

Robby huffs, sounding absolutely done. Jack snorts. "You still make that sound too, you know." 

"You're still this annoying?" 

"Baby I've come straight from annoying you remember? Time travel." 

"Jack!" Robby whines, lips bitten red and puffy. "Just touch my dick already!"

Jack chuckles into his neck, thumbing at the button of his pants. "So needy bud. This what you need?" 

He runs a feather light finger over Robby's cock and the kid tenses, jolts, and then collapses onto him, whining into his neck as he bucks his hips, Jack's knuckles brushing teasingly against him. He realises what's happening a second too late, so he only manages to give Robby the pressure he needs- wrapping around his cotton clothed cock- for the end of his orgasm. 

"Sorry. Sorry I just- Jack-" Robby whines like a pup. "You're really hot and I just- I'm sorry- I've ruined-" 

"Shhh you're good. You haven't ruined anything." 

"I just came in my pants." 

"Hot." Jack laughs. 

"No stop it that's. Let me uh- let me blow you or-" 

"You done that before?" 

Robby shakes his head, frowning and looking like he might cry still. 

"You know I'm an attending yeah? Remember? I- we- work at a teaching hospital, teaching kids like you-" he flicks Robby's nose. "-and we do this thing called see one, do one, teach one. Lemme work you up again, come on lemme do that for you, lemme show you and then you can try later yeah?" 

Robby hesitates. 

"Please? You're young you can go again, I remember what I was like at your age. If you touch me it's gonna be over and I'll need a fuckin' nap or something." 

Robby giggles. The sound is ridiculous. Jack wants to bottle it. 

"Okay." 

"Yeah? You gonna be a good boy and take these off for me." 

Oh… interesting. That hits Robby hard eyelashes fluttering as he quickly obeys, leaving just his damp underwear on as he sprawls back on the bed. 

Grinning at the sight, Jack spreads his thick thighs with his hands and leans down to lick a stripe over his underwear. 

"Jack!" 

"What baby?" 

"Thats- that's gross!" 

"How is that gross?" He laughs into the crease of Robby's thigh. "I'm about to have your dick in my mouth bud." 

"That's-that's different-this is - it's- and shut up I'm too sensitive." 

Yet his twitching cock is telling another story, but fine. 

"Okay, then let me explore you a little hmm?" Jack kisses up his body and lays himself down next to him, pressing his forehead near up against Robby's as his hand settles possessive over Robby's chest. "Hi." 

"Hi." Robby whispers back. 

"How you feeling?" 

"So good. Amazing. This is-" 

"Yeah?" 

Time tumbles like thick syrup. 

Into the dampening evening sun he lays Robby down and slowly but surely takes him apart again and again. He thumbs at his nipples, sucks them into his mouth, kisses down his chest and his stomach, tongues his belly button to make him laugh and kick out, biting his lip as he smiles down at Jack. 

Wrapping his lips around Robby's cock for the first time makes him think that maybe this isn't time travel or a dream, but heaven. 

When he'd fantasised about his Robby he'd pictured him hung and thick. When he saw Robby earlier he'd pictured small and cute. (He really needs to start checking his knee-jerk assumptions). Robby, all in all, has a very pretty very average cock, curved up slightly in a way Jack just knows will feel so fucking good inside of him. 

But this isn't about him. 

So he takes his time teasing Robby until he's hard and dripping, then swallows him to the hilt. He lasts a little longer this time, but really he didn't have much hope for the kid. Jack's had thirty years experience of sucking cock, and he knows he's fucking good at it. So it's no surprise when he cums, shaking and sweet and blushing across his whole body, down Jack's throat. 

Then he makes him cum again with a finger against his hole, just rubbing a little with his own cum and Jack's spit as lube. Makes Robby spit into his hand so he can take his cock with ease and pump it in time until tears leak from Robby's eyes and he cums weakly against his stomach.

"Can I- you?" Robby gasps, trying so hard not to pass out, the sleepy thing. 

Jack should give him a break, even though he's wide awake. Sure, he's got plans for Robby and his cock, but if this is all he gets and he goes back, then it'll have been worth it. 

"Later." 

Robby pouts, hauling himself up on his elbows to peer down at Jack between his legs. 

"But what if you travel back now? Like in a second or something, before I've seen you." 

Jack grins into his thigh, teeth scraping the skin until he gives in and nips, making Robby yelp. 

"A risk I'm willing to take. Nap time baby boy lets go." 

But he doesn't travel back. 

He won't for travel back for days. 

~

Robby used to think he had a high tolerance for discomfort. He’d worked thirty-hour shifts. He’d stood in bloodsoaked trauma bays. He’d operated with a migraine blooming behind his eyes and a cracked rib wrapped tight under his scrubs. He had functioned through grief that felt like it hollowed him out from the inside.

He had thought he understood misery and he had been utterly, immeasurably wrong.

He woke up already nauseated. That was the first insult.

There was no easing into it, no gentle build. His eyes opened and the world tilted unpleasantly, saliva flooding his mouth in warning. The room was dim, blackout curtains still drawn, but it might as well have been spinning.

Beside him, Jack slept on his side, one arm slung protectively across Robby’s waist.

Robby tried to breathe through it. Inhale, slow and measured. Exhale.

The baby kicked, hard. Low and sharp, right against his bladder. Robby clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Oh no” he whispered to no one in particular, swallowing compulsively while starting a desperate scramble to get out of bed.

He didn’t even make it to the bathroom.

—

When he was done dry heaving - because there was nothing left to actually throw up, hadn’t been for days, just bile and stubborn reflex - he was shaking. Sweat slick on his hairline, his lower back throbbing like someone had wedged a crowbar into his spine.

Jack was there, kneeling on the tile beside him. Robby didn’t remember Jack getting up.

“Easy” Jack murmured, one hand steady between Robby’s shoulder blades. The other held a damp washcloth, cool against the back of his neck. “Slow breaths”

“I hate this” Robby croaked, the words coming out more broken than he intended.

Jack didn’t laugh.

“I know” he said quietly.

Robby rested his forehead against the toilet seat and tried not to cry, because it felt like too much energy.

Morning sickness, they’d said.

Morning.

It had been six months of this.

Six months of nausea that never fully left. Of food aversions so severe he had once gagged at the smell of toast. Of vomiting until he saw stars and then going to work anyway because he was still the Chief of the ED and apparently incapable of being reasonable.

Everyone had told him that the second trimester would be better. It was worse. The baby kicked like she was training for competitive martial arts.

Jack pressed a glass into his hand.

“Small sips”

Robby obeyed. He simply didn’t have it in him to argue. The water tasted metallic. Everything tasted metallic lately.

He leaned back against the bathtub eventually, exhausted beyond proportion, and pressed both hands to his stomach.

“She’s doing it on purpose” he muttered, petulant despite the exhaustion weighing him down. Jack’s mouth twitched faintly.

“She’s a fetus”

“She’s vindictive”

As if summoned, she kicked again. High this time. Sharp. A jolt that stole Robby’s breath. Robby hissed and folded forward slightly.

“Okay, that one hurt” Jack said, all humor gone. His hand replaced Robby’s, broad and warm against the tight curve of his abdomen. “Hey, sweetheart” he murmured softly to the bump. “You’re stressing out your landlord”

Another kick.

Robby squeezed his eyes shut.

“She does not sleep. I don’t understand how she doesn’t sleep.”

“She sleeps” Jack replied, “Just not when you do”

“Which feels intentional”

Jack helped him up slowly, one arm around his waist. Robby’s center of gravity still felt foreign. Wrong, like he was permanently off balance. His lower back protested every step and by the time they made it back to bed, Robby was trembling with fatigue.

He hadn’t slept more than two consecutive hours in weeks. Because when he finally managed to drift off, the kicking started. Or the heartburn. Or the lightning-strike pelvic pain that made him gasp and clutch at the sheets.

Or his blood sugar crashed.

Or his blood pressure spiked.

Or he slept, but then woke up a second later drenched in sweat with a low-grade fever and no explanation.

It felt like his body had become a hostile environment.

He lowered himself onto the mattress with a soft groan. Jack arranged pillows with the efficiency of someone who had memorized the exact configuration that causes the least agony. One behind Robby’s back. One between his knees. One tucked carefully under his stomach for support.

Jack pressed his palm to Robby’s forehead, his fingers pleasantly cool. Robby rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, instead leaning into the touch.

“You’re warm”

“I run warm”

Jack studied him, worry etched into every line of his face.

“Maybe we should call OB”

“It’s fine”

“It’s not”

Robby looked away, closing his eyes briefly against the wave of exhaustion thrumming in his veins.

“She’s not going to say anything I haven’t heard before”

The helplessness was the part Robby hadn’t anticipated. He had spent his entire adult life being the competent one. The stable one. The person other people could lean on, and now he couldn’t even keep water down without supervision.

His eyes burned, the feeling utterly humiliating and unfortunately, lately, very familiar.

“I’m bad at this” he muttered.

Jack’s head snapped up at the words.

“You are not”

“I am” Robby insisted, voice thin with exhaustion. “I’m miserable all the time. I can’t function. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t -” His voice wobbled, “I’m bad at this”

Jack moved closer, careful of Robby’s stomach, and cupped his face.

“This is not a performance metric,” he said gently. “You’re growing an entire human being. It’s bound to be overwhelming and hard”

Robby swallowed.

“I think she hates me” he whispered, the fear that had been lurking in his head finally forming into words. It made Jack blink owlishly, a frown between his brows.

“What?”

“She kicks all the time. She makes me sick. She -” Robby’s voice cracked over the words. “What if she already knows I’m not cut out for this?”

Jack’s expression shifted from concern to something softer, his thumbs stroking the damp skin under Robby’s eyes.

“Hey. No. Don’t do that”

Robby looked down at his hands, at the faint tremor he couldn't quite control.

“I can’t even handle pregnancy” he said quietly. “What am I going to do when she’s actually here?”

Jack leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Robby’s.

“You’re going to love her” he answered, like it was the simplest thing. “You’re going to worry about her. You’re going to overthink everything and probably read too many parenting books. And you’re going to be exhausted and still show up anyway and you're going to love her”

Another kick interrupted them, strong enough to make Robby flinch. Jack shifted his hand lower, rubbing slow circles against the taut skin of Robby’s stomach.

“Okay” Jack murmured to the bump. “We’re not negotiating here. Dada needs to sleep.”

Robby snorted weakly.

“Dada?”

Jack offered him a crooked little smile.

“Or whatever title you decide on” he corrected, before returning to whisper nonsense towards the bump. Robby closed his eyes.

The nausea ebbed slightly, replaced by bone-deep fatigue. His back ached relentlessly, a dull, grinding pain that never fully disappeared. His hips felt loose, unstable. His entire body felt like it belonged to someone else.

Jack moved around until he was settled carefully behind Robby, one arm wrapping around his middle, hand resting protectively over the curve of their daughter.

“You are going to be the most amazing dad” Jack whispered against the back of Robby’s neck. “And she’s going to love you more than anything else in the world”

Another kick, less sharp this time.

Robby exhaled shakily. Jack’s words settled into a comfortable little nook in his chest, something to hold on to with the desperation of a drowning man.

“I’m just tired” he admitted, moving to rest his hand over Jack’s on his belly.

“You’re allowed to be” Jack pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “I’ve got you”

Robby let himself settle more comfortably, pressing himself against Jack’s chest. Let himself be held. The baby shifted again, but softer now. A roll instead of a jab.

Their hands stayed steady on his stomach, warm and reassuring. Robby focused on that warmth, on the solid presence behind him. On the slow rhythm of Jack’s breathing. He moved his hand just enough to press his fingers against the curve of his stomach, starting a gentle back and forth with his fingertips while his mind drifted.

“So please, for the love of God, can you just go wait over there in the room, with your detainee, so I don’t lose any more patients or staff?” Anger curled in the pit of Robby’s stomach as he stared the agent down, needing to bite his tongue to keep any further words from slipping. The taller man regarded him with a dark glint in his eyes, something ugly brewing beneath the surface.

"You think you get to tell me how to do my job?"

"I think I get to tell you what to do when you’re trespassing in my department," Robby said. "You’re a fucking disturbance"

It might have ended there. Tense, unpleasant, but it should have ended there.

“What did you say your name was again, doctor?” The agent's eyes dropped, to the name tag, to the thin gold chain visible at Robby's collar, the small Star of David pendant that had slipped loose from beneath his scrub top sometime during the shift. Something shifted in his expression, ugly and immediate, a sneer curling in where irritation had been a second before.

“Robinavitch? Course your kind would be the one running interference," he said, low, venomous. "Should've figured"

"Excuse me?" The anger simmering in Robby’s chest shifted to something colder, something nauseating.

"You heard me"

What happened next happened fast. The agent shoved forward, hard, catching Robby off guard and sending him stumbling back against the nurses' station hard enough to rattle the monitors. When Robby, instinctively, tried to steady himself and push back the space between them, the agent's hand closed around his wrist and wrenched it up behind his back with brutal, deliberate force.

"You’re under arrest" the agent barked, loud enough for the whole department to hear, hauling Robby down and forward with a violence that had nothing to do with any actual threat Robby posed. "You're resisting a federal officer -"

"I'm not resisting anything!" Robby's voice cracked, sharp with genuine alarm now, as his knees hit the floor hard and a heavy weight came down on top of him, pinning him flat.

"Robby!" Javadi's scream cut across the department, and then chaos. People shouting, steps rushing across the cold linoleum.

The agent's knee came down hard between Robby's shoulder blades, driving the air from his lungs in a single ragged gasp. Robby, gasping, tried to turn his head enough to breathe properly, the pressure only increased.

"Stop resisting" the agent snarled.

"Can't -" Robby's voice came out thin, desperate, chest unable to expand properly against the floor and the weight crushing down on it. "I’m not resisting - I can't breathe -!"

"Get off him!" Santos was there now, hauling uselessly at the agent's shoulder, shoved back hard for her trouble. "He can't breathe, get off him!"

"Stand back!” the second agent barked, weapon hand hovering near his belt in a way that froze everyone in place. Blood rushed in Robby’s ears, his struggling grew weaker, more desperate, small choked gasps the only sound he could manage against the floor.

***

Jack was asleep in the on-call room, desperate for a quick break before his shift, when Whitaker burst through the door without knocking, face white as a sheet.

"Jack - Doctor Abbot, it's Robby, ICE agents, they've got him on the ground, he can't- you need to come now"

Jack didn't remember the run from the on-call room to the front of the department. He remembered, with haunting clarity, what he found when he got there; Robby, pinned flat beneath an agent's weight, face gone a terrifying shade of red-purple, hands scrabbling weakly and uselessly against the iron grip bending them behind his back, chest heaving in tiny, insufficient gasps that weren't drawing in nearly enough air.

Something in Jack went past fear entirely, into something colder and more absolute. Something that hadn't surfaced in years, an old, bone-deep command presence he'd worked hard to leave behind and never fully lost.

"Get off him" His voice came out low, dangerous, cutting through the chaos of the department like a blade. "Get off him right now"

The agent's head snapped up, sneering. "This doesn’t concern you, doctor -"

"Major" Jack said, and something in the single word seemed to strike a chord. “It’s Major Abbot to you, and that’s my husband you’re suffocating on my floor. Get. Off”

For a nervewrecking second the agent seemed to consider his choices, but seemingly came up drawing blanks when faced with a plausible authority higher than his. And finally, finally, with a grudging glare towards Jack, the agent eased off.

Jack was on his knees at Robby's side before the weight had even fully lifted.

"Robby- hey, hey, I'm here, breathe, just breathe-" Jack rolled him carefully onto his side, supporting his head, watching with his own heart in his throat as Robby dragged in one huge, ragged breath, then another, chest heaving as air finally reached his lungs.

"Jack" Robby gasped, voice wrecked, eyes wide and wet and disoriented. "Jack -"