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Robby arrived at PTMC just a few minutes later than usual. He was still early, but it seemed everyone was already there. Jack was at his usual spot in central, finishing up his charting, while day shift was unusually huddled together. It was never a good thing to find all his nurses, students, and residents grouped around something. Robby wasn’t sure he wanted to know even as he walked over to them.
“Holy shit,” he heard Trinity say.
“They call that smizing,” Donnie added. “Tyra Banks teaches that on America’s Next Top Model.”
“Smizing? I think you mean smoldering,” Victoria replied quietly.
Being so tall meant that Robby could peer over everyone’s shoulders and see what was going on without getting in the middle of it. He was puzzled at first, wondering why everyone was so titillated about what appeared to be the stupid half-naked firefighter calendar the Pittsburgh Fire Department put out every year. Not that he knew anything about those. Robby tilted his head to the side, trying to orient himself with the familiarity he felt as his eyes trailed down the picture.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
It was Jack.
Jack in all his freckled, scarred, silver fox glory. He was posed shirtless, his stethoscope draped around his neck. He held his three-legged black cat Salem in one arm, and his TEMS tactical helmet was balanced on his hip with the other. He wore fatigues cut off at the knees—Robby immediately recognized them as part of Jack’s regular wardrobe—to illustrate that he and his little friend were both amputees.
“Robby, did you see?” Cassie asked.
Dana passed the calendar to him, smirking. Princess and Perlah said something in Tagalog and started giggling.
“Oh, I am definitely seeing,” Robby said. “My goodness.”
Trinity was whispering something in Dennis’s bright pink ear; a glance told Robby his med student was likely experiencing a formative moment in the development of his sexuality. Samira and Mel were also looking thoroughly flustered.
“Is this a spread in GQ or what?” Robby joked, trying to hide his own reaction. “Who brought this?”
“I did,” Jesse said with a small, impish smile. “It’s a fundraiser for the Humane Animal Rescue of Pittsburgh, all local first responders posing with rescue animals. Imagine my surprise when mine came in the mail yesterday.”
“That explains the puppies and kittens,” Robby said as he flipped through the different months before returning to Jack’s photo.
Jack was the oldest person in the calendar and maybe not as trim as a 25 year old, but Robby thought he was gorgeous. He wasn’t even airbrushed. His thousands of freckles showed in subtle contrast to his skin, and the waistband of his fatigues was low enough that his relatively recent appendectomy scar was on display.
What showed of his amputated leg was scarred too. It made Robby think about the night Jack told him what happened in sickening clinical detail, how it was a miracle they were able to save as much of his leg as they did. Robby had then counted each individual scar on Jack’s knee and thigh—most of them deep furrows caused by shrapnel—and he still remembered the exact number. Thirty-eight.
Whoever photographed Jack had appreciated everything he had to show and rendered him artfully, respectfully. Simply put, it was just a nice photo. And there was something ethereal in this depiction of a man who Robby already knew so intimately.
“Isn’t that Jack’s cat?” Dana asked. “Witchy name.”
“Salem,” Robby said before he could stop himself. “He adopted her from HARP.”
He was still staring at the picture, and it was far past the normal amount of time a person would look at a half-naked coworker. He was not paying attention to the benign shift in the group.
“Well, look who it is,” Langdon said, amused. “Mr. September.”
Jack chuckled as he approached, arms crossed. “That’s a new nickname. I don’t get it, though.”
“Oh, we’re just drooling over the 2026 HARP charity calendar,” Dana said with one of her winks. “You look great, honey.”
“Is it finally out? Lemme see.”
Jack was suddenly at Robby’s side. He felt far too close with everyone standing around staring at them. Robby shoved the calendar at him and moved away. Jack didn’t seem to notice.
“I didn’t know which picture she was going to use,” he said. He was blushing a little bit, but seemed genuinely pleased with himself. “Salem was such a good girl, too.”
“That’s so cute you are both amputees,” Cassie said, pouting.
Jack smiled almost shyly, which Robby thought was insane considering the circumstances.
“You know, she has to take gabapentin to go to the vet. I gave her some before we took pictures. Worked great.”
And that was apparent, considering Salem was draped over his forearm like she didn’t have any bones in her body. If a cat could have a vacant, drugged stare, she had one.
“Wait, so there’s more pictures?” Langdon asked. “Could be your first set for your OnlyFans. I’ve heard there’s people who are into amputees.”
Everyone thought that was hilarious, including Jack, even though he was flushed from his forehead to what little showed of his chest.
Robby looked at his watch. “Okay, enough. Let’s make sure Gloria doesn’t see this.”
He abruptly, awkwardly started their morning huddle. Jack did not seem at all bothered by the attention shifting away from him, and appeared to be listening intently while Robby talked. He was relaxed, casual—even though it was obvious he was tired from a long shift.
Once everyone received their assignments, Robby and Jack paired up for their usual walk through the department while they consulted on case handoffs.
“...How was your shift?” Robby asked.
“Wet.” Jack laughed. “This is my third pair of scrubs. First, had a baby launched at me. Barely had time to get exam gloves on. Forget a gown. Caught them like a slimy little football,” he said, recreating his wide receiver hold for dramatic effect. “Then, different case, slipped in a puddle of blood. You know you’re getting old when you hit the floor and wonder if you broke your hip.”
Robby did not laugh. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, and we filled out the proper paperwork.” Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to joke around with you.”
“You getting hurt is not funny.”
“The only thing I hurt was my pride. Dr. Welsh saw it, so I’ll never live it down.”
Robby said nothing. He could see Jack watching him from the corner of his eye. They were nearing their lockers, where they usually shared a quick kiss and said goodbye.
“Are you in a mood today?” Jack asked.
“You’re putting me in one.”
“One day you’ll learn to take responsibility for your own emotions,” Jack said, only half-joking.
That irritated Robby. He put his hands in his hoodie pockets, fidgeting. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About…?”
Jack punched his code into the keypad of his locker. The door popped open and he reached inside at the same time Robby flung it shut again. Jack had good reflexes due to his work; he yanked his hand back without incident.
“Are we really gonna do this?” he asked, much calmer than might be expected.
Robby wanted to. He felt playful but also inexplicably mean.
“C’mon, man. I’m tired and I want to go home,” Jack said, putting the code into his locker again.
Robby held the door so it wouldn’t even open this time. “Why didn’t you tell me about the calendar?”
“I figured you were going to make it weird. And it appears I was right,” Jack said. “Move your hand.”
Robby did not. It was hard to get Jack angry, though he’d managed it a few times.
“Did you do it for attention?”
“No, I did it for charity.” Jack spoke with an air of levity that let Robby know he wasn’t pissed. Not yet. “But you know, it’s okay for people to like their bodies and show them off. I take care of myself and now lots of people are going to admire my hard work.”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of pathetic?”
Jack’s eyes flicked from the locker to Robby. The eye contact was immediately intense and confronting. It made some sick, self-sabotaging part of Robby want to push further.
“I don’t,” Jack said. “Ya know, a normal, supportive boyfriend would say: Wow, baby, you look incredible. What a lucky guy I am to sleep next to a pin-up.”
Robby scoffed. “I didn’t say you weren’t hot. I know that’s what you’re wanting, though.”
There was an intangible shift in the space between them. It was in Jack’s eyes, which were a shade of hazel so dark it was hard to tell the green from the brown. There was a flicker of recognition in them as he came to a quiet revelation.
“You’re jealous,” he said.
“Maybe.” Robby crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder on one of the lockers. He braced for the blow even as he continued to run his mouth. “Is it wrong that I want to be the only one who sees what you have?”
“Not that type of jealous. You’re insecure.”
Jack was calm as he broke eye contact and attempted to open his locker for the third time. Robby didn’t try to stop him, mostly because he was reeling from Jack’s ability to cut through fifty layers of his bullshit and split open the rotten core at his center.
“Look, I’ve faithfully worshipped at the altar of your dad bod. You’re all functional muscle and sexy as fuck. But I know you’re self-conscious.”
“Wow, really?” Robby said, as if he hadn’t brought this on himself.
“I’m not done talking.” Jack was slow to anger but when he got there it was biblical. Calm but in the way an eye of a Category 5 hurricane was calm. “Instead of twisting it into me being an attention whore or you being possessive, maybe self-reflect a little bit. I love you, but you’re miserable and you like to make people around you miserable. Fix it. Heal. Go to therapy. Come to the gym with me. Do something because I’m exhausted.”
Robby straightened. Beware the fury of a patient man and all that. Jack pulled his keys and his camouflage backpack out of the locker. He moved like he was going to walk away without another word, but stopped himself at the last second. He looked upset.
“I think you needed to hear that, but I know it hurt your feelings,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry for that part.”
Robby said nothing but it didn’t matter because Jack left. It was cathartic almost, being read so brutally. Being seen for the fucked up person he actually was. There was comfort in the knowledge that Jack knew him with such raw, ugly intimacy. And instead of leaving, he held up a mirror for Robby to see it himself.
It was not a good shift, but was any shift good? He was preoccupied by thoughts of Jack’s cutting analysis, turning it over word for word in case there was something in there he could twist into another fight. But no, there was only the truth.
They didn’t text that night and Robby only saw Jack the next day at shift exchange. It wasn’t their usual hand-off where he and Jack bullshitted while the latter finished up orders or they talked through a complex, ongoing case. No, Jack handed Robby an iPad.
“I had some time to chart for once. Everything you need is in there.”
“Hey, Jack—“
“I don’t want to talk to you right now, so if this isn’t about work…”
Robby paused for a moment, blinking. “No, it’s not.”
“Okay, have a good shift.”
It went like that for the next two days. Robby felt like he was slowly going insane. Someone had taken Jack’s picture out of the calendar, framed it, and hung it in the breakroom like it was a work of art. When he went to leave that evening, a color photocopy of the picture was taped to the door of his locker. It was funny, but he was also not so stupid that he couldn’t take a hint from the universe.
He texted Jack as he walked out of PTMC. “Are you up?”
He received no response as he walked to Jack’s apartment. That wasn’t out of the ordinary. Unlike Robby, Jack had a life outside of PTMC. He was part of an amputee support group, and sometimes went to visit with someone who had recently become a member of a club no one wanted to join. He went to group and individual therapy, volunteered in various capacities at the VA, had friends through the VFW and American Legion. He seemed to lean into the things that had traumatized him, forcing them to integrate positively into his life.
It was something Robby wished he could do, but wasn’t putting in the work to make it happen. He hoped Jack was home and hoped further still that he would talk to him.
Robby was sure to make an excessive amount of noise when he let himself into Jack’s apartment. Jack had gotten rid of all his firearms when he first started feeling suicidal, but he did have a 36” wrecking bar he kept beside his bed. It was like a crowbar on steroids, with a wicked curved end. Robby knew from experience that Jack could put that thing through sheetrock with considerable force. In other words, it was not a good idea to surprise him.
“Hey, it’s me,” he called.
“Bedroom,” Jack said.
That was unusual. It was almost 8:00 at night. Jack was normally up long before now, even if he didn’t have to work. Robby set his backpack down and kicked off his tennis shoes by the front door. Jack was a freak about shoes in the house, especially ones that had been in a hospital.
Jack was in bed with a book. He had a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose; a few months ago he had conceded that he did need readers after years of denying it.
Robby envied how relaxed he looked, hair still tousled from sleep, dressed in a soft t-shirt and a pair of the running shorts Robby teased were far too short. The only concerning bit was the fact he had his truncated leg elevated on a couple pillows.
“Hey,” Jack said, not setting the book down.
“Hey,” Robby said quietly. “You okay?”
“My leg is bothering me. Trying to stay off it today.”
“Massage?” Robby offered.
“The part that hurts isn’t there anymore,” Jack said with that dry, creaking grate to his voice.
“Oh, shit. Sorry you’re dealing with that again.”
Jack shrugged. “Sit down or something. You make me anxious standing over top of me.”
Robby ducked his head and went to the opposite side of the bed. He knew he would probably fall asleep if he laid down, but he did it anyway.
“What are you reading?” he asked, propping himself up on an elbow.
“The Good Nurse. True story about this freak RN who was killing patients with digitoxin.”
“Some light reading,” Robby joked. He was quiet for a few moments, choosing his words carefully. “I came here to annoy you like usual, but also to apologize. I was shitty to you about the calendar.”
Jack finally closed the book and laid it on his chest. “You were.”
“And you didn’t say anything that I didn’t need to hear.”
“It could have been gentler,” Jack conceded. “Or delivered at a better time. I was hurtful.”
“I’m not hurt. I’m grateful.”
Jack looked concerned, maybe even a little disgusted.
Robby continued. “I’ve never been with anyone who knows me—sees me—like you do. So, thank you for going to the effort to call me out on my bullshit.”
“Does this apology come with changed behavior?”
Robby knew that was coming. Jack carried an authoritative patience, allowing Robby to arrive at his own conclusion that he was being an idiot. Never desperate, never needful.
“Yeah,” he said. “Promise. And would it also help if I said how fucking beautiful you are?”
Jack rolled his eyes but he said, “Continue.”
“Seriously. That picture is the best one in the calendar, and I love that you feel comfortable doing stuff like that.” Robby slid his hand across the bed so he could stroke Jack’s freckled forearm. “I should have said that sooner.”
“Thanks,” Jack said. He finally turned to look at Robby, making eye contact for the first time that night. “I was a little nervous.”
“Never would have guessed that.”
“I felt vulnerable, honestly. I think it was my leg? I don’t know. The psychology of an amputation is complex. It fucks with you, especially when your brain thinks that part of you is still there, even 25 years later.”
“But you did it anyway, and you looked great,” Robby said. He traced a fingertip down the length of Jack’s arm, following the path of one of his ropy veins. “What’s it feel like this time?”
Robby knew enough about phantom limb sensation to understand that it could vary from mildly annoying paresthesia like pins and needles to unrelenting, intractable nerve pain. Jack had experienced the full gamut and there wasn’t much that could be done for any of it.
“Hard to describe. Like it’s being bent the wrong way or crushed or something. Just uncomfortable.”
“That sucks. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I took my gabapentin already. It helped a little.”
“I just now made the connection that you and Salem both take the same medication,” Robby said.
Jack chuckled. “For different reasons, but yeah.”
As if on cue, Salem jumped onto the foot of the bed. She seemed surprised to see Robby was there and froze.
“Hi, baby kitty,” Jack said to her. “What do you have?”
Salem’s favorite toy was a pink, glittery pom-pom that she carried around in her mouth and threw in the air. She was also fond of an almond Jack had dropped, which she batted around on the hardwood floors all hours of the day and night. But this was not the almond or the pom-pom. It was something white. Robby squinted.
“Is that my fucking AirPod?”
Salem made a trilling sound and jumped off the bed. Robby dove after her.
“Run, Salem!” Jack cried.
Still spry on only three legs, Salem peeled out of the bedroom and down the hall. She was much faster than Robby, but he slid into the kitchen just in time to see her drop the object in her water fountain, pause, and then sprint between his legs and disappear into the living room.
Robby bent to look closer, despite his back complaining. It was indeed an AirPod.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he said as he fished it out of the dish.
Salem was on the bed with Jack when Robby came into the bedroom. She was stretched out where Robby had been laying, switching her tail.
“What did she have?” Jack asked.
“My AirPod that I’ve been missing for over a month! I knew I lost it in your apartment,” Robby said.
“Oops.” Jack didn’t sound very sorry.
“And I bet I couldn’t track it because she dropped it in her water dish. Goddamnit.”
“Oh, yeah she has been playing with something at night. I thought it was her almond or a bottle cap.” Jack reached over to pet her. He was the only person she didn’t bite. “You’re naughty!”
“Piece of shit cat,” Robby muttered.
“How about we don’t get mad at the cat for doing cat things,” Jack said, just a hint of irritation in his voice. “I can replace them. Even though you’re just going to lose the next pair too.”
“I already did,” Robby said. “Really, it’s fine.”
Normally he’d be spoiling for a fight, but not right now. Not after Jack had been so gracious with his dumb ass. He tossed the AirPod to Salem. She leapt up and caught it in her paws midair, then started batting it around. When she swatted it onto the floor, she followed it. Both skittered under the bed.
Robby shook his head and laid down next to Jack again. “So Salem was good for the pictures?” he asked.
“She was,” Jack said with a little smile.
“Good like you on Dilaudid, or…?”
“Fuck off,” Jack said with a laugh.
“And I understand there are more pictures?”
“Maybe.”
Robby started petting Jack’s arm again. “Well, I want to see.”
“Earn them,” Jack said, playfully derisive. “You’ve been a dick to me and I don’t reward bad behavior.”
“Fair,” Robby agreed.
The first picture was obtained by complete accident. Robby had not necessarily forgotten about them, but his actions weren’t motivated by the hope of receiving one.
He’d come back to Jack’s apartment after they crossed paths during shift exchange, and it was there he found his lunch bag forgotten on the kitchen counter. Knowing Jack, it was a haphazard assortment of beef jerky, almonds, a cheese stick, and the applesauce that came in a squeezable packet. Robby didn’t want to return to PTMC for any reason, and he figured he could do better than simply bringing Jack’s sad lunch to him.
There was a Thai place that stayed open late to serve all the drunks after the bars closed at 2:00 a.m. Jack was such a regular that not only did they they know his order, but their delivery driver would also walk through the ambulance bay to deliver it to him at PTMC. Chicken pad Thai with extra bean spouts, no peanuts. So Robby set up a DoorDash order.
He was laying awake at midnight, sweaty from a COVID-19 nightmare, when his phone screen was lit up by a text message. He put his reading glasses on. It was Jack, probably sending him an x-ray of a patient who had shoved a random object up their ass.
“Thank you for lunch,” the message said. “Nice surprise.”
Robby was texting back when Jack sent a picture. Not a disturbing x-ray, but a picture of himself.
He was laying on his side, half-naked on a polished concrete floor, his TEMS gear tastefully strewn around him. He had a hand on Salem, who was stretched out next to him just as comfortably as her master. This picture had an undeniably more intimate feel than the one chosen for the calendar, and Robby knew it was because of Jack’s fixed, deep gaze.
He felt no self-comparison this time, no worry about his coworkers magically finding out he was a queer just from the way he looked at a calendar. Robby also knew exactly what to say.
“Holy fuck, you are gorgeous,” he typed. “When does your centerfold in Playgirl come out?”
“No centerfold. You’re the only one who’s seen this one,” Jack responded.
And Robby, who would never admit how down bad he was for Jack, had to immediately jerk off after that response.
That night triggered an exchange between them that was new and strange but not unwelcome. Robby did something nice; Jack sent him a picture. There were only three total from the calendar shoot, but Robby was more than pleased with the sweaty gym selfies that followed. Jack, with his curls matted on his damp, flushed forehead, lifting up his shirt to show his midriff, and frowning in concentration because he was struggling to get a good picture in a mirror.
Among their other purposes, the pictures were a reminder of how good Robby had it. Jack was the complete package. Smart, funny, compassionate, an excellent doctor, and on top of all that—fucking beautiful. He did not know how he pulled someone like Jack in the first place, or why Jack had ever put up with his shit. But he was grateful that he did.