Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's no magic bullet, no cure for pain.
What's done is done until you do it again.
~Queens of the Stone Age~

Noah clumped into the kitchen and slung his backpack onto a chair at the table.

"You good?" Tim asked.

Noah shrugged and picked at his nail polish. He had done his nails in alternating blue and black this week, school colors. Apparently something all his art friends were doing, so ....

"I get it. School is school."

Noah sighed and piffed his bangs out of his eyes; he had done one in blue smoky eye and the other in black. "It was okay. It's just ..." he shrugged. "It's just. Y'know. PittFest." Then, quietly, "A girl I knew from Junior Lifeguards died. Her name was Leah. She was nice."

Tim vaguely recalled a young woman with honey-blonde hair midway down her back. Yeah. Well. Shit. "That sucks, I'm sorry." Tim replied. "Here, I leave for work in about 10 minutes. Help me make dinner for you and your dad."

"Thought this was your day off. What are we having?"

"It is, they called me in to cover. Lasagna." Tim handed Noah bag of cheese. "Start spreading the mozzarella love."

Noah set to and said, "I can't believe you're leaving me alone for a whole --" he glanced at his apple watch, "hour and a half .. maybe two hours."

"Make the most of it." Tim laughed as he layered on meat sauce and noodles.

"I'll probably go for a run. Just a quick 5k." Noah threw on another layer of cheese.

"Take dinner out of the oven, then go for your run. Or run and then cook dinner. Do not try to kill two birds with one stone. We don't need another fire in the oven." Tim smiled at Noah and ruffled his hair with his hand. It had been fun to help Noah do to a blue ombre on it, except for the part where he had glopped some of the gel on the kitchen tile and it had taken a fuckton of elbow grease to get it out. He laughed inside at the idea of telling his teenaged self that one day he'd be dying little Noah's hair blue.

And that it wouldn't be the first time he'd dyed Noah's hair.

Or that little Noah would be as tall as him, and still growing.

Or that the little squirt would turn his ability to run into a state championship in cross country, and not football.

Or that he'd be married to Jason Street and helping him raise an out and proud gay kid -- the kind that didn't exist in Dillon, couldn't exist in Dillon.

Or that not only would he be the first Riggins to go to college, but he'd have two degrees and a certification under his belt.

Or that he'd have left Texas with no plans to return because the Texas he'd grown up in no longer existed, (and maybe it had never been anything more than a fantasy), though he loved that Jason had used his silver tongue (and a large donation to a children's hospital, plus the suggestion that he planned to expand his agency in Texas) to wrangle a full pardon out of Governor Abbott. Jay proposed to him as soon as the ink was dry and then they packed up and moved to Pittsburgh and Jason expanded his agency there. It was such a nicely done little fuck you to that asshat. Tim just wished it could've been bigger.

Or that he'd have taken a job at a hospital, even though he still hated the smell.

"Why do you even want a job?" Noah said as he put the final layer of cheese on. "It's not like we need the money."

Tim sighed. "We don't, but I like doing my own thing, and you have your driver's license now." And Jay likes that I want to work, even though I don't need to, and frankly, even with doing handyman gigs on the side, being a househusband is pretty damn boring now that you're grown up enough to look after yourself.

"Yeah, but I don't have a car. Yet." A moment later Noah looked at him and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "You took swing shift to get out of having to do suit and tie events with dad, didn't you?"

Well, no, I normally have Friday and Saturday off, which are the usual days for events. "I plead the Fifth."

+++++

"It's about damn time you got here," said a tall guy dressed in black scrubs with dark hair and a beard with a little grey in it. The lanyard around his neck said Doctor. His dark eyes flashed with anger as he pointed to teen with a mop of dark curly hair tucked in a corner with knees drawn up to his chest and his hands over his ears.

Right. Tim looked at him and said, "Sir, I have no idea why day shift left this. I literally clocked in 10 minutes ago and saw this work order, so here I am, but I just started this week and they haven't issued me all my keys yet, so I need somebody to let me in."

The man blinked at that. "Oh. I'll get security. I'm Dr. Robby by the way. Sorry about --"

Tim shrugged. "Strobe lights and annoying alarms bring out the cranky in all of us. I get it."

+++++

Tim felt for this kid. Dr. Robby had grumbled something about how Psych was supposed to take him up yesterday morning, but that hadn't happened yet, and probably wasn't going to happen at all. The kid looked tired, strung out, in need of a shower, and they had taken the laces out of his shoes and the string out of his hoodie and then left him in the fishtank.

When the button that was supposed to reset the alarm didn't work, it took Tim about 30 seconds to stop the icepick-to-the-ears-siren and another 10 to stop the strobing lights. Great, so not just a failing battery, but something else going on ....

"Jesus Christ. Took you fucking long enough," the kid grumbled.

Tim glanced over his shoulder. "What's your name, son?" he said in his best Coach Taylor voice.

"I'm not your son," came a bitter reply, but then, "It's David."

"Well, David," Tim said, "it was really assholish of day shift to leave you like this. But I am not day shift." He went to tuck the screwdriver bit back in its slot in his belt pouch but dropped it. Shit. But before he could climb down, David picked it up and handed it up to him. Tim smiled down at him. "Thanks."

+++++

" .... just feel like I've fucked up my whole life." David said, barely audible. Tim looked up from where he was cleaning a metric fuckton of dust out of the unit. If this didn't work he was going to have to see about a replacement sensor, or maybe something had caused a short? He could swear it looked like a rat had gnawed at the edge of the hole where the wiring went into the wall, though the wiring itself looked to be in good shape. David sat cross legged with his head in his hands, which explained why Tim could barely hear him.

"Been there. Done that." Tim replied. "Seriously. I ... went through some things. Even got kicked out and was homeless for awhile when I was your age." A moment later he added, "Did they arrest you? Are you facing charges?"

"No," David said, and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve.

Tim smiled in an effort to push back against the memories that flooded up. "Glad you aren't in that kind of trouble. Just sayin. Also from experience."

"It's just," David blew out a long, trembly sigh. "everybody's going to be talking at school and --"

"Hand me that bit," Tim said, pointing. "And when they do talk, just remember that 'go fuck yourself' and 'fuck off' are valid answers." He popped it in, and with a whirr, got the housing for the unit back together.

David gave a choked off laugh at that. "From experience?"

"Yes." Tim started up the stepladder. "If it's real bad, you can ask to transfer to a different school, or ask for home schooling. We did that with my kid." He reconnected the leads, and when he was greeted with blessed, merciful silence and a softly glowing yellow-green light, held the unit in place to mount it back on the wall.

"What did he do?"

Tim drove in the first screw. "Noah is a square peg in a round hole kind of guy. He marches to the beat of his own drummer, he's out and proud, and that ... didn't fly so well down in Texas." He drove in the other mounting screw. "But we're here now, and things are much better." He stepped down, popped the bit out of the screwdriver, and slid it into the case, counting under his breath to see that they were all there.

"Jeezus!" David shouted, "I didn't fucking take one so I could kill myself or something!"

Tim tucked the screwdriver into the loop in his belt. "Of course you wouldn't. It's force of habit from when I was an aircraft mechanic," He replied, keeping his voice even. "You don't want to be the guy who causes a plane to crash because you forgot and left a drill bit or a screw, or something behind and it gets sucked into an engine." A moment later he added, "No. I didn't do that. But I know someone who did, and fortunately the engine failed before they got to the runway, but that's still a scary thing to live with, knowing you could've killed everybody on that plane. Also," he grinned at David. "It sucks to reach into your bag for something you know should be there and it's not, and you've only got your own dumb ass to blame for it, and I have a long list of stuff to get to today."

David nodded at him and mumbled, "Sorry I yelled at you, Tim."

"De nada." He gestured at the room and said, "I don't have anything to say to you that's going to make this suck less. But sometimes, you just have to embrace the suck. That's all I got." He held out a fist and David bumped it.

~oo(0)oo~

Mercifully there was a lull in the action, and Robby was able to grab the new guy from maintenance as soon as he exited BH-1. "Can I have a word with you?" He took the man's arm and led him down a side hall. "Sorry to leave you alone in there with him like that" -- his eyes found the name badge clipped to the man's overalls -- "Tim, but it got busy here with that multiple vehicle wreck." Fuck, I miss Dana. I hope she'll come back. "I saw you talking to David. What did you say to him?"

Tim's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Oh. Was I not supposed to talk to him? 'Cause it seemed rude to just ignore him."

Robby could feel himself smiling. "No. I mean, David is a really angry young man right now--"

"Yeah, you mentioned something about that when you let me in, said he probably wouldn't attack me -- I have all my gear, by the way. I checked."

"He hasn't talked to anybody since he got put in there, not in any meaningful way." Robby continued. "We've tried, but...." He shrugged. "But you? You got him talking. He even smiled."

Tim raked his hand through his short brown hair and locked eyes with him. "Just talked with him like Coach Taylor talked with me back when I was his age, angry at how much everything in my life sucked. Helped him feel normal, I guess."

Robby nodded. "Everybody who works here is a mandatory reporter. Did he say anything that you think we need to know about, about hurting himself, or hurting others, even it it was said like a joke, we need to know."

Tim shook his head. "Not at all. Just ... he's worried about what's going to happen when he goes back to school is all."

Robby sighed. "Yeah, everybody's going to be talking, but," He clapped Tim on the shoulder. "We'll talk to him and his mother about that. Thanks. I'll uh, let you get around to --" he gestured.

"Undeferring a lot of deferred maintenance," Tim said, hefting a tablet in his hand, picking up the stepladder with another, and heading off. "Oh, just so you know," he called over his shoulder. "I think I saw signs of rats in the walls. I'll put in a ticket about that."

Chapter Text

Esme closed her locker and slung her bag over her shoulder, then rubbed her aching hip as she headed for the exit.

She saw him waiting next to the door that lead to staff parking, talking to Xochitl and Kamia. Tim, the new guy from maintenance had quietly joined the group of them that gathered to walk to their cars last night, seeing them all off, and here he was again. (He made sure everybody's car started, too.)

(He was tall, and possibly even more handsome than that Jensen Ackles her oldest daughter Linda liked so much.)

He chuckled in response to something Kamia said, then lifted a necklace with a ring on it from under his shirt.

"... don't wear it at work. It's not safe."

(Of course he was taken.)

He looked over and smiled -- Mother of Mercy, he had dimples! -- at her. "Evening ma'am." Such manners!

His eyes ... such a pretty golden hazel ... kind eyes, but there was something fierce in them, too ... Esme felt her face start to flame, but she found her words before the silence got too awkward. "Hello Mr. Tim. How was your shift?"

~oo(0)oo~

Tim quickly showered, brushed his teeth and used his neti pot on his nose. Yeah, that was another thing his teen-aged self would have WTF'd about. But after COVID laid Jason low, a respiratory therapist had said it was one of the best things they could do to help keep Jason safe. It was weird, but it also fucking worked. Tim hadn't caught COVID, a bad cold, or the flu since he started, neither had Noah or Jason.

He climbed into bed as quietly as he could, but Jay woke up and smiled at him. "Hey you."

"Hey, Six."

"Come over here." Jay patted the mattress and held out his arm for Tim.

Tim kissed his shoulder "Love you," and settled in, careful to not rest his head on Jason's chest too much, he didn't want to do anything that could impede Jay's breathing. He let out a long breath, curled his arm across Jay's hips, pulling him in close, and listened to the steady beat of his heart.

When the repositioning alarm on their apple watches buzzed softly sometime in the middle of the night, Tim asked, "Big spoon or little spoon?"

"Big," Jay replied. And Tim smiled inside as he took Jay's arm and tucked it around his chest, feeling Jay's chest settle up behind him, curling his hand around Jay's, and Jay reached up, ruffled his hair with his other hand, and Tim quickly slipped back under until the next time their watches buzzed.

~oo(0)oo~

"Hey, I need a little help in here!" a voice yelled and Mel nearly collided with Perlah as they ran in to South 15.

Tim from maintenance held both of a patient's hands in his and was saying in a gentle voice, "Hey buddy, you do not want to pull that out. That's a Foley catheter. There's a balloon on the end of it inside of you." His voice dropped to a whisper that Mel barely caught. "You'll rip your dick off if you pull it out."

Mel almost said, No, it won't do that, but it would cause damage to the urethra and would be very painful if he tried, but then recognized the hyperbole.

The patient, an elderly man with mild dementia and an enlarged prostate looked at Tim with horror on his face. Tim nodded at him, face utterly serious. "Rip your dick off," he repeated.

"No, don't want to do that," The old man rasped, nodding solemnly.

Tim nodded back. "Now, I'm going to leave you in the care of these beautiful and talented ladies, while I fix the face plate on this outlet. Do what they say." He stepped back from the bed and turned to the outlet in the room.

As she and Perlah bound the old man's arms to the bed rails -- how she hated to have to do that to people -- she wondered how Tim knew about Foleys. Maybe he helped care for a grandparent?

~oo(0)oo~

"Things have got to change, Robby," Gloria said, pointing to a review on her phone. "You're not doing it right when some guy from the maintenance team is being thanked for his customer service skills."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim discovered a google review taped to his locker. 2008David hated everything about The Pitt: the assholes in the ER, the cops that slammed him to the ground and cuffed him for no reason, the food, and being left for 3 days in a lit room (which was torture under the Geneva Convention), with no TV, no phone, not anything to even read, nothing to do but die of boredom, but Tim from maintenance gets 5 stars because he actually does his job unlike everybody else, and he wasn't an asshole, and he treats you like a person.

A note in his supervisor's chicken scratch handwriting said, "The ER attending was very pleased with how helpful you were in solving a problem. I'm putting this in your annual review."

~oo(0)oo~

Ahmad watched as Myrna made a beeline for Tim, the guy who'd make time to walk a sister out to her car if he and the rest of security weren't able to make it happen. Dude was so handsome, Ahmad couldn't believe he wasn't modeling clothes or something, and he didn't have a bad ego, either. Didn't brag on himself, didn't bag on others. Just came, fixed shit, and treated everybody right, high or low.

He didn't deserve to have Myrna, well, Myrna on him. Ahmad could do that for him at least.

Except by the time he got there, Tim had said something that made Myrna throw back her head and laugh. He even blew her a kiss as he walked away. "Anytime, Charmin," she called after him, smiling.

"Charmin? As in the toilet paper?" Ahmad asked when he caught up to Tim.

"It means she wants to squeeze my ass. It's a thing from the 1980s, so I'm told." He snorted. "She's not the first, uh, woman of a certain age to --" he gestured.

Ahmad wasn't surprised to hear that. "Just watch out for her. She's not as harmless as she looks. That cougar has claws and a long rap sheet. Mostly drunk and disorderlies, but still ... just make sure she doesn't get her hands on anything that can be used to open her cuffs, or she'll pull a Houdini."

"Good to know," Tim replied, gave him a quick nod, and was down the hall, looking at the next thing on his tablet.

~oo(0)oo~

Deke Greene was the person on the maintenance crew that Tim had pegged as "most likely to give me shit." According to a few of the guys from day shift, he frequently showed up to work late and hungover, kissed up, kicked down, and talked smack about people behind their backs. He also wore a MAGA hat to and from work and loved to bitch and moan about "those people" getting promotions and jobs they didn't deserve. He also liked to push things right to the edge and he did half-assed sloppy work. No matter what it was, Deke could be counted on to give 50%, 100% of the time. Deke was the asshole who had left that kid, David, in a room with a screaming alarm, Tim was sure of it.

"Yo, Riggins," he sneered over his locker door. "I heard a rumor that you're a queer."

Tim paused for a moment as he stepped into his coveralls and zipped them up. His work tickets had him doing a lot of HVAC duty today and that was always dusty or damp. He mulled the options over in his head before choosing something that Noah would say. "Good news travels fast." He clipped a penlight into his pocket.

Several people snickered.

"Better not catch you checking out my ass!" Deke snarled as he puffed himself up.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Deke, I'm happily married to a handsome, athletic man with a great personality who owns his own business." He made a show of eyeing Deke's beer-bellied body up and down and snickered. "Now look at you. Why would I want to stray? What are you bringing to the table to top that?"

"Not a fucking thing," Troy chimed in as he closed his locker door and held a fist out for Tim, who bumped it.

+++++

As he came back from getting his dinner from where he'd forgotten it in his truck, Tim noticed two of the junior doctors, Santos (who came with extra sauce) and Whitaker (who was so cornfed) peering into the open engine compartment of a yellow Pontiac Sunfire, well into the rustbucket stage of its life.

"What's up?" He asked.

Whitaker said. "I think her -- no, I know her battery's shot." At a look from Santos he continued, "I dealt with enough trucks and tractors on the farm to know an old and corroded battery."

Tim took one look into the engine compartment and nodded. "I agree with Doc FFA here. I got a wire brush in my truck. I can decruft the leads and see about giving it a jump. I take it you don't have AAA?" Santos sighed and shook her head. "Well, once I get you going, head for the nearest auto parts store, because, and I'm sure Doc FFA will tell you the same thing, as soon as you turn the engine off, it's not coming back on, not without another jump start." He paused for a moment and said, "Either way, you'll have to reprogram all your radio settings. Sorry. I know that's a pain in the ass."

"FFA?" Santos asked.

"Future Farmers of America," Whitaker said with a resigned sigh. "And yes, I did FFA and 4-H."

"Doc Farmer," Santos laughed, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Don't get too happy about that Dr. Santos," Tim cautioned. "Farming is a great and noble occupation, goes back into the stone age."

"Wait, don't I get a nickname, too? If I don't that's discrimination." She winked at him. Extra sauce, indeed.

"Okay, Doc Mala Cria," Tim said and cackled as her brow furrowed. Whitaker couldn't hold back his snickers. Seems he had spent a little time around some farmhands or migrant workers. "I'll be back in a moment."

"What did he say?" Santos demanded as Tim strode away.

"It, um, it's not so much the actual translation, as the connotation," Whitaker hemmed and hawed. 'It's -- " his voice dropped too low for Tim to hear.

"Trailer park!" Santos squawked in outrage, just as Tim rounded the corner, "He called me Doc Trailer Park?!"

He stuck his head back around and answered, "You drive the car of the great and noble double-wide nation. What else should I call you?'

Chapter Text

It's not how you start, it's how you finish
And it's not where you're from, it's where you're at.
~The Hours~

When Samira asked Tim if he would run the Pittsburgh Great Race as part of The Pitt's team, he had politely declined, saying that he was already signed up with another team, but that he hoped to see her there.

She spotted him at the edge of a group milling around a TV crew where a smiling, handsome man in a racing wheelchair of some sort and several very athletic men and women were talking to a reporter. She caught his eye, waved, and to her surprise he smiled and headed her way, dressed in a blue tank top with a logo that said Street Sports on it and a pair of zebra patterned running shorts that instead of black and white were black with stripes that started out magenta and ran through a gradation to blue. It was much more flamboyant and colorful than anything she had ever pictured him wearing. Then again, she had never seen him outside of his blue-grey coveralls or work shirt and pants.

Fuck he looked hot, but then she noticed the ring on his finger. Of course he was taken. His wife must be a very lucky woman.

When Tim was almost to her, a teenaged boy, tall and lanky, blue-tipped hair gelled into a fauxhawk, also wearing a Street Sports shirt, but dressed in a pair of shorts with a pride rainbow, joined him. Tim slung an arm around him and together they came over. "Dr. Mohan, Dr. Abbot," he said, causing Samira to turn and see that Jack had joined her -- he wasn't on the 10K team but was doing the 5K run-walk -- "this is my kid, Noah, who is going to leave us all in the dust as soon as the race starts." The love and pride that glowed on his face and lit up his hazel eyes as he looked at his son made Samira feel kind of toasty inside.

"Which race are you doing?" Noah asked Jack, looking at the running blade on his foot.

"5K," Jack replied.

"Can interview you for school? Please?" Noah steepled his hands. "I'm doing a paper on adaptive technologies for sports. I've got chair locked up, but I don't know anybody with a prosthesis."

Jack smiled. "Well, now you do."

Noah's apple watch buzzed and he said, "Oh, I gotta go. The press wants to talk to me. Thank you, Doctor ..."

"Abbot," Tim supplied as Noah headed off towards cluster of people surrounding the man in the wheelchair. "Thank you, I appreciate that." He said to Jack. "Noah's really thrown himself into this project." His apple watch buzzed, and he said, "I also need to go. I hope I see you out there." A moment later he turned and shouted, "Remember, clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose!"

"I wonder who he knows at Street Sports," Jack said as they watched him rejoin the group. "Maybe he can wrangle me an autograph or two."

"What?" Samira asked.

Jack pointed at the group. "I see a couple of Steelers, some Penguins, some Pirates ... I don't know what teams the women play for, though."

+++++

Samira did see Tim again. Mid way through the race, Tim ended up next to her and Dr. Shen and together they kept a very respectable 48 minute pace, despite the unseasonable heat. When they staggered, sweat drenched, across the line, he turned to her and said between gasps, "If Dr. Robby ever calls you Slo-Mo again, let me know. I'd like to see his time in a 10k."

Moments later Noah ran up and glomped him, exclaiming, "I took second place! I broke 30 at last! Almost got 29!"

"My man!" Tim high fived him, pulled out his phone and said, "Let's go find your dad."

Tim smiled at her and Dr. Shen and waived a quick good bye, as he and his son slung their arms over each other's shoulders and headed off into the crowd.

And it was only as Samira looked at the way those running shorts clung to his fine, tight ass, that the colors of those shorts dawned on her, and that the man in the wheelchair had worn matching tights.

~oo(0)oo~

A few minutes after hitting the 3k mark, Jack mistimed a step, clipped the edge of his blade against a pothole, and did not fall down thanks to two other people reaching out to grab him, but he had twisted his left ankle something fierce in the process and it fucking throbbed. Maybe I can walk it off, he thought.

Then he noticed the man in the wheelchair who had been talking to the press earlier and he did not look so good as he slowly cranked the pedals on his handcycle near the edge of the road. His face was flushed a bright red and sweat (or possibly water in an attempt to cool himself) dripped from his chin. His blue eyes had an almost feverish glint to them.

He edged over and said, "Hey buddy, my name is Jack, and I'm a doctor, and I'm worried because you don't look well."

Gasping, the man said, "I'm Jason, and I'm afraid you're right. I've trained for this for months, and I was clipping along at a decent pace until about 15 minutes ago, but today is not my day." He pulled to the edge of the street, turned the wheel in to catch the curb, wiped at his dripping face with a sweatband on one wrist -- alarm bells rang in Jack's head when he saw the contracture in Jason's hands that indicated quadriplegia -- and reached for something tucked in a pouch on his leg, but couldn't get his hand to work, the muscles in his arm spasming, goosepimples rising as he started to shiver. "Need to get my phone and call my partner. Fuck, my head is pounding."

Jack took a knee next to him. "May I?"

Jason nodded, "Please. The pin is 633633."

Jack punched in the pin and said, "What name am I looking for?"

"Tim," Jason gasped. "Also, lever at the side here, I need you to help me get more upright." He sucked in a ragged gasp, "That usually helps when this happens."

Jack felt a moment of relief that Jason had some idea what was happening to him, and with one hand, he tapped T-I-M on the phone, with the other he pushed up on the back of the chair. He set the phone to speaker and held it up to Jason's face.

"Tim," Jason said as soon as the call connected, "I'm going to have to go to the hospital."

"Six, we are almost there --" came a vaguely familiar voice and then another, fainter shout, "I see him!"

The sound of feet slapping the pavement at a full run brought Jack's head up, just in time to see Noah from this morning, his fauxhawk flattened to his head with sweat -- "Dad!" he yelled as he barreled at them, with Tim (the swing shift maintenance guy who fixed the door on his locker the day Jack put in the request, instead of it taking weeks) only a few steps behind.

Noah all but skidded into a hug with his father, and, oh yeah, there was no doubt that Jason was his biological father, they resembled each other so closely, while Tim locked eyes with Jack and said, "We need to check his Foley for a kink in the line. It's on your side," as he gently tugged at Noah's shirt to get him to move.

Oh, Foleys, my beloathed, causing at least 3 problems for the one they solve. Jack thought as he lifted the hem of Jason's shirt. "Heads up, I am reaching my hand down your leggings." He brought out his own phone and turned the flashlight on as he held the waistband open and, yup, there it was. Despite careful taping, the line had gotten a twist in it. "Noah," he said, holding up his phone, "can you come over and hold this so I can see what I'm doing. I'm going to need both hands to fix this." He knew from experience that one of the best ways to help refocus somebody who seemed scared and distressed about their loved one was to give them, if possible, something to do to help. As soon as Noah had the phone, Jack reached in untwisted the line, and sure enough, the bag he could see a bit further down began to swell with urine.

Jack glanced up and saw Tim rifling through a small bag attached to Jason's other leg, his face crumpled with worry "Jay, did you forget your meds?"

Jason heaved a shaky breath and closed his eyes. "Yeah Tim, I did. Fuck."

Tim grimaced and said, "Doc Abbot, can we at least give him a few Advil or some Tylenol for his headache?"

"It's getting better, Tim, and how do you know this guy?"

"He works at my hospital. And it's still going to take a while for your headache to go away on its own." Tim looked at Jack and said, "Where's the nearest water station or aid station? That's probably the best place for the EMTs to find us."

"I saw one down the block," Noah said, pointing.

"Right," Tim said. "Noah, you steer, I'll push." And with that, they started towards the canopy and table in distance. Jack hobbled after as fast as he could. If nothing else, he hoped to bum some Advil and an icepack for his ankle.

When Jack got to the table, he said to the staffer who was not on the walkie talkie asking for EMS, "I am an ER doctor, and this man is suffering from Autonomic Dysreflexia. The best thing we can do right now is get him as upright as possible. Is there a chair we can have?" He looked at their folding chairs. Not ideal, but ...

"Unclip his other foot, Doc Abbot." Tim said as he freed the foot on his side. "Alright, Jay, up you go." And Jack watched as Tim picked his husband up, cradling a body in his arms that, judging by the breadth of those shoulders and muscular arms, had once been as tall and powerful as his own, and gently put it in the chair the staffer indicated. "Noah, help me hold your dad up."

Jack took a knee and took Jason's hand in his, loosening the mitt that covered it and said, "Jason I'm going to take your pulse now. How's that headache?"

"Getting a little better, but not gone," Jason gritted out, as a full body shiver gripped him. "But maybe I should have some Tylenol." Jason's pulse raced beneath his fingers, a jackhammer, but the rhythm was regular, thank goodness. He shuddered to think what the numbers on the blood pressure cuff would be. Sky over High.

"Okay, yes, you can have some Tylenol." Jack looked in the bag Jason had with him, opened a packet and dropped two capsules in Jason's outstretched hand. He then snagged a cup of water from the table and asked, "Can you grip this right now, or do you need help?" Jason carefully took the cup from his hand and swallowed. He was regaining some of his coordination and fine motor control. A good sign.

"Noah," Tim said in the voice of somebody who was working to be very calm. "One of us needs to ride along with your dad, and I don't know if there's going to be room in the ambulance for both of us. Do you want to come, or do you want to follow with Corina, because we are going to need to call her and let hew know why your dad's not crossing the finish line."

"I-I can do it," Noah said in a small voice. Jack's head snapped up. The kid looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"He can ride with me," Jack said. "I'll follow you in. They'll be taking you to The Pitt."

+++++

As soon as the ambulance roared off. Noah looked at him and said, "Maybe we should take our car? That way we can put my dad's bike in, and when he's discharged, well ..."

Jack tilted his head, thinking. "Where are you parked?" He would get a ride back to his car from one of the residents, or one of the attendings, when this was all over, or catch a Lyft.

"Down by the finish line." Noah gave a slight smile. "We always do it that way so we don't have to walk back to the car when we're tired after the run. That's Uncle Tim's -- my stepdad's trick."

Jack smiled. He did the same thing, too, for events like this, only he had a friend drive him to the starting line, and he drove them back to their car after the race was done. "I twisted my ankle. How about I ride this thing to your car?" A moment later, he caught Noah's eye and said, "You rocked that shit, helping your dad today."

Chapter Text

Everybody gets knocked down
Everybody gets knocked down
How quick are you gonna get up?
Just how are you gonna get up?

Like Ali in the Jungle ...
~The Hours~

Dr. Robby stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, and studied Jason intently. "Thirty Five year old male, a C7 quadriplegic, competing in a 5k race, presenting with a flushed face, blood pressure of 230 over 170, profuse forehead sweating, piloerection, and shivers. Heart rate currently at 102, pulse is steady, oxygen sats at 95% on room air. What are we thinking, Dr. King?"

Tim watched as Dr. King frowned in thought. He knew what questions were coming, and, well, it could only be worse if it was Dr. Santos.

She steepled her fingers. "Autonomic Dysreflexia."

"Differential diagnosis?" Dr. Robby scratched at his beard.

"Hypertension and stroke, but," Dr. King's mouth pressed into a grim line, "Patient currently shows no signs of a stroke, and his other symptoms rule out simple hypertension."

Tim wanted to snap, Look, just shut up and medicate him! This isn't our first time at the rodeo. but he knew The Pitt was a teaching hospital, and on top of that, yelling at Dr. King would be like kicking a kitten ... and Dr. Robby would take him aside later and give him an epic ass chewing of the kind Coach Taylor gave when you'd earned one. And Tim would probably get fired, and he really liked his job here fixing things. It was never the same day twice, most of the people he met were nice, and it didn't have the pressure of working in the aircraft industry.

He took a deep breath and smoothed Jay's damp hair back from his face. He looked a little better, less flushed, but they weren't out of the woods yet, not with numbers like those. Jay reached over and limply squeezed his hand. Tim felt so pissed with himself that they hadn't double checked for Jay's Nifedipine pills this morning, but there had been a lot of things to keep track of. He distinctly remembered counting pills into the little pill box, but somehow, it hadn't made it into Jay's bike bag. Shit.

Dr. Robby smiled and nodded. "Good. What triggers should we look for?"

"A kink in a catheter, infection, bowel, bladder, or kidney stones, constipation, and testicular torsion." Dr. King said, ticking points off on her fingers. A moment later she added. "Sometimes orgasm."

"Well, my race did not end with victory sex." Jason said. Tim marveled at the way Jason managed to turn on the charm even when he was clearly feeling like day old roadkill. "Also, I have a smooth transaction twice a day. Prunes and apricots are my friends, and I made sure to take care of that before I left the house." Jason nodded to indicate his abdomen. "You can still check my belly if you need to."

As Dr. King lifted Jay's shirt and started palpating, she said, "Let me know if you feel any discomfort."

Jay snickered in response. "If that happened, it would be the best day of my life."

"I'm sorry," Dr. King replied, blushing bright red as she continued pushing and prodding. "It feels normal. No signs of fecal impaction, swellings, masses, or stiffness that would indicate an infection or a tumor." She met Tim's eyes for a split second and gave a slight smile, before flicking over to Jason. "Next, I need to check your catheter for any kinks or blockages --"

"And you can check to see if the beans are above the frank while you're down there," Jason cut in, "But I would prefer not having my tights cut off, they were a gift. Can we take them off?" Tim moved to slip off Jay's shoes and noticed that Nurse Jesse had produced a bag for clothing as he moved to grab the shoe on his side. Jay's X-Men themed socks made Jesse smile.

"Beans above the frank?" Dr. King muttered under her breath so low that Tim barely heard.

"Extreme testicular torsion, Dr. King," Dr. Robby said, the smile lines around his eyes crinkling as he held back a laugh. "It's a reference to an old comedy called There's Something About Mary."

Tim locked eyes with Nurse Jesse and together they pulled Jay's tights off and Jesse folded them into the bag.

Dr. King moved her hands to Jay's groin. "No swelling, bruising, discoloration, or other signs of torsion. The frank is above the beans. The Foley looks good, but we will probably want to put a fresh bag on, soon."

"It was a twist in my Foley that caused this," Jason said. "But a doctor I met during the run named Jack fixed it --"

"Dr. Abbot," Tim interjected and noticed Dr. Robby nod in appreciation. "He's coming in with Noah, our son. Should be here soon."

"Do you take any Sildenifil? It's also called Viagra." Dr. King asked.

Jason smirked at Tim and said, "No, I have a hot husband." Tim felt his face flame. "And I appreciate the assumption that a guy in a wheelchair has a sex life instead of the other way around."

Dr. Robby cleared his throat and said, "Treatment plan, Dr. King?"

She looked at him, expression bright. "I'd like to get his blood pressure down as quickly as possible so let's start with Nitroglycerin ointment on the chest, and follow up with Hydralazine or Nifedipine if needed."

~oo(0)oo~

Jack's arms and shoulders had started to burn with the effort of having pedaled himself about a mile and a half -- he liked to think he had good upper body strength and endurance, but apparently not as much as he thought -- and the throbbing in his ankle was making him cranky, but he couldn't stop the guffaw when he saw the vehicle Noah led him to, a white Chrysler Pacifica. For starters, it was parked next to his SUV. Then he saw the license plate: Vandalf. He laughed even harder when he saw a yellow diamond in the back window with "You shall not pass" written on it.

"It was a joke my mom made when we got our first minivan, and my dad kept the plate. This is Vandalf the 4th." A moment later Noah added, "My mom and my grandparents died from a car accident when I was seven. I um ... I was in the ambulance right next to her when ...." his voice trailed off and he visibly collected himself before opening the back hatch of the van, and deploying the ramp.

Yeah. That would explain why he wasn't exactly eager about getting in the back of an ambulance with his surviving parent.

Jack helped Noah load the hand bike in the back of the van and lock it down, then rolled his shoulders to ease them up. "Even if you have a license, I should drive, Noah. I know where the hospital is, and you've got a lot on your mind right now." A moment later he said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to switch back to my regular foot. The blade is great for running, but it's not as comfortable for regular walking. At least not for me."

Noah nodded and climbed in the passenger seat of the van. "I'll check with Corina while you do. She's my dad's PA."

+++++

Mercifully, the one of the handicapped spaces closest to the ER was empty. Jack parked Vandalf, opened the door, misjudged the distance to the ground as he stepped down and rolled his ankle for the second time -- searing white-hot agony shot through his foot and calf and he yelled, "Fuck me!" Only his grip on the door kept him upright as he panted through the pain.

"I've got you, Dr. Abbot," Noah said, slinging Jack's left arm over his shoulder. "I'd carry you, but I'm not Uncle Tim."

+++++

Robby ran over, eyes huge as soon as they limped in through the ambulance entrance. "Jack! What happened?"

Through clenched teeth, Jack managed to grit out, "I rolled my damn ankle. Twice." With relief Jack plopped into the wheelchair that Princess brought over.

"Where's my dad?" Noah asked. He looked a little pale. Jack reached over and gave him a quick squeeze on the arm.

"Guy with Autonomic Dysreflexia, in with Tim from maintenance," Jack supplied. "And can I get a cold pack and some Advil?"

Robby pointed down the hall. "Your dad's three doors down on the right." To Jack he said, "We'll get you on a gurney, with your foot up and a cold pack, and let's get you scheduled for an X-ray and an MRI."

++++++

From his gurney, as he waited for his imaging results, Jack could see into the treatment room, and felt glad to see that Jason looked much better, though it would be several hours before he could be safely discharged. He watched as Noah and Tim gently helped Jason get turned so he could avoid developing pressure points, and wished somebody would look at him again the way that Tim now looked at Jason.

He turned away before his glance turned into a stare and saw Robby looking at him, with an utterly unguarded expression on his face before immediately snapping his gaze away, pivoting, suddenly very interested in something on the other side of the wing.

Jack's breath caught in his throat at what he was pretty damn certain he'd seen in Robby's eyes, as much as Robby might want to pretend he hadn't, that it wasn't there. Jack had only known him to date women. Dare he hope?

A part of Jack said as soon as he got a real moment alone with Robby, he should ask a direct question. And not take any bullshit dissembling for an answer.

Another part of Jack reminded him of the time he'd misread another man's intentions, and while it didn't nuke their friendship from orbit, it was never the same afterwards.

(Fuck.)

Chapter Text

Truth is, face to face, you're a coward
Sharp as a paper machete
~Queens of the Stone Age~

---

Feeling frisky?" Jason asked, stroking his hand down Tim's chest. He was spooned up behind Tim, and dropped a few quick kisses along the top of his shoulder.

Tim rolled over on his back and grinned up at Jason. "When am I not when it comes to my hot husband?"

Jason frowned down at him. "No, you're the hot husband I distinctly remember telling them that at the hospital."

Tim cupped Jason's head and pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips. "How about we agree that you have a hot husband, and I have a hot husband, and we take it from there?"

"We can do that," Jason said, and pulled Tim to him for a hungry, devouring, kiss.

+++++

Tim did the most obscene things with his lips and tongue to Jason's neck (his repeated Oh god yes just like that music to Tim's ears) as Jason watched while Tim's slick hand jacked his dick, and then, there it was, a small splash of come as Jason shuddered against him in release.

"Let me clean you up," Tim said, scooting down the bed, hard and leaking, ready to go. "Oh shit, Six," he said softly when he looked up from licking the come off Jason's stomach, "I think gave you a hickey." He snickered, "Again."

Well, that was one of the reasons Jason had a decent collection of turtleneck shirts.

"You know that payback's a bitch, right?" Jason said.

"Bring it, Six." Tim crawled back up and kissed him before skooching up to sit with his back against the headboard, legs spread as Jason rolled himself over then elbow crawled towards him.

+++++

Thirty minutes later, as Jason's incredible hoover of a mouth brought him to the edge for the 4th time, Tim almost regretted giving Jason that hickey, because Jason had informed him after the 2nd time that he was going to do this for every day he had to wear a turtleneck to work, and he figured it would take 5 days for the hickey to fully vanish. Tim tried to say something snarky, but at the moment his brain couldn't string any words together beyond "Please, Jay" as he gripped the headboard so tightly he thought he might leave dents in the wood.

Jason eased back and Tim heard him open a drawer in the night stand. "I bought you something," Jason said, and Tim opened his eyes to see him holding up a slightly s-curved piece of stainless steel that had three small bumps on one end and a larger knob on the other.

"What the hell is that?"

"This," Jason said, as he squirted some lube on it "is a Stainless Steel Prostate Probe."

Tim couldn't stop his snicker, "Could they have come up with a less sexy name? Sounds like a piece of medical equipment."

Jason chuckled for a few seconds then said, "Well, I wasn't buying it for the name, but I mean, I can stop right now --"

"Don't. You. Dare."

Jason licked at the pre-come dribbling from Tim's cock, making Tim groan. "Well," he replied, "I think a medical name is right for this piece of equipment," He slid it in --

"Jesus, that's cold, Six!" Tim yelped and bucked at the intrusion.

"I hear it cures blue balls." Jason said before he took Tim all the way down and wiggled the rod.

+++++

It did indeed cure blue balls.

And how.

~oo(0)oo~

Noah Street, it turned out, was really quite serious about interviewing Jack and they finally managed to find a time and a place that worked for them, which turned out to be after school at a cafe and patisserie in the Strip district. The ankle brace for his L2 sprain and the cane he needed to walk while it healed made driving all but impossible and public transit a bitch, so he took a Lyft.

"Anything you like, Dr. Abbot." Noah said. "My dad insists it's on him." His hair was now a teal to blue ombre and black eyeliner made his blue eyes pop. He wore a letterman's jacket with a pride flag pin on the collar, jeans, and a black T-shirt that had The Cult written on it in an abstract rainbow script. Jack was glad to see that Noah's dads were raising him right.

Noah noticed him noticing the shirt and said, "What can I say, Dr. Abbot? Young Ian Astbury. So fucking hot. Also how many other groups can both you head-bang and dance to?"

True. That. Jack smiled at the observation and said, "Call me Jack. I'm not at work." As he checked the menu and display case out, Jack thought about how pretty much no athlete was out when he was growing up, and those that were were all retired, and the only out, or out-ish people in high school were the kind of flamingly gay band and/or drama fags -- and yes, that is what they were called, and called themselves -- who couldn't have stayed in the closet if they tried.

"What'chu thinking?," Noah said, his voice chipper, almost flirty, he bounced a bit on the balls of his feet. Jack locked eyes with him and felt relieved to see that this looked to be Noah being himself, not crushing on him -- that would have been incredibly awkward considering he was older even than Noah's parents.

He leaned on his cane and a moment later he said, "Just thinking about how you live in a world where you can be out --"

"Lots of folks trying to shove people like me back in the closet and nail the door shut." Noah's eyes glinted with anger.

Jack sneered. "They are trying to close the barn door after the horse has gone out and won the Kentucky Derby. I'm Bi. AZT was approved the year I had my first crush on a boy -- first crush on a girl, too -- and let me tell you, it was not safe to be out at school at that time, especially not where I lived, and there was nobody I could talk to about what was going on inside. Nobody. Oh, one or two of the band and drama kids were out, but guys like me who did sports? Oh hell no. And it was scary as fuck at times, I didn't know a single other person like me. Hell, I never even heard the word 'bisexual' mentioned until I was a senior, and even then, it was said as a joke.

"Then I joined the military just in time for Don't Ask Don't Tell, which, don't let anybody tell you different, was a step forward compared to what some older vets have told me happened before. It still wasn't great, you still had to stay in the closet, but at least the military was no longer actively hunting their own.

"But here you are," he gestured. "You're out at school and a jock, and you've got two dads. That ... didn't happen when I was young. Well, maybe if you lived in San Francisco or New York, but I grew up rural Maryland."

Noah sighed. "Well, we left Texas when I was 13 because the bullying got so bad at school, and nobody did a damn thing about it. Oh, they said they would, but ..." He shook his head. "Plus two of my dad's biggest clients got signed to Pittsburgh teams, so that kind of clinched the move up here." They reached the counter and Noah said, "Seriously, anything you want, and your money's no good."

Jack decided fuckit, and got a huge wedge of Banoffee pie and cafe au lait. (Thank god for Lactaid.)

+++++

Tim really wasn't kidding when he said Noah was taking this project seriously. He carefully typed Jack's answers into a tablet, and it wasn't like Jack got to talk about advances in prosthetics (just in the time that he had had one there had been several innovations in the technology), and why he chose a pin for his every day leg, vs a vacuum seal for his running blade, and what he was hoping for in the future when it came to comfort and functionality ... when a group of young men came up to the table and loomed. Jack felt his internal asshole alarm start pinging.

Noah glanced up, rolled his eyes and said, "What do you want, Carlton?"

"Look at you wearing a letterman's jacket. People like you don't belong in sports."

Noah rolled his eyes again and held up his middle finger. Jack liked the little skull and crossbones decal on his nail. "Fuck off. We're not at school, I don't have to pretend to tolerate you, and I don't care if you go tattle to Coach Karson."

Jack cleared his throat. "You boys need to leave now." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few of the other patrons take their phones out.

"Is this one of your faggot dads who molests you? The one who isn't a crip?"

Noah shot to his feet so fast he knocked the chair over, "I said, fuck off." He locked eyes with Carlton and got right in his face, at which point one of Carlton's toadies sucker punched Noah in the kidney, causing him to gasp and crumple against the tabletop.

In an instant Jack was on his feet, getting between Noah and this group of assholes. "Heyyyy, let's break it up. You guys need to leave right now."

Carlton shoved him, "Get your hands off me, cocksucker!" Jack nearly fell, but grabbed the table just in time to keep from landing on his ass. His ankle protested the violent change in direction with a jolt of pain. Jack could see what looked like a manager step out from behind the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Noah get back to his feet and square up even as tears of pain leaked from his eyes. Righting himself, Jack meant to say, Seriously. Stop it. You need to leave before you get in some real trouble. What came out of Jack's mouth, however, was straight out of his Army days. "You feckless peckerwoods need to back the fuck off and leave right fucking now!" He snarled as he pointed to the door.

Carlton's toady made another feint at Noah, and as Jack moved to intercept, in his peripheral vision, he saw Carlton take a swing at him. In one smooth motion he ducked it, and without thinking, his hand grabbed his fork from the table and he jammed it deep into Carlton, just beneath the ribs, driving the air out of him in a whoosh, before Carlton sucked it all back in to scream as he fell to the floor.

In the silence, broken only by Carlton's screams, Jack saw the toady had bloody nose and Noah had the beginnings of a black eye. The other two of Carlton's hangers on had such perfect "ohs" of shock on their face as they backed away, that under other circumstances, Jack would've laughed.

Noah's eyes blazed with anger as he glared down at Carlton, writhing on the ground, hands cupping the handle of the fork sticking out his side as his shirt rapidly reddened. "Or as we used to say in Texas, 'you mess with the bull, you get the horns.'"

Jack leaned against the table and said, "Somebody call 9-1-1, and get me a bunch of napkins. Some food service gloves, too, if you have them, and also a cup of ice." He sucked in a deep breath as his body shook from the adrenaline that still raced through it. He glanced around at the room, "If you're filming this, I need you to please keep filming until first responders arrive."

Noah had his phone out, and Jack heard him talking almost incoherently to his dad. He carefully took a knee next to Carlton and said, "I'm going to take the fork out, and then I'm going to apply pressure to your wound until EMS arrives." He noticed the toady who punched Noah pinching his bloody nose and trying to slip away. He pointed at a chair and growled, "Sit your bitch ass down!" To the room he said, "Nobody let him leave." The toady slumped into the chair like a sack of potatoes.

+++++

Jack all but sagged in relief when the first police officer who stepped through the door was Sgt. Wilson Slade, who Jack knew from down at the VFW, and who was discretely out and married to a fireman.

"Abbot?!" He blinked, taken aback. "Jack, what's going on here?"

"Got to keep pressure on this wound," Jack said. "But some people here have video that you need to see. And Noah," Jack indicated him with a nod of his head, "isn't talking to anybody until his dad comes."
Wilson and his partner watched the video and even guffawed at one point.

When EMS arrived on scene, the EMTs happened to be Johnson and Sternberg, who Jack also knew. They were slightly less gossipy than some, but there was no way they would sit on a story like this. "He was stabbed in the side with a fork by me -- oh yeah, you heard that right -- I have been applying pressure to the wound." He pointed to Noah, who was alternating holding a wad of napkins filled with ice to his eye and his back. "He got sucker punched in the left kidney. I need you to check his vitals, too."

Moments later Jason Street rolled in, face like a thundercloud, wearing a suit that easily cost double most people's rent, followed by a man and a woman in equally expensive suits. He zoomed straight over to Noah and pulled him into a hug, frowning at the black eye. Looking around, he took stock of the scene and gave one of the most shit-eating grins Jack had ever seen when he saw Carlton being loaded on the gurney and the toady slumped in the chair. "Carlton Ashcroft and Steve Driscoll, we meet again."

Slade said, "I take it you're his parent."

"Yes, officer," Jason replied. "And Noah will not be talking to you without me and our attorneys present."

"There's some video you need to see," Jack said to them.

Slade sat down next to Jack and whispered in his ear, "That was some straight up BAMF shit. Remind me of your MOS again."

Jack looked him in the eye and said, "18-D."

Slade whistled appreciatively. To EMS he said, "You taking him to The Pitt?" To Steve Driscoll, who looked like he was going to try and leave with EMS, he pointed and said, "You need to sit back down. You are not free to leave at this time." Slade's partner sat down next to Steve and side-eyed him.

Jason called over to him where he was huddled with Noah, the two attorneys, and the thirtysomething looking woman who had shared her video with Slade. Jason thanked her for sending a copy of the video to them. She walked over to Slade who began taking her statement.

"Jack, I cannot begin to thank you enough for this." Jason bit off the words, keeping his calm, though his eyes blazed blue hot with rage. "If you want, my attorneys will be present with you for your statement, and any other questioning, and though you seem to be on good terms with officer friendly over there, I strongly suggest you take me up on this offer. And, if Carlton's chucklefuck of a father comes after you, let me know, my legal team will be at your disposal. If your higher-ups give you any grief, also let me know. I have ways of, " he smiled, " ... smoothing their ruffled feathers."

"Thank you," Jack said, genuinely moved. "Also, Noah should get checked out. Take him in tonight if there's any hint of blood in his urine, or the pain gets bad enough to make him vomit, but he should go to Urgent Care tomorrow morning for a follow up. If you took him to an ER right now, since he's not actively dying, it just means he'd be sitting up most of the night in a very uncomfortable chair."

Jason nodded and said to one of his attorneys, "Hastings, please let the officer know that Noah is ready to make his statement."

Jason's other attorney, Jess, sat with Jack as he made his statement. When he finished, Slade pointed to his partner, "Hey Tony, I think we can put the cuffs on that one" he indicated Steve "and read him his rights."

Jack started to shake a bit in his chair. He had managed to keep it together, but now, all that repressed emotion wanted to work itself out and he clenched his jaw as another series of shivers raced through him.

"Hey, are you okay?" Noah asked, coming up beside him, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder, startling him slightly.

Jack patted Noah's hand and said, "Just a little after action stress leaving the body."

"Do you need a ride?" Jason asked as he wheeled over.

Jack thought about saying no, but he was in no shape to take public transit, much less drive if he had brought his car, and it was now rush hour, so a Lyft would charge surge pricing. He could afford it, but he hated it on general principles. He said, "Let me call a friend and see if he's free tonight. If he is, you can drop me there. He stepped aside to make the call, and blessedly, mercifully, Robby picked up right away.

Chapter Text

Tim had just finished installing a series of special air filters up in the ICU when Ahmad, one of the security guys down in the ER texted him. "Get down here, Riggs. You gotta see this video of Abbot serving some sweet, sweet FAFO to a dumbass."

Tim stepped off the elevator to see Dr. McKay, looking like Pollyanna today with her hair in two pigtail braids, smiling from ear to ear. (He'd walked her to her car a few times last month when she thought her ex's psycho girlfriend might come after her.) She ran over to him and cackled gleefully, "My douchbag ex's little asshole brother started shit with Dr. Abbot and he stabbed him with a fork! He's in room 12 with Dr. Shen." She clapped her hands with joy before skipping -- skipping! -- into a room to see her next patient.

+++++

"That's my kid, Noah," Tim said about two seconds into the video as anger roared through him so hot it made his ears ring. "Those fuckers gave him shit last spring at school." Jason had handled that and had gotten them to back off.

Ahmad put a hand on his shoulder when the video was done and said, "Let's step you out for some air, Riggs. I think you need to take five."

On autopilot, Tim followed him out. His phone rang. Jason. Who had a whole lot to say about the viral video Tim had just seen.

"He's here, Six. Carlton. In the ER --" Tim's throat had grown so tight, it felt like the words clawed their way out.

"And that's why I think you need to come home tonight. Family emergency. Oh, and Tim," Tim could hear a grinchy smile in Jason's voice, "you just leave those fuckers to me. As much as I know you might want to dish out a little something to Carl the Cunt, they couldn't have done a better job of serving themselves up to me on a silver platter."

Tim almost felt sorry for Carlton and Steve at that point. Jason was the most determined, driven, and just straight up stubborn person Tim had ever met. If Jason had wanted to climb Mt. Everest, Tim knew in his bones he'd find a way to do it. And now he'd just made Carlton and Steve a special project.

"How's Noah?" Tim croaked.

"Stiff and sore. He's got a black eye and a bruise on his side, not a bad one, though. I'm still going to need you to take him to urgent care for a follow up tomorrow. I'm going to be busy putting the wheels in motion on Carlton and Steve."

Ahmad snagged him as he re-entered the ER. "Come with me. You and McKay are going to want to see this." He held his fist out and a police officer with a sergeant's stripes on his sleeve bumped it back.

"Jack's good people, and he's had my back more than once," the officer said. "This is the least I can do for him."

"It's his kid in the video," Ahmad said, pointing at Tim.

The officer chuckled, "Bonus."

+++++

In the end, Tim couldn't resist getting a little dig in. Ahmad opened the door, he stuck his head in, and he waived at Carlton, who was handcuffed to the bed. "Hi there, I'm Noah Street's non-crippled dad, and when this is over, you're going to wish it was me who came after you."

+++++

As he headed out to the garage with the day shift medical team, Dr. Collins (who was smart and nice, and a woman so smoking hot Tim couldn't believe she wasn't a model in Paris or something) took him aside and said, "So, I saw the video. How is your son? Has anybody talked to you or your partner about kidney --"

Tim said, "I'm pretty sure Dr. Abbot told Jay something. I know that I'll be taking him to urgent care tomorrow to get checked out." He paused a moment and said, "I remember taking some hard hits in the flank back when I was his age. Football. But just in case, please fill me in, ma'am."

~oo(0)oo~

Gloria sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose against a brewing headache. Normally it was Dr. Robby who triggered them, but last night, Jack Abbot had really outdone himself when it came to serving up the nightmare fuel. She had to release some sort of statement to the press, and was hoping to find a way to delay that, but that video was still trending on TikTok, Red Note, Threads, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Reddit, BlueSky ... and god knows what else.

Her phone buzzed. Delores, her admin assistant. "Gloria," she said, "I have a Mr. Jason Street on the line for you. He was a patient here last month, wrote a letter to you, very happy about the care he got in the ER? Well it was his son Dr. Abbot defended in that video and he really wants to talk to you."

Gloria sighed and made herself smile to put some cheer in her voice that she did not feel. "Fine. Put him through."

"Dr. Underwood, Jason Street," came a warm and friendly voice. "Thank you for taking my call, I've had to handle viral video situations like this before. I know how busy you are, so I'm going to try and keep this short."

"Please, call me Gloria, Mr. Street --"

He laughed. "Jason. Mr. Street's my dad."

"What would you like to talk about, Jason?" She massaged her forehead, trying to get it to relax.

"Noah is my only son. The only child I will ever have, Gloria, and he is a miracle baby. Last month Jack Abbot, Dr. Robby, Dr. King, and the rest of the team in your ER saved my life when I nearly died. Jack Abbot very generously made time to talk to Noah about a school project, and then defended him when he was attacked by bullies yesterday. Bullies who don't like that he's out and proud, and think that gay people have no place in sports.

"Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center has done more for me and my family in this past month than I can put into words. So, it's time I started giving something back. Is there some equipment that the ER team needs? Some training? I'm prepared to fund something up to $200,000 to start."

Gloria felt her headache start to lift.

"Also, my agency represents players from the Pirates, the Penguins, the Steelers, the Riverhounds, as well several college athletes, and I'm sure we could get a few to visit the wards, or help with some fundraising. If you're open to any of that, I'd love to schedule a meeting so we can discuss ideas."

Gloria's smile was genuine as she replied, "I'd love to talk more with you and your team, Jason." Not only had her headache faded, but her shoulders had dropped back to where they were supposed to be, instead of trying to kiss her earlobes.

"Oh, and finally, Street Sports will be releasing a statement today about the dedication of the ER team at PTMC, particularly thanking Jack Abbot for his generosity and heroism. I'm just letting you know that so your statement can dovetail nicely with ours. Again, I know your time is spoken for. I appreciate you fitting me in, and we will be reaching out to PTMC within a week. Thank you again, Gloria."

"I hope you have a wonderful day, Jason. Thank you so much for reaching out. I look forward to working with you and the Street Sports team. Good-bye." Gloria put the receiver back in the cradle, and, with a happy sigh, began to draft her statement to the press.

Chapter Text

Oh the heads that turn
Make my back burn
~The Cult~

Robby drifted up out of a dead to the world sleep, moved to yawn and stretch, then winced when his back protested. Not just stiff muscles from prolonged exertion followed by a sleeping like a log, but because Jack had raked several furrows down his back. And every single one of them was so worth it. It had been a long time since he'd -- well ... he felt his face start flaming at the memories.

Robby still had no idea what had set Jack off last night. Just got a phone call around 5pm from a clearly agitated Jack, asking if he could come over, then there was Jack on his door step, a little before 6, shiver-shaking as he worked to keep it together. A storm raged in Jack's eyes as they bored into his, and the words burst out of him, "I sometimes get the feeling from you, Robby, that we could be more than just friends. So I need to know. Am I just seeing things I wish were real, or do you want there to be more?"

Robby couldn't believe this was happening. Not now. Not like this. "Yes," Robby managed to whisper when his tongue finally untangled.

"Yes what?" Jack hissed. "Is this all in my head or do you want more?"

The words felt papery in Robby's mouth. "I want more." He didn't get to say anything else, because Jack cut him off with a hard, searingly hot kiss, and they left clothes on the floor all the way to the bed room and didn't stop except for a seventh inning stretch to call for a pizza. And then came overtime. And double overtime.

It had felt like being a teenager again, except for the part where they both actually knew what to do in bed.

~oo(0)oo~

Fortified by a cup of coffee, Jack leaned against Robby's kitchen island and contemplated taking his phone off airplane mode, but then Robby walked by, clad only in some low slung pajama bottoms as he idly toweled at his wet hair. It wasn't until he turned that Jack saw several tracks of scratches down Robby's back, some them just angry pinky-red welts, some of them scabbed over, some of them reopened and oozing slightly.

"Jesus, Robby!" He gasped. "I-I-I ...."

"Yes," Robby said with an ear to ear grin on his face, "And I for one have no complaints, zero, zip, zilch, nada."

Jack took another shaky drink of his coffee.

Robby looked at him kindly. "Go take a bath, Jack. I'd say have a shower, but I'm not really set up for you to do that safely. So, have a nice soothing bath -- in fact, I'm prescribing you one like some medieval doctor. Hop in the tub, pour in the Mr. Bubble, play with the rubber ducky. And when you're done, let's talk about whatever happened yesterday that brought you to my door."

+++++

Robby's guest bathroom did, indeed, have a rubber ducky.

+++++

Jack found his shirt and pants neatly folded on an end table when he wandered back into the dining nook clad in a towel. Robby looked at him over the top of his laptop, his hands steepled, his cheeks flushed, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "So, you stabbed a guy with a fork and are now internet famous."

Jack shrugged and decided that now was the time to rip the bandaid off. He took his phone out of airplane mode, and the pinging and dinging went into overdrive. "Gloria must be having kittens," he huffed.

"Surprisingly not," Robby replied. "Her press release is all about a highly decorated veteran and valued member of the PTMC family" -- they both rolled their eyes at that -- "who bravely protected a young man outnumbered by bullies who attacked him. And how, and I quote, 'Dr. Abbot's actions exemplify the dedication and devotion of PTMC staff to all members of our community regardless of race, ethnicity, creed, class, or sexual orientation.'" He paused and said, "Yeah, the memes are hilarious, but at the end of the day, you did good, Jack. You rocked that shit -- as you would say -- standing up for that kid and standing up to those assholes."

Jack flashed him a bittersweet smile. "It's just, the ... muscle memory of it all. I thought I had left that kind of thing back in Afghanistan. It's, uh, brought up some feelings, memories. I thought I left that part of me behind." He shook his head. "I won't lay it all on you -- that's what I pay my therapist for. Bet I've got a couple of texts from him." He scrolled back to the start of the texts that had come flooding in.

The first one was from Shen. A picture of the puncture wounds in Carlton's torso and: First fork nose girl, and now this from you? There are other utensils, Jack.

He laughed so hard tears dripped from his chin.

~oo(0)oo~

After a long day in the NICU -- and good lord could NICU nurses could be fierce when it came to those postage stamp sized babies -- Dennis Wittaker decided, oh, what the hell? And joined Santos -- and that is how he thought of her, despite being her housemate -- in a bar a few blocks down the street from The Pitt. Well, it was that, or take public transit home. He, Santos, Mohan, Donnie, and Matteo pooled their money for two massive plates of nachos and a few pitchers of beer. (He had sold a few units of plasma recently and could afford to chip in.) They all had the next two days off.

They stayed long enough that a few people from the swing-shift non-medical staff drifted in, celebrating the fact that one of the guys in EVS had just become a grandfather to twin girls. (Apparently they were the first girls born on his side of the family in 50 years.)

Santos's place in line for one of the pool tables had just opened up and she asked if Tim would join them to make an even team. He flashed a wicked grin and said, "I accept my honorary medical degree, but just so you know, I have a hard out by 1am. Noah's got a thing I have to take him to tomorrow morning."

It was so one-sided Dennis couldn't believe it when Tim's turn in the rotation came up. He methodically proceeded to sink every ball on the table one after another, like clockwork, until it was time for the 8-ball. "My dad was a no good son of a bitch," Tim took a swallow of his club soda and lime, "but he did teach me to play a mean game of pool."

"You are playing for my team, every time." Santos declared.

"Thought I already was, Malacria, given we're both bent." Tim winked at her and proceeded to line up his shot on the 8 ball when a visibly drunk, kind of skuzzy looking guy that Dennis vaguely recognized from somewhere, lurched over and proceeded to grab Tim's ass, startling him so badly he drove his stick into the table and launched the cue ball over the side, Matteo catching it before it struck the floor.

Tim whirled and the "what the?" expression on his face hardened into a sneer of disgust. "Fuck off, Deke."

"What, don't want your ass grabbed by a real --"

Deke did not get to finish that sentence as Myrna appeared out of nowhere, snarled, "Nobody squeezes Timmy's Charmin except me!" And smashed him over the head with her beer bottle.

Deke dropped like a rock.

+++++

"Myrna, you're the best!" Tim called as the police took Myrna away in cuffs.

"Any time, Charmin!" she called back just before they closed the door on the cruiser.

Tim grabbed Dennis and Santos by the arms and took them aside. "I need a small favor. I need you to go to HR on your next shift and tell them what Deke did. He's been a real asshat since he found out I have a husband."

"Not a problem," Santos said, "And I'm sure that Samira, Matteo, and Donnie will be happy to corroborate."

Tim nodded. "Also, do either of you know Myrna's legal name?" He pulled out a phone and clicked on an entry in his address book. "I need to get her bonded out."

"You have a bail-bond in your contacts?" Dennis asked.

Tim snorted derisively. "My husband's agency represents a lot of young men who have money for the first time in their lives and, um .... they don't always make smart choices. Of course we have a go to bail bond."

Chapter Text

The teenage queen, the loaded gun
The drop dead dream, the Chosen One
A southern drawl, a world unseen
A city wall and a trampoline
Oh, well, I don't mind, if you don't mind
'Cause I don't shine if you don't shine
~The Killers~

"Victory dinner at my house" the text from Jason had read. "Bring a guest if you'd like. Dress is informal. We're planning on meat and veggie lasagna, but please let us know if you and any guest have any food allergies or other dietary restrictions."

Not only had Carlton Ashcroft and Steve Driscoll (who turned out to be Doug Driscoll's nephew, so apparently being a shithead ran in the family) been expelled from Noah's school, but they now had restraining orders that prevented them from entering Noah's high school or PTMC, and they were forbidden from coming within 500 feet of Jack or Noah for the next three years, which, in Noah's case specifically mentioned competitive sporting events, so yeah, that had the potential to put a crimp in their high school athletics.

Jack smiled at the memory of how, during his deposition, Carlton's father mentioned the possibility of going after Jack for the cost of Carlton's medical bills. Jason had looked at him, gave a smile that would have made a shark proud, and said, shaking his head like a parent scolding a recalcitrant child, "Chadwick Harrison Ashcroft junior" he leaned on that last word in a way that made Jack suppress a smirk, "-- going after a highly decorated disabled veteran? One that your son attacked unprovoked? One who saved multiple lives in the aftermath of the PittFest shooting? Is that really the hill you're fixing to die on?"

The Riggins-Street house wasn't quite what Jack expected, given that Jason Street had money. Granted, it was a luxury 2200 sq/ft condo in the Strip with a lovely view of the river, so it cost more than twice Jack or Robby's annual salary, but given the athletes that Street Sports represented, he certainly could've afforded a penthouse somewhere, or a home with a large yard.

But this? Well, shit, Jack had some of the same pieces of Ikea furniture at his place. This wasn't a showcase -- although it could certainly handle some entertaining -- it was first and foremost a home. Like with family pictures on the walls, and Funko Pops, and fancy LEGO sets on those Ikea shelves, and a couch that was for people to sit on, not just look pretty. The splashiest thing was 3 different gaming consoles in front of a large TV in the open concept living-dining-kitchen area. Tim's AASes in Aviation Maintenance and HVAC and his Handyman's Certification hung on the wall next to Jason's BS in Sports Management and his MBA, along with pictures of both of them in their graduation caps and gowns. Their wedding photo showed both of them laughing after they'd clearly smashed cake into each other's faces.
Jason was giving Jack and Robby the grand tour. "Tim was the first person in his family to go to college. I had to go for the MBA so we could be even. Now I've got to figure out some sort of certification to get." He smiled up at them. "Yes, I am that competitive." He talked over the sound of a thumping dance beat.

Jack could see Noah and a group of high school kids were gathered in front of the TV, playing a game that looked like some sort of next-gen Dance Dance Revolution. Jack felt Robby freeze next to him when they both saw Jake in the group, but he hadn't noticed them yet. If nothing else, it was good to see Jake pointing and laughing and having a fun time with friends.

Jason rolled down the hall, pointing out several pieces of artwork that Noah had created; the kid certainly had talent. Noah also had a glass display case at the end of the hall devoted to his running, which featured several photos of him on the track or on a trail, and lots of medals, including a state championship in cross-country running. There was also a picture of young Noah, a medal around his neck, at a track along with a pretty blonde woman -- Erin, Noah's mother, and Jason's late wife, it turned out.

Jason's home office had wall to wall autographed photos of athletes he represented or had represented.

"Smash Williams," Robby commented, looking at one photo that was slightly larger than the others and and had pride of place directly over the desk. "He'll be in the hall of fame someday."

"Damn right," Jack said, "Or they're a bunch of idiots."

Jason chortled. "He was an adventure to rep, let me tell you. But he was my first big account, wouldn't let anybody else touch him. It was a favor that I owe a lot of my success to." A moment later he added, "Part of the problem was we grew up together so we knew exactly how to push each other's buttons, and Smash excels at that."

"You grew up together?" Jack asked, feeling like an idiot for saying it, but the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Jason wheeled over to a display case full of memorabilia from football and some sort of wheelchair sport, beneath a sign that said "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose!" In addition to various trophies and medals, it included a photo of a young and smiling Jason and Tim, in football jerseys with the numbers 6 and 33 respectively, arms slung over each other's shoulders, a somewhat gaudy looking championship ring, and a picture of the Texas State Champion Dillon Panthers that showed Jason sitting down front of the assembled team in a wheelchair, wearing his jersey.

"He's right there," Jason said, pointing to another, smaller photo of him in his chair in his jersey with Tim behind him, another young man wearing #7, and a very young looking Smash Williams wearing #20. "Tim, Matt, and Smash were the team captains, and I was the honorary." He paused for a moment, a bittersweet expression on his face. "You haven't asked, but it happened the first game of my senior year."

Well. Fuck-a-doodle-doo, Jack thought. He glanced over and saw the same expression mirrored in Robby's eyes.

Jason sighed, still looking at the case. "It is what it is. And I absolutely would not have the life I have now. I'd have something different, but I honestly don't know if I can say it would be better. It would be better, easier, not being paralyzed, of course, but I wouldn't have met Erin and had Noah, and I don't think Tim would have come back into my life." He shook his head and laughed. "Look at me getting all debbie-downer at a victory celebration. Let's head into the kitchen. I think Tim's about to take the lasagnas out of the oven."

As he followed Jason out, Robby beside him, Jack thought about the moment he'd lost his foot, and all the ways in which that had changed the course of his life, and then how everything got upended again when he'd lost his wife. He absolutely would have a different life if he still had one or both, and probably a better, happier life. It would certainly be easier having both feet. But Jason was right: It is what it is. You played the hand you were dealt, or you folded, and as close as he had come on many, many, occasions, Jack always found some reason to keep on playing.

He reached over, took Robby's hand in his, and squeezed.

+++++

Here it comes, Jack thought when Jake popped into the elevator with them at the last second. He'd been cool but civil to Robby during the party, though they had barely interacted with the teens, who had ended up playing some sort of crazy quiz game on the TV that seemed like a cross between Truth or Dare and Cards Against Humanity, in between bouts of karaoke to KPop and playing that dancing game. (The adults had played pool and Tim had handily destroyed them all. Twice.)

"Hello Jake," Robby said quietly.

Jake glared at him, eyes ablaze with fury before shouting, "You'll remember Leah long after I've forgotten her? Really?! Because I'm so fucking shallow she was a flavor of the week I didn't give a shit about?"

"Jake --" Robby cut in.

But Jake was having none of it. He roared at Robby, "And even if she was somebody I didn't like that much? Do you really think I'm going to forget her bleeding in my arms?! Begging her to stay with me?! How scared she was? The fucking nightmares I have about her, about what happened?!"

The elevator stopped, and Robby started again, "Jake, I'm sorry --"

"Fuck you!" Jake yelled as the doors dinged open and ran out into the lobby, spinning to flip Robby both fingers, tears streaming down his face.

Robby tore after him, yelling back, "It was a mean, shitty thing of me to say to you, Jake, and I never should've said it! It's not true!"

"You think?" Jake sobbed, wiping angrily at his tears with the arm of his hoody.

"Jake, I'm sorry, please --" Robby pleaded.

But Jake was out the front doors to the building, and Robby stood, shaking, head buried in his hands.

Jack put a hand on Robby's shoulder, squeezed, and said, "Mind telling me what that was about?"

Robby shook his head, blinking back his tears, "Yes. No. I don't know." He threw up his hands and spun.

Jack folded him into a bear hug and rocked him. "I've got you, brother. I've got you, and I am not letting go." He stood on tiptoe and murmured into Robby's ear, "Let's get back to my place and you can unpack it for me. Okay?"

"Okay," Robby said with a sniff, blotting at his eyes with his sleeve.

+++++

"...I just --" Robby drew in a deep breath and studied the bookcase opposite the chair. Jack reached out and took Robby's hand, felt Robby's hand, warm and powerful, squeeze his back. "It was just too much. There in the room, where Adamson di -- where I had to unplug Adamson, knowing he was going to die. I felt like I had let Jake down, let Leah down, even though I knew ..." He shook his head, face screwing up in anguish. "I couldn't bear it, couldn't stand to see him see me like that, was angry that he was going to see me like that, angry at how unfair it was that Leah died and I couldn't save her, angry about how unfair it was that a little girl drowned earlier that day saving her sister, angry about everything that happened with Langdon -- so I said ...."

"So you said something to push Jake away."

Robby nodded, face tight.

Jack lifted Robby's hand and kissed it tenderly. "Been there, done that, have the t-shirt." He patted the couch cushion next to him. "Come over here. You need a hug. I am prescribing you a hug. There are multiple case studies about the efficacy of touch and its role in mental health."

Woodenly Robby came over and sat on the cushion next to him. Jack slung his arm out and pulled him in. "God, you are so infuriating at times." Tilting his head so he caught Robby's eyes, he continued, "You are allowed comfort, you know. You deserve it. You are worthy." Tenderly, he kissed Robby's temple and drank in his scent. "You don't have to carry the weight of the world 24-7, Robby."

Robby sighed and eased in to him. Jack stroked his hair soothingly and silently counted to 30 to give Robby time to find his words.

A second before Jack drew a breath to speak, Robby said in world-weary voice, "I'm just so used to being the one everybody looks to to make it right. I ... don't know how to not ... I don't always know how to put it down."

Jack recalled an old proverb his grandma used. "Many hands make light work," he said in a soft voice. "It's okay to ask for help." He cupped Robby's chin in his hand and turned his face for a kiss. Robby pressed him back on to the couch after a few moments, his kisses almost frantic. When he reached for the buckle of Jack's belt, Jack asked, 'We doing it on the couch like a couple of teenagers?"

Robby's hand paused for split second, then he replied. "Yes Jack, we are."

"Okay, then --"

"Shut up and kiss me." There was something very fierce and yet tender in Robby's expression.

"But --

Robby stayed him with a finger to the lips. "Still talking, not kissing." And he dove in.

It started on the couch but quickly rolled off on to the floor so they could have both arms free to unbuckle unbutton unzip, shove pants down, before Jack insisted that, no, they were doing it properly in bed, you'll thank me later. Jack managed to pull himself away from Robby's grabbing hands, stood, hiked his pants up just enough to walk, took Robby's hand in his and guided him down the hallway to his bedroom. He sat on his bed so he could get his foot and pants off when Robby dove in between his knees, drew Jack into his mouth, started doing the most amazing things with his tongue, and Jack gave up.

They were, indeed, going to do this like a couple of teenagers, Jack realized.

Again.

And if that's what Robby wanted from him, Jack could do it.

Right down to leaving a hickey on his neck for good measure.

Chapter Text

Bring it on, ring the alarm
Don't stop now, just be the champion
Work it hard, like it's your profession
Watch out now, cause here it comes
~Britney Spears~

Jack's only concession to Halloween was a pair of black rabbit ears and name badge with a comic sans Dr. Bunny Abbot crossed out and Bunnicula written beneath it in a gothic font. It was hard to do a costume that was practical for emergency medical work. Glitter, sequins, and feather floof had a tendency to end up where they didn't belong (like in open wounds), and anything that dangled, trailed, was ruffled, or lacy tended to get snagged and torn.

The EVS and maintenance crews had gone all out. It had taken Jack several minutes to recognize that the stunning woman dressed as Elvira Mistress of the Night, up on the stepladder, mounting a replacement monitor, was none other than Tim Riggins.

He caught Jack gaping at him, winked, blew him a kiss, and said in a smoky voice, "Welcome to Drag Queen Maintenance Hour."

~oo(0)oo~

Tim nipped into the room as soon as Esme from EVS got it clean and ready. Perlah had mentioned that one of the LEDs directly overhead had gone out and he wanted to get the fresh bulb in ASAP. Yeah, the doctors had little headlamp things they could pull out if they needed extra light, but ....

He snapped the bulb into place, bright light stabbed him in the eyes -- duh, should've turned out the lights first, dumbass -- and he flinched, causing the ladder to rock, sending his tool bag off the shelf of the stepladder on to the floor -- Shit! He swiftly latched the cover back into place. Okay, now to log it and get on to the next thing that needed fixing.

Tim took a few steps down and felt something on the dress tug. He froze.

Motherfucking son of a bitch! He had caught one of the nipple tassels in the top hinge of the ladder.

Just then the door burst open.

Santos, with Nurse Perlah at her side.

Damnit. Of course it would be Santos.

"You need to move. They're bringing somebody in in about 10 seconds." Perlah said.

"I'm stuck!" Tim hissed. "My dress -- it's caught!"

The most evil grin flashed on Santos's face, which was kind of perfect, given she wore a little pointed witch hat.

"I need a pair of scissors." Tim said. "Quickly!" Noah would mourn the damage to the costume, in part because Jason had laughed himself silly as Noah coached Tim on how to shimmy to get the tassels to spin properly.

Santos passed him her pair and Tim clipped the tassel off, and slid down the ladder, just as Dr. Shen, Dr. Ellis and Nurses Jesse and Matteo rushed in with a patient. Jesse kicked his tool bag and sent it flying, scattering the contents.

Oh, this just kept getting better! Frantically, Tim stashed the ladder in a corner and ran around and kicked anything that might get underfoot under the bed, or to the side so he could pick it up right away. When Dr. Ellis side-eyed him and lifted an eyebrow, he said, "Better this than you stepping on something and faceplanting."

He was still scrambling on hands and knees under the bed to get the contents back into the bag after the team had gotten the patient stabilized and waiting on a room to clear in surgery when he heard the shutter sound of a phone's camera.

"Make sure you got my best angle, Dr. Santos," he said without looking.

When he got all the things shoved back in the bag every which way -- and hoo boy that was going to be fun to get sorted out -- he carefully removed the tassel (which was also a teeny tiny spider) from the hinge, tucked it carefully away, and folded the ladder.

~oo(0)oo~

"What is going on here?" Jack asked as he stepped into the break room to grab a cup of coffee.

Santos didn't look up from where she was sewing something ... a tassel ... back on to the front of Tim's Elvira dress. "Reconstructive surgery," she said without missing a beat as she pulled the string taught. "Tim, show him the photos of your husband and kid."

Tim punched up the photos on his phone and Jack had to admire the dedication they'd all put into their costumes. Jason made a passable Oracle, but Noah made a stunning Black Canary.

"Noah did it all. Makeup and costumes. Well, now, except for my left tassel. Thank you Dr. Santos." Tim shimmied his shoulders and holy shit, he could rotate them in opposite directions at the same time.

Jack clapped his mouth shut when Santos's laugh and the sound of a camera shutter clicking brought him back to reality.

Tim winked at him and said, again, in that sultry voice, "Practice makes perfect."

Chapter Text

Shock me awake and tear me apart
Pinned like a note in a hospital gown
~Queens Of The Stone Age~

Since they now lived closer to New Jersey, the annual trip out to visit Erin's grave was much quicker, though airports just sucked as much as ever, including some MAGAat asking why they wore masks at the airport ("So we don't have to smell you," Noah replied) and another who muttered a few choice slurs under his breath that neither Noah nor Jason heard. (Though Noah doubtless would have had a response for them.)

Tim thought the person one row in front of them, next to Noah, who used the barf bag shortly after takeoff must have just had airsickness, despite the calm weather.

The next afternoon, Tim got a call from Noah's school, asking him to come pick Noah up.

"Uncle Tim, I don't feel so good," Noah groaned just before he blew chunks all over the parking lot.

Tim got Noah home, with a bucket next to his bed and zipped over to the closest supermarket to get some Liquid IV, juice, and soup.

He called Jason. "Noah's come down with some sort of stomach bug. I just got us stocked up, but to be on the safe side, I'm going to camp out in our guest room while he's sick."

+++++

With an hour to go on his shift, the vague nausea that started bothering Tim about an hour ago kicked in to high gear. He'd taken a Pepto-Bismol chewable earlier, but ... he sprinted down the hall towards the mens' room, nearly tripping on the closed for cleaning sign, making it to the bathroom sinks just before puke exploded out of his mouth. Most of it landed in one of the basins. Most of it.

"I am --" his stomach heaved, readying the next round, "so sorry, Arturo."

"Warned you about eating off the roach coach, Riggs."

Tim shook his head no. Big mistake. A fresh burst of rocketed out of his mouth and into the sink. I haven't puked like this since before I quit drinking, he thought as he emptied every last scrap of anything that might be in his stomach, and then dry heaved for another 30 seconds. He wiped at the drool with the back of his hand, rinsed with water, then turned and sagged against the countertop.

Arturo looked at him in sympathy and said, "Go home."

Tim nodded shakily and said, "Please tell the ladies I'm sorry I can't walk them out tonight," before he staggered out the door and towards the staff locker area.

+++++

Because youth was wasted on the young, Noah started feeling better after a day and a half of having it come out of him at both ends.

When day three rolled around, Tim could finally keep something down consistently if he held it in his mouth for a minute or so before swallowing. He had puked so hard and so often over the last two days it felt like he'd been in a sit-up competition, and more than once, it had come out the other end, too. Noah, bless him, had stepped up, bringing him glass after glass of ice cubes -- sucking them was the only moisture he kept down, and even then only sometimes -- and then he had double duty when Jason started with the puking and shitting yesterday. "Focus on your dad, Scooter. Just bring me ice and some Liquid IV. I can manage on my own," he'd croaked. He closed his eyes against his mounting headache.

+++++

Not sure if it was day or night, head pounding, Tim emptied the last swallow from the glass of Liquid IV Noah had left earlier. He tried to stand up, but his legs felt so shaky, that he started crawling down the dimly lit hall to the master bedroom. He needed a shower because there was only so much Dude Wipes could do, and at least in master bath, the shower had no lip, and it had a shower wand, and Tim figured maybe he could literally soak in a little moisture while he got cleaned up. Oh, and he should see if he could keep some Tylenol down while he waited for the shower to heat up.

"Six?" he asked as he crawled through the door, voice hoarse.

Nothing.

"Six?" He said again, louder, blinking against the stab of pain from his painfully dry throat, and looked up.

In the light from the bedside lamp, Tim saw that Jason, propped up on pillows, looked blue around the lips and had puke caked down his chin. He gasped shallowly. Shaking, heart racing, Tim crawled over. "Jay! Jay!" It hurt to talk his throat was so raw. Reaching up, he grabbed Jason's shoulder.

Jason gave only a weak moan in response.

Tim grabbed the water on the night stand and swished it through his mouth, wetting it, and swallowing before grabbing Jason's phone. It felt like somebody was trying to open his head with a claw hammer as he crawled back to the doorway, world starting to grey around the edges. He stuck his head out the door and yelled as loud as he could for Noah as he dialed 9-1-1.

He heard Noah's feet slapping down the hall as his arms started to buckle, and an "Uncle Tim?" just as the call connected and he felt the wood laminate, pleasantly cool but not cold, against his face.

~oo(0)oo~

Noah might have been shaking with emotion in his Gay the Pray away shirt, but his voice stayed calm as he told Jack and Dr. Ellis about what sounded like a particularly nasty bout with Norovirus in the Riggins-Street household.

"I swear I didn't leave him that long," Noah said, voice cracking. "I changed his sheets, threw them in the wash, made myself a bowl of soup, and had just got done with a shower, and I was going to check on Uncle Tim and bring him a cup of ice and another cup of Liquid IV, when I heard him yell."

Tim had presented to the EMTs with a blood pressure of 88 over 57, sunken features, and a heart rate of 100 bpm. The last time Jack had seen a person even remotely look that badly dehydrated was when cholera tore through a slum in Kandahar. The IV the EMTs had somehow gotten started had raised Tim's blood pressure back up to 95 over 67 and his heart rate had dropped much closer to normal levels. Ellis ordered a bag of Ringer's Lactate to properly rebalance his electrolytes as they rehydrated him.

Jason, on the other hand, had Jack more concerned. Not only was he also dehydrated (though nowhere near as badly as Tim), but he had aspirated vomit, and, given how sick he was, was still at risk for a repeat. Right. Time to sedate him, tube him, and page the ICU.

"Noah," he said. "I need to intubate your father right now. Go stand on the other side of your Uncle Tim, or you can step just outside the door and wait until we're done."

+++++

Jason's tube was in place with acceptable O2 sat levels when Tim roused from his state of sludgy semi-consciousness into awareness. "Hey Scooter," Jack heard him say softly to Noah.

"Tim," Dr. Ellis said, "Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital." Tim said thickly. He sucked in a ragged breath. "I work here." Then. "Where's Six?"

"He means my dad," Noah said. "He's here too, Uncle Tim. Right next to us. He's going to be okay."

Jack wasn't so sure about that part.

Dr. Ellis said, "Your husband is in serious but stable condition, Tim. We've had to intubate him. We're getting you rehydrated. You should rest."

"Want a shower," Tim muttered. "I feel like roadkill. Head's killing me."

Dr. Ellis patted him on the hand and said gently, "Let's get you topped up first, that should take care of your headache, then we'll see about getting you cleaned up."

Tim groaned and closed his eyes.

Jack pointed to the corner of the room and said, "Talk with you a moment, Noah?" When Noah stepped over he reached out and squeezed his shoulder and said, "Your Uncle Tim is going to be here overnight at least. Your dad is going up to the ICU as soon as we can get him there. Is there somebody we can call for you?"

"Is there a reason I can't stay with my dad or Uncle Tim?" Noah asked in a small voice.

Jack shook his head. "Sorry, I wasn't clear," he said in a gentle voice. "Yes, we'll get you a chair. It's just ... you're going to be here all night if you stay, and after a certain point, if your Uncle Tim isn't well enough to be discharged, you're going to want to leave to get fresh clothes and such."

Noah nodded and said, "Well, there's Corina, my dad's PA. I can stay with her if I have to. Or, if she can't, I can talk Kahmiko's parents." He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "I should probably call my grandparents in Texas, too."

Jack's inner alarm pinged. He locked eyes with Noah. "Are you going to be okay with them here? They treat you right?"

Noah opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly fishing for words before he shook his head as if to clear it and said, "They're not bad people, but in some ways, they just don't get it. Really don't get it. But it would hurt them a lot if nobody called to let them know, and they don't deserve that."

Chapter Text

I better do something, move earth and sky
And patiently, sweetly, with all of my might
I sing only for you
To the beat of my footsteps in the night
Close your eyes and dream me home
Forever mine, I'll be forever yours
~Queens of the Stone Age~

A team from the ICU came and wheeled Jason away around 9am. Tim ruffled Noah's hair to wake him so he could see his dad go. Poor kid, he wasn't fully over being sick himself, and here was, crashed out in a chair in a place that was not designed for anybody getting sleep, watching over him and Jason. Noah had finally fallen back asleep around 4 in the morning, after moving Jay around 3am so he wouldn't get bed sores. Of course that set off some sort of alarm which had one of the night-shift nurses, Rhonna (who Tim thought was kind of a bitch) sticking her head in, getting on his case until Tim set her straight about that. "Jay gets moved every 4 hours."

Rhonna started to lecture him, but Tim cut her off. "Unless he's on one of those fancy air or gel mattresses designed to prevent bedsores, my husband gets moved every 4 hours when he's asleep. Period. He is not on one of those mattresses. You can either show us how to do that with all of this stuff attached, you can move him now, or you can have his team of lawyers go after you when he gets bedsores. Choose wisely."

Rhonna very sulkily showed them how to shift Jason without setting the alarm off.

About a minute after she left, Tim said, "Scooter, I need you to go to the desk in the center and tell them I want to see the Charge Nurse. If she's tied up, ask if I can speak to Dr. Abbot."

After he got done talking to Dr. Abbot, there were no more visits from Nurse Rhonna.

+++++

Shortly after Corina showed up to take Noah home, Tim pushed the call button and when Nurse Jesse answered, he asked what room Jason was in and told him he super needed to pee. Nurse Jesse said he'd find out and be back with a urinal and then promptly got sucked into dealing with the end result of some fool in a Cybertruck blowing through a stoplight, hitting a city bus, and setting off a massive fire.

Since he was feeling much more like himself and he had to piss like a pissing thing, Tim carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was cold and drafty once he got them outside the blanket because all he had on was a pair of boxer briefs, socks, and an old Penguins shirt, but it was find the men's room or piss all over himself, and he really didn't want to do that.

He was shaky, he was wobbly, and thank goodness for the IV pole, but he could walk. Whatever this -- he looked at the bag on the pole -- Ringer's Lactate was, it had gotten him back to feeling more or less human. The thought and/or smell of food no longer made Tim's stomach lurch, so it looked like he might be able to eat and drink again soon.

He peed for what felt like a minute and it was dark yellow, but didn't have any of the signs he knew meant trouble, so that was good. He splashed water on his face, did a rinse, gargle, and spit, sighed about his scruffy beard and greasy hair, grabbed a wad of paper towels, wet it with a little soap and scrubbed his pits, and then after thinking about it, went into a bathroom stall and scrubbed at his crotch and ass. Feeling about 30% less stinktastic, he left the bathroom and headed for the elevator.

The door dinged open and he tottered his way over to desk. Carmen was the Charge Nurse on duty today in the ICU and she blinked at him for several moments, her big brown eyes filling with concern. She was old enough to be his auntie, and she'd lost none of her New Orleans accent over the years.

"It's been a rough night, Ms Carmen," Tim said.

"Are you even supposed to be up here, cher?" she asked.

"Ma'am, I have no idea, I'm just trying to find my husband. Jason Street."

She looked down at her screen and tapped a few numbers. "Room 18B. He's still in a bad way, but he's been ticking up, y'hear?" She handed him a face mask and said, "Wait a moment, cher, while I fetch you a blanket so you don't catch a chill."

Blanket draped over his shoulders, Tim thanked her, went down the hall, and found room 18B. Sucking in a deep breath, he put the mask on and entered. Relief flooded through him, making his knees buckle. Jason looked better, still pale, but no longer blue, and somebody had, at last, wiped the puke off his chin. The ventilator clicked and whooshed, forcing air into Jason's lungs, and his IV pole had several bags on it. Hopefully one of them was a powerful antibiotic.

The chair in the room was bigger and more comfortable than the ones down in the ER. There was a chart on the wall that had Jason's name written in, the names of nurses and the CNA looking after him, and a space for family to write notes for the care team. He wrote his name and the fact that he worked here, Noah's name, and the fact that Jason had had 2 bouts of MRSA ... he gave up trying to spell pneumonia after the second try and just put down "2 MRSA lung infections, use the drug that starts with V".

He shuffled back to the bed, pulled the chair over with the last of his strength, sat down before he fell down, dropped the side rail of the bed, and laid his head and shoulders on the mattress. Taking Jason's hand in his, he stroked the back of it with his thumb and murmured, "I'm here, Six. I'm here," before he sleep claimed him.

+++++

Tim woke up when a specialist doing research on quadriplegic patients stopped in. He scrubbed blearily at his eyes and, judging by the clock on the wall, realized he'd been asleep for about 3 hours. His IV bag was empty, he had to pee, and he was starving, but while he had a doctor with her duckling here, he was going to make damn good and sure they had all the information he could give them about Jason. Doctor and duckling had questions. A lot of questions. Tim had just finished with them and was parched when Noah arrived with a backpack containing his phone, his wallet, a change of clothes, his boots, and a heavyweight hoodie. Corina and Dr. Santos followed right behind him. Noah bent, hugged him tightly, and kissed the top of his head through his mask before moving to the bed and taking Jason's hand and kissing his forehead.

"They've been looking for you in the ER," Santos said without any preamble. Oh yeah, she had that bedside manner down pat. Except not.

Tim thought about what she'd said for a moment. "Well, I was sleep deprived, focused on getting to Jason, and it was busy down there. Figured I'd pee and get out of your hair for a few. Then I fell asleep hard, and Dr. Verchinin and her intern kept me tied up with questions. "

"Speaking of that? You peed? We need to know if your kidneys are working."

"Yes," He ticked off the points on his fingers -- all the years living with Jason and his occasional bladder infections had taught him a lot about what doctors looked for when it came to piss. "It was a lot, it was really yellow, but not brown or orange, it was clear, not cloudy, and there was no blood and I really need to go again, so if you'll excuse me?"

She handed him a plastic urinal out of a cupboard. "They might want some for posterity."

+++++

Tim got discharged and got his doctor's note up to his supervisor just in time for rush hour. His stomach rumbled. He'd had nothing to eat except for two bananas and the bottle of Gatorade that Noah had thoughtfully packed. He wanted to tear into a whole rotisserie chicken and a pizza or two.

"I made soup," Noah said, as soon as they got home. "Chicken and rice. From scratch." Tim could've eaten the whole pot but limited himself to two bowls with toast and bananas. No way was he going to risk another round of barfing.

He had just toweled off from a glorious hot shower when his phone chimed. A group message from Jason's parents to him and Noah. They were coming in two days time.

Chapter Text

"What are you doing back at work?" Cassie asked as she saw Tim going around with a tablet and a cart and switching out fire extinguishers. "Isn't your husband still sick?"

"Yes, Dr. McKay, but doing better" Tim replied. He sighed heavily and scratched at the nape of his neck. In a quieter voice he said, "It's getting to the point where I needed to pick up a screwdriver or I was going to pick up a bottle, so here I am."

Her mouth twisted in a bittersweet way as she nodded. Oh, how she knew that feeling.

He dropped his voice continued, "Also, my in-laws are in-town. They're decent enough and kind, but they weren't exactly thrilled with our move up here."

"Well, " she said overly brightly, "you could have my ex in-laws."

Tim laughed. "No. Jay told me quite enough about them." He finished mounting the new extinguisher. "And so you know, I'm still happy to walk you out to your car any time one of them gives you grief."

~oo(0)oo~

Carmen had one of the other maintenance crew members bring a chair that folded out into a very narrow bed so that Jason could have someone with him 24-7. Tim found Jason's mom sleeping on it after he clocked out. He thought about waking her up, but decided to let her sleep. Jason's dad would be here, probably in about 10 minutes. He took Jay's hand in his and gently kissed it. Nights alone in bed were the worst. He missed the warmth of Jay's body -- and not just because of the chilly late fall nights. He missed the way Jay smelled in the morning. He missed Jay's smile. His laugh. His good morning kiss. Oh who was he kidding -- he missed sex, too. Missed having Jay in his arms, touching him, tasting him, making him gasp and come. Having Jay's mouth and hands on him, doing the most amazing things, and how, after, Jay would cuddle up, ear to Tim's chest, listening to the sound of his heart, while Tim liked the feel of Jay's breath ghosting over his chest ....

His phone chimed with a new text. Smash. "I hear Jason's sick. What hospital he at?"

Tim messaged back the details and finished with, "They plan to take the breathing tube out tomorrow. Wake him up and see."

"Let the Smash know how that goes."

Tim rolled his eyes. Some things never changed.

+++++

Tim liked Jason's parents. Really. They had him to dinner every Tuesday from the time he was 10 until he was 16, though it had largely fallen off after Jay broke his neck. And looking back on it, Tim knew he was not an easy kid. He was angry. He was from the wrong side of town. He was often grubby and smelly. He was also, frankly, a boy, and life with Noah taught Tim that boys were often a double handful.

But, the Streets had shown him what life in a loving house -- a house that also had enough -- looked like, and had served him food that didn't come from a can or a microwave. (Not that Tim faulted Billy, who had had nobody to turn to when their dad walked out, was dealing with his own shit, and as a 19 year old had to give up on his college scholarship and his dreams of pro golfing. Billy had gotten a job, kept the house paid for, and kept his snot nose brother fed. And unlike their parents, Billy was man enough to stick around when things were shitty and no fun.)

And they, especially Joanne, had been awesome around the house the last two days. Joanne cooked up a storm while Mitch ran all sorts of errands when they weren't in the ICU with Jason.

It was just that Mitch and Joanne had never fully wrapped their brains around the fact that no, Noah shouldn't have to "act a little less gay", that he and Jay were a married couple (not to mention that neither he nor Jason was straight), that Jason loved Tim like he had loved Erin, and that Tim wasn't riding Jason's coattails and pulled his own weight in their household. And yeah, remembering what he had been like as a teenager, and the mess he had gotten himself into after he graduated high school, Tim understood why they had had the wrong idea at first when he moved in with Jay and Noah after Erin's death. Only it was 9 years later, 8 of them as a couple, 2 of them married, and very little had changed.

Which was why Tim stood with Mitch outside of the Jason's ICU room looking in while Joanne and Noah were inside when Jason got extubated. PTMC policy was 1 visitor per room in the adult ICU, though they totally looked the other way if two people were in for short periods and didn't cause problems. But 3 or 4 people? Completely out of the question.

Tim wasn't surprised when after a few minutes, Jason clearly asked for him, but, when Noah stood to go, Jason reached out and tugged for him to stay. He edged past Joanne in the doorway and all but flew into the room, hugging Jason as tight as he dared. "I love you, Jay" he whispered into his ear before kissing him on the forehead through the mask they all had to wear while visiting Jay.

Jason responded by pulling down his oxygen mask and whispering, voice raw and raspy, "I want a real kiss, Tim." So Tim did just that, pulled down his mask and gave him a quick peck on the lips before pulling it back up. "My folks driving you guys nuts yet?" Jay asked.

"Well ..." Tim began.

Noah chortled. "They're leaving on Sunday."

+++++

"So ..." Mitch began that night at dinner. "the holidays. Obviously, you're not flying down to join us for Thanksgiving this year --"

"And Christmas is out, unless we cancel our cruise." Joanne said, reaching out and taking Mitch's hand in hers. A look flashed between them.

"Oh don't do that," Tim said putting his fork down. Joanne had made one of Tim's favorite meals from Tuesday night dinners at their house when he was a kid, chicken pot pie. "Jay wants you to have that vacation, just the two of you, especially after you mentioned wanting to do a Panama Canal crossing. And I agree with him. You deserve it. Let him spoil you after all you've done for him, for us."

All of that was true. Jason did want to spoil his parents for all they had ever done for him. They truly deserved it. He had booked them a fancy suite on a Viking cruise that left from Fort Lauderdale December 20th and ended up in Los Angeles on January 6th. They were flying first class coming and going.

And it absolutely guaranteed that Jason's parents would be out of their hair for Christmas.

He washed his next bite down with a swallow of milk and said, "You're welcome to come back up for Thanksgiving if you want." Noah shot him a guarded look.

Mitch shook his head. "I just can't swing it, I'd like to stay longer as it is, but I just don't have the vacation days."

Joanne smiled at him, "But next year, honey, when we retire ...."

Yeah. Tim needed to talk to Jason about that.

~oo(0)oo~

Fall evenings on the rooftop verged into "colder than a witch's tit" territory, but it's where Jack found Robby, his only concession to the cold being that he'd zipped up his hoodie, pulled up the hood, crossed his arms, curling in on himself for warmth against the chilly breeze as he stood at the railing.

So, a tough shift, but not a catastrophic one. "I don't want to talk about it," Robby said.

Jack wrapped his arms around Robby and felt him ease a little. "The shift, or choosing your place vs mine?"

He felt as much as heard Robby chuckle. "Neither. Both. I don't know." Then, "You serious about whose place?"

Jack squeezed Robby, nuzzling into him, drinking in his scent and said. "I have a toothbrush and spare clothes at your place. You have the same at mine. So ... we don't have to decide anything tonight. But I think we should talk about it." Because I'd like for us to have our place.

Robby mmmed non commitally and said, "We should go. I need to get home and you need to step once more into the breech." He kissed Jack's cheek and said, "We'll talk soon."

In the elevator Jack pushed the button for the ICU floor. "They extubated Jason Street the other day. Thought I'd stick my head in and see how he's doing. It might even be good news."

"I'll join you," Robby said. "I could use some good news."

They could hear the guffaws even before they opened the door to his room. Tim in his work coveralls, up on a stepladder, snapping a light into place, shoulders shaking with laughter. Jason looking much better, with an O2 mask on his face, his stats dropping because he was laughing so hard. And there, in the visitor's chair ... no, it couldn't be.

Jason's face lit up when he saw them. "Hey Smash, I'd like you to meet Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot. These are the two guys who keep saving my life."

The crinkles around his eyes showed that Smash was grinning broadly behind his mask as he shook their hands, until he froze as he shook Jack's. "Hey .... you the guy from that fork video?"

Jack felt his face flame in a blush that would've done Robby proud. "Yes." He managed to say.

Smash pulled him in for a quick one-arm hug. "That was so bad ass! My kids are not going to believe I met you. Here, let the Smash get a picture of this!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone.

"Wait!" Tim said, jumping off the ladder and grabbing something from a table tray pushed to the side of the room. "You need a prop."

"Long live the fork!" Smash said as he snapped a selfie with Jack.

Chapter Text

Tim yawned as he put his key in the lock. It had been a long-ass day at work. Not only had two people called out, but it had been one of those one damn thing after another shifts, and this one had sent him from the boilers in the sub-basement, to the air rotation and handling systems up top, troubleshooting why the NICU wasn't getting the heat it needed. Three different circuit boards for three different parts of the HVAC system had all failed at the same time. Fortunately, they had spares on hand. He'd even squeaked in a few moments of visiting Jason in his new room -- and thank goodness they could spring for a private room-- but unlike the ICU, "extensive care" (as Jason called it), had an 10 pm cut off on visiting hours, and Tim only managed to sneak up for a quick chat and kiss goodnight around 10:45 before he clocked out and then joined the ladies for evening walkout. (They were all glad to hear that Jay was out of the ICU and doing much better.)

The TV greeted him with anime tentacle porn ... What. The. Fuck?

His next steps into the living room area showed a mostly empty vodka bottle, three shot glasses, and a strip of condoms on the coffee table, along with what looked to be scattered clothing on the floor.

On tiptoes now, Tim crept to where he could see over the back of the couch. Noah, naked and fast asleep, half draped over the equally naked and fast sleep bodies of a boy and a girl. Kahmiko and ... Jake?

Oh Myyyyyy. Tim grinned evilly and reached to shake them awake, but stopped himself. He pulled out his phone, but then remembered that taking pictures would be considered making child porn. No. He was going to have to go old skool. He inched into the kitchen, silently thanking any and all gods who might be listening that they could afford to keep the house at 75f during the winter in order to keep Jason comfortable, and carefully opened the drawer that held the markers.

He had touched the tip of the uncapped Sharpie to Noah's forehead and had only gotten the the top and the right side of the penis he'd planned to put there (so it looked like a black candy cane) when Noah woke, scrubbing blearily at his eyes, then shouted "You're not s'posed to be home!" as he sat up and scrambled to cover himself with a couch cushion. His hair, purple at the moment, stuck out at odd angles.

Tim picked up the remote, turned the TV off, summoned his inner Coach Taylor, and said, "You might recall, Noah, that your dad got out of the ICU today. But unlike the ICU, the rest of the hospital has visiting hours from 8 in the morning to 10 at night. Because of that, I'm not overnighting with your dad anymore. So how about you, Kahmiko, and Jake put some clothes on, I'll make myself some coffee, and let's talk about --" he waived his hand, "whatever this was I walked into."

He snatched the bottle of vodka from the table, sighed, and dumped it into the sink before pitching it into recycling. "Oh, and, just so you know, Jake and Kahmiko, I'm not going to call your parents or kick you out. You can stay the night if you want. But nobody's going home until they're sober. Now get dressed."

+++++

Tim surveyed the kids over the rim of his Steelers coffee mug and took a long swallow. They sat on the couch opposite him, three glasses of Liquid IV and two tablets each of advil lined up before them.

"It's not like you've got any moral ground to lecture us," Noah sulked. "You were the town bike according to --" He cut off abruptly. Wise move.

"And I was also well on my way to being the town drunk." Tim said evenly. "This isn't like you. Any of you. Where'd you get the vodka?"

Kahmiko heaved a sigh and buried her head in her hands, the accent beads and cowrie shells in her braids clattering. "I stole it from my parents' liquor cabinet," she mumbled, just loud enough to hear. "It wasn't full. We didn't have that much to drink."

Tim nodded, relieved to hear that nobody had a fake ID -- not that any of them could even remotely pass for 21 -- and that nobody had bought it for them. "All of you take that advil, and start drinking, It will head off the worst of the hangover. Trust me on this."

Bit by bit he got the story out of them, laughing on the inside as they squirmed and blushed. Kahmiko and Jake had told their parents they were doing a movie night at Noah's and would sleep over.

Kahmiko (a talented artist and a lesbian who ran the 800m and cross country), who was one of Noah's closest friends at school, wanted to try it with a guy ... just to be sure. Jake, who was a newer friend of Noah's (Tim hadn't really gotten a read on him yet) wanted to try it with a guy. And Noah reasoned that if he couldn't make it work with Kahmiko (because he also wanted to try it with a girl, just to see what it was like, even though he knew he was gay), well, then Jake could, and she would know. And if Jake couldn't make it work with him, well, Jake would have Kahmiko, right?

Tim refrained from commenting on their choice of movie, and said, "About how far were you into that bottle of vodka when you came up with this genius plan?" With some effort, he kept his voice steady and Coach Taylor-like.

In a tiny voice Jake said, "We figured from the start that we might need to have a few drinks to loosen us up. Help us to ...."

"And how did that work out?" Tim asked. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"Beyond getting drunk?" Kahmiko said, "Well ..." She rolled her eyes.

"Not at all," Noah finished.

Tim picked up the remote and turned on the TV, opened the Disney Channel app, and started streaming Star Wars. "I want all of you to also have a full glass of water before you go back to sleep."

"W-wait," Jake said, frowning in puzzlement. "This is it? You're not going to lecture us, or --"

Tim burst out laughing. "Nope. I'm not exactly pleased about the drinking, but you're not in trouble. I am going to roast Noah about this for the rest of my life, but no, Noah's right -- I was the town bike. I drank like a fish." I was a fucked up angry kid without a whole lot of guidance, and by rights I should have ended up dead in a ditch, because most people who came up like me do, one way or another. "I did a lot of stupid shit growing up. So it's not like I have the moral high ground here," he paused and added, "Never had whiskey dick though." Gathering himself after he stopped snickering, Tim said, "You used -- you were planning to use condoms. You weren't getting somebody drunk to try and take advantage of them. You all consented. Nobody was dumb enough to take a photo." He had made them pull out their phones and show their photos. "I really don't have much more to say here. I mean, I don't care where you all sleep, because we've already established that no sex is going to happen.

"Now shut up and pay attention to the movie, or did none of you geniuses think about what you were going to say if your parents asked what you watched?"

~oo(0)oo~

When Jack arrived a little early to work, Princess grabbed him by the arm and said, "Good news. Dana's coming back! She's going to start on Thanksgiving!" A moment later she added. "Robby lost a tough one. Said you'd know where to find him."

He found Robby on the 8th floor waiting room, looking out at the building across the way, hoodie zipped up, hands in his pockets. It was nowhere near as cold as the rooftop, but the hospital heated this floor only enough so the pipes didn't freeze.

Robby turned as soon as he heard Jack's footfalls.

"Hey brother," Jack held out his arms for a hug and Robby all but flung himself in, clinging and kissing. Kissing hungrily, desperately. Okay, it was that bad.

"I love you so much, Jack," Robby said when they broke for air. "I couldn't bear to lose you." He stepped back, a bundle of nervous energy and pent up emotion that needed to go somewhere. Must have been a couple that had something horrible happen to them, like one of them dying.

It also didn't help that this was day 3 of their respective shifts and they hadn't seen each other except for the 30 or so minutes at shift-change, and he missed Robby.

Jack made a tactical decision and bundled Robby down the hall and into one of the unused rooms, shutting the door behind them and pressing Robby up against it. "Medicinal handjob," he said low and husky under his breath. "All that cortisol and adrenaline needs to get replaced with an endorphin rush." Within seconds he had his hand on Robby's zipper.

"Wait. What?" Robby said, catching Jack's hand in his.

"Medicinal handjob." Jack repeated. "This isn't the first one I've prescribed. They're safe and effective. Think of this as targeted massage therapy. If you give me a moment, I think I can find a peer-reviewed --" Robby cut him off with a kiss, releasing Jack's hands and going to work on Jack's fly.

"Turn about is fair play." Robby said. "You should start your shift relaxed and happy."

Jack meant to say Sure, that won't make anybody suspicious but Robby hit him with a perfect upstroke and what came out of his mouth was, "Fuck yeah, Robby, just like that."

++++

"Your hands," Robby gasped as he continued doing the most amazing things to Jack's dick with his own, "Nimble. ShouldveBeenASurgeon" the words burst out of him just as he came in Jack's hands.

"Fuck that!" Jack grunted and came. Catching his breath he said, "Those guys are a bunch of prima-donna assholes. I work for a living."

"I work for a living, too," came a familiar voice from the other side of the door, "And I really need to switch out the fire extinguisher in this room before I hit the NICU." A moment later Tim added, "As long as you're not playing tentacle porn on the TV, we won't need to have an awkward conversation."

~oo(0)oo~

Jason glared at him when Tim placed the spirometer in front of him. "I hate these fucking things," he muttered under his breath. It was his second morning home from the hospital.

"So noted," Tim said, "Now blow into the fucking thing and make the balls rise." Noah and I need you well again.

If Jason had heat vision, he would have set the damn thing on fire. He put the tube into his mouth and blew. Two of the three balls rose, but the 2nd one only just. "Good," Tim said, "Let the hate flow." Which only made Jason laugh so hard he could barely get one ball in the air.

When he regained his composure, Jason let out a long sigh and said, "I just hate how something that looks so easy is stupid hard. Last month? I would have had all 3 up in the air, easy." A moment later he added, "And it's going to make me cough. Like I'm a cat harfing up a hairball."

Inwardly Tim laughed at the image of Jason being like a cat, bringing up hairballs. The crap in his lungs was so thick and sticky, it probably wasn't far off from being like a hairball. The sooner Jason got it out of his body, the better. "Six, I think what you need here is something beyond the personal satisfaction of keeping all three balls in the air. Because yeah, big whoop." He leaned in, locked eyes with Jason, and dropped his voice into something sultry, "When you can keep all three balls in the air, that will mean you're well enough to get laid again. No three balls? No sex."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? That punishes you, too."

Tim shook his head no and leered. "I'm going to have all the hot dates with Rosy Palmer." He held up his hand and waggled his fingers. "While you watch." He licked his palm. "And wish you'd done your breathing exercises."

"You play dirty," Jason grumbled as he picked up the tube and blew.

When it comes to you and Noah, I will play however it takes to win.. Tim reached over, took Jason's free hand in his and kissed it.

~oo(0)oo~

Doing telehealth followup calls with patients had been good for Dana ... for about a month. The only injury she got during her time away from The Pitt was stubbing her toe on her desk chair (more than once) when she came back from using the bathroom.

BUT. She didn't like the weight she'd started putting on from being so sedentary, or the stiffness that came from it, despite having put a sit-stand riser on her desk. Also, being at home meant she could pretty much smoke whenever she felt like it and that wasn't good, either.

But most of all she missed interacting with people in a meaningful way. Oh, most of the people on the other end of the phone were nice enough and actually quite grateful once they realized she wasn't calling about their medical bill -- though she could refer people to services to help with that -- but it felt like the same damn interaction again and again, all day every day. She missed having her comrades, her brothers and sisters in arms, her friends, around her. She missed seeing the difference she made.

So when she put in to come back part time, PTMC couldn't say yes fast enough. (And if this didn't work out, perhaps Urgent Care might be the right balance of action and less stress?)

Yes, it meant she was going to have to do the Thanksgiving and Black Friday shifts, but at least it gave her a reason to not have to attend big family dinner with her brother Mike and his shitty politics. She felt for her husband and kids, who still had to take one for the team.

Around 5pm hot food started to roll in. A full on Thanksgiving dinner from Whole Foods to feed at least 30, including food for vegans or people who didn't eat ham. Three massive pies from Costco. Dana's stomach rumbled as she wondered where they were going to place it all, because well, the staff break room wasn't that big. She also noticed several people high-fiving, fistbumping, and even hugging a handsome brown-haired man in maintenance coveralls. Who grinned shyly and blushed.

"Make sure you barbarians leave something for EVS and the night shift." She called out.

"Ma'am," the handsome man said as he walked over -- his name badge said "Tim" -- "I've already got my behind the scenes people and Team Clean hooked up." He placed a large Thank You card on the counter. "Please make sure everybody sees this ...?" His eyes roved, searching out her name badge.

"Dana," she replied and held out a hand.

His pretty eyes flew open and his dimpled grin made Dana's heart beat faster. "Oh, so you're the Nurse Dana everybody's been talking about!" He shook her hand enthusiastically. "Ma'am, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Tim, I work in maintenance. And, uh, don't worry about night shift. Something's coming for them just before I get off at 11. If you'll excuse me, I need to make sure that the ICU gets their delivery."

+++++

"Tim can never leave us, never never never." Dr. Mohan stated as she forked a large bite of pumpkin pie into her mouth.

"Him and his sugar daddy husband," Dr. Santos said. "According to Dr. Abbot we're getting those controlled crike kits for our MCI boxes because of him, and, like, 5 of those butterfly ultrasounds."

Wait, what? Dana thought as she ate a bit of pineapple and ham.

Donnie swallowed a forkful of Mac and Cheese. "I hear that his husband has donated several sets of Pirates, Penguins, and Steelers tickets to the Holiday Gala Party raffle. And, if you ask Tim nice, and if Jason reps the player, he'll look into getting you an autograph."

"And, if you ever need it, he'll walk you out at the end of a shift if he's available," Princess said, "The ladies in EVS love him, the way he makes sure everybody gets to their car and started."

"He's brought a few patients to my attention, picked up on some people who otherwise might have fallen through the cracks," Kiara said after washing down her mashed potatoes and gravy with some apple cider.

"He's the Myrna Whisperer," Ahmad added in reverent tones.

Dr. Robby walked up to the Nurse's station, eyes gleaming at the sight of all the food on their plates. Dana passed him the card and watched his eyes get a little misty. "They've been telling me about this guy, Tim, and his family," she said. "Apparently he's good people and he's got a rich and generous husband."

Robby smile reached his eyes, and he said, "While I'm not happy that Jason's almost died twice this fall, I am glad I've gotten to know them better, and Tim is a great addition to maintenance." Several people um-hummed loudly. To Dana, Robby added, "Jason smoothed things over with Gloria when Jack stabbed that asshole with a fork for messing with their son."

"Oh?" Dana said, "I gotta hear about this!" She'd missed hearing all the good tea while she worked from home.

"Oh Dana," Dr. McKay said, "It was so awesome ...."

Chapter Text

"Son," came Coach Taylor's voice over the phone, "it's been a minute since I've seen you, Jason, and Noah. Sorry to hear that Jason was doing poorly, I would've liked to come visit, but you know how busy the end of the season is. You up for a visit later this month or early next year?"

It warmed Tim's heart every time Coach called him son. "Sure thing, Coach." He put the phone on speaker and said to Jason, "It's Coach Taylor, he wants to come visit soon."

"Hell, come out over Christmas if you like." Jason said as he wheeled over. "My parents are going to be on a cruise, so we're free."

There was a pause just long enough for Tim to think the call might have dropped, before Coach's voice came again, "Well, that's mighty kind of you, boys. Let me talk it over with Tami. Julie is taking Gracie for a sisters Christmas in New York, so ...."

++++

A group phonecall later and it was settled. Coach and Tami were coming out for Christmas. Tami particularly liked the part where dinner was going to be catered -- except for Noah baking cookies -- on account of Tim's having to work.

"You mean I just have to show up, sit on the couch, hang out, eat, and drink wine? Well, sign me up, boys. That's a win-win-win in my book."

~oo(0)oo~

Becca had wanted to go ice-skating, and when her center mentioned a rink that had a "special needs Sunday" every other weekend where 6am to 8am was set aside for the handicapped or intellectually disabled, Mel got both of them up and out the door, Becca talking a mile a minute and clapping her hands with glee all the way there. They arrived at 6:07 am, and thankfully, the doors were already open.

Becca had barely gotten her skates on and checked when she gasped, "I see Noah!" jumped up, and tore across the ice. Mel hurriedly jammed her feet in her skates (having to re-do one when the seam in her sock did not line up right and was like nails on a chalkboard, except it was on her skin) and took off after her sister, who was coming back with a tall, purple haired teen-aged boy in tow -- one Mel knew she'd seen before -- a long rainbow scarf around his neck.

"Mel!" Becca shouted, grinning from ear to ear, "You have to meet Noah! He's been teaching us how to do painting! I mean, not by himself, but he helps Ms Arbuthnot teach us on Friday afternoons." She took a breath, "He likes purple and blue, and he thinks pink is okay, too."

Noah waved and said, "It's good to see you again, Dr. King."

The memory clicked into place. Mel smiled, waved back and said, "I'm not at work, so call me Mel."

Becca glanced between them, wide eyed. "You know my sister?! How?"

Noah beamed down at her, "She saved my dad's life a few months ago, Becca-bee. Back when my hair was blue." A moment later he added, "Hey, would you like to meet my dads?"

"You have two dads?!" Becca gushed, "But how?"

"Becca," Mel cut in, "Remember, we don't ask personal questions like that. It can be rude."

"But ..." Becca looked crestfallen.

Noah smiled a little crookedly, "It's okay this time. My mom died when I was seven, and Uncle Tim came to live with us, and he and my dad got married a few years ago, and that's how I have two dads, Becca-bee. Come and meet them." He held out his mittened hand and Becca took it. They headed to where Tim and his husband -- Jason, the name popped into her head after a moment -- were making doughnuts and figure 8s on the ice. Mel had never seen somebody bring a wheelchair on the ice, but it seemed to slide along just fine.

Mel skated after, catching up with them. Becca had been bringing home lots of paintings of bees and flowers and she had mentioned how much she liked the painting class that had started up a few weeks ago. "So, " she asked Noah, "how did you end up over at the center with my sister?"

His blue eyes lit up as he said, "It's for a club at school. We have to do community service, and I found out my art teacher volunteered there -- her brother Benny's there -- so I asked if I could come and help. It's turned out to be a lot of fun. Plus, it gives me something else to put on my college application. I want recruiters to see I'm a complete package, not just a runner."

+++++

About 10 minutes later, to Mel's surprise, Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot showed up and quickly reminded her that since they were not at work, it was just Robby and Jack, and it felt odd to hear them call her "Mel", but it was good, too.

Smiling, cheeks reddened from the cool air of the rink, Tim skated up to their group and said to Jack and Robby, "Now that you two are here, Jay says we've got big enough to make a train or do crack the whip. Are you all interested?"

"You can do that with a wheelchair -- crack the whip, I mean?" Mel asked.

"Well, obviously, we don't put Jay at the end of the whip, but we can make him the pivot." Tim replied. "Until he gets too dizzy or something."

+++++

By the time her turn for the end of the whip came, Mel had forgotten about how to balance paying for her student loans and Becca's daycare out of the family trust; had forgotten about the teenaged girl yesterday from a hit and run bicycle accident who had two broken arms, cracked ribs, a fractured pelvis, and a dislocated knee; had forgotten about how tired she was of chicken tenders (Becca was on a kick right now); had forgotten about everything but holding on to Becca's hand as the two of them screamed with joy in a way they hadn't done in at least 15 years as they broke away, flew across the ice, tripped, and went down in a laughing heap.

They needed Tim and Robby's help to stand up, because they were both legless from laughing so hard.

She mopped at the tears dripping from her chin with her mitten and went back for the next round.

~oo(0)oo~

"I'm glad you suggested this," Jack said to Jason as he pushed him around the ice. Putting a shim in the ice skate on his prosthetic foot helped, but it was so much easier for him if he had something to hang on to, especially after his leg started getting tired. "I haven't seen Robby this happy in a long time." They both looked to where the rest of the gang was playing tag just in time to see Robby lose his balance, limbs flailing like something out of a cartoon, and land on his ass, laughing out loud.

"It's been a lot these last 4 months," Jason said. "I'm glad to see Tim have having fun. He's been carrying me a lot lately in both senses of the word. Glad to see you here, too. I hope you're enjoying it."

Jack grinned so hard his face hurt. "Yeah. I am. I never thought about ice skating until you texted me. I just --"

"Thought it was another thing people like us don't get to do?"

Jack paused a moment, then pushed on skating, turning them in a wide loop. "I wouldn't put it that way, exactly, yeah. But ..."

"But when was the last time you skated? I mean, how often do you see guys like us on the ice? And in my case," Jason chuckled, "I didn't ever go on the ice until after I broke my neck, which is understandable, given that Texas is not known for winter sports." He paused and added, "It was one of my hockey players who took me and Noah on the ice for the first time."

Jack forgot what he planned to say when a whoop from the other side of the rink caught his attention. Tim, carrying Becca piggy back, spun in a circle and was gliding across the ice towards them until his foot caught a rut and he did a no hands face plant.

Tim pushed up a moment later, blood streaming from a split lip, laughing as he said something about how he must have looked like the world's biggest toddler. He rolled to check on Becca, who was fine, but got a little rattled when she saw the blood.

"It's all fun and games until somebody loses a tooth, right?" Jack said as he started pushing them towards Tim and Becca, who now had Noah, Robby, and Mel gathered around them.

Jason heaved a sigh and said, "I married him for entertainment value, Jack, and I'm never bored, even when I want to wring his fool neck."