Chapter Text
Robby was tired. Not physically, he'd grown accustomed to that; Robby was tired of his life. Being a doctor these days was always difficult, he didn't remember much about why he'd chosen to be one in the first place, not that it mattered, of course, but sometimes he wished he could remember. His steps grew slower and slower as he walked home, sighing more and more, hoping the wind would take enough of his breath to make him collapse.
He had friends, obviously, but he could count them on his fingers; two. Dana was more like a mentor to him, always keeping him grounded, and he constantly wished she would receive the recognition she deserved. To everyone else, she was just his assistant; it was frowned upon for a woman to be anything more. Robby believed and hoped that someday, all of that would end. Dana deserved better.
Jack, on the other hand... Robby always believed Jack was a mystery, but one he would never tire of investigating. His persistence made Robby's mind race, and perhaps sometimes his heart as well. But Robby found himself dismissing those thoughts as soon as they arose; they were inappropriate, he couldn't think of his friend that way. Jack was a widowed ex-soldier, his mind always reminded him of that, as if that could control his rebellious heart
The doctor's bag in his hand suddenly felt heavier. Robby let out another sigh as he lifted his weary gaze to the moon above him, his steps becoming increasingly shuffling. It was a calm night, a stark contrast to his inner turmoil. The cold wind chilled his skin, but Robby didn't think to put on more layers. His mind returned to those things he disliked, repeatedly thinking about settling down: a beautiful woman, having a child, and then dying of an incurable disease. What more could he possibly want? But he did. Robby wanted more. This life didn't feel like his own, if it ever had been. He yearned for something more, something intangible, something he only felt deep inside. Perhaps that was what kept him afloat; for he no longer knew how many times he had gazed upon the dark future before his eyes
This life has only brought him pain. It's ironic, for him, being a doctor, he receives people's pain. Why would he be surprised to receive it from his own life? He was made to receive it. Not that he has the right to complain. He was never the best man; he wanted his best friend, that doesn't make him better than anyone else. Jack has been a constant in his life since... since Adamson's death. He's been with him every step of the way, his loyal confidant, his partner, his brother, yet Robby always felt he knew nothing about Jack. Jack is like an ocean, and Robby has remained motionless on the shore. The water reaches his feet, but he never dares to go beyond; the fear of drowning tightens his throat. Moments with Jack are special, but as unpredictable as the ocean. Robby sighed again. How dare he even think that Jack would have such inappropriate thoughts as he did? Jack wasn't corrupted. Even after a lifetime, Jack was good. He wasn't. He had let too many people die.
Jack, Jack, Jack
Robby was angry again. Jack had no right to occupy so much of his thoughts, no right to break down all his barriers as if they were made of sand. He had no right to look at him like that, to talk to him like that, to hug him like that, to make him feel like that… but even knowing how bad it was, Robby could never walk away. If too much time passed without him writing to Jack or visiting him, Jack would always reappear. It felt like a cruel joke. A hook, and Robby was a foolish fish.
Why?
Robby found himself questioning his life once again. Dana was worried. He knew it; it had been a while since he'd last smiled. Or since he'd last felt happy. Perhaps he'd soon take that horse to the cliff; he'd thought about taking some time off. Go see his family. Of course.
Agh
He stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of the pained groan. He looked around; the dark night reflected the moonlight, but there was no one else around, only silent houses and dark alleyways. Was his mind playing tricks on him so soon? But Robby dismissed that thought when he heard the groan again. He took cautious steps, realizing that the groans were coming from the dark alley.
Robby made bad decisions. Going into that alley could kill him; you never know what kind of bandits are out there, but he wasn't exactly known for making good choices. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he frowned at the lack of visibility in the darkness of the night.
"Hello?"
Robby exclaimed as he stepped into the dark alley, suddenly feeling breathless as someone shoved him against the grimy wall. The next thing he knew, a sword blade pressed against his throat. Robby swallowed hard, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. There was a long silence as the masked man eyed him suspiciously, like an animal poised to strike. "Sorry," Robby found himself saying without thinking. He hadn't meant to run into a bandit, but somehow Robby's body didn't feel scared, as if his body knew something his mind didn't. The man stared into his eyes with an intensity that unnerved Robby for all the wrong reasons. The man snorted, pushing himself away from Robby
"Get out of here."
He spoke in a deep voice, and Robby felt a chill run down his spine. The masked man beneath the sword, chin raised, looked imposing, though that image vanished as soon as he let out another groan, leaning back against the alley wall. Only then did Robby notice the stain on the man's black clothing; he was wounded.
"I'm a doctor. I can help you."
Robby blurted out, always making terrible decisions. He knew nothing about this man; he could very well have been a murderer, but Robby felt that pull deep inside him that compelled him to help this man. Even if it got him into trouble. The man stared at him for a few seconds. Robby didn't look away; he couldn't. It felt like an eternity.
"Do it."
Robby wasted no time, kneeling beside the man and opening his doctor's bag. With uncharacteristically gentle hands, he examined the wound. It was a superficial cut, thankfully. "You're in luck," Robby said, biting the inside of his cheek at his stammering. God, how stupid he was. He didn't even get this flustered when treating his critical patients, and Robby didn't blame it on having had a sword so close to his throat.
Although the man didn't react, Robby would have liked to put a name to the face, but judging by the fact that he was masked... asking would be pointless. Besides, he didn't seem like the talkative type.
Robby had water to clean the wound, but he wasn't sure what had caused the cut. He didn't like using alcohol, not because he didn't trust it, but because of the pain it caused his patients. "I need to clean the wound," Robby said, looking the man in the eye for a moment, searching for a hint of denial. Finding none, Robby poured the alcohol on the wound. The man grunted, gritting his teeth. "Sorry," Robby murmured again. In seconds, he wrapped the wound, using the gauze precisely and carefully. Silence fell once more. Dana probably would have killed him for all this, but Robby didn't want to leave. He felt... alive, for once in years.
"Do you have a name...?" the man asked cautiously. Robby paused for a few seconds, surprised by the question. "Michael," he replied. At least that would be his only good decision tonight; no one called him Michael. Dana would be proud of his choices for once.
"All set," Robby said, after what felt like an eternity, helping the man to his feet. Robby felt a rush of nervousness as the other man's breath brushed against his skin like a gentle breeze. God, this was bad. He truly deserved all his troubles if he was craving this moment with a complete stranger. "Thank You, Michael. I can't repay you for this," he said.
"Well... You could pay me by telling me your name," Robby said boldly, testing the waters. The man looked at him once more with those intense eyes, the ones that drew Robby in like a moth. "Zorro" zorro? "Call me that."
"That's... Zorro it is," Robby tried the name in his tongue, new, mysterious, and so exciting. "I'm sorry about this, Michael." He apologized, but before Robby could even ask, his whole world had gone black.
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"Mate!"
Robby woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't at home, his head was throbbing, and he was completely disoriented.
"Well, you're finally awake. How much did you drink last night?"
"Jack?" Robby mumbled hoarsely, rubbing his face and feeling even more tired than yesterday. He didn't remember drinking, but his head was definitely pounding.
"I never thought you, of all people, would be the type to drink yourself into oblivion." Jack scolded him, frowning and looking worried as he sat down on the bed next to him.
"I...- what are you talking about?" he asked, tilting his head.
"What am I talking about? Robby, I found you in an alley, with an empty bottle in your hand. That's what I'm talking about, man. I thought going to the bars was our thing." Jack said this last part trying to lighten the mood, but his face was still just as worried. Robby shifted uncomfortably at being the center of attention.
"…Yeah, sorry Jack, I was just tired." He looked away; there was no point in saying anything else if Jack strongly believed Robby had passed out from drinking. But Robby was sure that wasn't the case, though he didn't want to seem crazy when all the evidence was there. Jack shook his head, patting Robby on the shoulder as he slowly stood up. Robby attributed it to his prosthetic leg. "I'll go make breakfast; you'll need to eat something."
"Jack?"
"Yeah, brother?"
"Does the name Zorro ring a bell?"
Jack stopped, his back to him. "No. It doesn't ring a bell at all." He said curtly, turning his head slightly to look at Robby. "Don't think nonsense. Trust me for once and come have breakfast." Robby was momentarily taken aback by Jack's words, but... maybe he was right. Jack was always right anyway.