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Space Date
Space Hospital was an awful show. It wasn’t even so bad it was good. It was just bad. Despite that, Jack enjoyed watching it, mostly to make fun of it. He’d developed his own little drinking game for every time the characters did something that didn’t make any fucking sense no matter what universe it was supposedly set in or what made-up species they were treating. Robby gave Jack endless shit for watching it, but he also put up with watching it, mostly for Jack's snarky comments and the opportunity to get handsy.
The midseason cliffhanger episode was airing that night, so obviously they were spending their Friday night watching it. He’d made shakshouka for dinner because it was easy, fast, and had plenty of protein and veggies, but also wasn’t likely to give Robby heartburn if Jack made it mild. Robby had never mentioned anything, but Jack had noticed the bottle of antacids in their bathroom cabinet getting more empty and he knew he wasn’t the one chewing calcium carbonate tablets like they were Necco Wafers.
They’d finished their meal and the show and their glasses of beer were empty when Jack pushed the button to turn off the TV.
“The most unrealistic part of that entire episode was how well-stocked the supply room they fucked in was. I mean, I don’t even care that you’d have to be double-jointed to get into some of those positions, alien or not. No one has that many boxes of gloves just sitting around.”
The midseason cliffhanger episode was airing that night, so obviously they were spending their Friday night watching it. He’d made shakshouka for dinner because it was easy, fast, and had plenty of protein and veggies, but also wasn’t likely to give Robby heartburn if Jack made it mild. Robby had never mentioned anything, but Jack had noticed the bottle of antacids in their bathroom cabinet getting more empty and he knew he wasn’t the one chewing calcium carbonate tablets like they were Necco Wafers.
They’d finished their meal and the show and their glasses of beer were empty when Jack pushed the button to turn off the TV.
“The most unrealistic part of that entire episode was how well-stocked the supply room they fucked in was. I mean, I don’t even care that you’d have to be double-jointed to get into some of those positions, alien or not. No one has that many boxes of gloves just sitting around.”
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"If you keep saying that, I'm pretty sure I'm never going to get hard again," says Robby, taking another bite of his ice-cream. "I've seen you in less than that, too, and I gotta say that I prefer that picture."
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He'd made progress in that arena over the last month but whether he'd get it all the way up and then keep it up was still a little bit of a crapshoot. It was still better than not getting it up at all, so he was taking that win. Robby had been as patient as Jack knew he could be about it all, and had also firmly disallowed Jack from saying anything too negative about it.
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Robby shoots him a look that always accompanies him referring to it as any kind of 'problem'. So far, it hasn't stopped them managing to have as an active a sex life as can be expected at their age and with their work schedules, at least as far as hands and mouths are concerned.
He doesn't have a free hand to squeeze Jack's thigh so he settles for nudging him with one knee.
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Jack nudged Robby with his own knee.
“Statement of fact, man. No judgment implied or stated.”
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"It's the word problem that I object to," says Robby, mildly, sucking his spoon clean and then gesturing with it. "Definitely didn't feel like a problem last night. That's all I'm saying."
Jack might say no judgement, but Robby knows he's a little bit delicate about it, sometimes. Robby just keeps reminding him. That's all he can do.
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Since Robby was gesturing with his spoon, Jack took the spoon away from him and got a bit of ice cream out of Robby's bowl, then ate it before handing the spoon back to Robby. It was good ice cream. It didn't quite go with Scotch, though, which he discovered when he took another sip of that to wash the ice cream down. It wasn't bad, but it didn't go well.
"I don't think that's gonna be on any dessert menus any time soon."
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He knows Jack well enough to almost be able to read his mind when that smirk shows up on his face. He rolls his eyes as Jack takes his spoon, but he holds the bowl out so that it's easier to scoop some ice-cream up.
"Bet it goes better with the bourbon," he says, reaching for his glass and holding that out, too. Even after all these years, the idea of drinking bourbon with Jack has almost a Pavlovian effect.
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“When I bought that bottle, the clerk asked me if I needed to apologize to someone for something. I decided not to tell him that I bought it after you apologized for something. I’m not sure bourbon is an apology liquor anyway.”
Maybe anything could be an apology liquor.
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"Once again, I apologise for being an asshole," says Robby, and he means it, too. He might not be particularly open about talking about his feelings, but he can admit when he's wrong.
Sometimes, anyway.
He leans in and kisses the hinge of Jack's jaw.
"But looks where it got us."
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“Why, Doctor! Are you trying to get fresh with me?”
He raised his voice an octave to mimic the character in the episode they’d just watched who had said something almost exactly like that.
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Robby laughs at that and shakes his head, leaning back into his own space and taking another bite of his ice-cream.
"Not until I finish my ice-cream, Ma'am. Then I'll consider it."
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“Who says things like ‘get fresh’ anyway? That’s the slang that made it through however many hundreds of years of language?”
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"That guy who calls his boyfriend his "steady" probably does," says Robby, finishing the ice-cream and setting the bowl down on the table. He sits back, giving Jack an appraising look, enjoying the way his t-shirt fits across his chest, the muscles in his arms. Sometimes, a lot of the time, he can't work out how he got this lucky.
"You in the mood?" he asks. "For me to get fresh?"
It's been torture, honestly, but he's been letting Jack set the pace, call the shots. It feels like the right choice.
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He remembered how everyone had thought that since the Cold War had ended, the “big wars” were over. That assumption had aged like milk.
Robby looked him over and Jack smirked again. He’d keep lifting even without Robby’s appreciation, but he didn’t mind it either.
“Doesn’t look like you’re done with your drink, and that bourbon’s way too good to just gulp.”
Jack also had a few sips left of his Scotch, but he deliberately lifted the glass and drank some of it.
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"Yeah, you're right," says Robby, watching as Jack sips his drink before he takes a sip of his own. He looks down at the glass, at the finger or so of bourbon left it. "If that's a no, I could definitely nurse this for a while." His tone is deliberately casual, mostly because he's teasing, and they both know it. "Read a book."
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“One of these days you should ask Nikita how many details those books get wrong. She might not answer, though.”
Jack didn’t know exactly what Nikita’s past looked like and he wasn’t going to ask since she was a damn good paramedic and that was more important than anything else, but there was definitely some intelligence training somewhere in there. He’d been around enough people with vague jobs and backgrounds to start recognizing them.
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"Oh, you think?" He's pleased that he's stayed friends with Nikita, even after he'd broken off the 'with benefits'. It wouldn't honestly surprise him. She's always struck him as fiercely competent, and then there's the scars. He hasn't told Jack about those; it's none of his buisness. "Interesting." He takes another swallow of his drink. The bourbon's settling warm in his belly and he feels totally content. It's a feeling he'd sort of forgotten. He reaches out with his free hand, tucking it under the hem of Jack's t-shirt so that he can feel bare skin.
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Robby knew and respected the power of the gut or feeling or intuition or vibe. Jack did the same. If a nurse, especially, said they had a feeling a patient was going to crash, Jack was ready for a code at any moment.
Jack finished the last of his scotch and looked down at Robby’s hand just under the hem of his t-shirt, then glanced up at Robby with a raised eyebrow.
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If Jack thinks so, then Jack's probably right. The only person on the world whose gut Robby trusts more is Dana. He drains the rest of his own drink and then leans to put his glass down. He gives Jack his best innocent look.
"What?"