“Please leave a message at the tone.” Beep.

“Hey, Jack.” Robby coughs. He didn’t plan what he would say if he didn’t answer; didn’t even plan what he’d say if he did. “I, uh, I don’t know. I’m at… I don’t know. Some place in upstate New York.” He kicks at the ground. Loose dirt tumbles over the edge of the cliff. “Nice views. Mountains and whatever.”

He sighs. “I’m fucking exhausted. Don’t feel like you need to call me back or anything. Can’t guarantee I’ll answer. Anyway, um, bye.”

Robby ends the call with a groan and kneads the kink in his neck. Though he loathes to admit it, everyone was right; starting his ride after a long shift was a bad idea. His bike is parked outside a last-minute room he booked at some shoddy motel with an unsuspectingly good view. Though maybe this is what it’s like outside of a city. Without traffic and apartments to block the horizon, the world grows.

Robby crawls under the scratchy covers of the motel bed and lets the day catch up to him. Within seconds, he falls into a dreamless sleep.

He wakes hours later when the sun is high in the sky, streaming yellow beams into his room. His body aches from the lumpy mattress, and humid air is winning the fight against the crappy air conditioning. The thought of sitting on a leather seat that’s been baking in the sun all morning and riding in a thick jacket is wildly unappealing. Not even a full day in, and he’s already regretting this trip.

He gets dressed and heads outside. Next to his bike is a familiar black truck. Strange.

Muffled shouting breaks through the walls of the main building as Robby approaches to return his key. A deep frown etches itself on his face; that voice can’t belong to whom he thinks it does.

“Please! Please! Ma’am,” the voice says. “I’m not some creep, or a crazy person, but I really, really need to know. If you could please—“

“Sir,” the receptionist says calmly. “I’ve already told you; I can’t give out guest information.”

“You don’t have to tell me the room. Just tell me if he checked in here. I know that’s his bike outside—“

Robby is close enough now to see through the window; he’d know that stance anywhere. “Jack?”

Jack whips around just as Robby steps through the door. Quick as lightning, he latches his arms around Robby’s shoulders. “Fuck, Mike. Oh my God, you scared the shit out of me.”

“I— what’re you doing here?”

“You left me that fucking voicemail. I thought…” he shakes his head, and hides himself in Robby’s neck.

Robby tentatively wraps his arms around Jack’s middle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the receptionist take the opportunity to leave. “You drove all this way because of a voicemail?”

“Was barely six hours,” Jack mutters. His lips brush against Robby’s skin.

Robby checks his watch. 10:30am. “You only got off work three hours ago?”

Jack takes a step back, but keeps a firm hand on the back of Robby’s neck to balance himself. “Shen said he was good on his own, so I left early.”

“Why?”

“I called you back, and you didn’t answer.” Jack’s chin wobbles.

“I was asleep,” Robby laughs shallowly. “It’d been a long day.”

“You said you wouldn’t answer.” The wrinkles around Jack’s eyes contort with the scrunch of his nose as he holds back tears. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“I just meant because I might be on the road.”

“Don’t,” Jack says sharply, “act like I’m overreacting. You know why I was scared.”

Robby’s shoulders slump. “You must be tired. I still have a room.”

Jack nods. “Then we’ll go home.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

Robby considers the dread that filled him at the thought of riding further out this morning. “Yeah. Really.”

Jack nods, eyes locked on Robby’s like he’s looking for the rug that could be pulled from under him. When he decides to trust the answer he’s been given, he wraps an arm over Robby’s shoulders and leans his weight on him.

“Leg bothering you?”

“I’ve had a long day too.”

“Don’t doubt it.” He happily takes Jack’s bulk and guides him back toward the room. “How’d you find me?”

“I’ll always find you.”

A laugh breaks through him. “How romantic.”

“I have my moments.” For the first time all morning, Jack smiles. “And I hid an AirTag on your bike.”

Robby sucks in a breath and digs his fingers deeper into Jack’s waist. “I’m going to let that slide for now.”

“You should be grateful I did it.”

what are my doctors doing man!!

okay i had a lot more symbolism in mind compared to how it turned out but that's fine. the idea for this was the thought of robby and abbot only meeting each other fleetingly at work, in the turn overs between the day and night shifts. the flowers used are evening primroses for this reason.

Since he’d quit the TEMS unit, Jack had been making noises about needing another hobby (“Would we call that a hobby?” Robby had said) and not liking being without something to do (“You’re making the jokes too easy”, Robby had said). Soccer was a hobby. Not that Robby knew much about it, and he didn’t think that he’d ever seen Jack watch a game, but it was worth a shot.

He didn’t get a reply to his message, but a few days later Jack started adding some new entries to the dry erase calendar that lived on the front of their fridge. Every Saturday now said 9 A.M. — SOCCER in the red marker that meant it was one of Jack’s items.

Robby very carefully said nothing about it until after the first training session, and then over dinner just said, “It go okay?”

Jack seemed to think about it for a moment and then shrugged and said, without looking up from his pasta, “Yeah, okay, I think.”

But when Jack invited Robby to attend his first game (“Match, Robby, not game”, Jack said as if he’d known was the offside rule was four weeks ago), it was so clear that it was okay. Clear that Jack had, in fact, found what he’d been looking for: exertion, challenge, brotherhood, and not a firearm in sight. That ratcheted down some little bit of tension that Robby hadn't even known he'd been carrying inside him.

Robby cheered on from the sidelines as Jack chased down the ball with a look of focused exhilaration on his face. The huffs and shouts of the players as they called out to their teammates mingled with the clang and crash of crutches as they jostled for position and vied to be the first to get a goal. He applauded Jack’s goal, and even though Jack’s team drew, when he swung over to Robby on the sidelines afterwards, panting and sweaty, he was grinning just as hard as if they’d won in a landslide.

“Please go shower,” Robby said, wrinkling his nose as Jack slung one arm around him and kissed him hard. “I love you but God almighty.”

“That is the smell of victory,” Jack said.

“You didn’t win!”