“You think Dr. Abbot is being inappropriate with Dr. Mohan?”

Santos’ expression flickered. “Look, I know he’s your—you know, your friend,” she said in a way that implied a lot more than that.

Robby didn’t engage with that side of it, simply inclining his head. “He is my friend. I’ve known him a long time. What you’re describing would be out of character for him.”

“Men always fucking say that,” she snapped, a lifetime of frustration living there. “‘He’d never do that; he’s a family man. Goes to church on Sundays, gives to charity, pillar of the community.’ But it’s not like that. Abusers aren’t obvious. They hide it. That’s how they get in the door.” She shook her head at him, like he should be smarter than this. “You’re his boss. Of course you’d never see it. It would only come out with people who have less power than him.”

“Excellent work as ever, Whiptail,” Grant replies. “Now, we’ve got another–”

“No,” she interrupts him. “I told you, I need two days. Nonnegotiable.”

“Whiptail, this can’t–”

“This CAN go to another agent, and it will. Two. Days.” She taps at the screen of her watch to end the call and waits for the clock to reset. 1:43am. It’s thirteen hours back to London from Thurso. Fuck. She’s going to be late.

Nine years into her career as an assassin, Judith ‘Whiptail’ Burton struggles to bridge the gap between her career and the only relationship in her life that has ever truly mattered.

Jack’s entire body went still when Robby’s eyes flicked over at him, the ED fading out around him as he met Robby’s look. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d been trying not to get caught looking at Robby since PittFest, and now he knew why; he felt pinned, like he was in a full body hold he wanted to stay in for the rest of his life. Anything could have been happening around him and he wouldn’t even know, let alone be able to do anything about it.

Jack’s got a problem, but he’s handling it. Really.

“What the fuck?” Jack breathed, his attention locked across the bar, on fucking Robby, who was being led toward a back exit by his pool partner, the guy’s hand resting possessively on Robby’s lower back.

Robby returns from sabbatical, still trying to find his way forward, and it appears to Jack that Robby’s plans don’t include him.

At first he thought he was hallucinating his grandmother.

Terrified to leave, more terrified to stay, unable to bear the thought of being alone with himself for even a single hour longer, he did the only thing he had ever known how to do in moments like this, which was run blindly toward the person who frightened and comforted him in equal measure.

Robby gets a call that Trinity’s in trouble. Again.

John was abruptly angry, the special anger that was reserved for the obviously guilty, because Ben had Yeah, I did it written all over him.

Jack successfully distracted Robby with talk of an atypical stroke in a twenty-year-old as they walked just down the street. Robby was so focused on asking him questions that he didn’t much pay attention as Brandon led the way inside, past the bouncers and through a dark doorway, the low beat of sensual music rising as they entered. Which meant that Jack got the unparalleled joy of watching Robby as he pulled up short just inside, his eyes widening as he took in the stage, the glittering lights, the gleaming poles, and the parade of half-naked women on display. “What the fuck,” he muttered, not a question.

“Oh, have you not heard of Lola’s? It’s all the rage,” Jack said innocently, trying to control his grin.

Robby locked onto him, expression going stormy. “Et tu, Brute?”

“I’m sorry,” Robby says slowly, stiffly, “I think I must have misheard you, because I’m pretty sure I just heard you tell me that my mother, whom I haven’t seen in almost fifty years, came to my place of work today, the one time this week that I wasn’t there.”

A brief, maybe cathartic “what if?” look at everyone’s most favourite problematic episode, Secrets & Lies, where Anna Del Amico is present for Carter’s confession.

Susan laughs. Abby laughs. Anna doesn’t.

“Well, if you’ve never tried it, that’s all the more reason to come camping with me,” Jack says. “It’s less than a two-hour drive, it’s great for hiking, and my tent fits two people.”

Robby looks amused. “Are you going to protect me from bears?”

“If I have to,” Jack says, which is better than the more inappropriate, if equally true, I would take a bullet for you. “So, is that a yes?”

Robby’s dark eyes dart, briefly, to the floor, then back up to meet Jack's gaze. “Do you really want me there?”

Or: Twelve hours after Robby leaves on his sabbatical, Jack’s phone buzzes with an incoming call. Jack spends the next few weeks bullying Robby into staying in his guest room, then staying in his tent, and then just staying, period.

“Why would you need to be on PrEP?” Robby asked slowly, suddenly feeling like he was floating outside his body, watching this scene from a distance.

Jack looked at him obviously. “‘Cause I’m planning on getting railed and it’s the responsible thing to do,” he said, like this should be no surprise at all rather than Jack coming out to him. At Robby’s silence, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Got a problem with that?”

Robby blinked, slamming back into his body, aware of his elevated heart rate, the sweat prickling along his lower back and at the backs of his knees, making his dress slacks clammy. “Nope,” he said, because he didn’t. He didn’t.

He just…hadn’t known, that was all.

Jack finds himself sleeping in Robby’s bed.

Jack is drinking coffee at 10pm on a Thursday when Robby calls.

“I don’t need a fucking script, Huckleberry!” Trinity says, furious. “I can ask a girl out, jesus.”

“I mean, that’s weird,” Whitaker says. “Because you haven’t. Like, that’s what this entire conversation is about.”

The ER is short-staffed thanks to a flu outbreak. Jack rises to the occasion.

Ellis made an amused noise, drawing Robby’s attention. “You know, Dana’s enlisted everyone in finding a kinship foster.”

“Don’t look at me,” Robby said instantly, just like he’d said to Dana, an actual jolt of horror pitching his gut at the idea.

Ellis went entirely innocent. “What I’m seeing is you looking mighty comfortable over there. And you got nothing but time.”

Robby is sitting in the visitor’s armchair, staring down at Baby Jane Doe in his arms with an expression on his face that Dana’s seen plenty of times.

Parker had just gotten the patient’s CT results when Toomarian pulled up short by central and stuttered out, “So, um, is it possible that Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot are about to make out in Trauma 1?”

The intern clocking their weirdness on day one? That might be a new record.

Parker didn’t bother looking up from her tablet. “Now that sounds like the definition of not my business,” she drawled. “But if you see any hot man-on-man action, note the date and time. Ahmad’s got a pool going.”