Rabbotfest - Day 4: Stubbornly injured and protectively exhausted
Robby knows the second he walks into the ED that Jack’s leg is bothering him.
His gait is unbalanced, and his face screws nastily when he lands on his foot wrong. Everyone else has likely written it off as building irritation from the past twelve hours, but Robby knows better. Not ever Jack’s beaming face can hide it from him.
“Hey, Mikey,” Jack says when he spots him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Woke up unfortunately early for my day off. Decided to walk here, thought maybe we could get breakfast after you hand off.”
“That sounds great. Let me—“
“Oh, no,” Robby shakes his head. “We’re going home.”
“Wha—“ Jack throws his hands out, mock-offended. “You can’t tease me with a date, then say it’s not happening.”
“If you took proper care of your leg, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
Jack’s smile flattens into an unimpressed line. “We’ve been over this. I have to wear it at work. Crutches and the chair take up too much space for what we’re dealing with.”
“Sure, but you don’t just wear the leg to work—“
“Work outs are easier when—“
“And that’d be fine, but you’re already wearing it more than you should just by being on shift. Something's got to give. You can’t be on it for 14 hours a day, every day.” Robby snatches Jack’s bag from under the desk and digs around for his keys.
“Oh,” Robby laughs. He swings the key ring around one finger. “I’ll keep that excuse in mind the next time you’re worried about me.”
Jack huffs. “Let me do the hand off,” he grumbles.
His leg must be bothering him worse than Robby thought, because on their way to the parking lot, he hooks their elbows together and gives too much of his weight to Robby to hold for it to be strictly romantic. He doesn’t even refuse help getting into the passenger seat.
The desire to tell Jack to take the prosthetic off while they're in the truck itches at Robby's chest, but he keeps his mouth shut. Jack is being shockingly receptive to help, and the last thing Robby needs is for him to get defensive again.
He offers a hand to help Jack out of the car, but doesn't make a fuss when it's ignored, no matter how much he'd like to. "How do you feel about a bath?"
That perks him up a little. "With you?"
It'll be a tight fit, but Robby has had to squeeze into worse places. Better to be cuddled close with his husband than bumping shoulders with another doctor every five seconds while they rush around a new trauma. "Sure."
Immediately, Jack picks up the pace.
"Slow down," Robby calls after him.
Jack waves him off and manages to get up the stairs to their front door in record time. Robby grimaces at the extra pressure that must have put on his knee. "Come on. Open the door."
He's not fine. His residual limb is rubbed raw, with a large, ugly pink mark near his scar. "Christ, Jack."
"It looks like road rash."
"Well, it's not." Jack bites. “I don’t need you to baby me.”
Jack leans from his spot on the closed toilet and starts up the bath water. The echo from the walls of their guest bathroom hides Robby’s sigh. He taps his fingers on the counter and excuses himself to get towels.
Robby buries his face in the soft cotton. He wants to be frustrated with Jack; he is, but he knows he shouldn’t be because he’s just as much of an ass when Jack’s the one with concerns.
On his way back to the bathroom, Robby’s eye catches a photo mounted on the wall. Framed in a handsome mahogany is Jack signing their marriage license. Robby is sitting at his side, smiling brighter than the sun, his name already stamped proudly on the paper. He traces his finger over Jack’s frozen figure; his precious curls had only just begun to grey at his temples, the stress of the past 45 years finally catching up with him.
When Robby returns to the bathroom, Jack is already sitting in the bath, looking lonely.
Jack splashes the water in front of him. “I’m never gonna complain about having you in my lap.”
Once Robby is stripped and settled against Jack’s chest, he lets the rhythmic pattern of his husband’s breath calm him.
“I don’t ever mean to imply that you can’t handle yourself,” Robby says. “But I can see when you’re hurting, and I hate it.”
Jack kisses his temple. “I know, but I don’t know how to fix it. Not wearing it isn’t an option most of the time.”
“I get that,” Robby whispers. Jack adjusts under him, and the raw flesh under his knee lands on Robby’s thigh. He pets around it delicately. “But I’d still like to see you hurting less.”
Jack takes in a deep breath and latches his right arm across Robby’s chest, resting his hand above Robby’s tattoo. Robby takes the opportunity to bury his nose in the crook of Jack’s elbow, letting his cheeks be smushed by his muscles. He loves being close like this; he wishes they could do it more frequently and under more pleasant circumstances.
“I’ll talk to my doctor about getting a new one,” Jack offers. “This one’s going on four years, and I abuse the hell out of it.”
Robby’s soft chuckle vibrates through his bicep.
Jack continues, “Maybe one of those fancy cooling liners.”
“Being able to go out to breakfast would be nice.”
Robby tilts his head and presses a quick kiss to Jack’s chin. “Take a nap, and maybe I’ll treat you to lunch.”
Jack relaxes back against the porcelain. “Wake me up if I start to drown.”
“That’s not funny,” Robby says behind a laugh.
