Robby had been carrying a monumental weight since COVID. Since his mentor had died on that table because he gave the order to pull the plug. It lived in him, pulling his energy into itself like a breathing, leeching being. It grew harder to lift his head. To pull his lips into a smile.

He didn't really know how to do anything but work. Returning to his minimalist house that was for sleeping only, with sporadic decorations. But he and Abbot were different. Jack was in therapy. Robby couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that something was wrong with him. That something had broken inside of him.

The constant bustle of the hospital both made it easier and more difficult to get by. The stress of Gloria's constant nagging was irritating. But helping people reminded him why he'd started this job. Interacting with patients took his mind off of all the bullshit. At least for a little while.

He'd lost his faith years ago. The cross around his neck burned faintly, in the fits of his nightmares. Liar, it seemed to say. You're no child of God. Not anymore. It was stupid. He recited scripture to a newbie acting as if it meant anything to him anymore. Practice what you preach. Yeah, right.

He saw your potential when he met you. Recognized the tiredness in your soul. But you handled it so much better than he did. Perhaps that's why he liked you the best. He nudged you in the right direction when you needed it. But he saw what you could be. What you would be. And seeing you become confident made him feel like maybe he could... finally rest.

It started out innocent. Asking you to housesit for him. Making a joke that landed wrong on sensitive ears.

If I don't come back, it'll be a sick bachelor pad.

He should have known you'd pick it up. You knew him too well. Before he knew what was happening, your balled-up fists were slamming into his chest. He caught your wrists. "Whoa, hey, now-" He stumbled back a little.