Chapter Text
When Jack shows up to his shift, the navy N95 mask makes his expression even harder to read than usual. Robby scans him over his reading glasses. “You ok, brother?”
Jack coughs and tightens the nose clip on the mask. “Just a little cough, probably caught a cold from my nieces.” He walks over and hovers near Robby’s work station. “Kids. God’s gift, but they are disgusting.”
Robby finishes typing and stands, placing the back of his hand against Jack’s forehead before he can protest. He frowns. “Jesus, Jack, a cold? You’re burning up.” Robby swivels his chair around and pushes Jack into it in one smooth movement.
Jack looks up at him. “I wasn’t when I left my place.” He sounds confused and a little annoyed. Jack doesn’t like it when his body misbehaves.
Robby is taking his pulse and checking his watch. He utters a non-committal “mmmm.” Then he flags Dana over. “Hey, can you see if Shen or Eliot can come in? Even if they can do half a shift, I can finish it out. He can’t work.”
Jack waves from his seat. “Hey. ‘He’ is right here. And I feel ok. You’re not working, what, a triple, because I have a little cough.”
“No, I’m not. Hence, Shen or Eliot. Assuming you didn’t travel outside the country and I missed it?” Dana hands him a thermometer and goes to make some calls.
“Yeah, Robby, in my three days off in the last two weeks I took a quick jaunt to Uganda. Weird I didn’t mention it.” Jack’s pout can somehow be registered despite the mask, in the angle of his eyes and the set of his cheekbones.
Robby shakes his head, placing the thermometer in Jack’s ear. “I’ll assume the fever is making you delusional and that’s why you’re being such an ass to me while I’m trying to help you.” He removes the thermometer. “Jack, 102. Come on, we’re getting you home. Hey, Jesse, do you know if we have any of those take-home rapid flu tests?”
The nurse turns to Robby, considering. “I think we just have the dual flu/COVID kind, would that work?”
For a brief moment a pained expression hardens Robby’s features, but then it’s gone. “That would be great, Jesse. Storage closet?”
“I can grab it for you, boss.”
Robby turns back to Jack. “How did you get here?”
Jack shivers, but he still looks annoyed. “I walked, like I do most days.”
Robby purses his lips. “I walked too. But your place is a mile away.” He looks at Jack, decision made. “You’ll come to mine. I still have all the stuff from when you stayed while they were fumigating. And that way I can keep a better eye on you.”
“Robby!” But there’s not much heft to it.
Jesse returns with the test and Robby turns to get their things from their lockers. Jack gets up to follow him but immediately slumps back down. Jesse and Robby catch him by the elbows.
“You’re clearly in no position to fight me on this.”
—
In the end Shen volunteers to work Jack’s entire shift and Robby procures a hospital wheelchair for Jack. “If I don’t bring it back they can dock my pay,” he promises the orderly who reluctantly gives it up. Jack’s whole body is trembling and for a split second Robby second-guesses himself; should Jack stay here, at the hospital? But no, he’s not going to get a real bed unless he literally coughs up a lung; he’ll probably insist on being put in the hall so someone sicker can have a monitored bed; he’ll get no sleep and very little attention. In all likelihood he has the flu and just needs fluids, TLC, and rest, which he can get at Robby’s. Maybe Tamiflu, which Robby can bring home tomorrow if it seems warranted.
He snags a blanket and lays it on the wheelchair which he locks outside, asking a steward he knows to keep an eye out. Then he returns to his desk, throws both their bags over his shoulder, and hauls Jack up with one arm. Jack’s grip on him is weak, and at first he thinks Jack is being ornery, trying to make this harder than it has to be. But when he looks in his eyes they’re a little unfocused and Jack rests his head on Robby’s shoulder.
He had been trying to preserve Jack’s precious dignity by doing the wheelchair transfer off the floor but now he wonders if they’ll make it. He signals to Jesse and asks quietly, “Can you give me a hand?” Jesse lifts Jack’s other arm without comment and they manage to walk him outside and get him into the chair. Jesse exchanges a look with Robby before turning back through the doors, his normally placid face tinged with worry that Robby doesn’t want to see.
Robby tucks the blanket around Jack tightly. He kneels and puts his two hands on either side of Jack’s face, cradling his cheeks. It’s diagnostic of nothing but he just wants to feel him solid in front of him. His traitorous thumb rubs a little arc along the material of the mask.
Jack blinks slowly. “Robby?”
Robby stands abruptly and positions himself behind the chair. “Let’s get you home.”
—
Robby’s place is close. When he took the job he thought he was really smart, finding a place just a few blocks from the hospital. Minimal commute means maximal sleep. After a double he is never more than fifteen minutes away from collapsing into his shower and then bed. And he can walk, which means no futzing around with parking passes and remembering where he’s left his car.
That’s all true. But he is also the closest whenever there’s a need for coverage. He’s had people knock on his door when he’s tried to turn off his phone and get some separation; one time, in the middle of a date. There’s no convenient public transportation between his place and the hospital, so if the weather is cruddy, most of the time he’s still walking. And he can see that behemoth of a building from three of his windows. It lurks. It leers. He never really escapes.
He wheels Jack into the lobby and then into the elevator, pressing the button for his floor. “How you doing, Jack? You’ve been pretty quiet.” Jack hasn’t said a word for the entire walk to Robby’s.
“M’tired.”
“I bet. How about this? We do the test, confirm flu, get some fluids in you, and then sleep?”
“Mmmm”
Robby doesn’t love how much worse Jack seems than a half hour ago, but he had walked that mile. Jack can be a “push through the pain” type, and perhaps when he hit the wall, the wall hit back.
Inside the apartment, he wheels Jack up to the dining room table. He opens the testing kit and lays out the various components. “Do you want me to do the swab, Jack?”
Jack puts his two hands on the table, fingers splayed, like he’s going to push himself up. Instead, he looks at them, then rests his forehead between them. He nods against the wood panel. Robby gives him a comforting pat on the back and goes to wash his hands.
He returns wearing a mask of his own. He’s had the flu shot, but so had Jack. If this strain is resistant he would love for it to miss him. He sits by Jack who now has his head propped up on a hand.
“Ok, let’s get this off.” Robby scoots closer, his long legs taking up too much space below the table until he slots his left knee between Jack’s. Jack gazes at him, but his eyes seem elsewhere. Robby hooks his forefingers under Jack’s ears, inside the elastic loop. His fingertips brush along Jack’s hairline as he frees his ears and removes the mask. He looks down at his hands, now looped through Jack’s contaminated N95 and he grins ruefully. “Well, didn’t think that through.” He’ll have to wash up again. Before he does he sees Jack’s face. Where the mask had been he’s sweaty and his lips are chapped. His mouth hangs open slightly. Robby pats him on the shoulder and returns to the kitchen. He digs through cabinets until he finds what he wants, then returns to Jack with a cool washcloth and a glass of water with a curly straw. The straw is purple and looks like it’s speckled with glitter. It rises up out of the glass and makes loop-de-loops around itself. Jack glances at it and then at Robby while Robby wipes his face down with the cloth.
“Left over from Langdon’s oldest’s birthday party. I don’t know how I ended up with them. You don’t have to use it but I thought it might be easier than drinking directly from the glass.”
Jack must be feeling pretty bad because he says nothing, just pulls the straw into the corner of his mouth and glares while he sucks.
Robby washes his hands again and then sits down to do the test. “Ok, swab on your left,” Jack closes his eyes and grimaces, ”annnnd your right.” Robby mixes up the little testing concoction and squeezes the drops onto the test card. He sets his phone to alarm in ten minutes and then pushes the card across the table and cleans up.
“Are you hungry, Jack? I may have an unexpired can of chicken soup in the bowels of my pantry, I can look.” But Jack shakes his head and yawns. “Ok, why don’t you get ready for bed. Do you want me to help?” Robby feels uncomfortable; Jack has a hard enough time accepting help, but move that help into the bedroom or bathroom and Robby feels he has to tread a line between caring and something deeper, something that isn’t his to offer.
Jack seems to consider. “My stuff still in the guest bathroom?”
“Yeah, and I’ll find you something to sleep in.”
“Just roll me over there?”
Robby obliges, and keeps a careful ear out for any sounds of distress. He lays a t-shirt and some soft cotton pants with a drawstring on the bed in the guest room. When he emerges Jack is back in the chair outside the bathroom, listing to one side. Robby hurries over and wheels him into the bedroom. He kneels before Jack and takes his weight to help him stand. He feels so weak, like he can’t even be bothered to pretend, and that worries Robby more than anything else so far. He transfers him to the bed, Jack’s arms wrapped loosely around his neck.
“Thank you, Robby.”
“Please, Jack, it’s, you don’t have to…” he trails off. Jack is barely listening, anyway. In the kitchen he hears the alarm go off. He calls out to his phone to silence it. Then he lifts Jack’s shirt, raising one arm at a time. Jack is as docile as a department store mannequin. Robby wills himself not to look more than necessary, not to touch more than necessary. He covers Jack with the t-shirt, running a hand down his back like he’s smoothing out wrinkles. He sits back. Jack’s wearing scrubs, baggy enough to roll up. “I’m going to take the prosthesis off next, ok?” Jack nods but then his whole body sways from the waist. Robby leans in to stabilize him and Jack rests his arms on Robby’s back. He leans forward.
“I don’t feel great.”
“I know, man.” Robby pulls himself out from under and holds Jack around the chest. “Are you going to be sick?”
Jack waves that off. “No. Just, not right.”
“Ok, well, let’s get you resting. Do you want to lie back?”
Jack nods, so Robby holds him up again, pulls up the sheets, and orients him so that his head is on the pillow. He realizes he should have a towel handy for removing the prosthesis; it’s likely to be sweaty. He pats Jack on the left calf. “I’ll be right back.”
From the bathroom he grabs a clean towel and then it occurs to him he should check the test before too much time has passed. He walks over to the dining room table and pulls the card to himself. The card has a long results area. At the top is a control section, marked C, which indicates that the test is working. A dark red line appears to its right. Below that is the section for Flu A, the more severe strain. It is empty, no red line. Next is the section for Flu B. It is also empty. But Robby pays them no mind. His eyes have snapped like magnets to the last label on the test card, next to which is a thick, angry looking red line: COV.