Chapter Text
It was stupid. Robby knew it was stupid the moment he recognized what it was. The way heat crept up the back of his neck, redness working its path up his ears and across his cheeks, how he had to look away when either one of them made eye contact across the emergency department. It was a feeling Robby only obliquely recognized from some sort of boyhood memory filed away decades prior.
He was an adult, after all. 54 years old. He paid a mortgage and owned his car. And his motorcycle. He’d been a doctor for twenty years. All definitive signs of maturity, of being stable in life. Sure, Robby wasn’t in a long-term romantic relationship, but that didn’t matter. He tried it—wasn’t for him. Probably the most adult thing about him, he reasoned, was that he knew, definitively, what worked and didn’t work for him.
It’s why this was nagging at him, and what “this” was, he couldn’t put a finger on. Probably it was jealousy over how quickly Jack Abbot swooped in, how easily he had Baran Al-Hashimi wrapped around his finger. The day they met, he wasn’t even supposed to be in the ED, but then there he was, biceps straining against the tight olive-green shirt he wore under his SWAT vest, silver curls glittering with sweat as he single-handedly held his patient together. His face got hot just thinking about the whole scene, the way Al-Hashimi couldn’t stop gawking, almost falling over herself to ask him out.
Robby was the one working with her the whole shift. Robby was the one planning to ask her out. She didn’t even know him, anyway. He had just met her, too, but he had, what, 13 hours on Abbot? It wasn’t like she was a prize he was entitled to—he wasn’t the type to think like that—but come on. She didn’t even give him a chance.
It’s why when Robby decided not to go on his sabbatical, to heed Abbot’s advice (“physician, heal thyself”) and work on himself instead of running away from his problems, he thought he’d go back to number one on the totem pole. Abbot was relegated to night shift and Al-Hashimi was stuck with him, some kind of co-dependent babysitter routine they both came up with because of their inability as individuals to run the ED alone. It was almost sweet, the way they showed up to Gloria’s office like two kids reasoning their way out of detention.
But no. Despite spending all day everyday with him, Al-Hashimi was relentless in her pursuit of Abbot, and to be fair, he was relentless in his pursuit of her. Every time Abbot made his way past Al-Hashimi, his hand would linger on the small of her back for a moment, brief enough that the average coworker wouldn’t notice, but long enough for Robby to catch a glimpse of what was going on. When he showed up at shift change, they’d exchange little smiles like they were in on some game that no one else understood. But Robby understood.
It was about two months of this, exchanging curt remarks with them both instead of making conversation, before anyone caught on. Or anyone mentioned that they caught on. At the beginning of his shift on some random Saturday, Dana interrupted Robby’s favorite game of staring daggers at Abbot and Al-Hashimi as both of them either didn’t notice or pretended not to notice.
“What’s going on with you two? Or three, I should say.”
“Nothing,” he said, yes, too quickly, but casually enough, he thought, for her not to suspect a thing.
“Nothing? I don’t believe it,” she replied. “You two were as thick as thieves.”
“No, Dana, nothing’s going on. Mind your business.”
“Woah! I always mind my business. You can go back to your staring, but your little beef is interfering with patient care. You missed this,” she said, waving an allergy bracelet in her hand, “During handoff today because you weren’t communicating. And it’s to penicillin! Could’ve killed her.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“I know Robby, that’s why I’m pointing it out.” She put a hand on his forearm. “Talk to ‘em, or don’t. Your call. Just get a grip and stop making these little mistakes! It’s not like you.”
He ran a hand across his face. “I know, Dana. I just— I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
She smiled a little, tilting her head up, looking at him through narrowing eyes.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. I don’t know what’s wrong with you either,” she said, starting to walk away. “Just fix it!”
Robby smiled to himself and shook his head.
“I would if I knew what it was,” he half-whispered under his breath.
“What’s with you?”
Robby practically jumped. He was staring intently at the patient board, analyzing it with a newfound scrupulousness he’d developed over the past two months that hadn’t been present the first two decades of his career. He could feel Abbot’s gaze on him, eyes scanning him up and down, slowly and meticulously, like he was looking for some subtle change, one hair out of place or snag on his scrubs, that could be the cause of this weirdness. Robby kept staring forward.
“Nothing! What’s with you?”
“I’m trying to talk to you, man, and you’re not even looking at me.”
Robby pointedly turned to face him. He couldn’t bring himself to look Abbot in the eyes, so he settled for a fold in the corner of his mouth, an almost-dimple he often searched for as a matter of habit.
“Hey,” Abbot said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If this is about me and Baran—”
“You and Baran?” He met Abbot’s gaze briefly before it felt all-encompassing and overwhelming, heat rising across the bridge of his nose. “Not it’s not— it’s not that. What you do with your free time—none of my business.”
Abbot let his hand fall. “Whatever you say, dude.” He looked around, eyes darting across the room for a moment, his jaw moving slightly like he was tasting his next words, carefully considering them before letting them out. “Baran and I are going out after her shift. If you want to come, be my guest, but I won’t force you. I just want this,” he gestured vaguely towards Robby, “to end. We’re friends. And we’re old. We don’t need to fight over chicks.”
“Okay,” said Robby, before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth. “I’ll think about it. Message me the info.”
Abbot shot him a quizzical look. “Okay.”
Robby practically scurried away.
That was how Robby found himself in front of his closet, throwing his clothes all around his room like some teenager. Slacks felt too formal, but cargo shorts—actually, why did he even own cargo shorts? He ran his fingers across every bottom in his drawer, eventually settling on dark-wash jeans he probably got from Costco. Robby felt briefly victorious, before crumpling on his bed when he remembered he had to wear a shirt, too.
As he browsed the shirts hanging in his closet, he rubbed his palms together, a sudden clamminess escaping from somewhere deep beneath the skin. His stomach hurt. He felt light-headed. He had all the clinical signs of anxiety, but for no real reason. These were his two colleagues. He wasn’t going on a first date. The address Abbot sent him wasn’t even far from his apartment, all he had to do was walk ten minutes down the street.
The room started to spin.
Robby was willed out of his stupor by a text from Abbot, bluntly reading “5 mins.” That’s it. He wiped his hands on his jeans, put on a clean enough undershirt from the floor and navy quarter-zip from the couch, and scanned his brain for some kind of yoga breathing he could practice. He settled on Nadi Shodhana, a thumb on his left nostril and forefinger on his right. He knew he looked stupid. This whole thing was stupid.
When he finally left his apartment, he fumbled with the key in the lock like he was blackout drunk. Every time he took a step he had to talk himself from turning around and going back home.
The bar itself was unassuming and frankly a little ramshackle, its edifice crumbling and the first half of its neon sign burnt out so all Robby could make out was something-something’s Bar. The windows were covered in stickers; he couldn’t even look in the window to see if Al-Hashimi and Abbot were already there. He felt sick again.
Robby swallowed, hard and dry, and opened the bar door. It made a little chime as he entered, and everyone looked up. Everyone, in this half-abandoned building, included the bartender, a grubby black-haired man already half-slumped over the bar, and Al-Hashimi and Abbot at a booth all the way in the back.
All ten of Al-Hashimi’s fingers were snaked around Abbot’s bicep, and they each had two empty cans of Bud Lite in front of them. He couldn’t help but imagine them challenging each other to chug the drinks, beer spilling over each of their chins, their throats bobbing in sync with each other. Robby shook his head hard like a Magic 8 Ball to get the image out of his head.
When Al-Hashimi spotted him, she slithered one hand out with the elegance of a ballet dancer to wave him over. It took expert skill for Robby to stop from pointing to himself and saying something like, “who, me?” Abbot glanced at Al-Hashimi and shook his head. “No, you have to catch up to us first,” he half-yelled, jerking his head towards the bar.
Easily as pliant as ever, Robby made his way to the bar, ordering a beer-shot combo, holding them each in one hand with the carefulness of a college student who just got a fake ID and was drinking the first time. It must’ve been a sight to see—a bearded, greying man in quarter-zip with the sheepishness of a teenager—because Al-Hashimi couldn’t stop herself from giggling, and Abbot cracked a smile.
“Hi,” said Robby, sitting across from them. The red pleather of the booth was peeling, and he could feel the edges of the tears scratching the back of his thigh as he shifted.
“Hi,” said Al-Hashimi.
“Hi,” said Abbot.
Another sight to behold. Here was Robby, sitting across from a couple, clearly third wheeling. He looked like he was about to get a stern talking-to. He half expected Al-Hashimi to reach across the table for his hand, look in his eyes, and say, “listen, sport, your father and I love you very much, but—”
“I told you to catch up.” Abbot’s brusqueness cut through any fanciful daydreaming Robby was constructing. He was here, right now, in front of two people he’d been ignoring for no reason. He swallowed again. Why was it so hot in here?
“Yessir,” said Robby with a little laugh, like the whole thing was a big joke. But he could tell from the way they were both looking at him that it wasn’t. The shot burned like it was his first time drinking alcohol. The beer lapped at the micro-tears in the back of his throat half-heartedly, not enough to stop the stinging.
“So,” said Al-Hashimi.
“So,” said Robby.
“What’s your problem with us?” asked Abbot.
“Jack—” started Al-Hashimi, petting his arm.
Abbot leaned forward. “No, I’m serious. What’s your problem?”
“You want me to be honest?”
“Yeah man, be honest.”
“Okay, I think your relationship is—frankly—a little unprofessional.” Robby met Abbot’s gaze, which was a mistake.
Abbot cocked an eyebrow. “Unprofessional? You’ve slept with half the upper management at The Pitt.”
Robby laughed. “Yeah, but that was it. I was never in real relationships with them. I never let it interfere with my work.”
“Why weren’t you in real relationships with them?” Al-Hashimi asked. Robby expected his “interfering with work” dig to be the thing they both latched onto, but it wasn’t. He glanced at Abbot, whose gaze was a little softer. Oh god, Abbot was pitying him.
“No that’s not— it’s not like that. It was a choice. I chose not to go any further.” Robby felt himself stumbling over his words. His head was warm, like his brain was swimming in a hot tub. All he had to drink was a shot and a beer. He couldn’t hold his alcohol suddenly. It was like undergrad all over again.
“Right,” said Abbot.
Al-Hashimi was looking at him, too. Her curls were pinned half-up half-down, two perfect little coils framing either side of her face. She cocked her head to the side.
“I’m going to get us more drinks,” she said, sliding out of the booth.
Robby looked down. His hand found a tear in red pleather and started picking out the white polyester fluff strand by strand. There was a little pile of it next to the hole like freshly shoveled snow.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“You think she’s hot, dude. That’s normal.”
“No, it’s—” Robby couldn’t even find the words he was looking for.
They sat in silence until Al-Hashimi came back, balancing six drinks on top of each other with a mathematical deftness. They continued to sit in silence as they all nursed their drinks, some kind of tequila-based whatever with soda that hit Robby’s mouth like unflavored Pop Rocks.
“How long have you two known each other?” Al-Hashimi asked. Her eyes were a little glassy and her smile was broad.
“Med school,” said Abbot.
“We were roommates,” Robby offered.
“That’s nice,” she said, leaning back into the booth, holding her drink with two hands like she was gently warming a baby animal in her palms.
“I don’t even know how we got through that,” smiled Abbot. “Basically all we did was drink.”
“All you did was drink,” said Robby. “I studied.”
“Yeah right, you were at all the parties!” Abbot straightened with a ferocity that sent droplets of drink flying around.
“What were the parties like?” asked Al-Hashimi.
“Oh they were—”
“Normal,” interjected Robby. “Normal parties.”
“Uh, no. They were crazy.”
“Hmm,” was all Al-Hashimi said.
They sat in silence again.
“You were popular with the ladies. I have to admit, I was a little jealous,” remarked Abbot.
“No, no. You were popular with the ladies. The amount of times I was in library jail because of this guy—”
“Hey, not fair. You did the same to me.”
“Nuh-uh. Not as frequently as you.”
“I guess you’re right. I was popular with the ladies, too.”
“Just like now,” said Al-Hashimi. She laid her head on his strong shoulder, closing her eyes. Abbot cracked a smile.
“Hey, I am too,” said Robby. “Now, I mean.”
“Right,” said Abbot.
“Did you guys ever get like, super drunk.” It wasn’t really a question, the way Al-Hashimi phrased it.
“I guess, yeah?” said Robby, which surely was a question.
“Hmm.”
“I mean, not frequently, but yeah,” said Abbot.
“Did you guys ever kiss?” Al-Hashimi was looking at Robby now, studying the space between his eyebrows.
Robby’s eyes widened.
“It’s just a question. You both have this kind of… tension. Like me and my ex-wife, before we did anything about it.”
“Well, there was that one time—”
“Ha! No,” said Robby, cutting off Abbot. He drew the O out, making his "no" three syllables long.
“There’s no shame in it,” said Al-Hashimi, sitting up with her arms crossed like she said something very important. “I think everyone’s bisexual, deep down.”
“Well, not me,” said Robby.
Abbot was staring holes through the back of Robby’s skull, as though he was willing him to remember. He felt the back of his neck get hot and looked away.
“Maybe you can do it here.”
“What?” Robby felt his heart fall out of his ass.
“It’s just us,” said Al-Hashimi. Robby looked around, and sure enough, the bar was completely empty except for the bartender, who was pointedly looking away. There was no way, he couldn’t have heard the three of them over the pin-sharp voices of Nancy and Ann Wilson belting out "Barracuda." But there was a chance he did, Robby supposed.
“I’m down,” announced Abbot.
“I don’t know,” said Robby.
“Oh, come on,” said Al-Hashimi, “just this once.” She batted her eyelashes and clutched her hands together.
Ever the people pleaser, Robby sighed. “Fuck it.” He had to hold onto the table to steady himself, and he wobbled to and fro.
Abbot was equally unbalanced, falling over Al-Hashimi to get out of the booth, whispering a “sorry” in her ear as he tumbled over her with the gracefulness of a newborn baby giraffe. After a long, long moment, the two men were standing at the edge of the booth, Al-Hashimi looking up at them both.
“So,” said Abbot.
“So,” said Robby.
“Who should—” said Abbot, at the same time Robby said “We can—"
“Oh my god, just kiss,” interrupted Al-Hashimi.
Robby placed a delicate peck on Abbot’s lips, eyes open the whole time. They both looked expectantly at their audience of one person.
“No,” said Al-Hashimi, “not good enough. Actually kiss.”
Robby and Abbot turned towards each other at a glacial pace. He can’t recall who started it, but suddenly Abbot was all over him, his nails digging white crescents in the back of Robby’s neck as Robby feigned pulling away.
He matched Abbot’s ferocity, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, and his hands started roaming all over Abbot without thought, muscle memory kicking in or some divine ruler taking the reins. He felt Abbot’s solid sides, swept over his firm forearms, then biceps, then the back of his neck, then his strong jaw with a newfound softness. Robby brushed his thumbs over the sharp stubble and dug his fingers into either side of his face, pulling him deeper. Their mouths were open now, neither of them even pretending to care about their teeth smashing together over and over again.
Robby’s fingers eventually made their way to Abbot’s hair. Even with his eyes closed, he could find the way they curled ever so slightly, the subtle shift it made as he twirled it in his callused hands. They both moved deeper into each other, something Robby didn’t even know was possible.
Without warning, Robby had flashes of something in his head: this exact situation, in some other place, Abbot severing their connection suddenly and staring at Robby before continuing to his neck, then his chest, then down further. He jumped back.
“Sorry. Have to go. Right now,” said Robby.
Al-Hashimi and Abbot didn’t say anything as he ran out. They both just watched him leave.