Un-fucking-believable. Robby was acting like everything was totally normal and he just happened to bring dinner over for Jack's birthday, as if he hadn't said approximately three words to Jack that hadn't involved patient care for an entire month.

"Yes, Michael," he said acidly. "I am limping because I just worked a fucking double shift and had about an hour in that entire time that was slow enough that I could sit down. Why the fuck are you here? And don't fucking tell me it's just because it's my fucking birthday. I don't need presents from you to make you feel better about not speaking to me for a goddamn month."