Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ours is a road
that is strewn with goodbyes
[david gray | shine]

will you still let me in
will you give me shelter
[dorothy | shelter]

The city was a familiar kind of noisy. It was home noisy – the chattering of the people was familiar, the cars honking, the sounds of the subway. It smelled like home, like a dry Pittsburgh September. Jack leaned his head towards the open car window and took everything in. The few trees he could see were parched, the buildings looked dusty.

He turned to the driver and watched the back of his head bob to the tune of the radio. "How's the weather been here?" he asked.

"Same old, same old. Beautiful summer," the cab driver responded and adjusted his rearview mirror to grin at him. He was missing an incisor. "You been away long?" His eyes roamed over Jack's camouflage backpack.

Jack nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. He'd been away for a long time. "But I'm back now." He swallowed, feeling the weight of that on his tongue, heavy like hot weather traffic dust. He really was home – if there was still a home to come back to.

Three connecting flights, endless hours waiting at airports, close to thirty-six hours traveling all in all. He'd slept in fits, short bursts, at the airports and on the planes that had taken him back to the States. At FRA he'd met a corporal who chatted with him while they were waiting for their flight to LHR. They'd met again there, in the international terminal and grabbed dinner together.

It hadn't been bad, just tedious. But after such a long journey, his leg was aching, his body heavy, all of him a strange mixture of bone weary and anxious. His heartbeat was climbing with every mile he came closer to his destination. He hadn't called ahead.

"You in the army?" the cab driver asked with a nod at his backpack.

"Something like that." He looked down at himself, at his non-descript clothing, at the shoes he'd bought at a PX in some shitty FOB way back when.

"Well, thank you for your service."

Jack laughed and rested his head on the back of his seat. "You're welcome," he said out loud because the guy sounded sincere, but his thoughts were less kind. Fuck this.

"Not much longer," the cab driver said. "Nervous?"

Jack huffed. Yeah, he was. "Hey, can you… let me out a block early?" he asked and leaned forward. "To… you know."

"Sure, sure."

A few turns later, the car slowed down to a stop. "It's right up ahead," the cab driver said and pointed in that direction.

"Thank you." Jack held his card against the reader to pay and grabbed his backpack.

"Welcome home!" the cab driver shouted after him as he was already slamming the door closed. He waved in thanks and straightened. Welcome home, right. He'd see about that.

He checked his watch again – it was a little past seven. If Robby was working the day shift, he'd still be at PTMC and Jack could wait on the steps and think about what he'd say – as if he hadn't already played that conversation out often enough since making the decision to come here. If Robby was home, he was in for a surprise.

Jack walked down the sidewalk, over familiar cracks and those plates lifted by roots growing underneath, past the brownstones he knew. One of the trees had been cut down, the empty spot not yet filled with a new one. Across the street, there was a new coffee shop that seemed to have opened and closed business again in the time he'd been gone.

When he finally arrived at Robby's home, he saw that the lights were on. The rosebush crawling along the fence had seemingly been growing unchecked since the last time he'd been here. He didn't bother to try and catch a glimpse of Robby through the window; he already knew that would be impossible. Privacy was one thing Robby didn't compromise on.

He climbed the stairs to the large, wooden entrance door and rang the doorbell. This was it.

When the door opened, however, Jack found himself face to face with a stranger. Mussed, brown hair, blue eyes, about as tall as Robby – and about twenty years younger than either of them.

"Hello?" the stranger asked.

Jack's eyes went to the name plate on the doorbell, but it was empty, like it always had been. "I'm looking for a… Michael Robinavitch."

"He's not home yet." There was an awkward pause, in which neither of them knew what to say. Suddenly, recognition dawned on the guy's face. "Hold on. You're Jack. Robby's ex?"

Before Jack could even process all of this – that this guy knew who he was, that he called him Robby's ex, that he looked kind about it – the other took a step back inside and opened the door wider. "Come on in. Robby will be home in a bit."

There it was again. Home.

"I shouldn't… I can-" Robby had found someone else. Of all the things Jack had expected, this hadn't even made it to the top of the list. He'd expected yelling or a fight or cold rejection for a few days or weeks, but not actually… 'moving on' from him.

"You can wait inside?" the stranger asked, looking him over, opening the door a few inches further, shuffling back another half-step. All Jack could think about that was that he didn't have to be invited into his own home; but he did, because he didn't live here anymore. "He'll be happy to see you," the man offered as a last gesture.

"Okay. Yeah, thanks." Jack picked up his backpack and set it down inside by the door.

His eyes fell on the umbrella stand in the corner of the front hall. His crutches were still sticking out of it, wedged in and collecting dust together with a lacrosse stick; they were still there, more than two years later.

"I'm Frank. Sorry." Robby's new boyfriend or whatever he was, put a hand on his own chest, fingertips curling into the washed-out grey fabric of his T-shirt. "I'm Robby's… partner. Colleague, too."

Jack noticed the pause, the uncertain flicker in the guy's eyes. He smiled, tried not to think about the fact that this guy had moved in and yet, nothing about Jack's life had been removed to make space or replace him. He hated himself for the thought a moment later.

Frank turned and went on ahead into the living room. Jack followed him curiously. The living room had not changed much either. It seemed like some knick-knacks had been removed, that ugly old shelf on the window wall was gone, making the room lighter and airier. The colorful Pendleton blanket was still hanging over the back of the couch, where it had been for the past fifteen, twenty years.

"Can I get you anything? Water, juice?"

"Water would be great." He was dehydrated from traveling, thirsty from nervousness.

He sat down and looked around, trying to remember how he had left this room two years ago. Even that picture of him and Robby from their Utah road trip was still on the shelf. Next to it, one of Frank sitting at a table, looking away from the camera; a candid shot, like Robby had tried to catch something.

A moment later, Frank came back, set down a glass of water on the coffee table, and stood with crossed arms. He even moved like he didn't want to take up space. Jesus, where had Robby found this guy? "I was going to make dinner, so… I'll leave you to it? You know where everything is." He made a vague gesture upstairs. "If you want to freshen up."

Jack nodded vaguely. "Thanks. Thanks, I'll… yeah." He waited until Frank had left for the kitchen, before he got up again and grabbed his old crutches from the umbrella stand. Back on the couch, he took his prosthetic leg off and leaned back. The smell of cooking crept around the corner; onions and veggies, chicken, sauce and curry.

He felt heavy, as if gravity was pulling him into the couch. He'd fallen asleep on this thing often enough. The seat was wide, the cushions inviting and soft. The attic room had a second couch that was great for reading, with a good, firm back and mattress; this one was for lying in an almost prone position until sleep came.

A while later, when he'd almost drifted off, he heard the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. He sat up straight immediately.

Robby didn't even take his shoes off – he walked those few steps into the front room that it took to be able to see around the corner into the living room. Frank must have texted him; of course he had.

Robby's face was… neutral. An indecipherable, forced neutral. Not angry, not happy, not much of anything. He stared at Jack, taking in the sight. It made Jack feel self-conscious and gritty with his days-old, scruffy beard and rumpled travel looks.

Jack did the same as Robby, taking him in: He was wearing his beard a lot fuller, the grey streaks more pronounced. His shoulders were wider, too. All of him was somehow more than Jack remembered, more and gorgeous. Whatever had happened in those two years, had changed something in Robby. As if some of his weariness had fallen off.

"Jack." Robby sounded rough saying his name.

Guilt crept up Jack's back with goosebumps. "Robby," he began.

Ultimately Robby didn't deserve to be assaulted like that, surprised, jumped in his own home. But Jack had so much to make up for, so much to apologize for. He wouldn't leave again. He was home for good. And he'd wanted to see…

"What… Why didn't you call?" Robby's voice was an odd, tightly-controlled quiet; a coiled snake about to burst forward to bite.

"I'm sorry."

"Why couldn't you just fucking call?" Robby's anger was too loud for the size of the room. He ran a hand over his head after his outburst, over his face, smoothing down his beard.

"I'm sorry. Alright? I guess I didn't know if you'd want to see me." He'd been scared. He'd been gone for two years – again.

The fight left Robby as quickly as it had broken out, gone with a puff of breath. "Alright," he said quietly. "Stay there. I'll be right back." His eyes flickered towards the kitchen. Then he went back to the front door, took off his shoes and jacket, before returning and walking past Jack into the kitchen; to where his boyfriend was making dinner. Jesus, what was Jack doing here.

There was murmuring, a pause, a quiet laugh, a delighted, appreciative hum – the sounds of someone happily coming home from work to the person he loved. Jack took a deep breath. He and Robby used to have that, too. There was more chatting, an apology strewn in there somewhere, more of that sweet hello-welcome-back-what-are-you-doing-I-love-you-dance, before Robby popped back around the corner.

"Alright, I'll be in the shower." Walking past, Robby pointed straight at him where he was still sitting on the couch. "Jack, you're staying? Set the table, I'm starving."

Jack did as he was asked. He grabbed his crutches and rounded the corner to see the boyfriend swipe a handful of something into the pan.

"Hey," Frank greeted him. He turned, put his hands on his hips and looked down to where Jack had rolled up the pant leg of his mangled one. "So, what works best for you? Help, no help, offering, waiting for you to say something, anything I can do to make things more accessible?"

Jack appreciated the offer, even if he didn't want it from this particular person. "I'm good, thanks." He realized too late that he'd left his water in the living room. "The water would be great, though."

"Got it," Frank said. "Well, you know where everything is, probably better than I do." He gave Jack an almost apologetic smile, so Jack waved him off.

"I'm sure things have changed, too. But don't worry, I'll find everything. Or I'll ask if I don't."

He walked through the kitchen and out into the airy conservatory where the dining table was set up. He pulled plates out and set the table. Frank moved around him, brought a hot pad and his glass of water, and went back into the kitchen.

The dining table was new, too, longer than the old one had been. The mismatched chairs Robby loved so much were placed on three sides, a long bench stood on one long side. It looked good, like someone had gone through interior architecture catalogues.

Jack sat down in one of the chairs. He was joined by Robby, who came in from the other doorway and smelled of dry pine forest mixed with something dark and warm. Frank brought in the pan and set it down before sitting down himself and handing Robby the ladle.

"You've gotten introduced?" Robby asked when they were all sitting with their bowls full. Jack's stomach rumbled in appreciation; his last full meal had been pasta in a small, too hot tin rectangle over the Atlantic. This chicken curry smelled amazing.

Frank nodded and handed Jack a chili grinder. "Sort of. Sorry, spicy is extra."

Jack was the one who knew the least, he guessed. Robby must have told Frank a thing or two about him, at least who he was and what he looked like, or he wouldn't have recognized him so quickly. The picture on the shelf was years old, he'd gone grey since.

He dipped his spoon into the curry and sighed when he tasted it. "This is delicious." A little bland, he thought, but Robby was already grinding chili into his bowl, so that was apparently par for the course.

He let the conversation between the pair wash over him. They talked about work, about trash pickup, about a repair guy for something on the garage door. He realized he wasn't paying attention when he heard Robby laugh about something and he had no idea what had been said.

"Long trip?" Frank asked with a smile and held up the ladle to offer more.

"Yeah. Long layovers, too." He raised his hand to stay Frank's hand. "It was delicious, but I'm afraid I'm done." He looked from Frank to Robby. "Thanks for… letting me stay. I know, I'm sorry I didn't call. I invited myself, but thank you."

Robby nodded and with a sudden tension that Jack felt like static in the hairs of his forearms, he asked, "How long are you staying this time?"

Jack had hoped they wouldn't have this conversation for another day. "I've resigned my commission. I'm staying."

A quiet, sad laugh was Robby's answer to that. "You're staying." It came out choked, like it was funny, like he'd told Robby everything he ever wanted to hear and the one thing he'd been afraid of at the same time.

He wanted to tell Robby that he'd applied for a job at PTMC, but he didn't want this to end in a screaming match. He leaned forward. "Yeah. For good."

He'd had plans for when he resigned. He'd thought, he could come back and he'd still have a place here. His gaze flickered to Robby's new boyfriend, his replacement. He chastised himself for thinking that; the shitty thoughts of a shitty person.

Frank smiled at him, carefully, reading the room and the tension between them. "Got a job lined up?"

Jack took a breath. He looked at Robby, unsure how to bring up his application to the PTMC. Turned out, he didn't have to.

"Are you serious?" Robby asked, because he knew exactly what that silence meant.

"Robby." He wanted to reach out, but that was a bad idea under these circumstances. He tried again, softer, trying to make eye contact. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Robby nodded. "Alright." He dipped into the curry, not looking up. It looked as if eating that was the last thing on his mind.

Frank's eyes jumped from one to the other. Jack said, for his benefit, "I've applied to PTMC. If I'm lucky, I get the night shift at the ED."

"Oh."

It had to be difficult to sit between the two of them and their combined baggage, because a moment later, Frank got up, shoving himself up like he'd had enough walking on eggshells. "Look. The two of you have a lot to talk about. And trying to be polite about it because I'm here is going to make this even worse." He looked from Robby to Jack and dropped his head. "I'll make up the guest bedroom for you in case you want to stay. And then I'll be upstairs. And you two can… talk about this. Whatever this is."

He leaned in and pressed a quick double kiss to Robby's head. "You're both doctors. Please don't hit each other." Without further ado, he took his plate and spoon into the kitchen and disappeared after some clacking and the squeak of the dishwasher door.

The second step on the staircase creaked as Frank made his way up to the second floor. Knowing which step it was and that it had started creaking one wet winter ten years ago, was a painful reminder that this had been Jack's home. Had been, off and on for many years, had been his home through being here and leaving and coming back and leaving again more times than he wanted to count. But it wasn't anymore.

"You applied to the ED at PTMC," Robby said, fiddling with his spoon. "You just come back here…"

Jack propped his head up. "I missed you."

Robby's laugh was angry and bitter. "You're such an asshole." Abruptly, he took his plate and stacked it into Jack's, and took both to the kitchen. When he came back, he stopped in the doorway. "I told you. I told you that this was the last time."

Jack turned in his chair. Robby's arms were crossed, warning him off. Jack nodded, with sudden clarity reminded of their last fight, of the day he'd left, of that last night they'd spent together, clawing at each other with desperation. He'd felt it then, that finality. But Robby had given him that ultimatum before, had always caved and had let him come back into his life.

"I know what you said. I know that, Robby. I couldn't stay."

"And now you can? All of a sudden, you're done with the Corps, no more deployments, no more whatever it is you find out there but not here with me?"

"I don't know. I think I realized some time ago that my head wasn't in it anymore? I wanted to be back here." He didn't want to examine too closely what had happened, not on his own. Not without someone to catch him.

"You've said that before. You promised two tours ago you wouldn't go back."

He had, hadn't he. He'd promised Robby more than once. "I'm done."

Robby nodded. "I was done last time. And I've moved on. For the first time in my life, I thought of me first."

"With him?" Jack knew that was the wrong thing to say. Knew it when he thought it, when he said it, when it was out there like an accusation. With him, with this guy who looked so damn young, who barely had wrinkles yet, who looked as if a strong gust of wind could blow him over.

Robby didn't take the bait. He huffed out a laugh like he'd expected that; like Jack had disappointed him in some way, which was infinitely worse than an angry comeback. "Yeah. With him." He pushed himself off the doorway and came back to the table to collect the pan.

Jack backpedaled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

"Yeah, you did. But that's okay." Robby took the plates back to the kitchen and made a second round to collect everything else from the table except for Jack's glass of water.

"You're welcome to stay here. Stay the night, even a few weeks, until you find something." He propped himself up on the back of the chair he'd sat in earlier. "I still love you. That won't ever change. But…" He picked his words carefully. "But I'm happy."

"Happy, huh?"

Robby nodded, warm smile on his face. "I am."

It rubbed Jack the wrong way that Robby didn't say anything else, but he wasn't going to push. Robby could keep his happiness close to his chest if it meant he wasn't mad at Jack. That smile made him rethink Frank, too, if he could cause that.

"I'll take you up on that offer," he said, tilted his head upstairs. "Thank you."

"Guest bedroom's yours."

Robby left through the second doorway of the conservatory and shortly afterwards, the second step on the staircase creaked.

Jack looked around the conservatory and its large glass panes. The monstera in the corner had grown immensely since he'd been here last. The terrace door led outside into an overgrowing early fall garden. The first leaves were changing color. The grill was wrapped up tightly, as if it hadn't been used since he'd been here last.

He sat there and he felt empty. Because he'd expected conflict, not this quiet acceptance of his return. He had expected he'd need to make promises he was sure he'd keep this time around. He hadn't expected the fight to be lost before it even began.

Maybe, something deep inside him whispered, maybe he shouldn't be done. Maybe this was his sign that he wasn't made for civilian life. He pushed that down as far as it would go, scared of it rearing its head again. No. He'd made his decision. This was his first day back in the States, what had he expected? He still had sand in his boots. The first few nights back were always hard.

He shoved his chair back and got up. He picked up his backpack and his prosthetic, and made his way upstairs to the guest bedroom.

Light was coming from the bathroom, spreading out into the hallway, shifting with the soft shadows created by two people moving around each other. He went to the bedroom to dump his stuff first and stopped in the doorway in surprise. Downstairs, everything had pretty much stayed the same. This room, however, had seen some major changes. It was decorated and light, no longer the stuffy, crammed extra room that Robby put the things in he never used. The bed on the far wall was made up, fresh sheets making the whole room smell faintly of spring meadow. The comforter was folded at the foot.

The reading couch from the attic had been moved in here, a desk as well. A television was mounted to the wall. It looked like a small apartment; there was even a carpet on the floor under a couch table. Someone had stayed here – stayed and worked and read and watched TV here; probably Jake, Robby's sort-of-stepson. He opened his backpack to get his toiletries and dumped the rest on the couch to sort through tomorrow.

There were still sounds coming from the bathroom; murmuring, the humming of an electric toothbrush, running water, gargling. He thought he heard the tail end of a flirtatious "-coming to bed?" that burned in his chest. As he waited until it got quiet, he looked around this completely different room. He was home, but it felt like a stranger's.

The bed appeared to be fully adjustable, which came as a surprise. He bent down to look underneath, to see what kind it was. On the nightstand, he found a remote that told him the fancy things it could do. Sitting down, he realized that the television was mounted so one could watch from the bed. A shelf unit was set up to have everything within reach. To test the expensive gadget, he lowered the bed so he could reach the floor more comfortably. Genius.

The bedroom door at the end of the corridor closed at some point, leaving the upper floor quiet and dark.

* * *

Jet lag hadn't let him sleep half the night, so when he got up late the next morning, the house was empty, both its other inhabitants already off to work.

In the kitchen, he found coffee in the glass jug of the coffee maker and a key on the counter. It was new, still shiny. It wasn't his key, which meant that Frank was now using that. It was a ridiculous thing to be possessive about and made him realize that he had to get ahead of this before it got worse. Frank wasn't Mark, this wasn't a threesome. Jack was not part of the equation here. He had no claim over Robby or this house or anything he'd purposefully left behind two years ago or four or six or ten years ago.

Still, he climbed the stairs again, and another set, to get to the attic room where Robby always kept his things when he was gone.

There were new boxes, with Frank's name on them, that he ignored for the three large, used moving boxes with his own name on them. He pulled one out and grabbed a chair from the desk so he could sit while he sorted through everything. The box felt heavy. The lid was taped down with masking tape. That was a first. He peeled it off and opened the flaps.

'This is the last time.'

He took a deep breath. The box was heavier because it contained more of his things. There was an expensive knife he'd bought in Okinawa almost a decade ago. Robby had never packed that away before, had always just kept on using it. But here it was.

'I can't stay here. I have to… I have to help back there.'

'Why don't you help here? Get a job at the Pitt. We save lives here, too. Every fucking day.'

'I'm needed there!'

He still remembered that unspoken accusation hanging between them that he'd read in Robby's eyes. Robby would have needed him, too. Instead of saying that out loud, he'd asked, 'Haven't you given enough?'

Clothes, shoes, medical records, the usual; but there were also CDs that usually stayed by the stereo, and books that he'd stuck in with Robby's. This was a goodbye. These boxes were ready for a final pick-up when he'd eventually come back.

He pulled out some clothes and shoes and left the rest of this things in the box. He didn't bother to open the other two, half afraid of what he'd find.

'And if I asked you? If I asked you to stay?'

'You don't need me here.'

Curiosity won out in the end and he flipped open the lid of one of Frank's boxes, to see what he'd put away in the attic. The first things he saw were a Spider-Man comic and an unopened model kit for a wooden sailboat; stark reminders that this guy was barely in his thirties. Jack had still had both his legs at that age.

'I need someone here. Someone who's here for me.'

That had been the end of it. Jack had thought that he could be that someone when he got back, the way he always had been until he got restless again. He wouldn't get restless again this time, though. He was done for good; he was ready.

'This is the last time, Jack. You leave, I'm done.'

And Robby had been done; hadn't waited, had found someone. Good for him.

Under the comic were exam records and scores and a little cared-for diploma from his board exam with a dog ear in it. A rejection letter from a fellowship application. It painted a certain picture. The date also let him know that Frank had still been a resident a year ago. Robby, that sly old dog, had plucked that one right out of the cradle.

He shut the lid quickly after that, because those were angry, bitter thoughts he didn't want to have, not when it came to either of the two men who had invited him so readily into their home last night.

He took his things downstairs and started a load of laundry before he sat down at his laptop with a mug of coffee to check his emails. His buddies wanted to know how the flight had been. PTMC asked for records that the Corps hadn't sent yet. Another guy from his company had sent the grid makers for the cemetery that he'd asked for. He half-heartedly tried to look for an apartment. Eventually, he closed the lid to turn the computer off, and took the bus downtown to get lunch and walk around a bit. Get some stateside air. Acclimatize to civilian life. Come to terms with having lost the one constant in his life who had been there for him for the past twenty years.

By the time he returned, it was eight and the smell of pizza was wafting through the living room.

Robby must have heard the door, because he came around the corner to greet him – only he seemed to have expected his boyfriend, because his smile fell that fraction of an inch that gave it away. Like he'd forgotten that Jack was here.

"Just me," he said and stayed where he was, in the doorway of the front room. Just him, a guest.

"Well. Welcome back," Robby said and still managed to look past Jack towards the door, expecting someone else. He turned his attention back to Jack. "You found your stuff?"

It was obvious that he had, because the air in the garage smelled of detergent and dryer. He'd put a pair of shoes in the front room. He'd found his stuff – in the same place as before and before and before. He nodded. "Yeah. I took out some clothes."

"Good, good. We'll eat when Frank comes home. Pizza."

"Smells good."

"I'll call you downstairs."

Jack didn't want this to be awkward, so he said, "You don't have to feed me every night, you know?" If they wanted their privacy, they could tell him.

Robby shook his head. "Point of you being here is so you're not alone." He tapped the doorway, held onto it for a moment. "I still care, Jack."

"I know you do." There was no point in saying out loud that he cared, too, because Robby could probably see that, but he said it anyway. "I do, too." In case it wasn't embarrassingly obvious in the way he looked at Robby. "Mind if I stay down here? Turn the game on?"

Robby gestured at the television as if he were offering it. "Whatever game is available is yours to watch. You only get competition in this house when there's a sailing race on."

"Your boy watches sailing?"

Robby shook his head and answered in a sing-song, "You don't get to do that, Jack." He walked back into the kitchen too quickly for Jack to apologize.

"It's just… sailing!" he called after Robby. "Of all the sports!"

"He watches it for the same reason you used to watch when reporters did interviews at FOBs," Robby called back into the living room with a tone that told Jack his criticism wasn't welcome.

Jack watched those reports for the memories; and the unlikely possibility to see someone he knew. He always became melancholy after those news stories, missing the smell and the action. Sometimes he recognized the bombed-out buildings, often hotels that had gotten taken over by US forces. Sometimes he knew those tent cities with the HESCO bags around them and the Concertina wire going all around the top. Robby probably did, too, from his time with MSF. They'd both been in those places, but only one of them went back there like he missed it.

Jack put a football game on and sat down in the lounge chair. Robby joined him at some point; he brought Jack a beer, sat down on the couch, and put his feet up on the coffee table. They clinked their bottles together, both stretching toward the other.

"This is nice," Robby murmured as they watched the plays on the field. Neither of them particularly cared for the Steelers but it was still good to see them win.

When Frank came home, there was mumbling in the front room that Robby didn't acknowledge. When he rounded the corner, he waved at them both, taking them in, before peering at the screen. "Where are we at?"

"Steelers 25 – Ravens 7."

"You play?" Jack asked. If this was Robby's boyfriend, he'd better get to know the guy beyond what he'd found out by snooping.

"Not if he wants to live," Robby commented drily.

"No, no. No contact sports," Frank clarified with a wide grin. "I run and swim. That kind of thing."

"He's delicate," Robby said. It was clearly an in-joke, but he didn't elaborate, keeping whatever it was close to his chest. There was love in his voice, though, and a warning for Jack to not make fun of his partner again.

Frank protested. "I am not. Jack, don't believe anything he's telling you."

"Come here," Robby murmured and reached out. Frank joined Robby on the couch and they had a short argument without words. A moment later, Frank lay down and put his head in Robby's lap.

Jack looked over and caught Frank yawning. Whatever the reason for his late return, it had exhausted him. He was blinking slowly, melting under Robby's hand.

"You guys been waiting long?" Frank asked when the game halted again.

"Pizza's done. We can eat whenever."

"I'm ready if you're hungry."

"A minute?" Robby asked and tilted his bottle against the light to see how much was left before taking another sip.

There was no argument. Robby looked at Jack, asking him, too. He raised his hands because he was the guest here; whatever these two decided was good with him. He could watch the game a minute longer. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the calm and utterly relaxed way Robby petted his lover while still watching the game. Had he and Robby ever done that? Surely, they must have. Something clenched around his heart. They must have done that, too.

A similar moment happened again a day later.

Jack was reading emails on his laptop on the dinner table, the last sunrays were working their way through the window panes of the conservatory. The light had blinded him, so he'd moved around to the short end of the table; but from there, he could see the kitchen out of the corner of his eyes.

He kept getting distracted by the two men moving around in it. They were quietly talking about a thing at work. The repair on the garage also seemed to be getting more urgent. The electric kettle was on, the cabinet opened and closed – random sounds, but when Jack looked up, there was Robby, biting playfully into Frank's shoulder, one hand on his hip, the other holding out a tin for Frank to pick something out.

Jack averted his eyes again immediately; he didn't want to be caught staring, but it smarted. They'd forgotten he was there, or they didn't care; either way, they were flirting, having fun with each other. He hadn't heard Robby laugh that freely in years, since long before he'd left last time, that he'd almost forgotten how cheerful he could sound.

He rubbed a hand over his chest and tried to concentrate.

Suddenly, Frank was standing in front of him, holding out the tin. Jack looked up and examined what he was being offered. It was full of colorful sachets, all sorts of different types of tea flavors.

"Want some?" Frank asked.

Jack's eyes flickered to Robby, who was leaning against the counter, looking as if he was trying hard not to watch them.

He nodded and reached in blindly, picking out one at random and holding it out. Frank took it and closed the tin on his way back to the kitchen. They were including him. They were just together, too.

* * *

Getting that position as attending at PTMC was easier than he'd thought – it even came with an unexpected promotion as they were looking for someone to take over the senior attending spot for the night shift. He would have taken any opening they had, had been prepared to wait or even go back to Heinz temporarily until something opened up at the Pitt, but here they were, already offering it barely ten minutes into the interview.

The first question they asked was if he was planning on staying. They knew his record; knew he'd stayed at Heinz for a little over a year before re-upping again. Hell, he'd even previously worked at the ED at PTMC – years ago, between deployments. His tone must have convinced them that he was serious, because they immediately offered him the senior position once he'd said yes. Tenure was mentioned as well – if he stuck it out. They'd be happy to set him on the right track. The interviewer looked hopeful, like they'd only been waiting for him.

There wasn't much else to it. They had his papers and could get the rest of his things from the VA or the Corps directly. His reputation was stellar, any scuffles he'd had with people had been kept out of his records.

He got a phone call later that everything had been set in motion. They were processing his documentation and would get back to him. "Thanks again," he added at the end of the call. "For taking care of everything."

"That's what we do, Dr. Abbot. It's easier for two administrations to dock."

That made him laugh. "Yeah, probably. Not that the Corps ever makes anything easy."

"Anyway. We're ready for you to come back to PTMC, Dr. Abbot. Let us know when you can come in to meet your team. We're really glad you're on board again."

"I am, too." He was. He was glad and ready and determined.

When he got off the phone, relief washed over him. This job in his pocket, it felt like there was one less hurdle in his path, one less thing that scared him. One less reason to pack it up and leave again.

He immediately texted Robby right after, letting him know he'd take care of dinner. He'd throw some meat on the grill – partly to thank them for taking him in and partly to apologize to Robby again.

'Frank will be home early today,' was Robby's answering text. 'Let him know if you need anything from the store.'

It was still very fresh that Jack had Frank's contact in his phone, just in case. They hadn't texted yet; there had been no reason to. There was no reason today, either.

He took the bus to get groceries, came home with his backpack full and a six-pack of beer in his hand. He got good steaks, even thought of salad and bread. By the time the front door opened and there was that familiar, indistinct mumbling by the front door, the steaks were marinated, and the grill was cleaned.

When Frank didn't say hi, Jack looked around the corner. The front hall was empty. A moment later, he heard the bathroom door upstairs close.

Since he'd arrived, they'd established a routine and Frank always called out a greeting when he got home. Robby did, too. Jack had started a few days ago. He was pretty certain they did that to make sure he knew he was welcome.

He didn't know if he would intrude if he went upstairs to see what was going on. He and Frank didn't know each other well enough or at all, really. He waited, looked at his watch. A good ten minutes passed before the shower turned on – and even that lasted unusually long. But this guy, for all the casual time they had spent in the past couple of days, was still a stranger to Jack. Not a comrade or a friend – barely a roommate. He was Robby's boyfriend and as such, someone he didn't particularly want to spend time with. They had nothing in common, other than that they both loved Robby.

Frank stayed on the second floor until it was almost time for Robby to come home. Around that time, he came downstairs and into the conservatory, looking as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"You want a beer?" Jack asked and held up his own bottle to show the brand he'd bought.

"Thanks, but I don't drink alcohol," Frank said stiffly.

"Suit yourself," Jack replied. "How about you join me for the company?"

Frank nodded eagerly, as if he wanted to make up for not drinking with Jack, and sat down in the lounge chair. He leaned back and shifted until he was comfortable. Mid-movement he stilled and turned to Jack. "Wait. You… you had your interview today."

Jack nodded. "Night shift senior attending position is mine." He tried not to watch too obviously for Frank's reaction. How would that go over? How would Frank take it that his partner's ex-boyfriend was potentially his new boss if he did a night shift in the future? Jack needn't have worried because Frank looked genuinely excited.

"Oh, you already know." Frank whooped. "That's amazing. The team is great."

Jack wanted to ask if Frank was okay with all of this, but they were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and Robby's "I'm home!"

"Back here," Jack called out.

"I'll go shower, be back in a sec." He did peek around the corner before he went upstairs, though, and nodded at the two of them. Sunglasses in hand, he grinned at them. "I don't smell steak yet, what's the hold-up?"

"Nothing. We're on it," Jack promised. Robby hummed and left them to it.

When Jack looked back to Frank to ask him to bring out the salad, the other man looked nervous. "Can I leave you to this? I need to go-"

"Frank!" came from upstairs suddenly and angrily.

"Crap." Frank blew out a breath and got up, hunching as he scooted to the end of the bench. "Sorry." He was out the door and quickly making his way out the second doorway. Jack could barely process what was happening when the bathroom door already shut upstairs.

Robby's voice was muffled behind the shut door, but his voice tended to carry when he was angry. Jack thought he heard Robby say his name once, but tried not to listen. "One rule," was insistently mentioned as well as a "You promised." He couldn't make out more than that, but Frank must have fucked up big time if Robby got this angry. Frank sounded contrite, apologies about forgetting to text strewn in.

Robby apparently checked himself after that, because all of a sudden, the fight went quiet. They stayed up there a while longer. The water turned on at some point, the bathroom door stayed closed.

Jack prepared dinner, grabbed the salads he'd bought, the sides, heated up the grill. Whatever they got up to didn't take much longer than a regular shower, not that Jack looked at his watch. Once the water shut off, he threw the steaks on.

When they came downstairs, Robby looked calm again, his hand trailed along Frank's back. There was beard burn in the corners of Frank's mouth. They'd fought and made up and were just as in love as they had been since Jack's arrival. Whatever had happened up there, it was apparently forgivable. Jack didn't ask because it had nothing to do with him. He hated himself a little for wondering what that outburst said about their relationship.

"This is fantastic," Robby hummed and let out a sigh.

"He told me," Frank said to Jack with an easy grin. "He said you're a barbeque chef."

Robby snorted. "Well? Was it an exaggeration?"

Frank shook his head, his smile becoming soft and hidden as he looked down at his plate. "Not at all." The look he shot at Jack was criminally open, as if he were excited for Jack that Robby was proud of his barbeque skills.

Jack shared a look with Robby and rolled his eyes. Whether he wanted it or not, he was starting to see what Robby saw in the guy. He already wasn't hard to look at, lithe and sinewy, but those piercing blue eyes and his easy smiles were what made him a menace.

"So?" Robby asked and pushed his plate away. "You had your interview. When do you know what they said?"

Jack cleared his throat. "I already do. They offered me the job immediately. Night shift senior attending." He watched Robby's expression closely and held his breath, worried he'd see something he didn't want to see.

An unreadable look washed over Robby's face for a fraction of a second, before he hid it with a smile. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." This would be good, he thought. This would work. He would be able to stay this time. He would want to stay this time. He clenched his jaw; his heartrate rose at the prospect of finally having something to keep him settled. Goosebumps spread down his back and arms. Really? This was now getting to him? He shoved his chair back, took a deep breath, and fled outside – through the glass terrace doors and onto the patio, where he dropped onto the top stair.

He heard the other two inside, a careful conversation, low voices; he heard the scraping of chairs against the tiles, the sound of plates being stacked. He always left Robby to clean up his mess, even on a small scale. A while later there were steps behind him and Robby sat down next to him.

"What's going on?" Robby asked quietly and handed him a tissue.

Jack wasn't crying but he took it and blew his nose anyway. "I don't know." Because he didn't – not without digging. "I think… you know I wanted to stay last time, don't you? I did. But I… I couldn't. Everything felt so meaningless here."

He heard Robby's sad snort and realized what he'd said. "I'm sorry. That's not…," he began. That was neither true nor fair.

Robby shifted, made a throwaway gesture that looked weak. "It's alright. You couldn't help how you-"

"No, Robby. Mike. I didn't mean you. I didn't mean us." But, in a way, that had been part of the problem. A relationship, a loving home, this effortless thing between them – it hadn't seemed real or serious, not in comparison to war. It had felt like a stopgap. He imagined that was how Robby must have gone through his life back then, too – waiting every time Jack was home for the other shoe to drop, for him to get restless, for him to leave again.

In the beginning of their relationship, Robby had joined MSF when Jack was overseas. They had both followed their calling elsewhere. But Robby had had enough at some point. He hadn't been able to do it anymore, and he'd probably hoped it would be similar for Jack. That had just never happened.

"I saw the signs, you know," Robby murmured. "I knew before you told me."

"And now?"

Robby sighed, resigned and sad. "Too soon to tell."

"I'm ready," Jack insisted. "I want this position. My last tour… I had that same feeling there." He looked at Robby. "That nothing mattered. That nothing would ever change. They got shot and I patched them up and sent them off… and an hour later, the next casualties would come in."

"I don't know what to tell you," Robby said after a long, quiet pause. "I said my piece last time."

Jack remembered. "Yeah."

"Welcome back," Robby said. "I'm not sure I've said it yet, but I am glad you're back. And I'm glad you got this job and that you plan on staying. I missed you." He pulled Jack into a sideways hug and patted his shoulder. "You're my oldest friend, you know that? You're the one person who knows me better than anyone." Jack sighed, leaned into the one-armed embrace. Something unspoken hung in the air between them, something that told Jack that this time was different. That Robby wasn't allowing himself to hope just yet – and that hurt more than anything.

A while later, Frank knocked against the glass of the terrace door behind them. "Ice cream?"

"No, not for me, thanks," Jack said.

"Come, join us?" Robby asked and reached behind him, stretching his arm out. He scooted down a stair to make space. Frank gingerly sat down next to Jack, legs splayed apart, knee bumping into Jack's, to fit Robby between them. He curled his fingers around Robby's neck lightly and ran them through his hair. Robby tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

"It's still so warm out," Frank murmured and looked around the garden absentmindedly. "There's a hedgehog living somewhere in the hedge, has Robby told you yet?"

Jack shook his head, mouth suddenly dry. He couldn't quite wrap his head around how peaceful Robby looked, resting against his boyfriend, getting his hair played with.

"If you're up late, you can see it waddle past the steps sometimes. Always going the same route. Almost at the same time, too." Frank's smile was all kinds of beautiful, too, Jack realized.

"Yeah?"

"It's because there are no cats," Frank said, tone flat like that was the only explanation. "Although the neighbors got a cat a few months ago that's not allowed outside."

Jack huffed. It had to be animal cruelty, to lock that living thing inside and only let it see the outside world through the window.

"You can't lock cats inside," Robby murmured and elbowed Jack's knee.

* * *

HR at PTMC gave him some more time to settle in and told him to get in contact the following week to meet his team. They needed time to process his paperwork and were insistent he needed time to get reacquainted with being a civilian.

He met an old friend downtown for lunch on the weekend, someone who'd worked with NATO in Somalia and now had an office job at Heinz. He was jittery in a way that made Jack uncomfortable until he realized what it was. The guy was looking around too much, observing their surroundings, ready for anything.

They ate, sat on the shade-covered patio of the restaurant for another beer, but the guy reminded Jack of the way Robby had behaved after returning from his final deployment with MSF. He was glad that they parted ways after that second round of drinks.

When he returned to Robby's that evening, Robby and Frank were lying on lounge cushions on the patio, sharing a bowl of ice cream. Frank was lying on his back, Robby was curled into him, one arm on Frank's chest – it was a kind of domesticity that Jack wished he could find ridiculous. He stopped in the doorway, not sure if he wanted to interrupt them. But he also didn't want to be alone tonight.

"Can I join?"

"Yeah, of course," Robby said and cleared his throat, rolling away from Frank and onto his back.

Jack sat down at the table and saw two decks of cards, one Uno, one standard poker cards. There were also colorful wooden boardgame pegs that seemed to stand in for chips. "What's this?"

Frank laughed. "Yeah, tell him, Robby."

Robby got up and stretched with a yawn. "I'm going to a conference in Vegas in January." He moved out of the stretch and gestured towards the table. "And I thought I'd brush up on my card skills."

That explained the poker cards. "Okay, but… Uno?"

"Uno is a Vegas casino game now," Frank said from his spot on the floor. He looked up at them. 

Jack's disbelief must have shown on his face, because Robby nodded, like he couldn't quite believe it either. "I know," Robby murmured, a grin wrinkling his face. "What is this world coming to. But apparently, that's the case."

"You're brushing up on your Uno skills," Jack said with pointedly sarcastic emphasis.

"Poker, really. But… you know." Robby looked down at Frank who was reaching out and putting a hand around Robby's ankle. Jack quickly looked away when he realized he was staring for too long. No one seemed to have noticed. Robby eyed his boyfriend and told Jack conspiratorially, "Frank sucks at Poker."

Frank yawned and let go of Robby's ankle. "You two should play."

Robby joined Jack at the table and divided up the colorful boardgame pegs. It occurred to Jack, how unbalanced those heaps of figurines had been. Robby had really cleaned his boyfriend out.

Frank dozed some more and finished their ice cream by himself. He joined them a few games later, sitting down in the chair next to Robby, watching with sleepy eyes, resting his head on his crossed arms on the table. Robby reached out to pet his head or stroke his back between rounds, small, loving touches that Frank leaned into.

They played a few rounds of poker and some of Jack's figurines made their way to Robby's side. He'd do well in Vegas if this was how he managed to avoid tells with people who knew him.

"Anyway, Jack," Frank began suddenly. He straightened a few inches, stretching and propping himself up on his crossed arms on the table. "I was wondering if you wanted to come to the pool with me some time this week. Swimming."

"What?" Startled, Jack looked at Robby for confirmation. Robby's face was neutral. He was pretending to focus on his cards, not giving anything away, although one of his hands rested on Frank's back; casually moving only his thumb.

"It's-" Frank began and unfurled his arms, sitting up even more. "If you want to. You know, the one on Oak."

Jack saw the way Frank's hand dropped from the table and settled somewhere on Robby out of sight; a request for his partner to say something.

Jack didn't want to leave him hanging, even if he wondered what this was all about. "Sure. I'd like that."

"Yeah? Good." There was relief in the way Frank's shoulders relaxed. "When are you meeting your team? We could go afterwards, if that's my day off."

"When's your day off? PTMC is letting me set the date."

"Thursday?"

That was how, a few days later, on Thursday, Jack found Frank at the hub with the charge nurse where he had left him half an hour earlier to meet with HR. It was half past six in the morning, and the night shift was getting ready to hand over their caseload to the incoming day shift.

Shen, one of the night shift attendings, was standing next to Frank, using his shoulder as an arm rest while he talked to the charge nurse whose name Jack didn't remember yet. People were flocking around the hub, specifically around Frank to say hi and bye, which Jack found fascinating. Surely, they saw him at every shift change, talked to him at every hand-off, yet they still made time for him on his day off. These people liked him.

He caught the tail end of what Frank was saying about a machine in one of the trauma bays, when the charge nurse caught sight of Jack. "How was it?" she asked. Shen and Frank turned as one.

"Good. As expected." There was not much else to say. The HR lady had been nice about everything, even though she'd gotten up early especially for him. They'd even talked about his records from eight years ago, when he'd worked here between tours for more than a year. There were people here who still remembered him, old timers like him, lifers. Dana from the day shift was still working here, which he already knew from Robby. "Should be able to start next week."

"Looking forward to it, boss," Shen said with a loose, easy-going camaraderie. He'd been like that barely five minutes into their introduction. He barely looked tired.

"Ready to go?" Frank asked and slid off the stool he was sitting on. He looked at his phone. "Robby's dropping the car off at the entrance. We can take it home when we're done."

"Yeah, let's."

They made their way through Chairs and past people coming in. Frank repeated the names of the people Jack had met earlier and whose name were still unfamiliar, and then they were standing outside, waiting.

Robby pulled up and the couple made a flying exchange of keys and kisses. Jack opened the passenger door while Robby and Frank were saying bye for the day. His crutches were in the footwell, fastened to the seat with the seatbelt, a tried and tested method to keep them from sliding around in every curve. It made him feel nostalgic as he untangled them the way he had a thousand times in the past.

"Is there a particular reason you wanted to do this?" Jack asked as they were putting their clothes in the lockers. Frank was still in a T-shirt, apparently intent on keeping that on until they went in the pool. Jack tried not to look at those legs and that pert ass in those swimming shorts that ended mid-thigh, but he was not a monk. He hadn't had much opportunity or interest in the past two years either. There was no harm in looking.

"Sort of," Frank admitted quietly. "It's something I need to tell you, not something I want to."

"And it'll go down easier when we're almost naked?" Jack asked and picked up his crutches again. Flirting. Fuck, he was flirting with Robby's boyfriend.

Frank laughed. "A little bit?" He huffed. "But I also really enjoy coming here and I didn't get to go last week. Robby said you used to come here, too."

"I did. I'm glad we're doing this, don't get me wrong." It was nice to have someone else who swam.

"Robby comes with sometimes, mostly to go to the gym upstairs." And definitely enjoying time in the pool with his boyfriend, Jack thought. He knew what Robby liked.

This early in the morning, the pool was deserted. They dropped their towels off at two sun beds close to the entrance and Frank finally pulled that T-shirt off. And seeing that scarred mess revealed so casually, Jack suspected – at least in part – that this was what their swim session was about. He didn't bother hiding his surprise, didn't look away from that massive scarring either – quite the opposite. "Jesus, fuck, what the fuck happened to you." He looked at Frank's back from a doctor's perspective and did not like what he saw. It looked as if something had done its best to diagonally cut through Frank. The atrophic scarring covering large patches of skin reminded him of the uglier burn scars of some of his veteran friends.

Frank turned and made a face. "I was in an accident."

"That's what we're here to talk about?" Jack asked and walked ahead to the edge of the pool where he dropped his crutches off. Frank followed him into the water.

Slowly, as they swam – and now Jack got it – this way, he saw and they could talk and Frank didn't have to look at him.

"Car accident?" he asked as they were making their way slowly down the lane.

"Sailing, actually."

Fuck him. Sailing. "If this can happen when sailing, I'm glad I've never been."

"I was a competitive sailor athlete as a teen, foiling catamaran racing, F50s." Frank looked over, probably to see if any of those words meant anything to Jack. They didn't. "I wanted to do SailGP, Olympia, everything." The resigned sadness in his tone said that he had been good and well on his way to achieving those goals.

They turned around at the other end, both easily cutting through the water. Swimming always felt good; he'd missed this feeling of ease and weightlessness. Standing in a pool on one leg never hurt, his body weight carried by the water.

"Robby said you watched sailing, but I didn't know that was the reason."

"I grew up in North Carolina. My dad was a catamaran sailor… he trained us." There was more hidden between his words, something harsh and sad that went a lot deeper. That wasn't part of the story today.

"And here you are, in landlocked Pittsburgh," Jack said to make sure Frank didn't drift off into melancholy any more than he already had. He looked over at his swimming partner. "Because of that?"

Frank dipped his head under water and spit out a fountain when he came back up. "Yeah. We rammed another boat, a line got loose, cut me good… I fell overboard, despite the harness. The bacteria later… well, that's why the scarring's so massive. Wound got infected." He grinned at Jack. "I should probably be glad I didn't get eaten by a shark."

Jack hummed. "That is a danger of water sports."

"Your leg was not a shark I take it?" The casual way Frank asked gave away that Robby had already told him what had happened all those years ago.

Jack snorted. "Close," he said and heard Frank puff out a breath. "IED. Blew up our Humvee. Threw me overboard as well." It had, in a way, but not really. The bomb had just catapulted everything inside the Humvee off and into bits and pieces, into bloody clumps. It had ripped Tommy Heller from Nebraska in half like he was nothing.

"Landing in the desert is probably awful, too."

Jack nodded. "To be honest, I don't remember much of it."

"Glad you didn't get eaten by a Dune monster."

Jack laughed again. Frank, when doing heart-to-hearts, seemed to use an awful sense of humor to lighten the mood. He sobered up quickly. "No. No, I didn't."

He thought of the others, who hadn't made it, when Frank said, "My best friend died in that accident. Was closer to him than to my brother at the time."

"Yeah?" Jack swallowed. Fuck this. "Yeah. That's…" That was what had happened to him, too. Different circumstances, different horrors, but loss always felt similar; survivor's guilt, too. "I'm sorry."

"But I made it. And they fished me out and kept me from bleeding out and fixed my spine and ribs and everything… and then I went and studied medicine." Frank seemed to try hard not to make this a sob story, which Jack appreciated. His tone was upbeat, if a little forced. "But the thing is, and this is where you becoming my night shift boss comes in, it left me with chronic pain."

"Ah."

"Nerves, mostly. Muscle spasms, too, sometimes. And I manage it, but sometimes I can't. And I won't be able tell you beforehand."

Jack huffed. "I don't need to tell you that this sometimes happens to me, too?" Amputated or not, the nerves in his leg sometimes sent all the wrong signals, putting everything on alert.

"That sucks."

"Meaning, I understand," Jack said before Frank could offer his sympathy. "I know. Okay? So, we'll figure it out."

"Thank you. Sometimes I take over a few night shifts from Shen, you know? Or do a double if it's necessary. I know my limits and when I have to step back or out." He rambled on, "But I don't want any special treatment. That's not why I'm telling you."

"I get it, don't worry." They did another lane in silence, when Jack thought back to that fight a few nights ago that Robby and Frank had had. Robby's one rule and the way he had yelled. "Is that all?"

A heavy silence followed. "No. Not… I got addicted to painkillers a while back."

"Shit." Because what else was there to say.

"I'm in recovery. Haven't had a relapse yet."

"Want to tell me?" He wanted to make it clear that Frank didn't have to, but they were already in the water and clearing out loss and guilt and consequences. Might as well.

"I helped my parents move… a few years ago, maybe two and a half? Three? And I hurt my back." Frank switched to swimming on his back for a bit. "And one of our doctors at PTMC prescribed benzos for the muscle spasms and you know, pain killers. And I was already… with the chronic pain I had a certain tolerance…" Frank caught Jack's eyes and the story went exactly where Jack expected to go after that. An injury on top of chronic pain – in the same place, no less – was a recipe for disaster.

"He overprescribed and I didn't realize. So, while I should have been doing physio and resting and taking care, the drugs were masking the symptoms so well, that when it came to tapering off, it was like… like getting eaten by a shark."

"And starting to take care then…"

"I was already months in and I should have started with physio right away. And I thought I could do it. Because I'm a doctor. And I thought I didn't have time to take a break. I was the one guy people could count on." Frank was talking about the people around him, but Jack could hear clear as if he'd said his name that he meant Robby. "I fucked up. I thought I had everything under control, but I was… kidding myself."

"Robby caught you?"

"Someone else did but… he gave me a second chance."

Frank sounded grateful for that although Jack was sure that 'a second chance' was not how he should be putting it. Getting saved from drowning was not something that should be called a second chance. That was just help, period. But that wasn't his call to make, even if he found it sounded unhealthy to think of the situation that way. He didn't know the full story.

"This was before you got together?"

"A year, yeah. He let me move in after rehab. Well, I moved back to my old place at first, but… something happened that scared both of us, so he moved me into the guest room." He shrugged, because he'd quite obviously stayed at Robby's and never gone back.

"That's why that fancy bed is in there. And the TV." Jack stopped himself, because after rehab and when everything was back to normal, that fancy adjustable bed and the television shouldn't have been necessary. Those two things meant someone was bedridden and bored. He didn't ask and Frank didn't offer, but he was a doctor, he knew what protracted withdrawal looked like.

"Jack?"

"Hm?"

Frank turned around again, to chest strokes. "I know he still loves you. And you still love him. And that's… good. If he-"

Jack wanted to sink into the water. He wanted to stop Frank mid-sentence right there. It was hard to listen to those halting words, knowing where Frank was going with them and knowing that dark place that they were coming from so intimately. He hadn't expected that turn from their conversation.

They arrived at the end of a lane and Jack held his hand against Frank's shoulder to stop him from turning, to force them both to take a break here. Once they were both settled at the ledge, Jack shook his head. "He's not going to leave you for me. We've tried this before, many times. It always ends in tears."

"But you're back. For good. And I guess, I just want to let you know that if he wants you back, I won't fight." Frank rested his cheek on his arm. "What's one year compared to twenty, you've loved each other almost half your lives."

Jack fumbled, reached out, and put his hand on Frank's head, a gesture too intimate for how little they knew each other, but he couldn't hold back. He ran his hand over the wet strands, in a similar way to what he'd seen Robby do. "You're good for him, you know that?" he said. It was hard to admit. But the way they were with each other, their dancing, the way Frank made Robby laugh, those small ways they cared for each other… Jack couldn't remember if he'd ever given Robby that much casual physical contact. Mark certainly hadn't, either.

Frank nodded but not like he believed him. Jack didn't know if he was leaning into his hand on purpose. Maybe he turned into a touch-starved cat whenever he was petted, easy to love. Eventually, Jack let his hand fall back down and into the water, using it to hold onto the ledge as well.

A while later, Frank tilted his chin back towards the lane. "A few more?"

"Alright. But then we need to get out. I'm getting cold."

Frank had started shivering, too. He nodded at Jack. "Good idea."

Jack followed Frank's lead and they went a couple more laps in companionable silence. He found himself entranced by the way Frank's muscles bunched between his shoulder blades, the way his sinewy arms carved through the water. He thought about the box in the attic with the dog-eared diploma and the rejection letter and the untouched catamaran model kit. The picture those items presented now was vastly different from what he'd assumed.

Their ways parted after their swim. Jack visited a friend he'd worked with in Afghanistan and they spent the day catching up. They talked about meeting up again to go fishing some time soon, something Jack knew he would have to keep an eye on if he ever really wanted that to happen.

By the time he came home, the smell of detergent and fresh laundry was hanging in the garage, and Frank was in the kitchen, cutting veggies and watching a news program on his notebook. Two pots were bubbling on the stove. He was barefoot and wearing jogging pants that were definitely Robby's.

It felt domestic and reminded Jack in a painful way that this was not his home, that he was a guest and by staying here, he was intruding on their relationship. He needed to get a lot more serious about his search for an apartment, because he knew that once he'd start his new job, he'd have even less time and energy. He'd been slacking off. He'd started to settle in – but he'd settled into a home that wasn't his anymore.

Frank greeted him with a smile and held out the cutting board whose pile of bell pepper he was about to slide into the pan.

"Want some?"

Jack pulled a piece off the board and toasted Frank in thanks. "I'm going to cook tomorrow," he said, because this was getting ridiculous. He hadn't been this well-fed in years. "Or at least order in and pay for it."

"Whatever makes you feel better," Frank replied. "You don't have to."

"It will make me feel better," Jack insisted. "Thank you."

After grabbing his laptop from the sideboard where he'd left it last night, he sat down at the table in the conservatory and opened up the classifieds.

He stayed there, going through apartments, checking for accessibility in the bathroom and distance to the hospital, that he barely took note of Robby coming home.

"You alright?" Robby asked, suddenly standing right in front of him, setting down plates and cutlery before he sat down in one of the chairs. He gestured at the laptop with his chin, eyebrows inquisitive.

"Yeah. I realized… I'm starting the new job soon and I should probably get more serious about getting my own apartment." He wasn't 'moving on,' he was still at the 'settling in'-part of his return. He was Goldilocks, sleeping in a stranger's bed and eating a stranger's porridge.

Robby nodded. "You already have one in mind?"

Jack blew out a breath. "Not really. I looked at some, but…"

"As long as you don't move to move out, you know?" Robby murmured. "Looking for something temporary until you find something permanent, don't do that. That's a waste of time and resources."

"Hm?" Frank asked and brought Jack a glass of water. He set his own in front of Robby and put a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Well, I can't stay here forever. This is your place." He tilted his chin at the two of them, their partnership.

"Finding something good is not easy," Frank said. "Finding something accessible is even more difficult." He gestured vaguely at Jack's leg under the table. "With a good shower."

Robby tilted his head up to look at Frank and without looking found his hand. He entangled their fingers and pulled at Frank's hand. "You can say, though, if… you know."

Jack didn't want to mention it out loud, not in front of Robby, but he still thought about their swim and how Frank seemed to almost wait to get replaced. It didn't sit right with Jack to stay longer, making it look like he was waiting for the same thing for a different reason. But then Frank smiled at him. "It's pretty much become a guest apartment, anyway. So…"

"You really do need to tell me if I'm overstaying my welcome," Jack insisted. "And know that I am looking."

"We will," Robby promised. Frank nodded in a vague hum that Jack was slowly learning to interpret.

He went upstairs after dinner and when he came back down, he found them in the living room. Frank was sitting on one end of the couch, headphones on and listening to something. Robby's head was in Frank's lap – reading a book, getting his hair petted, and playing with the hem of the Pendleton blanket covering Frank's legs. A quiet evening spent together.

He wanted that, too, he realized.

Robby smiled at him, and Jack's heart felt tight at the sight. He really wanted that, too. He'd had that – if not the petting or the cuddling or the dancing, then at least the love. If he hadn't left, he could still have that.

For some strange reason, seeing them like this made him think of Mark and how good that had felt for a while. Something must have shown in his face, because Robby's eyebrows twitched with worry, short of asking if he was alright. Jack shook his head. This was his problem, not Robby's. His breaking heart, not Robby's.

* * *

Once Jack started his new position at the Pitt, something shifted. It was great to be back at work, doing something meaningful. He got his purpose back, right here in the States, in Pittsburgh, in the emergency department.

His new job also severely limited how much he saw of the other two men he lived with. On days when they were working, he only saw Robby at hand-off. Frank collected his patients from the hub directly which meant that on most days, they barely did more than say hello and bye during shift change.

He settled into the job with the practiced ease of someone who started anew somewhere often. Every tour, every stateside job in between, every hospital – he was always quick to learn the habitus of his new surroundings. He knew he made a good colleague, because he didn't come to fight. He was a team player and knew how to joke and how to take one. Shen and Ellis were team players, too, welcoming him so quickly and readily that he wondered if maybe Robby had talked to them about him.

It was also easy to fall into the rhythm he and Robby had years ago, when he had worked the night shift at the Pitt. When they got together, they were a unit. One took over where the other left off, sometimes joking, sometimes angry or sad, sometimes feeling helpless. They knew how to talk to each other; they were also both good decision makers, people who had grown into the responsibilities that they shouldered. They'd seen a lot worse in worse places, had had to do their jobs with a lot less – less experience, less equipment, less money, less support, less infrastructure. They did what had to be done, knew where to cut a corner, when to lie, how to protect those who needed it. They'd both been fighting the system long enough to know their place in the food chain.

They found their moments, too, in the elevator, between the lockers, or, like tonight, on the rooftop.

"It's a shit job sometimes," Robby murmured and leaned more heavily on the railing.

Jack shifted, pressing his shoulder against Robby's. "It is. But you know what, I'm glad it's me." He felt oddly equipped to handle this job. He wouldn't wish this pressure on any of the others.

He breathed in deeply, felt the updraft of air on his face. Sometimes, if the wind was right, one could make guesses what the hospital kitchen was making; not tonight. They were both facing the city. On the horizon, the sky was already lighting up with that faint, pink touch of dawn. It was shortly before seven, the sun wouldn't be up for another twenty minutes at least.

Robby ducked his head down and nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

"It's… good." It felt good, like he was doing something. What he did meant something; he clung to that.

Robby leaned in and kept his voice low. "I'm glad."

All too aware of the intimacy of their position, Jack straightened and looked at his watch. They'd have to go back downstairs soon. "We haven't seen each other in a week."

"We haven't!" Robby laughed.

"I barely see Frank during hand-off. I've been meaning to tell him thanks for the burritos." He'd come home to ready-to-microwave burritos in the fridge three times last week. 'Eat if you want, freeze if you don't' had been on a Post-It next to the first one. He'd eaten it with gusto and there had been more after that.

"He'll appreciate it." Robby kept a lot of things about Frank close to his chest. It came as a surprise when he elaborated. "They're very healthy, in case you wondered. He got the recipe from his nutritionist. Don't ask him about the macros unless you really want to know."

"Yeah? I'll try to catch him before I go." He stretched, bending down and up. "Got any plans for the week?"

Robby nodded. "I'm looking forward to two days off. I've got the garage guy coming over to finally get that door fixed. Frank's working another day."

"He is?"

Robby shrugged. "Nothing I can do about it. I've tried. He's… sometimes he wants to prove something."

Jack looked over. Perfectly healthy burritos, an exercise regimen, maintaining recovery, in a relationship – Jack would have thought that Frank was already proving a lot of things. Frank calling his job here a second chance had never left his thoughts, though. It made him wonder what else Frank thought he had to win back here at work. He carefully asked, "Does he need to prove that something to you?"

Robby's look turned to him sharply. "What?"

"Something he said when he told me about…" He pointed behind him with his thumb, gesturing at his back.

Robby eyes were hard when he asked, "Yeah? What did he tell you. Hm?"

The tension grew like ozone before a thunderstorm, loading up the air between them.

Jack shrugged. "That this is his second chance. That you let him come back." He wanted to say, 'You saved him from drowning, but you added a condition to it.' He wanted to know why Robby thought that was a good idea or necessary.

Robby nodded. "It is. It's his only one, too. He relapses, his job here is done. And that's not even my personal rule. He hides drug use, any kind, we're done. And even when it comes to that, he's on his second chance already. Last one." His hand was a flat knife-hand, a 'no more'-gesture that was palpable.

Jack swallowed. That finality, that anger, reminded him of the last time he'd left. 'You leave, we're done.' Robby loved with all his heart, but he needed to trust his partner to not fuck him over. Mark had abused Robby's trust. And Jack had, too, by leaving again, even though he'd promised he wouldn't. And it seemed that Frank had, too – Frank, who looked at Robby like he hung the moon.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring any of that up," Jack apologized, mouth dry. He truly hadn't meant to sour the mood.

"It's fine." Robby straightened and patted the railing with both hands. "But I can't do this anymore. I don't want to get hurt over and over again."

Jack nodded. He nodded, but he also remembered Frank telling him he hadn't relapsed yet. And that Frank had obviously already hidden that he used medication once. And that sometimes, people just forgot things. And that rules got broken all the time. And he thought of the way Frank petted Robby's hair, or the way he looked at him when he thought no one saw; loving and in love. And working so hard to prove that he was good… that wasn't healthy.

He wondered if Robby knew that he was setting himself up for failure.

There was no way of winning this. At some point, pain would win out – either Frank's back or Robby's heart. Something would break.

"We should go inside," Robby said suddenly, as if he knew what Jack was thinking.

Jack nodded. But he couldn't let this go yet. "He makes you happy, though, right? You're not… I don't know…" He didn't get around to saying 'biding your time,' when Robby finished his sentence for him.

"You mean, am I waiting for him to fuck up?"

Jack shrugged, feeling stupid for bringing that up now, ruining the moment. This was not a normal conversation between friends. "I see you two together. You two are good together. You love each other. But at the same time, you say things like that… if he fucks up once, it's over." He didn't know where he was going with that; he just wanted to bring home that this was not a good way to think about a relationship.

Robby shook his head. "I made the decision to let him in." He straightened, then turned around to lean against the railing. "I see him every day. That's how I know. It's been two years."

"You love him."

Robby nodded. "I do. And I know he loves me."

Jack nodded. He wanted to say more, wanted to dig into this idea that Frank had to be perfect for Robby. That Robby was holding him to an impossible standard. "I don't want you to get hurt by your own rules."

What he really wanted to say was, 'I hope you let him love you the way he can love you.' But that sounded even worse.

"If I do, it'll be on me," Robby answered. Then he pointed at the door. "And before we get any more maudlin, we're going inside. This is getting depressing."

"I'm sorry. I just… I worry."

"Noted. I'm touched." Robby's smile, as genuine as it felt, didn't reach his eyes.

They left it at that; left the rest unspoken. There would be another chance to get sad together.

* * *

Working with Frank was a whole new experience.

At home, with Robby and him, in private, the guy always made space for them. At work, he took space for himself with a confidence Jack found exciting to watch. There was nothing he shied away from. He was competent through and through – that was what had probably drawn Robby to him in the first place.

He'd raised that resident from his internship through Covid and four years of residency – and now that he was an attending, Jack could still see him as passionate about learning as he had probably been at the beginning. He must have been an excellent student.

Sure, there were cases Frank wasn't good with. He also seemed to be unable to pace himself. And for some reason, that relaxed attitude he had at home was completely gone at work. He made few jokes, he kept his head down. He barely talked to anyone on staff, not even Shen, who seemed to have a topic for small talk with everybody. He joked with patients and it felt like he tried to build rapport with them more than with his colleagues.

At first, Jack thought that Frank might be trying to impress him, but there was something else.

When teaching the med students and residents, Jack felt he could be harder on them; grill them more. But there was something about Frank that seemed hesitant. He would have thought that someone who applied for a medical education fellowship would enjoy teaching more.

He watched, tried to figure out what it was about Frank that rubbed him wrong at work.

"Now, if you do this procedure," Frank murmured and glanced at the intern watching, to make sure she could see what he was doing. "You need to make sure this ring is tight against the back of the needle. Otherwise, your grip will slip."

He fastened the needle down and stepped back. "Next time, you do it." He gestured at the patient. "All yours."

"Thank you, Dr. Langdon," the first year beamed and took over the part she felt confident with. Frank watched attentively, but stood back, arms crossed, watching.

He was a good teacher; but he kept a distance between himself and the residents. Jack moved back to the hub to pick up his next case, when Shen sidled up to him. "You're staring," he said and subtly tilted his chin towards Frank. "Is that because he's your ex's boyfriend?"

Ellis was suddenly on his other side. "Is it because you live together? Is it awkward at Robby's?"

"What the hell is up with you two?" Jack asked and took a big step back so he could have them both in his field of vision. They'd closed in on him with a Roman army maneuver, pinched from two sides.

"We're wondering," Ellis said. "About you and Langdon."

Jack didn't know what to say, other than, "He's different here."

Ellis' eyebrows went up. "Don't tell me you get pre-fuck up Langdon at home."

Even Shen looked curious. "Do you get fun Langdon? How."

Jack knew he was staring by the face Ellis made. Shen, too, shrugged and said, "Langdon used to be more fun… well, you know what happened."

"He's gotten better, though," Ellis said. "A year ago, he was an engine. Not a single joke, not a single smile. He wanted to prove himself, you know? And some people weren't easy on him." She shrugged. "So, we're at some sort of halfway point. Not as bad as a year ago, but a far cry from what we used to have."

Shen nodded, in agreement with everything Ellis told Jack. "He's slowly relaxing. Robby is doing better, too."

"Better how?" Jack couldn't help but ask. He looked up at the monitor and checked the nurses' computer to make sure they weren't missing anything. But he wanted to know more and the ED wasn't overwhelmed the way it sometimes was. This was important, too.

"Not looking like he's expecting the other shoe to drop any second. It felt like Robby was waiting for everything to come crashing down that first year."

Ellis looked around. "But Langdon's been doing well for two years. They've got his back pain figured out. People have gotten used to seeing it. Kovalevsky, that one surgeon up in neuro, comes down hard on anyone trying to fuck with Langdon. And Robby mellowed out once they started living together."

"That's one way of putting it," Shen said quietly.  

"You're incredible gossips," Jack let them know. "Don't you have a job to do?"

Ellis nodded firmly. "We do. Part of our job is to make sure we're a good team. A good team with our brother from another shift." She beamed like they'd rehearsed this. Shen bumped her fist subtly.

Jack made a face. That was actually true; a good argument, too. "He's…," he began, but trailed off, because he didn't know where he was going with that. "… just different here," he repeated what he'd said earlier.

"Dr. Langdon also agreed to do night shift on Halloween," Lena interrupted their break from behind the hub counter. "So how about some more appreciation and less talking about him behind his back."

That had an effect Jack hadn't foreseen. Ellis grabbed both ends of her stethoscope and gave a vague, two-finger salute to her temple. "Yes, absolutely. We love him and have no complaints or further questions," she said and took a chart from Lena. "I need to go do my job now, Dr. Abbot. Dr. Shen."

"What the hell was that," Jack asked Lena when Shen, too, disappeared with a chart without further ado.

"The Halloween night shift is a full moon shift… times ten."

"Then we can probably use the extra hands."

"Oooh, yes."

He learned more about Frank in the night shifts that followed. He replaced Shen twice the following week, Ellis on another. He relaxed around Jack more, but the distance he kept to the others never changed.

At home, Jack got used to the sight of Frank on the couch with the blanket, of him and Robby together, enjoying each other's quiet company. And whatever he might have thought about the twenty-year gap between the two he had to take back when he saw them.

Frank was good for Robby, made him do things outside of work that left Robby smiling and looking light. They spent their days off on road trips, leaving in the morning for some state park or a ridiculous touristy sight, coming back late at night with whatever they'd found – a bag of tea here, a box of chocolates there, one time a bar of soap from a random store in a small town an hour away that was put in the kitchen; small reminders of a good time.

One Sunday, he caught them dancing in the kitchen, slowly swaying in a loose two-step shuffle, laughing with each other while waiting for the coffee machine to finish up. Robby's phone was spitting out a tinny tune. It was a beautiful sight. Jesus, Robby looked happy. And Frank? He was attractive, sure, but that wasn't what made Jack's knees weak. He was beautiful with Robby – together, the two of them, caring and loving. Robby's hand was loose on the small of Frank's back, holding him like he was precious and fragile. He greeted Jack with a smile, his crow's feet crinkling, and turned them so Frank could see him, too. This was joy, felt deeply.

And for some reason, Jack wasn't jealous.

If anything, it made him happy for the two men. It also made him understand Robby's rule even less. How could he have this and be so ready to throw it away?

Robby's hand dipped lower, cupping the swell of Frank's ass through his boxers, not going anywhere with his touch, just casually intimate the way lovers were who knew each other's sweet spots. Frank's hand curled high on Robby's back, fingertips rubbing at the T-shirt.

Jack put a bag of black tea into his mug and added hot water, watching them as he waited for that minute it took to steep. His heart ached at seeing them. A small part of him wished this could include him, wished to join in, with either of them or both of them, to feel something like that. He wanted to be held, too. He wanted to be looked at like that.

As if he knew what Jack was thinking, Robby caught his eyes, hand on Frank's ass and all. They'd had this once, with Mark – years and years ago. The three of them, easily enough love for more than one person in their lives, an effortless relationship between three people, right up until it had fallen apart like an exploding star. It had almost broken them both – individually and as a couple.

Jack had to turn away, the memory of that collapse still burning faintly. He threw his teabag into the trash and by the time he looked back, Robby's face was ducked into Frank's shoulder and Frank was leaning back with a wide smile, eyes on the coffee maker, one outstretched hand trying to reach the power button.

The first time Jack realized that something more had changed in the way he viewed Frank, was when he heard a choked off moan through the main bedroom door one night.

He was about to close the door to his room to go to sleep, when he heard it. Robby's quiet murmur, that deep rumble, and Frank's moan. And once he listened closely, he could hear the sway of the bed that let him know exactly in what rhythm Robby was fucking Frank.

And while his fantasies involved Robby often enough, this time he pictured his boyfriend under him, moaning at him, mouth open, taking him, breath hitching with every thrust. And he'd give it to him good, fuck him into the mattress hard, forcing little puffs of breath out of him – whiny, breathy sounds really. Adam's apple bobbing, throat bared, skin sweat-soaked and slick. It'd be too much at first, he'd claw at the sheets, at Jack's back, he'd cant his hips, but if he could take Robby's big cock, he'd be able to take Jack, too.

He thought about that, too. Frank was lithe, sinewy, with narrow hips compared to Robby's bulk. Jack imagined Robby opening Frank up, leaving him gaping and spent and tired and exhausted, before Jack would fuck him through a second orgasm, letting his cock glide in, feeling that velvety heat around him, muscles tightening from oversensitivity. He imagined the raw sounds Frank would make, the way he would buck his hips; the way he'd look for reassurance and physical contact, because he seemed the type who wanted to be petted and told how good he felt as he was fucked. He pictured overusing that red, swollen rim, adding his own come to Robby's, stuffing it in with his fingers, two, three, going deep, watching that mess of come and lube leak onto the sheets afterwards. Frank would feel it the next day, would be sensitive, would probably still be horny because of it, would ask for more and again and...

Jesus. Fuck. What was wrong with him.

As Jack closed the door quietly, another drawn-out, helplessly horny moan emerged from the other bedroom. He jerked off to the picture of Frank's body under his, legs spread for him. He imagined feeling Robby's barrel chest against his back, voice rumbling in his ear, kissing his neck and telling him what his lover enjoyed. He imagined Robby fucking him, too, that fat cock bottoming out inside of him. He remembered how it felt to be taken so deep and stretched so wide.

He came hard into a tissue, leg muscles taut from the strain.

The next morning, he came upon Frank in the kitchen, in boxers and a T-shirt, propping himself up on the counter with one hand, using the other to rub at his eyes – nothing out of the ordinary. His hair was messy, random strands were standing in all directions. He smiled tiredly at Jack. "Coffee?" he asked and was already reaching for the cabinet for a second mug, even though Jack hadn't even said yes yet.

Jack leaned back against the other counter, trying to dispel the image he had gone to sleep to.

Frank was barefoot, dragging one foot up to scratch at the skin above his ankle with the heel of the other. He yawned so widely his jaw cracked. Jack grabbed plates and set them out on the table in the conservatory, cutlery, too. He caught the tail end of Robby entering the kitchen, squeezing Frank's hip, kissing the soft skin at the base of his skull; smiling, in love, happy. Robby moved towards the fridge next, pulling things out that they'd need for breakfast, carrying everything outside and greeting Jack with a relaxed, easy Sunday smile – because he didn't know what Jack was fantasizing about.

Or maybe he did.

But that was neither here nor there, all in Jack's head.