Work Text:
“You good?”
A question asked not for the answer, but the way he stares. Caught like a deer in the headlights at the thought of being perceived. Of being found out.
The answer is no and it’s written on his face, but he still stares. His mouth doing something odd, like he might be honest. He might give up the grail.
But then Jack grabs his beer, nodding slowly before taking a sip and says, “There a reason I shouldn’t be?”
The list Robby knows includes a war, a pandemic, and more MCIs than he wants to count. There’s the loss of his leg. The loss of his wife. But above all is the knowledge that Jack’s question is a threat. A question they know the answer to because the answer is still no.
No, Robby doesn’t want to do this. No, he doesn't want to have that conversation with Jack. Not really.
Because even though Robby does care about the tired look in Jack’s eyes and the little grimaces from too much time on his leg and the exhaustion creeping up on him. He does worry about when his words come a little slower and the masks start to fall like the people of New Jersey probably worried about the Hindenberg falling out of the sky. He doesn't care enough to be questioned.
To have his issues turned back on him in that snappish way Jack got. Years of therapy functioning like a tool Robby had no defense against.
All the more reason to question Jack, sure, but...
Turning back to the game, he shakes his head. “Just look a little tired is all.”
“I’m fine. I can sleep when I’m dead.”