Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello! So, I've decided to revert to my most successful fanfiction format, the A-Z. I wrote one of these for Chicago PD like 3 or 4 years ago and people seemed to love it. Definitely not a shameless plug but if you like Chicago PD, go read it! It’s called ‘A-Z of Jay Halstead Whump’

Also, I was inspired by @jumpfall's 'The ABCs of Emergency' series which is AMAZING! Please go read it. I am NOT copying any of their work (I was just inspired by it to start up my old format) and I am using completely different alphabet letters to them.

So, here is where I need your help! This is my list of prompts:

A- Appendicitis

B- Bed Rest

C- Celiac Disease

D- Dizzy

E- Eating Disorder

F- Fatigue

G- Gastroenteritis

H- Hypoglycaemia

I- Immunocompromised

J- Jittery

K- Knee Pain

L- Low Blood Pressure

M- MS

N- Noseblead

O- OCD

P- Pneumonia

Q- Quiet

R- Retching

S- Seizures

T- Toothpain

U- Ulcer

V- Vertigo

W- Walking

X- Xerostomia

Y- Yawning

Z- Zero Energy

If there are any that you want, just let me know; I will primarily be using Jack/Robby but I'm open to any others you guys come up with!

I will be starting this VERY soon and also writing my other series at the same time 3

As always, stay safe xx

Edit (27/8/2025): Hello! I have decided to edit the 'C' from catatonia to celiac disease because let me tell you, I am STUMPED! Hope you still like it, if you have any ideas for it, let me know!!!

Chapter Text

The room was cold and quiet when Robby blinked awake. The light outside the window had that soft, pre-dawn greyness that suggested early morning, and for a moment, he was disoriented, unsure what had pulled him from sleep.

He rolled over sluggishly, eyes catching the red glow of the digital clock on the nightstand.

6:32 a.m.

Shit. He’d overslept. Big time. He had to start rounds at 7am sharp, there was no way he'd make it in time.

The bed was empty beside him. The blankets cold where Jack should’ve been. He knew that Jack thrived on the night shift but he misses him. Selfishly, he wishes they were on the same shift so he could see him more.

The silence pressed in around him. Familiar. Oppressive.

Robby pushed himself upright, wincing as a strange tightness pulled across the right side of his lower abdomen. Not sharp. Just... there. A strange pressure he couldn’t quite name. He rubbed at it absently with the heel of his palm and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The floor was freezing. He hadn’t remembered to put on socks the night before.

He sat still for a second, elbows on knees, trying to will his body into cooperation. His mouth was dry, stomach unsettled with that now-familiar queasiness that came from too many skipped meals. He assumed it was anxiety; what wasn’t these days? Still, the ache in his side lingered, a dull hum beneath everything else.

He stood, slowly. The tightness twinged a little more than before.

Robby’s brow furrowed, but he shook it off. It didn’t feel serious. Just uncomfortable.

He shuffled toward the bathroom, hoping a hot shower might loosen the knots in his muscles and in his brain. He told himself not to overthink it.

It was probably nothing.

The shower was quick; just enough time under the hot spray to scrub the sleep and fog from his brain. He didn’t even bother washing his hair. His side still ached, dull but persistent, flaring slightly when he twisted to grab a towel. He hissed through his teeth but shook it off again.

No time for that.

He towel-dried in a rush, pulling on a pair of black scrubs, the fabric loose but familiar. His favourite PTMC hoodie, worn soft and slightly oversized, went over the top. It still smelled faintly like Jack’s laundry detergent and hospital-grade coffee, and the comfort of it settled lightly over his chest like a weighted blanket.

He padded into the kitchen barefoot, trying to force himself to make some toast or pour cereal, but the nausea crept in fast and mean the moment he looked at the fridge. The idea of food made his stomach churn.

“Okay... no breakfast then,” he muttered hoarsely, voice still scratchy from sleep and disuse.

He grabbed his phone off the counter. 6:47 a.m.

Definitely too late to walk, even if he hadn’t been feeling off.

With a sigh, he opened the ride-share app and ordered an Uber to PTMC. His fingers hovered briefly over the text icon to message Jack, but he decided against it. He’d see him in a few hours anyway.

As he slipped on his sneakers, another dull pang shot through his side, lower and sharper this time. He þwinced and leaned on the counter for a second until it passed.

Just a pulled muscle, he told himself. Maybe slept weird.

The car was already pulling up outside. He grabbed his ID badge and keys, slung his bag over one shoulder, and headed out the door.

The Uber pulled to a stop just outside the ambulance bay entrance of PTMC, and before the driver had even come to a full halt, Robby had the door open. He muttered a quick “thanks” and stepped out into the muggy morning air, slamming the door behind him.

The ache in his side flared again as he moved, but adrenaline, or maybe guilt, pushed him forward. He adjusted the strap of his bag and practically sprinted through the automatic doors into the emergency department.

It was already busy, it always is, monitors beeping, voices echoing, the usual quiet chaos of the ED, but it all blurred in the background when he saw them: Jack and Dana standing at the central nurse's station, both mid-conversation until they turned and spotted him.

Jack’s expression shifted instantly; relief, worry, something like frustration all colliding behind his eyes as he stepped forward. “Robby-"

Dana, beside him, looked just as concerned, her blonde hair was tied back in a messy bun. “You okay? Jesus, you look like hell,” she said, stepping forward to steady him gently by the elbow.

“I’m fine,” Robby muttered, brushing off the contact even though the brief touch grounded him. “Sorry I’m late, I overslept.”

Jack gave him a once-over, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t answer your phone. We were about to send Langdon to the house.”

Robby tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out thin and unconvincing. “No need for a search party.”

Dana frowned. “You eaten today?"

Robby shrugged. “Didn’t have time this morning.” He avoided both their gazes, suddenly fascinated with a smudge on the floor.

Neither of them looked convinced.

Then, just as Jack stepped closer to say something else, Robby winced, sharply this time, and his hand instinctively went to his right side, fingers pressing against the fabric of his hoodie.

Jack caught the movement. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Just, twinged something. Probably just slept on it weird.”

Dana’s eyes narrowed. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Robby said too quickly, placing his bag under his work station. “Fine. Let’s just start the day.”

But as he moved past them toward the main station, Jack and Dana exchanged a look, equal parts worry and unspoken agreement.

Something wasn’t right. Jack didn't have time to press him on it- they had to round so he could go home.

Jack fell into step beside Robby as they navigated the bustling emergency department. The familiar hum of monitors, the rustle of scrubs, and distant calls created a steady backdrop of controlled chaos.

Jack stopped first at a curtained bay. Mel stepped forward to present. “Mr. Reynolds, 45 years old, came in after an altercation at a bar. Fractured ulna and multiple contusions. Pain is managed, vitals stable.”

Jack glanced at Robby, then asked, “Any concerns about bleeding risk? Is he on any anticoagulants?”

Robby added, “Has he had a tetanus booster recently?”

Mel consulted her notes. “No anticoagulants, and tetanus status is unclear. I’ve recommended updating it while he’s admitted.”

Jack nodded. “Good. Trinity, make sure we order that vaccine. Keep an eye on his pain control.”

Moving along, Victoria introduced the next patient. “Mrs. Chen, 38, with severe flank pain and vomiting. Diagnosed with kidney stones and dehydration.”

Jack folded his arms thoughtfully. “Any signs of infection? Fever? Labs?”

Robby looked over the chart. “White cell count is elevated, but no fever. What’s the plan on antibiotics?”

Victoria spoke up anxiously, “We’re debating whether to start empiric antibiotics pending cultures.”

Jack turned to Robby. “Given leukocytosis and symptoms, would you start antibiotics now or wait?”

Robby hesitated, then said, “I’d lean toward starting them to prevent sepsis but monitor closely.”

Jack smiled. “Good call. Victoria, check urine output hourly and reassess.”

At the next bay, Frank gestured toward a young man on a stretcher. “Mr. Alvarez, 22, involved in a bike crash.”

He continued, "CT negative for bleeding, concussion diagnosed, possible cervical strain.”

Jack stepped closer, “How’s his neurological exam? Any dizziness, nausea?”

Robby glanced at the patient. “Mild dizziness reported. What about post-concussion symptoms?”

Dennis, eager, piped up, “No other symptoms yet. We’re observing for post-concussive syndrome.”

Jack nodded. “Keep monitoring and arrange neurology follow-up.”

They approached a curtained ofd Bay 7. Heather introduced, “Ms. Patel, 30, suspected meningitis. Fever, neck stiffness, headache.”

Jack asked sharply, “Has lumbar puncture been performed? What do the labs say?”

Heather answered, “LP scheduled. Blood cultures taken, pending results.”

Robby added quietly, “Start empiric antibiotics immediately?”

Heather confirmed, “Yes, already ordered.”

Jack turned to the team. “Good. Keep close tabs on vitals and neurological status.”

They moved toward the south section. Mel indicated to a bay with a pale toddler covered in tubes and a nebuliser mask . “Noah, 2 years old, with bronchiolitis.”

Mel smiled gently. “Oxygen saturation was low on arrival; we’ve started nebulizers and fluids.”

Robby asked Mel, “What criteria would you use to decide if Noah needs admission?”

Mel considered. “If oxygen requirements increase or respiratory distress worsens.”

Jack nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Keep his parents informed.”

Robby exhaled deeply, feeling the ache in his abdomen soften just a bit. Surrounded by steady colleagues and a familiar rhythm, he found a fragile sense of focus; one patient at a time.

Jack’s eyes tracked Robby closely as they moved through the chaotic ED during the last few patients. Something was off with his husband, his skin was unusually pale, his movements sluggish, and a subtle tremor in his hands didn’t go unnoticed. When the team’s attention shifted, Jack quietly reached out and touched Robby’s arm.

“Come with me for a minute,” Jack said softly, guiding him toward corridor, a quiet, narrow hallway with the staff lockers, away from the noise and urgency of the main floor.

Once inside, Jack stopped and faced him, concern etched deep in his expression. Robby’s eyes looked glassy, his breathing shallow, but when Jack asked gently, “Are you feeling okay?” Robby shook his head, forcing a faint smile.

“I’m fine, really. Just tired, that’s all,” he said quickly, voice hoarse but firm.

Jack’s hands moved to rest on Robby’s shoulders, steadying him. “You don’t look fine,” he said quietly. “You’re pale, you’re shaking. Please, just be honest with me.”

Robby avoided Jack’s gaze, swallowing hard. “I said I’m okay,” he insisted, his voice firmer now. “I can handle it.”

Jack softened his tone, not wanting to push too hard but unable to ignore the signs. He wrapped his arms around Robby in a gentle hug, careful not to overwhelm him.

“I know you can,” Jack murmured, “but sometimes even the strongest need to admit when they’re not okay. I just want to help.”

"Jack, I'm okay, I promise."

Jack’s eyes softened, but the worry didn’t fade. He took a slow breath, knowing there was no point pushing harder; not now. “Alright,” he said quietly, stepping back. “But if you need anything, if it gets worse, you call me. No matter what.”

Robby nodded, relief flickering behind his tired eyes. “I will. Thanks, Jack.”

Jack hesitated for a moment, then gave a small, reassuring squeeze to Robby’s shoulder. “I’m heading out. Please call me if you want to come home."

"Go home! Sleep! I'll be fine Jack."

He was really regretting the 'I'll be fine Jack'. By 1pm, the dull ache that had been nagging at his lower right abdomen since the morning was growing sharper, twisting into a persistent, gnawing pain that flared whenever he moved. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and waves of nausea crept in, making it hard to focus on even the simplest tasks. He fought to ignore the increasing pressure and tenderness, tensing his body to keep from showing any sign of weakness.

Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air of the ED, and he found himself clutching his side discreetly when he thought no one was looking. His appetite was completely gone, but worse than that was the growing fatigue that dragged at him, making his limbs feel heavy and slow. Each step felt like a battle, but he pushed through, determined not to give Jack or anyone else the satisfaction of worrying.

Robby pushed open the door to north 12, trying to steady his breath as the dull ache in his lower right abdomen throbbed insistently. Inside, a middle-aged man laid on a gurney, pale and visibly struggling to catch his breath.

“Good morning, I’m Dr Robinavich but please call me Robby. What brought you in today?” Robby asked, forcing his voice to sound calm and confident despite the sharp stab of pain that made him pause just a moment longer than usual.

The man wheezed slightly. “I’ve been really short of breath since this morning. It’s getting worse... and I’m feeling kind of dizzy.”

Robby shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying not to show the tremor in his hands. Perlah stood quietly nearby, monitoring Robby closely but saying nothing.

“Any chest pain? Fever? Cough?” Robby asked, keeping his tone even.

“No chest pain, no fever, just this tightness and the breathlessness. It started around 7 a.m.,” the man answered, voice shaky.

Robby tried to lean forward slightly, but a sudden wave of nausea and pain forced him to grip the edge of the counter behind him. His face tightened for just a second before he straightened up.

“Okay, I’m going to listen to your lungs now. Take some deep breaths for me, alright?” Robby said, reaching for his stethoscope. His hands trembled slightly as he placed it on the man’s back.

The patient complied, breathing deep and fast. Robby listened carefully but struggled to keep his own breath even. A sudden, intense cramp stole the air from his lungs, and his vision blurred at the edges. He fought the urge to sit down, gripping the counter tighter.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and forced a small smile. “Alright, we need to get a D-dimer, arterial blood gas, chest X-ray, and an ECG to rule out pulmonary embolism or cardiac causes,” he said quietly, stepping back. “Perlah, can you get those ordered right away? Let’s move quickly.”

The patient looked relieved. “Thank you, doctor.”

Robby nodded and turned, wincing again as the pain flared, his mask slipping for a fleeting moment before he caught himself. Perlah’s eyes flicked to his pale face and unsteady hands, but neither spoke.

Robby walked out to the nurses’ station where Dana was standing, her brow furrowed as she scrolled through a patient’s electronic chart. They were deep in discussion about a man in South 7; a middle-aged patient who had presented that morning with increasing shortness of breath.

“So his oxygen saturation’s been dropping steadily since admission,” Dana explained, tapping a few notes on the screen. “Suspected pulmonary embolism. We’re still waiting on the CT angiogram to confirm.”

Robby nodded, forcing himself to stay focused despite the dull ache gnawing at his abdomen. “Any recent immobilization? Surgery? Risk factors for DVT?”

Dana shook her head. “None that we can find. No leg swelling or tenderness. We’re running a Doppler ultrasound on his lower limbs just to be sure.”

He took a breath, opening his mouth to ask about the patient’s coagulation studies when suddenly a sharp, searing wave of nausea hit him out of nowhere. His vision blurred, colors bleeding at the edges as the world swayed slightly. His knees felt weak. Gripping the edge of the nurses’ station with one hand, the other instinctively pressed against his lower right abdomen.

“Uh- hold on a second,” Robby muttered, voice tight, barely above a whisper.

Dana looked up immediately, concern flickering in her eyes. “Robby? Are you alright?”

He tried to blink away the dizziness, but his stomach churned violently, threatening to betray him right there. The nausea was overwhelming, hot and acidic, rising fast. He swallowed hard, biting down on his lip, desperate not to lose control. Not here. Not now.

His breathing grew shallow, uneven, as he fought to steady himself. The pain behind his hand was sharp and insistent, radiating deep into his abdomen like fire. His face had drained of color, lips pale against the harsh fluorescent lights.

Dana took a step closer, her voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to push through this, Robby. Tell me what’s going on.”

He shook his head faintly, refusing to give in. “I’m fine,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “Just… a bit dizzy.”

But he couldn’t hide it anymore. His body was rebelling, betraying the calm façade he tried so hard to maintain. The ache in his side pulsed in time with his thudding heart, and the nausea clawed at his throat like a wild animal.

Dana didn’t hesitate when she saw Robby’s face go white as a sheet. One moment he was halfway through a sentence about North 13, and the next, he froze, eyes wide, unfocused, mouth slightly parted as though the air had just become toxic.

She reached out immediately. “Come on. Bathroom. Now.”

“I’m fine,” he managed weakly, barely audible.

“You’re really not,” she said, already moving him. He didn’t protest again.

With a firm grip under his elbow, she steered him through the side hallway to the disabled bathroom. It was quieter back here, mercifully, and as soon as she unlocked the door and got them inside, Robby pulled away from her, already pacing in the cramped space.

He was breathing hard, ragged, shallow. His hand pressed flat to his abdomen, just below the ribs, while the other gripped the back of his neck. Dana stayed near the sink, giving him a moment, watching him unravel with precision.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he muttered, voice hoarse with panic. “I felt off this morning, just… off. Dull pain, I thought maybe it was stress or lack of sleep or...I don’t know, gas or something. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Okay,” Dana said calmly, “but what about now?”

He winced, doubling slightly. “It’s worse. It’s sharp now. Comes in waves. Like… it stabs. Especially when I move.”

His pacing faltered. He stopped, closed his eyes, and swallowed with effort. “Jesus. I’m gonna-"

He didn’t finish.

Dana was already moving. “Toilet. Now, Robby. Kneel down.”

He dropped fast, just barely getting his hands on the edges of the toilet to brace himself. Dana knelt beside him in one fluid motion, her hand finding the centre of his back as the first retch tore through him.

It was harsh and sudden, wet, painful. He gasped between heaves, his whole body contracting with each convulsion. There was no warning now, no holding back. Whatever he’d been fighting all morning, it had him in a vice grip.

“Let it out,” Dana whispered, steady and quiet, her palm making slow circles on his back.

Robby choked and coughed, one hand clinging to the rim of the toilet like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth. The other was braced on the tile floor, shaking uncontrollably.

Another wave hit. The sound was awful, violent, guttural, splashing as his stomach emptied. His breath came in gasps between bouts, and he squeezed his eyes shut, humiliated and overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” he managed between coughs. “I’m so- Jesus- sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Dana said, firm now. “You’re sick. This isn’t your fault.”

His whole frame trembled. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into the collar of his PTMC hoodie. He was burning up and freezing all at once, pale and flushed in patches.

After what felt like an eternity, the worst of it passed. He leaned over the bowl, panting, completely wrung out. Dana handed him a wad of toilet paper she’d dampened at the sink, and he wiped his mouth, still too dazed to sit up properly.

“Try to breathe through your nose, nice and slow,” she said gently, hand never leaving his back. “You’re okay now. Just breathe.”

He nodded slightly, too exhausted to speak, just sinking further onto his heels as the adrenaline crashed and his stomach twisted from the aftermath.

Dana sat beside him on the floor, not rushing him, not talking too much, just there.

"m'sorry."

"Hey, hey, hey, don't apologise sweetie, you can't help that you're feeli-"

"Robby! 2 traumas incoming!" Langdon shouted, cutting Dana off.

Robby flinched at the sound of Dr. Langdon’s voice echoing down the hall, his head snapping up instinctively at the word traumas even as his body protested the motion.

Dana turned, frustration flashing across her face. “Jesus, Frank- give us a damn second!”

But Langdon was already gone, his footsteps fading as he ran back toward the trauma bays.

Robby swallowed hard, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His arms were trembling again. “I need to go,” he mumbled, already shifting onto his feet, using the sink and the wall to steady himself.

Dana rose quickly with him, hand on his shoulder. “Robby, no. You’re in no state, look at you.”

“I’m fine,” he croaked, grabbing a paper towel to press to his clammy face. “I’ll- just keep to the background. Monitor. Triage. I can do that. I have to.”

Dana stood in front of him, blocking the door for a moment. “No. You don’t have to. That’s not how this works. You’ve just thrown up. You can barely stand up straight. You’re not fine, and you sure as hell aren’t cleared to be treating trauma patients like this.”

Robby looked past her, jaw set, breath shallow. “They need us.”

Dana sighed. Her voice softened. “They need you alive more.”

He didn’t respond, just shoved the paper towel in the bin and opened the door. He moved like a man underwater, dragging his body forward with sheer force of will.

Dana followed close behind him, muttering, “Stubborn idiot,” under her breath, her eyes scanning him anxiously for signs he might actually collapse.

Back in the main hallway, controlled chaos had erupted. Two gurneys were being rushed in, trauma teams already flanking either side, calling out vitals and history. Robby grabbed a pair of gloves from the wall without missing a beat.

“Mel, you’re with me,” he said hoarsely, his voice not as steady as he’d hoped. “Perlah, make sure imaging’s prepped. CBC, full panel, tox screen, FAST scan. Dana, call Cardio, get them on standby.”

He felt Dana’s eyes burning into him as she moved into her role like muscle memory. She didn’t push again—not yet. But she was watching him closely, every flicker of pain that tightened his face, every breath that came too fast.

Because Robby was pale, sweating, and visibly bracing himself before every step. But no one else questioned him, he was too practiced, too composed, too Robby. Even sick, even barely upright, he could slip into command mode.

But it wasn’t sustainable.

Not five minutes into the trauma, as he leaned over the first patient, young woman, MVA, hypertensive, he felt it again. That twisting, sharp surge in his lower right abdomen. Like something inside him was tearing. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, nodding as Mel updated him on her vitals, barely hearing a word. His hands were steady, but his vision swam. Sweat dripped down his back.

“Dr Robby?” Mel’s voice, uncertain.

He blinked.

“Hmm?”

“You… uh… you’re really pale.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “BP’s holding, good. Keep her head elevated. Let’s move.”

Mel didn’t push, but she looked toward Dana.

Dana shrugged, unable to say anything.

The trauma bay buzzed with urgency. The girl on the stretcher couldn’t have been older than twenty, bruised, shaken, and barely conscious after the accident. Her blood pressure was through the roof, her heart rate erratic, and the dried streaks of blood on her temple made her look even younger.

“She’s hypertensive; 160 over 110 and climbing,” Perlah reported as she hung another bag of saline.

“She hit her head,” Collins said, shining a light into the girl’s eyes. “GCS is dropping. Pupils are sluggish. We need a head CT stat.”

“I’ll page neuro,” Mel added, glancing nervously toward Robby as she moved to check the girl’s IV site. “She’s getting worse.”

Robby stood on the far side of the bed, one hand braced lightly against the counter. His eyes were fixed on the patient, but his vision blurred at the edges. His stomach twisted sharply again, pain lancing through him with an intensity that made his knees buckle.

He swallowed hard, breathing through his nose like Dana had told him to earlier, willing the nausea down. Not now. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of her.

“Perlah,” he rasped, his voice barely audible, “Order a head CT and full trauma panel- CBC, CMP, coags, blood type and crossmatch. And repeat vitals every five.”

“Already on it, Robby,” she said without looking up.

He nodded faintly, his hand tightening on the counter.

Then, the floor seemed to tip sideways. His ears rang. A wave of heat surged through him and his vision tunneled.

“Dr Robby?” Mel said, looking up from the patient.

He didn’t answer.

The stethoscope slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. In the next second, his knees gave out completely. He hit the tiles hard, his body crumpling just beside the trauma bay stretcher.

“Robby!” Dana’s voice pierced the room like a gunshot.

Dana was at his side in seconds, hands already on him. “Talk to me, Robby. Can you hear me?”

He groaned, incoherent and fevered, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat. His body was shaking, abdomen rigid beneath Dana’s touch.

His skin was burning under her palm, pulse thready and rapid. She looked up sharply. “We need to move him to Trauma Two. Now.”

Mel and Langdon were already grabbing a gurney.

“He’s febrile. Tachy. Rigid abdomen. I think it’s appendicitis, but I'm not sure." Dana said quickly, motioning for Trinity and Victoria to help lift him. “He’s been hiding it all day. He's puked at least once but I don't know if its happened anymore."

Perlah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Because he’s Robby,” Dana snapped, exasperated but scared. “And we didn’t push him hard enough. That’s on all of us.”

They got him onto the stretcher, Dana supporting his head while Langdon adjusted the IV lines. Victoria ran ahead to open the doors to Trauma 2 as they wheeled him across the hall.

“Let’s get IV fluids running,” Frank said once they were inside, snapping on gloves. “Two large-bore, wide open. Get a CBC, lactate, blood cultures, coags, CMP, everything.”

Trinity handed Dana the thermometer. She slid it under Robby’s arm while Frank started assessing his abdomen.

“Temp’s 39.3,” Dana said, jaw tight. “He’s cooking.”

“He’s guarding,” Frank confirmed grimly, feeling the tension in Robby’s abdomen. “Right lower quadrant. Definitely surgical.”

“I told him to get checked,” Dana muttered under her breath. “He insisted he could work.”

Victoria hung the fluids while Mel entered orders from the computer. The trauma pager buzzed again, but Heather stayed across the hall with the young girl, still managing her vitals with Perlah.

Back in Trauma 2, Robby stirred faintly, his eyelids fluttering.

Dana leaned over him. “Hey- Robby. You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

His mouth moved sluggishly. “M’sorry…”

“Don’t,” she whispered, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “You’re not in trouble. You’re sick, honey. Just rest.”

Frank checked his BP, 88/50, and turned to Victoria. “We need a bolus now. And get surgery on the line. He’s going up as soon as CT confirms.”

Robby’s breath hitched sharply as his stomach twisted again, and Dana could see it coming before he even leaned forward.

“Everyone out,” she said quickly, voice low but firm as she reached for the emesis basin. “Give him space, now.”

Frank didn’t hesitate, he gave Victoria a quick nod and stepped out of the trauma bay, already reaching for his pager. “I’m calling Dr. Walsh,” he muttered as he passed through the curtain. “He’s gonna need that appendix out, like, yesterday.”

Mel and Victoria followed, exchanging a quick glance before slipping out behind him, leaving Dana alone with Robby as the curtain swung closed behind them.

The second they were gone, Robby lurched forward with a choked gag, both arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

Dana stepped beside him, holding out the basin in just as he vomited- harsh, sudden, and gut-wrenching. His body curled with the force of it, and a broken sound escaped his throat as he coughed, trying to breathe between retches.

“Shhh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Dana said softly, one hand bracing the back of his shoulders as the other steadied the basin. “Just let it happen. You’re okay.”

He didn’t answer; he couldn’t. Another wave hit him, violent and fast, and he shuddered, gasping through clenched teeth, his fingers gripping the side rail so tightly his knuckles blanched.

“I’m so-" he tried to speak, but it came out garbled between breaths. “I’m so- sorry-"

“Stop,” Dana said immediately, brushing his sweat-damp hair back from his face. “You’re not allowed to apologise for being sick, Robby. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

He spit into the basin weakly, trembling all over, eyes glassy and burning with humiliation. “I didn’t- I didn’t want you to see this.”

“Well, tough,” she said gently, squeezing his shoulder. “Because I’m right here. And I’d rather be here than out there wondering if you’re okay.”

His breath hitched again, but this time it was from emotion, not nausea. He leaned into her hand slightly, too exhausted to keep pretending.

The doors were pushed open, the chaotic noise of the ED causing Robby to wince. In strode Dr. Emery Walsh, messy bun barely held together by two pens, navy scrubs wrinkled from a long shift, and the usual swagger in her step. She held a tablet in one hand and a coffee she clearly didn’t have time to drink in the other.

“Well, well, well,” she said, eyes scanning the room as her smirk grew. “You know, Robby, there are much easier ways to get a day off. Faking appendicitis? Classic, but a little dramatic.”

She grinned at her own joke as she rounded the bed, but the smile faltered almost immediately.

Robby was barely upright, propped weakly on one elbow with his head tilted over a kidney bowl, breath shallow, skin a sickly gray-green. Sweat soaked through his black scrub shirt, clinging to his chest and back. His lips were chapped and pale, and his eyelids fluttered like just staying awake was a full-time job.

Emery stopped cold, her coffee forgotten.

“Okay,” she said, voice dropping as her expression shifted from amused to deeply concerned in a matter of seconds. She set the tablet down and stepped closer. “Nope. Nope, I take it back, you’re not faking anything.”

She stood next to the stretcher, her voice soft now. “Robby. Hey. Can you hear me?”

His eyes barely opened. He tried to nod, but it looked more like a slow head tilt. His jaw worked, like he was trying to say something, but all that came out was a hoarse, nearly soundless cough.

Emery reached up and gently pressed her fingers to his wrist, checking his pulse. Too fast. Way too fast.

She glanced up at the monitor and swore under her breath. Then she straightened up fast and turned toward the hall.

“I need that CT report yesterday. Let’s push another bolus. Start broad-spectrum antibiotics and get labs to me the second they print. If this appendix isn’t already angry enough to explode, I’ll eat my pager.”

She gave Robby one last look before stepping out to grab the surgical kit. The teasing glint in her eyes was long gone.

“Hang in there, Robby,” she muttered. “You gave it a good shot, but this isn’t how you get out of charting.”

"He hasn't had a CT yet, they're backed up." Dana said, just realising.

“Are you kidding me?” she muttered under her breath. “They've had this guy, the chief of the fucking ER, laying here in that much pain and no one’s gotten a damn scan?”

"I know, Javadi called up immediately and they said there is a 35 minute wait. That was 25 minutes ago."

“I’m not wasting another ten minutes. Grab the ultrasound cart.”

Without needing to be asked twice, Dana darted out and returned within moments, wheeling the portable machine into the room. Robby groaned faintly as the movement jostled his bed, his arm curled protectively around his abdomen now. He wasn’t verbal anymore; he was just barely with them.

“I’ve got it,” Emery said, yanking on a pair of gloves and cutting his scrub top down the middle. “Sorry, Robby, this is gonna be cold.”

The gel squelched onto his abdomen and his entire torso flinched involuntarily. Robby’s eyes opened just a sliver, pupils glassy. He gave no other reaction; no complaint, no words. Just another quiet, miserable groan that tugged something sharp in Dana's chest.

Walsh moved quickly, practiced hands sliding the probe across his lower right quadrant. The second she found what she was looking for, her jaw clenched.

There it was. The swollen, non-compressible appendix, surrounded by fluid and shadowed with echogenic fat.

“Damn it,” she whispered, and clicked a few images.

Dana was watching her closely. “What is it?”

“Appendix is blown up like a balloon. Lots of free fluid. He’s cooking. He’s been cooking all day, and now I’m pretty sure we’ve got rupture risk.”

Dana swore under her breath, glancing back at Robby’s slack expression. “He told me he didn’t feel well this morning. Looked like hell. But he still came in.”

“Yeah,” Emery muttered, unplugging the probe and wiping Robby’s stomach clean. “Well, he’s not going anywhere now. We’re scrubbing in. Get Langdon to fast-track his labs and page anesthesia.”

She leaned down again and brushed a damp curl off Robby’s forehead, gentler now. “Robby, I know you’re out of it, but you listen to me, okay? We’re gonna fix this. Just hang tight.”

His eyes fluttered, but there was no response. Just a shaky exhale and the faintest tremor in his fingers.

"I'm gonna go call the OR, we'll be back for him soon." She said quickly. "Wait- do you know when he last ate?"

"Not today for definite but before that, I have no idea."

"Okay good."

Not even 25 minutes later, the door to Robby’s room opened quietly, and in stepped two OR nurses followed by an anaesthetist, a woman in crisp green scrubs with a calm, authoritative presence.

Robby lay still, eyes closed, his face pale and slick with sweat. His breathing was shallow, uneven, and he looked utterly drained. The sedatives and exhaustion had finally overtaken him, pulling him into a restless sleep despite the sharp pain simmering beneath his skin.

The anaesthetist approached the bedside first, pulling on her gloves as she spoke softly but clearly, her voice steady in the quiet room.

“Hi, Robby. We’re going to take good care of you. I’m Dr. Patel, the anaesthetist. I’m here to make sure you’re comfortable and safe during your surgery.”

She glanced at the chart in her hand. “Can you tell me if you take any medications regularly? Anything like antidepressants, blood thinners, or heart meds?”

One of the nurses checked Robby’s IV line as the other readied the oxygen mask.

"Flu-fluoxetine a...a...nd om-omep-"

"Fluoxetine and omeprazole." Dana answered for him, laying a hand on his arm to calm him.

Dr. Patel nodded thoughtfully, making notes. “Fluoxetine, okay, that’s an SSRI. It can affect how you respond to anaesthesia, so we’ll be extra careful. Omeprazole is a proton pump inhibitor, right? Helps with stomach acid?”

Dana confirmed. “Yes. He’s got bad acid reflux."

The anaesthetist smiled faintly but with genuine sympathy. “Well, stress or not, we’ll get him through this.”

She gently tapped Robby’s hand. “You’re doing great, just stay calm. We’re going to give you some more medication to make sure you don’t feel any pain.”

Robby’s eyelids fluttered but he didn’t wake.

After some final checks, the team gently lifted Robby onto the gurney, securing him carefully. His body was limp, exhausted, but stable for the short trip to the OR.

As they wheeled him down the corridor, Dana whispered softly, “Hang in there, Robby.”

Behind them, the quiet room felt emptier, the faint beep of monitors fading away as the doors closed.

Dana slid the trauma room door closed behind her. For a brief second, she leaned her forehead against the cool glass, her eyes fluttering shut. The chaos inside had settled, Robby was gone, whisked away toward surgery with the OR team, but the knot in her stomach remained tight and unmoving.

She straightened, rubbing her palms down her scrub top, trying to shake the dampness from her fingers.

The ED hadn’t stopped.

It never did.

Around her, the usual rhythm continued, monitors beeping, stretchers rolling past, the low hum of conversation between nurses and residents. Jesse was at the main board updating room statuses. Donnie and Jesse were wheeling supplies back into a trauma bay. Mel stood silently beside the break room doorway, typing something into a tablet. Everyone looked a little quieter, a little more tense, but they were working.

And yet Dana couldn’t.

Not until she made the call.

She slipped behind the nearest pillar and pulled her phone from her back pocket, stepping just far enough away from the flow of movement to get a little privacy. Her hand trembled slightly as she scrolled to Jack’s name and hit call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

“Dana?” Jack’s voice was quiet, still half-asleep. “What’s wrong?”

Her lips parted, but for a second no words came. Her throat burned.

“He's in surgery.”

Silence.

Then: “What?”

“He collapsed in the ED. He’s been sick all day, he tried to hide it, kept saying he was just tired, but he was vomiting earlier. Then when he was stubbornly running a trauma, he just… dropped. Right there in the trauma 2.”

“Oh my god,” Jack murmured, already sounding like he was grabbing his keys.

Dana swallowed. “We moved him to a bay. He kept throwing up, spiked a fever, got confused. He didn’t even recognise me for a minute. Walsh did an ultrasound- she’s taking him to surgery. Appendicitis. Bad. He might be septic, Jack.”

Silence again, but this time it was heavier. She could hear Jack breathing, shaky and shallow.

“He’s in the OR now?” he asked finally.

“Just left. Maybe five minutes ago.”

“I’m on my way.”

Dana hesitated. “Jack… he's gonna be okay."

Jack didn’t respond for a beat. Then she heard the slam of a car door. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Drive safe.”

The line went dead.

Dana lowered the phone, her heart still pounding, her hand clenched tight around the device.

The world came back in fragments.

Muted beeping. Cold air brushing against warm skin. The weight of too many blankets and the dull, humming ache deep in his abdomen that throbbed every time he shifted. His mouth was dry, cotton-dry, and his head pulsed with a slow, tight pressure, like someone had packed his skull full of gauze.

Robby blinked slowly, lashes fluttering as light filtered through his heavy lids. Everything was too white. Too bright.

He squinted, tried to focus.

Then, movement.

A shadow at his side. A familiar presence. A hand gently brushing the back of his wrist.

“Hey,” Jack said, voice low, barely above a whisper. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Robby turned his head slightly toward the sound, muscles groaning in protest, but the sight of Jack grounded him. Hair messy, still in pyjamas, circles dark under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You’re here,” Robby mumbled, voice hoarse and raw.

Jack exhaled through his nose and nodded. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Robby blinked again, brain foggy, thoughts slow to string together. He shifted under the blankets and winced; his abdomen pulled tight with the motion.

Jack’s hand was there immediately, light but steady against his arm. “Careful. You just came out of surgery. Appendicitis. They said it ruptured.”

“Figures,” Robby murmured, trying to smile but only managing a twitch of his mouth. “Should’ve… known.”

“You’re okay now,” Jack repeated, rubbing his thumb along Robby’s forearm in slow, grounding circles. “They said everything went fine. Walsh is annoyingly good.”

Robby let his eyes fall shut for a second, too exhausted to hold them open. “Hurts,” he whispered.

“I know,” Jack said gently. “You’ve got meds on board already. They’re keeping it light for now, but they’ll top it up soon. Do you want some water?”

Robby nodded a little. “Head’s killing me.”

“You’re probably dehydrated,” Jack said, reaching for the plastic cup on the tray. “Here; small sips.”

He helped him sit up just slightly, one arm behind Robby’s shoulders, the other holding the straw to his lips. Robby drank, slowly, and let his head fall back against the pillows with a low groan.

Jack didn’t rush him. Just stayed close, watching, fingers resting lightly on Robby’s wrist again like he needed the contact to prove he was real.

“How long?” Robby asked after a beat.

“Couple hours. Surgery was just over an hour. You’ve been in recovery for about forty-five minutes. They let me sit with you early.”

Robby let that settle.

His stomach still throbbed, a low, hot pulse beneath the painkillers. His head ached. But the worst of the pressure, the panicked sickness, the confusion, was gone now, burned away by sedation and sleep.

And Jack was there.

He tilted his head just enough to look at him again, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Jack leaned in, brow furrowing. “For what?”

“For scaring you,” Robby whispered.

Jack let out a breath, sharp, thick with emotion. He reached up and brushed Robby’s hair back gently, fingers lingering for a moment. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Robby’s lip trembled.

Jack sat back down, pulling his chair closer. “You just rest now, okay? You’re safe. Everything’s handled. I’m not going anywhere. You're on sepsis watch at the moment so you're gonna be here for a week. Just rest for now baby."

And with that, Robby let himself exhale fully. The fight was over, for now. The adrenaline drained, the fear ebbed out, and sleep tugged at him again like a warm tide.

He let it pull him under, this time with Jack’s hand still in his own.

Chapter Text

Osteomyelitis. Fucking osteomyelitis.

To say Robby was annoyed would be an understatement, well, if he didn't feel so ill.

For the past 2 weeks, Robby had been having really bad hip pain but he was a 53-year-old, slightly unfit doctor who was on his feet at all times. Who wouldn't have hip pain?

But it kept getting worse. Like a lot worse.

He went from it being minor pain, more annoying than anything to searing pain everytime he moved. He could feel it running down from the top of his hips down to his knees like bolts of electricity. Moving was hard but bending was the problem. He dropped his pen at the nurses station and the agony that coursed through his bones was almost biblical.

"Robby?" Jack asked, watching his husband hobble into their townhouse after his 12 (14) hour shift. "Baby, what's wrong?"

His pain had been particularly bad that day. He'd woken up with horrendous hip pain that radiated down into his leg whenever he stood. The shift had been long and ardous and he was getting really sick of people asking if he was okay.

"It's nothing, my hips just a bit worse today, don't worry. I've probably just pulled it or something." He dismissed as he put his bag by the door and toed off his shoes.

Jack stood, grabbing his crutches from where they rested on the coffee table and made his way over to Robby.

"Robby, you can barely walk."

He completely ignored Jack's concern and hobbled over to the kitchen to make himself some dinner, even though he wasn't hungry in the slightest.

"Robby!" Jack repeated, trying to catch up with him. "Micheal!"

"What?" He shouted, turning around to face his partner.

"Oh hell no, you don't get to talk to me like that brother."

"Then stop asking me if I'm alright!" He stormed off, the best he could, towards their bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

'Okay, that's a new one,' Jack thought to himself, 'He must be in agony then.'

Jack quickly rushed into the kitchen as best as he could on crutches and set off to work making Robby some dinner. Just some simple butter noodles- while Jack had a more refined palate, prefering anything but plain pasta, Robby found it comforting. Jack prioritised eating and nutrition. For example, on a shift, he makes sure he gets at least 15 minutes to heat up and eat some food that he made either the day before or during the day. Robby on the other hand, would shovel down half a protein bar or a sandwich if he had time. He prioritised his patients over himself always.

Once he'd eventually managed to cook the pasta, he very slowly and very carefully made his way into their bedroom, hoping Robby had calmed down now. Opening the door, the light from the hallway illuminated Robby's curled up body. He was on his side, facing away from the door, curled up in a tight ball. Jack knew that position very well- it was Robby's 'I'm in too much pain to function' position.

Jack made his way over to the bed and perched next to Robby. The older man looked as though he was asleep but what concerned Jack was the way Robby's hair stuck to his forehead. Placing a hand on his forehead, Jack was concerned by the heat radiating off of his husband.

"Micheal?" Jack whispered, stroking his upper arm. "Wake up for me baby."

"Hmmm." He groaned weakly.

It all made sense to Jack now- Robby was always really irritable when he didn't feel well. It was a stress response when he didn't feel regulated; his normal body feeling wrong to him so he lashes out to the people he loves.

"Come on, open your eyes for me baby."

"J-ck?"

"I'm here."

It took him a moment but eventually he opened his eyes. Jack's heart broke when he saw the dullness and glassiness if his normally gorgeous brown eyes.

"I don't feel well Jackie." He whispered. "I'm sorry for shouting."

"Don't worry about it Mikey, I just want you to feel better."

"I think...I think it's os-osteomyelitis."

"Wait what? Really?"

"My hips...they-they're swollen and r-red and now I've g-got a fever."

"How long baby?"

"Hips h-hurt for 2 weeks...f...fever started last n-night."

"Okay, okay, we'll get you an appointment for the morning and I'll call you out for the morning."

"No! I...I have t-to go in."

"No you don't. You're really sick man, you need to get on antibiotics and fluids. I'll get you an appointment with Dr Drew first thing tomorrow." Jack said quietly, placing a steady hand on Robby's arm. "Do you think you can stomach some pasta?"

"Not really, m'sorry."

"Could you try a little bit for me?"

"I g-guess."

"How's the best for you to sit?"

"I don't know."

Jack helped him sit up and placed a pillow on either side of his hips. It didn't help much but it was slightly better than before.

"I'm sorry baby, I know it's painful."

He only managed about 10 bites of the noodles before he was practically asleep again. Jack took the bowl off his lap and put it on the bedside table. He helped Robby lay back down and kissed his cheek sweetly. He drifted off into a feverish haze, completely unaware of his journey ahead.

Jack woke up at 6am sharp. He wished he could have gotten a bit more sleep but he was really worried about his husband.

Robby had spent the entire night half asleep, half awake. One moment he's too hot, the next freezing. Then he had to alternate between each side because if he spent too long on one, it would hurt even more.

After attaching his prothstetic, Jack started to get ready; his aim was to be ready before Robby got up so he could focus all of his attention on him. He got changed and quickly made himself some scrambled eggs on toast. Halfway through, he realised he hadn't called anyone to cover Robby's shift. Feeling very guilty, he quickly called Dana.

"Dana? Hi, I'm so sorry! I forgot to-" He rushed.

Dana cut him off immediately, knowing the nervous rambling was never a good thing, "Woah, slow down, what's wrong?"

"Sorry...it's Robby, he's not very well, he's got a fever and you know how his hips have been playing up?"

"Mm-hm."

"Well he thinks it might be osteomyelitis."

"Oh shit, is he okay?"

"He's asleep at the moment but I'm calling his doctor first thing."

"I think you should bring him in, Jack."

"Wait really?"

"What would you tell a patient with suspected myelitis?"

"To go to the ED." He whispered.

"I think because it's Robby, you didn't realise, bring him in Jack. He can't really wait, you don't want him to get any worse. I'll pick you up. I'm driving past in 15 minutes, pack him a bag and get him ready to go."

"You don't h-"

"I do. I don't want you driving, I'll be there in 15, see you soon." And with that she hung up.

Hurrying back to the bedroom, Jack packed the basic essentials into a rucksack for both of them, before perching on the bed beside his husband, rubbing his arm softly.

"Robby? Baby? Robby?" He whispered until the older man roused. "Good morning Mikey."

"Hmmm."

"Just give yourself a second to wake up a bit." Jack said, seeing just how rough he looked.

Robby started to stretch but winced almost immediately. He was a sickly shade of white, his cheeks illuminated by a pink, fevered glow. Sweat poured off him, his grey tshirt damp and dark in certain places.

"I don't think I can go to work today." He groaned.

"I know, I know. I'm taking you in though baby, we need to get you looked at."

Well that woke Robby up a bit.

"No! We'll- we'll just go s-see Dr Drew today. S'not that bad."

"You've got a really high fever and you've spent half of the night coughing, I'm worried the infection could have spread okay? So Dana's on her way to take us in."

"Mmmmm." He groaned. "She didn't need to."

"She did, now let's get ready. You okay to sit up?"

"Think so."

He was wrong. The second he sat up, the world span, causing the sick doctor to face plant into Jack's stomach.

"Woah, brother, dizzy?" Jack asked, wrapping his arms around Robby to try and steady him.

Robby nodded into Jack's stomach, unable to sit up despite the throbbing in his hip. They stayed like that for a minute until he felt a little bit more steady.

"I'm gonna grab you some clothes, you okay here?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Jack quickly grabbed a pair of black sweatpant shorts and one of his favourite worn band t-shirts that's probably older than some of their students.

"Here you go," He said, placing them on the bed beside him. "I'll help."

Peeling the sweat-soaked T-shirt off, it was only then, Jack realised how high Robby's fever was. "Hang on Mike, I'm just gonna grab the thermometer."

The younger doctor walked as fast as he could without worrying Robby to the bathroom cabinet and quickly retrieved the thermometer. Upon returning, Robby had gone even paler again, his body was shivering violently and his eyes half shut.

"Here we go, turn your head for me." Robby obeyed, slowly moving his head to look at their bedroom door.

Jack placed the thermometer in his ear, his other hand rubbing small circles onto Robby's bare, sticky back. The small beep made Robby flinch, obviously more sensitive today to noises.

"Shit, Robby, you're at 103.1."

"Noooooo." He whined. "M'cold."

"I know, I know, let's just get you changed, we can worry about that in a minute."

He felt awful doing this to Robby. He could see the pain coursing through his body as he moved his legs to help him put on the shorts.

Once he was fully dressed, Jack placed a tender kiss on Robby's forehead, and hugged him close to his body. Robby was a hot water bottle at that point, already sweating through his clothes.

The walk downstairs was not fun. Robby could barely walk and was very clearly favouring his left side which made it harder for Jack, who was balancing their go bags and a barely functioning Robby.

When they were finally downstairs, Jack took him into the kitchen and helped him sit at the nook.

"You need to eat something so you can have some ibuprofen."

"Feel sick."

"I know you do but you need something in your system. It might help."

"Hmmm."

"How about just some applesauce? I think we still have some from when I have the flu?"

Robby didn't respond, he was sat staring into space, the pain and fever overwhelming his body. Jack rummaged through the cupboards until he found a single cup of applesauce.

"Here, have some of this." He said, taking off the lid and placing it in front of Robby.

He only managed maybe 2/3's of the cup before he was practically turning green. He then swallowed down two ibuprofen's with a small sip of water.

"You did so-" Jack was interrupted by a frantic knock at the door. "It's just Dana."

Jack peeled his hand away from Robby's sweaty grip and went to answer the door.

Dana stepped inside with a gust of cold air, her face flushed from the wind outside. She had a thick, black coat covering her scrubs and her blonde hair was, for once, down.

“Where is he?” she asked immediately, stripping off her coat and placing it on the banister without waiting for an answer. She doesn't just run the ED, she runs any room she walks into. And that is one of the many reasons Jack loves her.

“In the kitchen,” Jack said, voice tight with worry. “He’s… bad, Dana.”

She didn’t waste a second, rushing into the kitchen where Robby sat slumped at the nook, head propped against his near limp wrist. His eyes flicked toward her sluggishly, barely tracking movement. "I'm so sorry Dana. You didn't n-d to come."

“Oh, honey,” she murmured, sitting tbeside him. She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, wincing at the heat radiating from his skin. "Don't apologise, I'm worried about you. It's rare that the infallible Dr Robby falls ill."

He laughed at that. Just barely. But still a response.

Jack hovered a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to stay calm. Dana didn’t miss how pale he looked either. She glanced back at him, her expression softening for just a beat, then turned her attention to Robby.

"You ready to head out? You need labs, fluids and meds. I'll throw in a Dana special as well and make sure no one treats you like a zoo exhibit."

Robby groaned, hand pressing to his stomach. “Please… don’t make me laugh. Feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

Dana gave a sympathetic smile and cupped the back of his neck, steadying him when he swayed. “Hey, if you’re gonna hurl, I’ve got great reflexes. And my car has leather seats.”

Jack shot her a pointed look. “Dana.”

“What? I’m trying to keep him awake.” She turned back to Robby, her voice softening to a near whisper. “You with me, sweetheart?”

He nodded faintly, eyes sliding shut. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

"I'm gonna take the bags to the car. You focus on letting your dearest husband help you to the car, okay?"

"Hmmmm."

Dana stood up and started to walk towards the door, stopping at Jack's shoulder.

"I'm gonna call ahead and get John to keep a bay open. I've never seen him like this before." She whispered discreetly before continuing out to the car.

Jack wiped a hand over his face before taking a few steps towards Robby. "Come on then brother, let's get you sorted."

"Jack, I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologising! Did you purposely give yourself a bone infection?"

"No." He replied timidly.

"Exactly. I'm sorry you're going through this."

"Hmmmm."

"Come on, let's get you in the car."

The walk to Dana's red Chevy Traverse was slow and painful. The stairs from their front door to the drive were particularly bad as Robby's hip had fully locked by this point.

"Let's get you in the front th-"

"No, you need the fr-nt." Robby whined.

"No I'll be-"

"Baby, you c'n't get your leg 'n and out of the backs'at. I'm 'kay in the back."

Jack wasn't quite sure what to do. Robby was right, his prosthetic did not like the backseat but at the same time, he didn't want Robby sat alone in the back.

"Okay, fine." He said, relenting.

Robby couldn't get comfortable in the car. Every bump and turn of the car sent sharp jolts through his hips, making him squirm against the seatbelt, teeth gritted against the pain. His fevered body ached from head to toe, skin clammy and burning in impossible waves, and the nausea churned in his stomach like a storm he couldn’t control. He pressed his face against the cool window, willing the world to stop moving, but the slightest sway made him groan softly, every breath a careful negotiation between discomfort and the need to stay upright.

“You okay back there, baby?” Jack asked softly, trying to keep his voice calm, a few minutes into the drive. It was early so the roads weren't too bad but they also weren't great.

“I… I think so,” Robby whispered, but the words sounded fragile even to him. He shifted slightly, wincing as his hips ached with every movement. “Just… hmm… don’t want to...”

Jack glanced back, noting how tense his body was. “Hey, hey, careful, baby. Just breathe.”

Robby gave a faint nod, teeth clenched, trying to will the nausea down. “S-sorry… for… you know, being like this.”

Jack’s chest tightened. “Stop apologizing, Robby. You’re sick. That’s all.”

He tried to settle into the seat, but the car’s subtle sway made his stomach lurch. His face twisted, lips parting slightly, and he made a small gagging motion. The movement shot a sharp pang through his hips, making him groan softly.

“M'really sorry but I think I’m gonna be sick,” he admitted hoarsely, voice breaking, eyes squeezed shut.

Jack’s stomach sank. “Okay, okay. Dana- ummm...”

Dana glanced at the glove compartment while keeping her eyes on the road. “In there! There should be a Walmart bag in there."

Robby’s fingers trembled as he placed a hand in front of his mouth, trying to keep in the torrent of sick. Another gag wracked his body, making the pain in his hips flare even worse, and a little the applesauce he'd just eaten managed to come through his fingers, spilling down his t-shirt and shorts.

Jack yanked the Walmart bag from the glove compartment and handed it unceremoniously to Robby. “Here! Into the bag!”

Robby’s hands shook as he fumbled the emesis bag into position, his face twisted in nausea. A small wave hit him, and some more of the applesauce he’d eaten earlier came up, landing safely inside the bag this time. He let out a weak groan, exhausted, while his hips ached painfully with every tiny movement.

Jack and Dana stayed frozen in the front seats, hearts in their throats, both gripping the console and wheel like it would somehow let them reach him. Seeing Robby like this; so small, so fragile, and yet refusing to complain, made them both feel utterly useless. They couldn’t hold him, couldn’t ease the nausea, couldn’t absorb the pain for him.

“You’re okay, baby,” Jack murmured, though his words felt hollow, powerless to actually make the waves of sickness pass.

Dana’s jaw was tight as she navigated the car carefully around every bump. “Hang on, Robby. We’re right there,” she said, voice firm but quivering slightly under the surface.

Robby let out a soft shudder, gripping the bag and trying to steady himself. “Sorry… so gross,” he whispered, even though he hadn’t a choice in the matter.

“Don’t be,” Jack said immediately. “You’re not gross, baby. You’re sick. That’s it.”

"We're here now, we're gonna get you sorted." Dana said as she put the car in neutral.

"Hang on, I'll help."

Jack swung the back door open and leaned in, keeping one hand on Robby’s shoulder and the other ready to support his hips. Robby’s legs were shaky, and every small movement made his hips ache. First thing, he reached down for the Walmart bag, fumbling slightly with sweaty fingers, then set it carefully on the curb beside the car.

"This is so 'mbarrassing." Robby murmured.

"It's not baby."

Jack helped Robby out of the car and quickly wiped his mouth and the little bit of sick off his clothes with a napkin Dana passed him. The walk into the ED was similar to the walk from the house to the car, slow and painful. Luckily, Dana had already called Shen to meet them by the ambulance bay entrance with a wheelchair.

"Oh jeez Robby, you really don't look too hot." John murmured as Jack helped Robby sit down in the wheelchair.

Dana smacked his arm lightly, scowling at him, "Really?"

"Sorry, sorry." He continued, "We have North 5 open for you. Lena is staying on for a bit to cover for you Dana so we can get Cheify here sorted."

Robby practically shrank into himself as they wheeled him past the BH bays and towards the north corridor. His face burned the moment he caught sight of Dr. Ellis talking through morning rounds at the nurses’ station. He caught Whitaker peering over too, making eye contact for a split second, and immediately ducked his gaze, wishing he could disappear entirely.

Jack gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, knowing this was his husband's worst nightmare. “You’re fine, baby. Nobody’s judging you. Just focus on breathing.”

Robby nodded weakly, but the pain in his hips made even sitting still a struggle. He tried to lift himself, shift a little to get comfortable, and groaned softly when the movement sent a stabbing ache through his side. Luckily, by the time he shifted positions again, they were in his bay.

It took a moment but he shifted up onto the gurney and leaned back, groaning as some of the pressure came off his hip.

"Mike, let me help you get comfortable okay?" Jack whispered, placing a soft kiss on Robby's sweaty forehead.

"I'll go get a tablet and get you admitted." Dana said, leaving them again.

"Okay, North 5, we have Mikhail Robina- wait Robby?" Collins started as she opened the curtain and saw her chief (slash ex) laid on the gurney, head tilted back and emesis basin resting on his stomach.

Robby’s pale, fevered face lifted, and he immediately registered the entire day shift staring at him, a mix of curiosity, concern, and outright shock. He muttered under his breath, “פֿאַר גאָטס וויל.”

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"My ummm. It's my-"

"Suspected osteomyelitis." Shen interjected.

"Can you present this one?" She asked Jack, trying to see on her tablet where any information is.

"Sorry Mikey. Mikhail Robinavich, 53, presented with suspected osteomyelitis. Vitals on arrival: febrile, 103.6F, tachycardic at 110, normotensive. Patient reports acute right hip pain with erythema and warmth over the area, and has had two bouts of emesis en route. Labs drawn: CBC, CMP, CRP, ESR, blood cultures. We're waiting for a confirmation before we start him on IV antibiotics. Shen administered isotonic saline and acetaminophen for his pain."

"Shit sorry." Dana said rushing in. "I forgot to put a note on his chart saying not to come in."

"S'fine. Teaching hospital remember." He groaned.

Jack glanced at the group, chuckling slightly at Robby's fevered comment. He kept one hand resting lightly on Robby’s shoulder before continuing. “Alright…what would you start for his treatment plan?” he asked, voice calm but carrying the weight of both his professional authority and personal concern.

Mel, standing near the doorway, perked up immediately. “Empiric IV antibiotics,” she said timidly. “Given the suspected osteomyelitis and fever, I’d go with a broad-spectrum regimen initially, then tailor once cultures return. Monitor renal function and watch for fluid balance issues with the fever and vomiting.”

Collins continued, “Yes, and add regular pain reassessment, antiemetics as needed, and vitals every fifteen minutes. Blood cultures to lab immediately, and we’ll need to keep an eye on his inflammatory markers—CBC, CRP, ESR—just to track progression.”

Jack nodded, letting the clinical discussion flow while still keeping a protective hand on Robby. “Good. That’s exactly the approach. Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Whitaker lingered near the doorway, whispering to Santos just loud enough for him to hear. “Wait… his name’s Mikhail? I thought it was Micheal. And he’s married to Abbott?”

Santos blinked. “Yeah… didn’t see that coming either. My Gaydar is usually far better than that. I thought he was like chronically old and lonely?”

Robby groaned softly beside Jack, curling slightly against him. “So… embarrassed,” he muttered.

Jack chuckled, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. “I know, baby. I know. But you’re sick, that’s all. Let me take care of you.”

He adjusted the blanket around Robby, careful not to jostle his sore hips, and continued rubbing slow circles on his back. Robby’s eyelids fluttered, and soon the fever and exhaustion began pulling him toward sleep. Jack stayed close, whispering soft reassurances and pressing a gentle kiss to his temple until Robby finally drifted off, safe in his arms.

It took a few tense hours, with Jack never leaving his side, constantly checking vitals and rubbing soothing circles across Robby’s back, but finally the lab results came back: the blood cultures and inflammatory markers confirmed osteomyelitis. As soon as the diagnosis was official, the orders went in. Robby was started immediately on broad-spectrum IV antibiotics, the line cold against his arm as the first infusion began. He flinched at the sharp sting, his stomach already roiling from the fever and nausea. Jack stayed right there, hand over his shoulder, murmuring soft reassurances as the medication slowly started coursing through him.

Within the hour, a bed was secured for him in ortho, where Dr Gary Fieldman (one of Robby's few friends) would take over the management of his infection. The ward smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh linens, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the ER. Gary had secured him a private room and ensured he would be bothered as little as humanly possible

lThe first day in orthopedics was brutal. The IV antibiotics, necessary to fight the infection, made him feel nauseated, weak, and utterly miserable, every sip of water or bite of food threatening to come back up. The nurses checked his vitals and labs frequently, but despite the constant monitoring, Robby felt trapped in his own fevered, aching body. The pain was excruciating and he could barely move more than a few inches on the bed. Dana visited him as much as she could and stopped too many of the "Pitt Crew" visiting him when he was so weak and vulnerable.

Jack never left, leaning over the bed, brushing damp hair from his forehead, whispering encouragement, and adjusting pillows to ease his hip pain. Somehow, despite the intensity of the illness and the harsh effects of the medications, Robby only spent four nights in the ortho ward.

The morning light filtered through the blinds as Robby sat propped up in bed. The IV had been removed an hour before, and for the first time in a while, he felt like he could actually breathe without the constant beeping of monitors. His fever had broken the day before and It was the first time he didn't feel seconds away from throwindg up. Jack sat close, hand resting lightly on his shoulder, keeping him steady as he shifted.

Dr. Fieldman walked in, tablet in hand, but his expression softened when he saw Robby. “Morning, Robby. Looking a little more like yourself today.”

Robby gave a weak, tired smile. “Trying,” he said, his voice rough from the fever. “Ready to get out of here before I go crazy."

Fieldman pulled up a chair beside the bed. “Good. Here’s thepart I'm sure you're not gonna like. I'm ordering you some strong oral antibiotics for the next three weeks. Don’t skip doses, even if your stomach complains. Bed rest for the first week and a half, and no weight-bearing on that hip. Crutches for at least six weeks, maybe longer depending on follow-up imaging.”

Robby’s stomach tightened at the thought of all the restrictions. He pressed a hand over his lap, glancing down. “Right… like full bed rest. Fun.”

Fieldman chuckled. “And one more thing, if your infection markers, CRP, ESR, WBC, don’t come down after a week, we’ll need a bone marrow biopsy. But that’s only if necessary. You’re responding well so far.”

Robby swallowed, the idea twisting his stomach. “A biopsy…”

“Hopefully not,” Fieldman said, serious but calm. “For now, focus on the antibiotics, the rest, and keeping that hip safe. It is really easy to break at the moment so you need to be careful. I'm scheduling you a follow up in 5 days so we can repeat imaging and bloodwork. If anything isn't right before that, please give me a call. I'll get you in."

"When can I go back to work?"

"Ahhh I was waiting for that. It's gonna be at least 2 months until you're back to full service but you can go back to admin and light duty as soon as you're off the antibiotics."

"Oh for fuck's sake."

"You're complaining Mike, I have to put up with you!"

Six days later, Robby was stuck in bed at home, crutches leaning uselessly against the wall. The fever had broken, nausea was mostly gone, and his blood work and follow-up imaging had shown marked improvement. The infection was under control, but bed rest was driving him insane.

Jack hovered nearby, checking vitals, refilling water, and making sure Robby wasn’t trying anything foolish. But no matter what Jack did, Robby found a way to get under his skin.

“Jack,” Robby groaned, flopping back against the pillows, “I swear, if you make me listen to the same podcast one more time, I’m going to start throwing things at you.”

Jack barely looked up from the tablet he was scrolling through. “You’re not allowed to throw things. You’re sick. And the crutches aren’t meant to be weapons.”

“I’m bored, Jack! My hip hurts, my stomach feels weird from these pills, and I can’t even get up to make myself a coffee. I’m going stir-crazy!” Robby wailed, exaggerating every word as he flopped dramatically to one side.

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his own tired face. “I get it. I really do. But you’re on bed rest for a reason. If you push yourself, all the progress we’ve made could get undone.”

Robby shot him a mock glare. “You sound like Gary, or worse, Dana! I didn’t sign up for nagging when we got married!”

Jack finally set the tablet down and leaned over him, brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “I’m not nagging. I’m keeping you alive. And you’re exhausting me, too, you know."

Robby’s lips twitched into a weak, feverish grin. “Good. That’s my plan. Make my husband suffer while I’m stuck in bed.”

Jack shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Fine. You’re miserable, I get it. But for now, stay in bed, take your meds, and leave me in peace for five minutes. Deal?”

Robby groaned, flopping back dramatically again, but a small smile broke through. “Deal…for now.”

Jack ruffled his hair and settled in beside him, knowing full well the peace wouldn’t last long, but at least he could endure a few minutes before Robby found the next way to drive him crazy.

Chapter Text

Robby isn't well-known in the ED for brilliant eating habits. It was rare that he actually ate on shift apart from the occasional protein bar that Dana shoved in his direction or a quick candy to keep his blood sugars relatively okay. What was even more ironic was the way he would buy pizzas or sandwiches or sweet treats for the whole department but he'd never eat any. No one could ever work out why. Half thought he was anorexic whilst the other half thought he was just too dedicated of a doctor.

The truth is, the infallible Micheal Robinavich has celiac disease.

He was diagnosed at 8 when he started living with his grandmother. His parents, ever neglectful, had completely failed to realise how in the last months he was living with them, Robby had dropped almost half his weight and was experiencing debilitating stomach cramps and nausea after most of his meals. He was constantly tired and weak, would dread doing PE because it would leave him feeling too drained and even fainted a few times from what Robby now realises was malnutrition.

His teachers were really worried about him as well. Once the situation had been sorted with his parents, their focus turned to his eating habits. Robby was bright obviously, top of his class even in the third grade; he was literally doing sixth grade maths, science and English at that point. But everyday without a doubt after lunch, he would crash. He'd be completely exhausted, cradling his stomach and you could practically see the waves of nausea rolling off him.

"Micheal?" His third grade teacher, Miss Garcia, asked softly, crouching down beside his desk.

Miss Garcia was what most would call a perfect teacher. She had been teaching for almost 15 years and loved every moment of it. Sje was the kind of teacher parents asked for at the start of each year. She was younger, with gentle blonde streaks threading through her pristine brown hair, and eyes that always seemed to see straight into a kid's soul. Her voice carried a quiet patience, the kind that made children feel safe even when they were scared or sick. She had a warmth about her as well; always ready with a comforting word or a reassuring smile and she genuinely cared for each of her students.

"Hmmm, m'sorry." Robby grumbled.

He felt particularly bad that day. They'd had pizza for lunch and ever since, his stomach was rolling and he felt the most bloated he'd ever been. Robby sat slumped forward at his small wooden desk, his head buried in the crook of his folded arm. One arm sheltered his sick body, while the other rubbed at his stomach in a slow, restless motion. His pale face peeked briefly from the shadows of his arms, eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

"Are you feeling okay sweetheart?" She asked, placing a hand on his shaking shoulder. "Is it your stomach again?"

"Yeah." His clipped voice replied.

"Think you can hang on for the last 40 minutes or do you want me to call your Baba? You really don't look good."

"S'okay Miss Garcia, I promise I'll do my work." He replied, sitting up again but his hand didn't leave his stomach.

"No, no don't worry about it. How about you go rest in the book corner and read for a bit and I'll talk to your Baba when she gets here."

He stayed silent for a moment, before replying, "Thank you."

The next forty minutes were filled with painful torture as he tried to concentrate on his book. Every word seemed to blur before his eyes, and the letters swam as waves of nausea rolled through him. His stomach clenched with every turn of the page, making it impossible to focus, and the occasional sharp cramp forced him to press his hand harder against his belly. Normally, he would be so worried about what his fellow classmates would think but today he couldn't care. He was too absorbed with his sickness and pain to care.

From the front of the classroom, Mrs Garcia watched him closely, her chest tightening with worry. As much as she tried to focus on teaching the rest of the children their long division, she just kept looking back to Robby sat hunched over, in agony. She had been teaching for fifteen years, and in all that time she had never seen a child look so fragile, so utterly drained. She knew, though the other children did not, that he had just been taken from his neglectful, abusive parents; she had been instrumental in it happening. It was her reporting it after spending weeks seeing the bruises on his arms and smelling the liquor on both parent's breath. The timing of his suffering was almost cruelly precise, as if his body had been holding onto pain for years until it could no longer.

She managed to get through the majority of the lesson before her gaze flicked back toward the book corner, where Micheal was slumped on the bean bags. Just as she saw the last remaining colour slip from his face, he let out a sharp, wet retch, clutching his stomach as he doubled over. A sickly smell drifted through the room, and a chorus of horrified “Eww!”s erupted from the other children.

Her chest tightened, but she stayed calm. “Alright, everyone,” she said firmly, standing up and motioning to Mr. Peterson, the teaching assistant. “Mr Peterson, please take the class into the corridor to gather your things. We’ll be lining up shortly.”

The children scrambled up, faces twisted in disgust and curiosity, mumbling and stepping over each other as they filed out under Mr Peterson’s watchful eye. Once the room was empty, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights was all that remained, leaving Mrs Garcia free to move closer to Robby. She quickly grabbed the box of tissues from her desk and the waterbottle from Robby's desk before kneeling beside him, carefully avoiding the growing pile of sick.

She stayed by Micheal’s side, her hand pressing gently to his back as he shivered against the bean bags.

“Shh… it’s okay,” she murmured softly, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just breathe… slow, steady breaths.”

10 minutes later, she was helping him outside, holding his coat and bag as he clutched a cardboard sick bucket to his still bloated stomach.

As soon as they stepped out, his grandmother stepped forward, rushing to wrap an arm around her trembling grandson.

“Misha…oy…vos is it? You been…sick? Nobody…nobody call me?” She exclaimed in broken English.

"It's just happened Mrs Robinavich. I know this sounds frightening but this isn’t normal. He’s been struggling like this for a long time. I know you've mentioned it as well and this isn't the first time this has happened. It could be a stomach condition, or an allergy, or something else affecting his digestio but needs medical attention immediately."

That night, after a multitude of blood tests and an emergency endoscopy, he was diagnosed with Celiac Disease and instructed to follow a strict gluten-free diet for the rest of his life.

Robby credited Mrs Garcia for a lot in his life: saving him from his parents and finally seeing the sickness that had been so obvious. They'd stayed in touch for a long-time after that. Robby would help tutor some of the older elementary and middle school kids at the school and would drop in to see her after every session. She was the first person to congratulate him when he got into med school and the first to offer condolences after his Baba died. She was also the one who was there at his med school graduation, after none of his family turned up. She sat alongside his chosen family, Dr Adamson, his wife, their two daughters and Shelby and her husband.

No one really knew about his autoimmune condition; most of the senior staff and some of the newer residents and nurses knew but most didn't. He wasn't necessarily secretive about it but he hated being the centre of attention.

However, it all came out one Saturday evening at a gastropub in the middle of Pittsburgh.

It was a rare "social night" for the day shift plus a few of the night shift who had the night scheduled off. They tended to do it every few months, a small ritual that blurred the edges between work and life, making Robby seem like a real person to half of the new staff who have never seen him without his walls so rigidly up. They went to the same gastropub every time that was cozy but not cramped; low ceilings, a long wooden bar streaked with years of spilled drinks, booths spotted around the venue and soft jazz drifting from a corner speaker.

Robby was sat near the top of the table next to Jack and across from Dana. Next to Dana sat Lena and Perlah who were talking to Mateo, Donnie and Javadi. Collins sat towards the end of the table next to McKay with Whitaker, King and Santos at the end. Langdon was stuck working the night shift with Shen, Parker and Princess much to his annoyance. It was a lovely, casual environment; one of the few times Robby let himself get a bit tipsy. Jack didn't tend to drink much at these events so Robby could, plus, Dana's husband Chris was giving them a lift home seems as they only lived down the next road.

"Has Micheal not told you about the time he almost broke his ankle whilst we were up at the-" Jack started before a kind looking lady interrupted them. She was the kind of server who'd been doing it for the last 40 years since she was old enough to work.

"Hello everyone!" She smiled. "I'll be your server tonight, before we start, does anyone have any allergies we need to be made aware about?"

Robby looked down at his hands, he doesn't know why it makes him so anxious to say about his celiac but he does. It probably doesn't help that half of the people at the table don't know about it. It feels like he's coming out all over again. The new kids only just found out Robby and Jack were married tonight.

"Yeah, I've got a peanut and walnut allergy." Donnie said, ripping him out of his trance.

Jack kicked his foot, causing Robby to stare at him. He didn't look impressed in the slightest, raising his eyebrows at him.

"Mike, come on, you need to tell them." He whispered.

"Alright, we'll make sure your food is completely nut-free to be on the safe side. Let me take your order now so we can make sure."

Dana was staring at him now too, they'd been out for food enough times to now how much he hated this part.

"I'll just do the steak frites please."

"Ooh nice choice! I'll make sure the kitchen knows that it has to be completely nut-free. Now does anyone have any allergies?"

"Umm...yeah." Robby said looking down again. "I'm celiac so I can't have any gluten whatsoever."

"Okay sweetheart, have you eaten with us before? Just so you know, the kitchen cannot be sure that there is no chances of cross contamination, are you still okay with that?"

"Yeah a few times, don't worry about it."

"I'm just gonna need you to sign a waiver for me if that's okay? I know you've probably done it before but you know how it is." She smiled, bringing it up on her tablet and passing it down to Robby.

He was flushing bright red at this point, completely and utterly embarrassed that everyone else is having to wait as he goes through all this. Jack placed a hand on his thigh, stroking it softly after seeing how distressed Robby was becoming with it all. He signed it quickly before handing it back to her.

"Okay perfect, now what can I get for you?"

"Can the Mushroom Swiss burger be made gluten free?"

"Of course, we'll put it in a gluten free bun and give you a side of gluten free fries. Is that everything?"

"Yes thanks."

Robby didn't look up once as everyone else ordered and immediately excused himself as soon as the server walked away. He practically sprinted outside to the patio area and fished a cigarette out of his jean pocket. Now he didn't smoke anywhere as much as Dana but he did enjoy one a day. That was a far cry from how many he smoked during med school; he's shocked his lungs haven't given up on him.

"Thought I'd find you out here." Jack said walking up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I don't know why it stresses me out as much as it does but it always has. It's really weird. I've had it since I was fucking eight, like over forty years now and I still get just as embarrassed."

"You're so old!" Jack smiled, placing a kiss on his neck. "It's okay to worry Mikey, it's a big deal."

"They didn't know."

"But they do now, and I doubt they'll say anything. For god sakes, half of them are still scared of you."

"I know but it's not what they say, it's what they think!"

"I know, I know." He soothed, rocking them both slightly. "Now let's go get you a stronger drink and go enjoy the rest of the evening okay?"

Jack waited for Robby to finish his cigarette before leading them back into the bar. Then, he ordered another himself and a double whiskey and coke for Robby. Once their drinks were made, they finally made their way back.

"Everything okay?"

"Uhhh yeah, just...ummm...needed a smoke."

Robby had made it through two double whiskeys and cokes before the food came out. It was a different server this time, a grumpier looking man in his early forties, clearly annoyed to be working on a Saturday night. Robby was barely paying attention at this point, tipsy and happy for once; the incident earlier had completely slipped his mind.

"I have a BBQ Bacon burger?" He said, no introduction at all, glaring down the table.

"That's mine." Mateo said only to be responded with a huff as the server realised he'd have to walk to the other side of the table.

Some more food came out and the vibe dipped slightly momentarily. Every time he passed out some food, he'd make some comment or a huff about it.

"Mushroom Swiss burger."

"Yeah that's mine." Robby smiled. "Is it gluten free?"

"Sure." He said, completely dismissing him.

:"No, is it actually? It's really important." Jack interjected, suddenly very protective of Robby.

"Did you order it gluten free?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone else order the same?"

Jack looked around the table to be met with stunned heads shaking.

"Then yes, it's gluten free." And with that he stalked away again to go and get more food for the table.

"Jesus, what's his problem?" Dana asked to no one in particular, Robby and Jack still too stunned to speak.

The server came back a few moments later, balancing Perlah's meal and a tray overloaded with fries. He stopped in front of Robby and plopped a small, separate dish onto the table.

“Special order. Can’t have the normal ones, right? Gotta make them all gluten-free for you, little buddy.” He said, smirking.

The warmth from the drinks and food suddenly felt heavier, and a knot tightened in his stomach.

“Uh…thanks.” He muttered, completely unaware of what to do in this situation. He didn't want to make a scene but he felt so embarrassed by this man he'd never met before.

Jack’s hand shot out, resting protectively on Robby's hand that was perched on the table.

“Hey, that’s not okay,” he said sharply, eyes locking on the server. “He needs them gluten-free. End of discussion.”

The server huffed, muttering under his breath, clearly irritated by the confrontation, and moved away. Robby felt his cheeks burn, not entirely from alcohol. He looked down at the fries again, twisting them nervously in the small dish. Everyone must be staring at me now. How embarrassing.

Dana leaned over, giving him a soft smile. “Robby, it’s okay. He's just being a prick.

"Fucking asshole." Jack said, his gaze never leaving Robby. “It’s fine. You’re fine. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

Robby forced a small laugh, trying to shake it off.

“Yeah… fine.”

But the tightness in his chest didn’t go away immediately; even here, in a rare night off with friends, something as simple as fries could make him feel singled out, vulnerable, and painfully self-conscious.

After the incident with the other server, everyone had been quick to change the subject and get back to their earlier conversations. Robby, Jack, Lena and Dana were all over half way into their meals, chatting about Dana's upcoming trip with her husband when their original server came back up to the table, plate of food in hand.

"Sorry for the delay with your food sir, the kitchen were waiting for the gluten free buns to-" She started before clocking the plate of food he was eating from. "What's that?"

"My burger?"

"No, this is. The kitchen had to make the buns, they'd just run out!"

"Wait so this isn't-" Robby started, immediately dropping his fork to the plate and staring at it.

The bread tasted different; lighter, fluffier, almost airy. But Robby chalked it up to panic, still rattled from the earlier encounter so decided to ignore his racing mind for once.

"The other server said it was gluten free! We asked to make sure and he was a dick about it!" Jack interrupted, furious.

“No- he…ummm...” The original server stammered, clearly flustered and shouted across the place to the original server before, "Graham! Come here!"

He stalked over, rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed to be coming back over to the "difficult" table.

"You didn't give him the gluten-free meal! They asked and you said it was."

"I thought it was, okay? How was I meant to know."

"Maybe because it will have been in a different table's section in the kitchen Graham! You've worked here nearly 6 years, you know you HAVE to check these things. And then you made comments to them about it?" She lectured.

"Okay, okay, it's not a big deal." The asshole of a server smirked, shrugging like it was nothing. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Can’t help if people are… picky.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jack’s voice was low and dangerous, practically vibrating with anger. “Do you think it’s funny to humiliate someone over their medical condition?”

The asshole server blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but only shrugged again. “I’m just saying-”

“You are a complete dick,” Jack cut him off, standing abruptly so that the chair scraped loudly against the floor. “You do not talk to people like that. Especially not someone who has no choice!”

Robby was staring at the table now, completely frozen in place. He hadn't had gluten in 7 years. Not a crumb of it and now he's eaten half a burger and a full portion of fries.

"Robby, baby?"

He snapped back into it and suddenly both servers were gone, Jack was sat beside him, holding his hands.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, brushing his hair away from his forehead and placing a kiss on it.

"I...I ummmm...I don't-"

"It's okay, it's okay. We're gonna head home, okay? Chris is 5 minutes away, let's go outside."

The rest of the table was silent, staring at them, completely unsure of what to do. Jack helped him stand and helped him put on his coat and scarf before they started to leave the restaurant, Dana following behind them.

"Hope you're okay Dr Robby!" Mel shouted after them, panicking about the silent that followed as they left.

Robby was shaking by the time they made it outside, so overwhelmed and anxious. He'd experienced a lot of cruelty growing up jewish with abusive first immigrant parents and being bi, but this was a new low. He couldn't understand why they were so cruel.

"Feeling okay?" Dana asked.

"Think so, I won't be later." He mumbled, completely zoning out again.

"Mike? Mikey? Misha?" Jack whispered, holding both of his trembling hands and rubbing circles with his thumb.

Robby wasn't sure how much time had passed but now he was starting to get a stomach ache and he was sweating profusely. He looked over to the sidewalk and saw Dana's husband's pick up truck parked.

"Chris is here now baby, let's get you home okay? Still feeling okay?"

"My stomach's starting to hurt a bit."

"Oh I'm so sorry baby, let's get you home and in bed."

Jack helped him walk to the pickup and helped him in.

"Hi Rob." Chris smiled from the drivers seat.

"Hey. Still go in the front Jack, it's okay." He said, buckling up his seat belt.

Due to his prosthetic, he struggled to fit in comfortably in the backseat with his leg being squished. It was normally a good excuse to always sit shotgun but today, all Jack wanted to do was hold Robby.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He said, shutting his door.

Jack circled around the truck and climbed into the passenger side, glancing back as Dana slid into the backseat beside Robby.

"What happened?" Chris asked softly once they'd set off.

"A dick of a server gave him the wrong burger, a gluten burger and he'd already eaten half of it before anyone realised."

"Oh shit, how are you feeling?"

"Hmmm...I'll be okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll have a shit night then I'll be fine by the morning."

"When was the last time you had any?"

"7 years ago I think."

"Didn't you end up in hospital last time though?" Dana asked, looking over to Jack for confirmation.

"Yeah- but I'd eaten a full slice of chocolate cake so it was a lot worse."

The conversation carried on around him but he couldn't quite concentrate. His head was beginning to throb and the pain in his stomach increased more and more by the minute. He wrapped a hand against his stomach and let his head drop against the cool window.

"You okay?" Jack asked a few minutes later, turning around and squeezing his knee tightly.

"Mmm-hmm, my stomach is just starting to hurt a little bit now."

"I bet, we'll be home soon though."

"I know." He whispered, looking back out at the nightsky. Home couldn't come quick enough.

"Everything okay in there Mikey?" Jack asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

They'd gotten home barely an hour ago and he deteriorated fast. After saying bye to Dana and Chris, Jack immediately led him into their bedroom to get him changed. Once in a comfortable fleece, T-shirt and shorts, they sat on the edge of their bed, Jack stroked his hand softly.

"How are you feeling?"

"Not great, my stomach's really bad."

"I'm so sorry, I know, I know."

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom." He said a moment later before he stalked away, hunched over his cramping stomach.

That was 35 minutes ago now. Jack stood helplessly outside, listening to Robby groan in pain. It was always his bowels that took the first hit.

They'd only just started dating when he had his last flare- Robby had hidden the majority of it until he ended up in hospital from dehydration. He was so insecure about showing any signs of weakness that he normally hid it.

"M'okay." He groaned through the door.

"Do you need anything baby?"

"I'm coming out in a second."

The door opened a few moments later and Robby emerged looking wiped. His face was practically the same colour as paper, his cheeks flushed from what looked like a fever and having shed his fleece, Jack could see a nasty red, blotchy rash spreading up his arms. Jack immediately lept forward and bundled Robby up into a hug. The older man dissolved into a fit of sobs the second his husband touched him.

"It's okay, you're okay." He whispered, rocking him slightly.

"I'm sorry." Robby whispered a few minutes later, finally having calmed down a bit.

"Don't you dare apologise, okay? You can't help this. It wasn't your fault." Jack soothed. "Think you're done for now?"

"I think so b-but I'm not sure. I'm s-starting to feel a bit sick." He said, pulling away from Jack and wiping a hand across his face in an attempt to swipe away the tears.

"Okay, let's get you in bed, we can put a movie on for a bit and just snuggle. I'll get a bucket just in case as well."

"Thank you."

The rest of the night dragged on in a haze of discomfort. Jack tucked Robby into bed, propping him against pillows and draping a soft blanket over his trembling frame, but sleep never came easily. Robby's comfort film, "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" was the first film to play; the quiet comedy drowning out some of the pain.

Waves of nausea and abdominal pain kept Robby shifting restlessly, clutching his stomach with every spasm. The bucket Jack had grabbed sat ominously between them, a precaution that became necessary more than once. Each time Robby leaned over, dry-heaving or vomiting, Jack rubbed soothing circles into his back, murmuring quiet reassurances. The sheets felt cold and clammy beneath him, and his body shivered violently, fever burning through him as he struggled to find comfort. This was the worst flare he'd had in a long time.

As the hours ticked by, the rash that had first bloomed on his arms began spreading across his torso, angry and itchy welts that made him wince every time the fabric of his shirt brushed against them. His joints ached sharply, making him curl tighter into himself, and Jack kept adjusting his position with a gentleness born of practice. Dehydration quickly became a concern for JAck, every trip to the bathroom left Robby weaker, his legs trembling as he guided him there and back. His head pounded from exhaustion, and the dehydration dizziness left him disoriented, his voice faint whenever he managed to speak.

By dawn, the room smelled faintly of sweat and antiseptic wipes, and Jack sat half-awake at the edge of the bed, cradling Robby’s hand. Robby dozed fitfully against him, pale and overheated, occasionally stirring with soft groans as the cramps twisted through his abdomen again.

This was the first time he'd seen Robby let his walls down during a flare. Last time, even though he was in hospital, he'd still tried to pretend he was fine. It was a stark comparison to the picture in front of him.

Even though Jack had spent hours studying Celiac Disease at med school and then researching it again when he and Robby got together, nothing could have prepared him for this. For seeing the person you love in so much pain and discomfort. His leg was throbbing; he'd been unable to take it off because he had to be up and ready to fetch more heat packs or water or help Robby to the bathroom. He just wanted his Robby, the man he loved more than life itself, to feel better.

By the time mid-morning came, Robby was awake again, but barely able to stay upright. Jack had tried to get him to sit up for a bit to see if that would help him keep some water down but so far it wasn't successful. He was desperate at this point. Seeing Robby so listless and weak, sat against their headrest, curled around a heat pack broke something in his heart. He just wanted to do something to help.

"Do you feel up for having a bath? It might help with your stomach and maybe even your fever?"

"Yeah, t-t-think so." He whispered, barely even opening his eyes.

It was an ordeal getting him into the bathroom; Robby was so tired and weak, he nearly knocked Jack over when they stood. Once in the bathroom, Jack sat him down on the toilet seat as he started to run the bath. For an accessibility stand point, baths were a nightmare; they had grab rails to help but it wasn't the best still. But he'd do anything if that would help Robby feel a bit better.

As the bath run, he went back over to Robby and let the older man bury his face into his stomach as he gave him a quick head massage. He then stripped off his own clothes before standing Robby up to do the same. It was only once he was fully undressed that Jack could see just how bad his stomach was. It was more bloated than Jack had ever seen- he almost looked pregnant. By that time the bath was fully run so after lighting a few candles and putting some lavender oil and bath salts, he helped Robby get in. The relief was almost immediate- he sank back into the bath and let out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding. Then, Jack peeled off his sore and near-blistering prosthetic and squeezed in behind Robby, allowing his husband to rest his head against his chest.

Jack wrapped his arms around Robby’s middle, careful not to press against his swollen stomach. The steam curled lazily through the candlelight, softening the edges of the bathroom into something dreamlike. Robby’s breathing evened out against his chest. Every so often a quiet shiver ran through him but each time, Jack would just hug him tighter, letting his own body heat encapsulate him. Jack rested his chin on the top of Robby’s head, feeling the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.

"Thank you Jack, I- I don't know what I'd do without you." Robby said contently, his pain temporarily forgotten.

"Me neither brother." Jack smiled. "Quite literally because I'm not gonna be able to get out of this bath without any help."