⛤

Jack has never seen Robby's face look as fucking haggard as it does when he takes Jack aside a few nights later, and breaks the news with as much gentleness as he's still got left in him.

Major traffic accident, car vs pedestrians. Multiple crushing injuries. They'd taken Whitaker to Presby because it was closer to the scene.

Amputation of Whitaker's left leg. Below the knee, Jack hears Robby say, and he knows realistically that it's a good thing. Lucky.

He can't bring himself to say it out loud, and neither can Robby.

---

The decision to take Whitaker under his wing is made without much conscious effort from Jack. It happens like a simple math problem, the outcome consistent and expected.

He goes to visit the kid at Presby, doesn't get offended when he has to introduce himself and then jog the kid's memory about where they've met before.

He lets the kid be numb, then sad, then angry, then sad again. He drives him to the support groups, and lets the kid be bitterly jealous over Jack's control of a vehicle.

"You'll have this again. But in the meantime you get to be pissed about it."

He gets his care transferred over to PTMC, and promises the kid that the ortho and rehab teams won't go spreading rumours or talking about him to his colleagues.

"They're not even my colleagues anymore."

"Hate to break it to you kid, but those pricks are persistent, and most of them have made a real nice ass groove for themselves in that department. Like it or not, those fuckers will be waiting for you when you get back. Robby's practically salivating."

Jack snorts, and tries to hold back another one at the kid's angry, puffed-up kitten scowl.

Jack knows this whole process well enough to know that the uptick of the corner of Dennis' mouth is a win.

He takes the kid to hydrotherapy, and he pulls some strings so that their first session is just the two of them, gently splashing around in the pool. Jack's not a physiotherapist, but he does understand the tightness around Dennis' eyes at the thought of exposing his new body to yet another perfect stranger.

He stands in the water and holds his arms out, waiting patiently for Dennis to be ready. Lets the kid cling to his arms, huffs a quiet laugh at the small sound he makes the instant he's submerged in the warm water.

"Yeah? Takes away some of that aching, huh?"

Dennis nods, quiet in the way that someone is when they're surprised that a promise has been kept. Jack slowly inches backwards in the water, only a couple of inches, stops when Dennis makes a gutteral, unsteady sound.

"I got you, I got you." The kid's fingers are leaving livid white marks on his biceps, but that's not important. "I'm not gonna let you fall. You remember what we talked about before? About what to do if you start to overbalance?"

"I know how to swim. I lost a leg, not my memory."

"Oh yeah?" Jack grins, gently bobs them both a little in the water. "Well if you remember how to swim, and you remember your piss-poor attitude, why don't you stop doing your best bubble impression and take some baby steps for me?"

Dennis scowls, and the indignation and curiosity almost cancels out his hesitation and fear.

"Shut up. What the hell does that even mean?"

Jack is so very glad he asked.

"Your bubble impression?" He shrugs, deliberately looking away from Denns' legs making their first hesitant shuffles. "Floating there looking pretty, but not doing much else."

"Oh, fuck you."

He's there when Dennis gets his first prosthesis, ready to catch him when the inevitable frustration and disappointment set in at the realisation that the freedom of mobility doesn't come without adjustments.

"Dennis. Look at me." The kid's face is blotchy and red, and he's been studiously avoiding Jack's eyes ever since they got back.

"It's okay to be frustrated. I know it hurts. It's a completely new piece of equipment being attached to a part of your body that never expected to have this attached. There's new pressure, new sensations, and it's all happening to new, sensitive skin, and muscle and bone that are still adjusting. Give yourself some grace, kid."

"I'm - I'm lucky to have this." Dennis spits out. That word again, the tricky sticking point that even Jack never quite got to grips with. "I shouldn't be complaining. There are people far worse off than me."

Jack hums, handing Dennis the antibac wipes and offering no further guidance on cleaning.

"Sure. There are definitely people who are worse off." He sees Dennis' head jerk upwards, finally gets that eye contact he'd been chasing.

"But I'm not talking to them, I'm talking to you. Other people have it worse, and you've still been dealt a shitty hand right now. Both things can be true. You're lucky to have access to the prosthesis and the rehab teams. This -" he gently pats the prosthetic limb like it has its own nerves "-is going to be the thing that gives you your freedom and mobility back. But right now, it's new and it hurts, and it'll take adjustment. Both things can be true."

He shows Dennis his own prosthesis, his own stump, and how the two work together. He was surprised at how intimate and vulnerable it felt, letting Dennis see him remove his leg and care for his stump at the end of a long shift. He was interested by his own tenderness at the process, as he'd long thought he was over any feelings of particular vulnerability where observation was concerned.

But he shared all the small things he'd learned over the years with Dennis. All the little things that nobody without a prosthesis could possibly be expected to know, despite their qualifications, because they were the kind of things you only learnt by living it. He softened when he saw Dennis' face set in such concentration as he told him about tips for dealing with hot weather, felt something in him ache a little tenderly at the expression on the kid's face when Jack talked openly about the need for hygiene and the reality of 12-hour shifts and sweat and residual limb care.

He was there the first time he saw it in Dennis' face; the realisation that different did not negate okay. He was there when the kid met with Robby (and really, it was supposed to be a meeting with administration first, but Jack wasn't stupid) to discuss returning for the rest of his rotation.

He was definitely there when the kid started to look at him with something dangerously close to admiration and worship and - if Robby was to be believed - little tiny hearts in his eyes.

"He's too fucking young for me."

"He's twenty six."

"Too. Fucking. Young. He's all caught up with looking at me as his saviour right now."

"Pretty sure he's seen you at your least glamourous. I don't know if you think you've been some kind of perfect, Florence Nightingale figure with endless pools of patience and grace, but let me tell you that you've been cranky, difficult, downright fucking belligerent, and I've heard you tell the worst fucking jokes in your reportoire. The kid still laughs at them and gives you cow eyes."

"He's still too-"

"Both things can be true."