Rorry⭐

And as usual your fingers move deftly across the screen as you reply. 

You: [ always am ;) ]  You: [ hope it’s quiet for you ]

You send the message with a teasing grin, noting the small bubble appearing as he texts. 

Mikey: [ fuck off ]

You snort before slipping your phone away – you knew full well what it meant to mention the quiet word in an ER. 

It was like saying Macbeth in a theatre. 

Simply baiting for trouble. 

Time to head out for patrols. 

Too bad that trouble was headed your way. And not Michael’s.

…

Fucking hell.

Your head throbbed, blinking as the bright lights are harsh above you, making your eyes squint from the rude awakening. 

“Hey stay awake for us”

The words sound fuzzy as you reluctantly try to focus your attention. 

The snapping of fingers ring from above, while your partner’s footsteps echo beside you, with the squeaking of gurney wheels. The rough cotton scratchy beneath your fingers. 

Groaning slightly as you shift, a pain shooting up from your arm. 

“Just stay still, you’re going to be fine”

Going into the ER was not something you thought was going to happen today. 

“She’s going to be fine right?” 

“That’s what we’re here for” 

Especially to be wheeled into the place your brother affectionately called…The Pitt. 

“Oh shit–” A familiar voice breaks your fog, “Someone get Robby!”

A hand clasps yours, a slight squeeze, “You’re going to be okay, Y/N” 

“I know Jack–it’s just a hell of a headache,” you lightly laugh, before shifting into groan. A sense of relief enters Jack’s system at your humour. 

He nods towards your partner dismissing them, insisting they go get some coffee or something. 

You were a little roughed up, a little worse for wear – but so far. You seemed okay. 

Soon the moving stops. 

You’re shifted over to a bed. 

Trying to steady your breathing, as your eyes readjust to the brightness. To the sounds. The constance of the beeping, the murmurs of voices, the clatter and movement of steps. All flooding your senses. 

Doing nothing to help your headache.

And then you hear him. 

Your brother.

“What the–”

Jack does his best to quell Robby, “Now before you freak out brother, just relax. She’s okay–”

“If she were okay she wouldn’t be in the emergency room,” Michael retorted. 

Jack shrugged in mild agreement, “Sorry kid, I tried” 

You rolled your eyes, before wincing again. 

Michael’s quick to move by your side. Slipping into habit, as he goes through the checks. Behaving as a doctor and as your overly concerned brother all at once. 

A light flashing across your eyes. 

“Pupils equal”

You stifled the groan, nose scrunching, “Oh come on”

“Follow my finger” 

“You’re the worst,” you complained. No malice behind your words, simply annoyance. One often foundered between a lifetime of teasing remarks and playful jabs. 

“Follow the finger,” he repeats. 

And so you did. With a small roll of your eyes before complying. 

“Any loss of consciousness?” 

“Maybe” 

He looked at you expectantly, “Maybe isn’t an answer”

“Then yes–for a few seconds…”

He sighed. The sigh of a man who had spent decades with the stubbornness of patients…And decades dealing with you. 

While adding notes to your chart, he put in a request for a CT. Making sure to mark it urgent. 

Jack had slipped in for just a moment handing a cup of water to you and some pills, “Tylenol, for the headache,” you nodded towards him before he ducked out once more. 

“What happened?” Michael crossed his arms. 

He knew you had a risky job. He knew what you put on the line each time you put on your uniform. 

He knew that you were lucky. 

That today you were ok. 

But that didn’t make him worry any less. 

You chewed the inside of your cheek before replying, “Domestic disturbance–”

You watched as his jaw tightened. Lips pulled into a thin line. You knew that look in his eyes. It appeared every time you recounted a story like this. 

He hated when you were called into violent scenes. 

He never said. 

He never asked you to quit. 

But you knew he hated it. 

It was just something he couldn’t shake. And as he was your older brother…there was nothing you could do to make his worries stop. 

“Guy came at my partner with a pipe–and so I got between them,” you explained, trying to be brief. The less he knew the better. 

“With your head?” he retorted dryly. The slightest tone of reprimand seeping in. 

You snorted, making light of your situation, “Apparently” 

Whilst Michael pinches the bridge of his nose. 

The exhaustion finally showed. In the midst of shift change as it dragged on. Already drowning in patients. And now this. 

You watched him carefully. 

The tylenol kicks in, helping to quell the ache in your head. 

“You’re looking tired” 

“Look who’s talking,” he replied. Before it shifts into something softer, “You scared me”

You murmured back, “I know. I’m sorry”

Reaching out to grasp his hand, with a slight squeeze. Whilst Michael shook his head. Not angry. Never angry. Just worried. 

“You don’t have to apologise” 

It hangs in the air, a quiet understanding. 

Before he breaks the silence once more. 

“We’re getting a CT” 

“I figured”

“Probably just a simple fracture,” he said in regards to your arm.

“Good”

“No arguments,” he said with raised brows as he looked at you. 

“I literally haven’t argued” 

He sent you a pointed look. 

Both of you knew that it was a complete lie, but he simply sighed. A small quirk of his lip, “I’m glad you’re ok”

“Me too–Was worried I wasn’t going to be able to annoy you for the rest of your life,” you grinned cheekily. 

 He lightly shoves your arm, with a small scoff, “Maybe I should find a pipe of my own”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you smiled, “You’d miss me too much”

“Sure” 

A nurse enters the room, “We’re ready for your CT now”

Michael nods, before looking back at you, “I’ll see you once you’re back”

…

On your way back from the CT, you had caught Jack’s attention

“You gotta talk sense into him, he needs to calm down,” you pleaded. Half jokingly and half serious. 

Jack looked at you, leaning against the hub, “You do it.” 

“He listens to you,” you retort. 

“Fuck off, he doesn’t listen to anybody”

Dana lifts her eyes from the computer looking up at you both, before asking, “Who doesn’t listen?”

“Robby,” you replied in sync. To which she snorted with a nod of her head. 

Jack relents with a sigh, patting your shoulder, “I’ll do my best”

“Thanks,” you said, gratefully before being wheeled away. 

The CT had come back clean. 

Mild concussion. 

With a side of a nasty headache. Nothing that a little rest and recovery couldn’t heal. 

Which meant that Michael was now focused on the injury that made your arm throb and sent a shooting pain up your arm with each movement or jostle. 

X-rays taken. 

You watched as Michael fretted over reviewing the scans. 

Fortunately.

The fracture wasn't terrible. Just a simple clean break through the radius.

No surgery likely needed.

But it would need immobilization.

And Michael clearly wasn't interested in letting just anybody touch it. While you heard him speaking quietly at the desk outside your bay.

A few moments later just outside the curtain separating you from the chaos, you hear a low, annoyed voice, "Seriously?” before sighing, “Robby, it's a fracture."

"I know," Michael responds. 

"It's not even displaced" Park looks at Michael blankly. It was the end of his shift, he had just come out of his last surgery of the day when he had been paged down to the ER. 

And now this.

"I know"

"So why are you looking at me like somebody's dying?"

"Because it's my sister"

A pause.

Then–

"Oh," Park offers a curt nod. “Fine”

The curtain slid open, as you finally associate the voice with a face. A strong jawline, dark hair slicked back. The furrow of his brows, and those deep eyes that resembled the waves of the ocean as it sent a chill down your spine–

Fucking hell those drugs are definitely messing with me. 

“Hi,” you said. 

While Michael appears behind him, you groan out, “Come on Michael, I’m a big girl, I’m sure you’ve still got plenty to do out there–”

“But–” he goes to argue. 

While you jut your head, you said pointedly, “Go” 

He relents before muttering to Park, “Find me when you’re done” 

Park simply nods.

While Michael disappears once more, leaving you both in peace. 

You sigh, eyes watching Park as he works on your arm, “Thanks for coming but I’m sure its not that serious, my brother’s just being dramatic”

“Just means he cares,” he says, the words clipped. 

You nod in thought. 

Eyes simply watching him as he assesses your arm, how his eyes flick to scan over the imaging. 

“So–Ortho surgeon right?”

“How’d you know I’m not an ER doc?” he asked without looking up at you. 

You grin with a sarcastic remark, “Might have something to do with your excellent bedside manner”

At your words, his lips lift at the corners. Small. But it was there. 

And it made your chest bubble with warmth. 

It was hard to deny that he was handsome. 

“So tell me doc, am I gonna live?” you questioned, feigning seriousness. 

“I think you’ll make it,” he plays along. 

“In all seriousness, how long do you think it’ll take?” 

He leans back, eyes lifting to meet yours. 

Taken aback for just a second. 

Before clearing his throat, “Maybe 6 to 8 weeks, once the swelling goes down, you’ll be put in a cast”

You huff lightly in annoyance, “Just means I’ll be desk jockeying for a bit”

He raises a brow at you in silent question. 

“I’m a cop–It’s how I got into this mess in the first place”

“Well let’s get you fixed up Officer,” he nodded. 

Soft and gentle as he handled your arm, working to splint it – stabilising it in place. 

Leaving the room once finished. Caught by the bay as Robby intercepts him. Asking enough questions to give him a headache. 

It wasn’t often that Park would see Robby lose his composure. 

“How is she?”

“Robby you know as well as I do, that she’s going to be fine,” he responded, with an arched brow. 

“Just wanted the best person for the job”

Now those words had made Brendon soften just a little. He nodded in understanding, “She’s fine. Just needs to rest her arm over the next few weeks”

Park’s eyes fixate on the door up ahead, as he notices you slip out of your room, before turning a corner. 

“I’ve got to get going–”

“Of course, thanks again Park”

“Anytime”

Robby chuckled, “Now I know you don’t mean that”

Park simply waves him off. 

Robby the least bit aware of the fact that Park went off to trail after you. 

But this wasn’t missed by Jack who raised a brow as he watched him disappear after you. A small smirk forming on his lips. 

Park rounds the corner, only to find you at the vending machine.  

“Fucking shit box,” you mutter staring angrily at the machine. 

Staring at the snack dangle, caught by the wires. 

“Here, let me–” he offered. Before whacking the side, bumping out two of the snacks. He crouches down to fish them out from the machine. 

“Pretty sure that’s illegal,” you state with a small amused smile. 

“I won’t tell, if you won’t”

Letting out a small laugh, “Deal” 

He passes the chocolate bar to you, “Kit kat?” 

“What can I say, I’m a woman of refined taste,” you joked to which he softly chuckled, before you added, “I just realised I never got your name”

“Brendon Park” 

Nodding at his words, “Nice to meet you Park”

“Call me Brendon,” he followed up. Unsure as to where this boldness was coming from. 

You were Robby’s sister…He shouldn’t be doing this…and yet. He couldn’t stop himself but be intrigued by you…

“And you can call me–”Your fingers pluck the pen from his scrub pocket, tugging his hand into your grasp, whilst you write out your number upon his arm, “Y/N” 

Nodding in satisfaction from your handiwork, you place the pen back into his pocket with a small tap to his chest, “Just in case you ever wanna check up on me”

He raises a brow, the small lift of his lip, “Might take you up on that”

“I hope you do,” Your eyes flick back to where you came from, “I should get going otherwise Mikey’s going to flip the fuck out if I’m not there.”

His eyes follow your figure as you disappear back into the ER. Once out of sight, his eyes trace the numbers on his arm. 

A smile formed on his lips. 

You can bet that he was definitely going to check up on you.

It had started out with a few messages. 

Which led to a phone call. 

Which turned into a coffee, a meet up. 

Brendon was kidding himself by thinking it wasn’t anything more than just a friendship. 

And you weren’t any better, each time his name popped up on your screen it sent a jolt to your heart. 

That coffee had developed into catching up over dinner. 

Until soon, weeks had passed, your arm had healed, and neither of you could pinpoint just exactly when the excuse ‘checking up on a patient’ stopped applying. 

You both knew that this could get messy if taken further. 

If things didn’t work out–

Worse. If things did work out. It would only be a matter of time until your secret would be up. 

Until your brother would know. 

And neither of you quite knew how he might take the news. 

But Brendon was called to you, he drifted towards your presence, your company. He cherished his time with you. 

And so he took a leap. 

After a dinner that you both tried to deny was a date. 

Standing in the evening air, stood outside your doorstep while he dropped you off. Brendon’s hand, warm against your skin, steady as he cups your cheek. 

Your breath caught in your chest. Skin burning beneath. 

Eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth. 

Until. 

They crashed and melded against each other. Weeks of longing poured into the kiss. Of unspoken desires whispered across your lips. 

You had expected him to be rougher. 

But he wasn’t. His lips were firm, moving with purpose against yours, but never taking more than you offered, as your arms curled around his neck. Fingers dancing across the back of his neck. 

Sighing into one another. 

Knowing that this. This was where you both wanted to be. Intertwined within each other's arms. 

Being together was the easy part. 

In the relaxed evenings spent at yours or his, with the playful conversations. 

“Are you even listening?” Brendon stops talking about his surgery today, while you simply gazed at him. 

“Hm?”

“We can talk about something else–” He goes on to say. Noticing your drifting attention. 

You wave a hand, “I’ll be honest, I stopped listening five minutes ago”

He raises a brow at you in question, “You asked”

“I know,” you nodded. 

“Then why ask?” 

You tilted your head as you gazed at him, shrugging lightly, “I like hearing you talk”

Your hands reached across to lace with his. 

Soon your lives melded together. His home became dotted with your things, as your own started harbouring his clothes. 

Your favourite nights involved the simplicity of being held by him, as his arms wrapped around you, grounding you in the moment, the tensions of the day melting away. 

The way he’d remember your coffee order. 

Or was thoughtful enough to know the things you enjoyed. 

Simple and small. 

But it made your heart swell at his consideration. 

Once back on patrol there were times you had to drop off patients to the hospital, and if ever that hospital happened to be PTMC.

Well…

Lets just say you always found a reason to go find your boyfriend. 

The only problem with this of course. 

Was that your brother worked there too. 

You and Brendon were mindful to keep your relationship under wraps, to be aware of whoever was passing. 

The closest you had been to getting caught happened six months since you had first met Brendon, five months since you started dating him. 

And here you were, standing far too close to Brendon. 

Closer than what could be considered platonic. 

Smiling as you feel a heat rise up to your cheeks as Brendon murmurs how good you look in uniform.

The slight quirk of his lip.

“Y/N?” 

The two of you nearly jumped out of your skin. Whilst you stepped back quickly, eyes lifting to see Michael headed towards you. 

A chill shooting up your spine as though dumped on by a bucket of water.

“Hey Mikey,” you grinned. Knowing that the nickname irked him. 

His eyes narrowed as they flickered between you both, “Hi…What are you doing here?” 

“Vending machine”

“Vending machine” 

You both answered at the same time, gesturing to said machine, with a sheepish smile upon your face. 

“Uh, I was dropping someone off here, and well I was a bit snackish. Bumped into Bre–Park on the way here”

Michael nodded, “Right,” not quite believing you, “We’re still on for this Friday?” 

You nod, “So long as your shift doesn’t run over time”

He smiles at you, before turning away. 

Your tense shoulders relax as soon as he disappears from view. 

“Friday?” Brendon asks, stepping closer to you once more, arms curling around your waist. 

You lean up pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, “I’m having dinner with Robby”

He shifts to glides his lips against yours once more, murmuring softly, lowly with a small nip to your lips, “Well then I’ll be at yours afterwards with dessert”

He feels your lips curl into a smile as he kisses you. 

…

It seems while your brother may not have realised the recent development in your personal life…

The same could not be said for a few others. 

You had walked into the ER, sharing quick hellos to those you passed, before stopping by the hub. Fingers gently tapping against the desk. 

Friday night had rolled around and you had insisted on meeting Michael at work – if only you could make sure he left at a decent time for dinner. 

While Michael was who knows where, saving lives. 

Jack had taken the opportunity to lean against the bench beside you. 

“What’s new with you?” he asked, cocking his head to face you. A knowing look brewing behind his eyes. 

“Nothing much–finally got off desk duty a few weeks ago which has been good”

He nods, “Right–anything else you want to share?” 

You think for a moment. 

“Do you promise not to tell?” your voice lowered. 

Once he agrees you say quietly, “So I’ve been seeing someone lately–it’s been going for a while. And…”

“And?”

“And I’m just not sure how to tell Mike,” you explained. Feeling the weight on your chest alleviate just a little.

“How do you think he’s going to react?” he lifts a brow in question. 

“Oh. Mike– Well I think he’ll take it well,” you reply. Trying to convince yourself. Even if you knew it was a lie. 

“Really?”

“No…” You sigh, with a small groan as you plop your head in your hands. “This is why I was never going to tell him–”

Jack looks at you sympathetically, “My advice. You should tell him before he figures it out himself”

You immediately grimaced.

Because that...

That was the nightmare scenario.

Not Michael finding out you were dating.

But Michael finding out you were dating Brendon Park, the very doctor he had told you stories about – how his cold demeanour had earned him the nickname Shark. 

The worst case scenario was Michael finding out about this, without either of you telling him.

And unfortunately…

Judging by the increasingly suspicious looks your brother had been giving both of you lately.

That clock was ticking. 

But then your attention is captured as Ellis leans against the bench on the other side of you with a wide grin, “I knew Emery wasn’t lying–” 

Your eyes widened, hands shifting to clasp her mouth shut, your head darting around to double check no one else heard, before your eyes land back on Ellis. 

“What’d Emery say?” Jack probed with a glint in his eyes. 

Shit. 

Emery and her big mouth. 

Ok maybe there were a few people who already knew about you and Brendon…

Most of your colleagues were in the know…

A few scrub nurses that had worked through enough surgeries with Brendon to know that he was in love…

And a few of the other surgeons…Such as Emery and Garcia.

At least Garcia knew when to keep her mouth shut. Unlike Emery…

Ellis peeled your hand away from her mouth, as a smirk stretched across her lips. Her tone hushed as she answered. 

“Just that a little shark might be feeling a little love for a certain officer”

Jack grins at the information. 

He already had a pretty good idea that it was Brendon you were referring to earlier. But it was nice to hear it confirmed, tucking away that information to share with Dana when he saw her later. 

You say panicked, “Shhh–Mike might hear you”

“So what’d you do to make him go all soft for you, hmm? How’d you lure him in?” She asked teasingly. 

You furrow your brows, “I don’t know what you’re implying”

She shrugs, jokingly retorting, “Just thought you’d have to be a siren to make Shark fall for you”

You stifle a laugh from her words. 

“So long as he makes you happy,” Jack adds.

You smiles softly, “Very”

He nods, “Good.”

“What’s good?” Michael’s voice cuts through. 

While both Jack and Ellis send you a grin while they walk away. 

You turn around to meet Michael’s gaze, “Just the place I picked for dinner, you good to go?” 

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to tell Michael…as you thought over how to bring it up over dinner. 

“Get me out of here before I get pulled into another trauma,” he says, tiredness seeping into his tone. 

“Sounds good to me,” you agree.

But he stops short as he notices something. 

Brows furrowing as he takes in your jacket. A little unusual, and out of place on you. 

He hadn’t seen it before – so it was new and yet it seemed a little worn. It was oversized as it draped over your figure, and strangely, what caught him off guard was the light fresh scent emanating from it. 

“Is that new?” he asked. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Kind of. Just trying something out,” you answered vaguely…

Shit. In a hurry you had plucked Brendon’s jacket on your way out.

You catch a glimpse of Jack and Dana sending you knowing looks. With teasing glints in their eyes. 

And then. 

The facade begins to crumble. 

“Hey N/N,” Emery spots you with a small nod. 

Michael looks at you in confusion, why would you know Emery…and why would she be calling you N/N…like she knew you?...

And before you could stop her, she sent you a shit eating grin, with a wink as she complimented, “–Shark’s jacket looks good on you”

Your breath hitches. 

Whilst Michael’s eyes snap back to you. 

Sharp and quick. 

Shock flooding his features. 

Everyone watching, bites their tongue as they wait to see what would unfold. Santos had tugged Whitaker to a stand still. Lena peered over with Dana and Jack by her side. Even Shen had stopped his slurping as he watched. 

“Shark?” 

A nervous laugh escapes you. “Uh. Yeah. About that–”

As if the timing couldn’t be any worse. The lift doors open. Brendon steps out, bag slung over his shoulder, for once choosing to exit the hospital through the ER exit…

He catches sight of you, and walks over.

Posture relaxed, trying to act casually. Nodding towards everyone, whilst med students and interns scatter, making way for him. 

Even out of his scrubs, his intimidating reputation rolled off of him in waves. 

You tug him to your side lightly, while he looks down at you with a furrow of his brows. 

You whisper, “He knows”

“He knows?” he echoes. 

You hum in acknowledgment. 

“Hey Robby,” he says with a slight cough, clearing his throat. Despite it all, he was remaining remarkably calm for someone who had just been exposed to how coworkers and the brother of the woman he had been secretly dating for months. 

Michael looked between the two of you once more. 

One question on his mind. 

“How long?”

The question hangs in the air. 

While your eyes flick between them both. 

Mind racing with how to explain this. Wondering how this happened. Shooting Emery a light glare. Before your eyes land back onto Michael. 

Damn it. You were so close to telling him over dinner…over a nice calm dinner…

“Uh–well,” your voice drags on. Unsure. Voice pitching higher for a moment, under nervousness. 

“How long?” 

Standing straighter, you regain a little courage, “Since I came in with my fractured arm…”

You watch him. 

“Since–” he starts before cutting himself off, mouth left agape. 

You watch as Michael takes in the news. 

You watch as his eyes shift between you and Brendon. To the jacket, to the way Brendon instinctively places a hand on your back in support. 

Before Michael’s eyes soften. 

“So this is why you’ve been so happy lately”

You nod, turning to look up at Brendon. At the familiar face. One that brought with it an onslaught of fond memories. 

The stubbornness.

The dry humor.

The way he'd checked on you every day after your injury.

The way he'd quietly become one of your favorite people.

Your smile came easily, “Might have something to do with it” 

Michael’s irritation fades. Replaced by something more familiar. 

Protectiveness. 

Not anger. 

Just the simple concern an older brother would hold for his sister. 

Then Michael looked at Brendon. 

Really looked at him. 

While they wouldn’t consider each other friends, they had respect for one another. Simply trying to figure out where the other stood in this moment now. 

The dynamics had shifted. 

Brendon stood tall beneath his gaze. 

Unwavering. 

Steady. 

Michael clicks his tongue, satisfied by what he could gather - it was obvious that Brendon cared for you. 

That this was more than a passing fascination. There was a look of softness in Brendon’s eyes, fondness as he looked at you. 

"Don't screw it up"

Brendon nodded once.

Simple.

Serious.

As he responded, "I won't,” And somehow that seemed to satisfy Michael more than any long speech could have.

"Wait,” Michael narrowed his eyes.

Uh oh.

"What?" you asked, feigning ignorance. Your arm slinking around Brendon for support. 

"When exactly were you planning on telling me?"

You bit your lip, with a nervous laugh. Glancing up at Brendon, while he met your gaze. 

Your silence, however. 

Was answer enough. 

Michael's eyes widened, "You weren’t–"

You winced, "It wasn't–It wasn't never–" you tried to ramble out. While Michael blinked in surprise. 

"You were literally never going to tell me."

"We were getting there," you argued. 

He crossed his arms as he looked at you with a deadpanned look, "When?"

You thought about it,"...Eventually?"

Michael looked horrified.

While those watching broke down into laughs. Finding your embarrassment amusing. 

Even Brendon chuckled, while you elbowed him with a small chiding mutter, "You are not helping."

"It sounded better in my head," you tried to justify. 

Michael only sighed before a tired smile stretched across his face, shaking his head,"You know what?"

"What?"

"I'm too tired for this."

Relief flooded through you.

Michael grabbed his bag, "I worked fourteen hours." 

He takes a step closer to you both, waving off the others, trying to dissipate the crowd, "I'm hungry."

His eyes flick between you both, before landing on Brendon with a raised brow, "And apparently my sister's been dating my orthopedic attending behind my back."

Brendon grimaced, replying, "That sounds bad when you say it like that."

"It sounds exactly as bad as it is," Michael teased, before adding, "Ok, let’s get going to Dinner."

Before pointing at Brendon, "You too."

Both of you froze.

"What?" The question falls from both of your lips. 

Michael started walking toward the exit. Not even looking back, calling back, "If I'm finding this out today then I'm getting a free meal out of it."

You stared after him.

Brendon stared after him.

Then Michael stopped.

Turned around.

And added, "Oh, and Park?"

Brendon immediately straightened. You felt his body grow tense beneath your grasp, "Yeah?"

"If she gets hurt..." Michael's expression remained completely serious. "...You’ve got me to answer too."

“And me!” Jack added, eyes hardening as he met Brendon’s gaze. 

You groaned at their antics, leaning into Brendon who only rubbed his hand along your back in comfort. He nods, heeding their words. 

And for the first time. 

The department saw a softer side to Brendon Park.

As his lips curled up into a gentle smile. Before leaning down to press a tenderness kiss to the top of your head.

And as you walk out side by side, catching up to Michael. 

The two most important men in your life.

Laughing as they recount stories from the day, while you trump them with tales of your own. 

Arguing lightly over where to eat. Grinning as Brendon sides with you. 

While Michael reluctantly agrees with your choice.

A happiness so simple and life settles in the confines of your heart.

If this was where your life was headed.

Then you could get used to this… 

Hopefully with a few less broken bones in your future.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! This was a really fun request to explore, loved exploring this dynamic!! Especially the idea of Brendon being such a softy for you (just know that he finds you very hot when you’re in uniform 😉) Let me know what you think! ✨

Feel free to check out the reverse idea Dr Robby x Reader, Brendon Park x sister!Reader: Natural Habitat

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to find my overall Pitt Masterlist here!

You grinned across the booth at him, your eyes bright beneath the dim amber lights hanging over the bar. “That’s why you order them with someone you love. Shared liability.”

“You say that like I’m getting more than three fries before you inhale the entire thing.”

“I did a twelve-hour surgery today. I deserve joy.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I’m always right.”

Robby shook his head, though he was already smiling into his beer bottle before he took another sip. The place was loud tonight. A hockey game played on the mounted televisions over the bar while a group near the dartboards yelled at each other over missed shots and someone in the kitchen dropped what sounded like an entire tray of silverware. The air smelled like fryer oil and beer and old wood soaked in decades of smoke. It was objectively kind of a dump. You loved it.

Not because it was trendy. Not because it was ironic. You loved it because the fries were disgusting in exactly the right way and because the bartender already knew your order and because nobody in here cared that the two of you were doctors. Nobody stared. Nobody interrupted your dinner to ask about consults or patients or somebody’s nephew’s rash. It was quiet in the only way people like you and Robby ever got to have quiet. You reached over, stole one of the fries, and made an embarrassingly pleased sound the second you bit into it.

“Oh my God.”

Robby laughed softly. “You look insane right now.”

“These are incredible.”

“You said that last time.”

“Because they continue to be incredible.”

“You’re literally closing your eyes while eating.”

“I need to focus.”

“You are a board-certified pediatric surgeon.”

“And this,” you said seriously while lifting another fry, “is art.”

Robby stared at you for a second longer than necessary. That had been happening more and more lately. Not the staring itself. He’d been doing that since the beginning. Since before the beginning, honestly. Before the first date. Before the first kiss outside the hospital after a seventy-hour work week where both of you had looked too tired to stand upright. He had been staring at you since the first time he watched you walk into the trauma bay and calmly correct an attending twice your age without even raising your voice.

But this was different now. This was softer. Worse, somehow. Because it was one thing to want you. That had never exactly been subtle. It was another thing entirely to love the way you shoved fries into your mouth while sitting cross-legged in a cracked vinyl booth wearing one of his old hoodies over your scrubs because you’d forgotten a jacket again.

“You’re doing it,” you said without looking up.

“Doing what?”

“The face.”

“I don’t have a face.”

“You absolutely have a face.”

You pointed one cheese-covered fry at him accusingly before taking another bite.

“The one where you stare at me like you’re trying to solve a math equation.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You are literally staring right now.”

“I’m looking at my girlfriend.”

“You’re evaluating your girlfriend.”

Robby huffed out a laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You know, most people would be deeply offended by being psychologically profiled over chili cheese fries.”

“You’re not most people.”

“No,” you agreed easily. “I’m significantly more charming.”

That pulled a real laugh out of him. God, he loved you. The realization hit him so suddenly sometimes that it genuinely knocked the air from his lungs. Not in the dramatic cinematic way people talked about love. It was quieter than that. Sneakier. It happened in moments like this. In dive bars and hospital hallways and grocery store aisles at midnight when you were both too exhausted to function properly. It happened while watching you tie your hair up before surgery. It happened when you corrected him during differential discussions and then kissed his cheek five minutes later like arguing medicine with him was foreplay. Maybe it was. Honestly, with you, sometimes it felt like it.

You reached for his beer bottle without asking and took a sip before wrinkling your nose. “Still don’t understand how you drink this.”

“It’s beer.”

“It tastes like carbonated regret.”

“You drink whiskey.”

“Whiskey respects me.”

Robby snorted. “You are unbelievable.”

“And yet deeply lovable.”

“That part unfortunately appears to be true.”

You smiled then. Not teasing. Not smug. Just warm. That smile did things to him that were frankly humiliating for a man his age. The waitress returned long enough to drop another basket of fries onto the table and you looked personally thrilled by this development.

Robby blinked. “We already had fries.”

“You had fries,” you corrected. “I had an appetizer.”

“You’re what, a hundred and fifteen? Where does it all go?”

“Pediatric surgery burns calories.”

“You stood still for six hours.”

“I stood with purpose.”

“You are impossible.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

You said it casually. Teasingly. Like it was a joke. The problem was that it wasn’t. Robby leaned back in the booth, watching you steal another fry before reaching across the table to wipe a streak of cheese from your thumb with a napkin.

The gesture was automatic. Familiar. Married, almost. Your eyes flicked up to his at the touch. There it was again. That warmth. That impossible softness you only gave to a handful of people in the world.

“You had a good surgery?” he asked quietly.

Immediately, your expression shifted. Not colder. Sharper. More focused. Robby watched it happen in real time every time medicine came up around you. Like another part of your brain clicked online.

“Kid came in with a bowel perforation after a bike accident. Outside hospital missed it initially.” You sighed, rubbing your fingers absently over the cold beer bottle. “He got septic fast. We had to take more intestine than I wanted.”

“But he made it.”

“He made it.”

Robby nodded once. You looked down at the fries for a second before speaking again.

“His mom hugged me after.” Your voice softened slightly. “Like really hugged me. Full-body tackle hug. I still had blood on my shoes.”

“That’ll happen.”

“She kept crying and thanking me and all I could think was that I almost lost him twice during the procedure.”

“But you didn’t.”

You looked at him then. Robby felt it physically every time you did that. The full weight of your attention settling on him.

“No,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t.”

There was no arrogance in it. No ego. Just truth. You were good. No. That wasn’t even enough. You were extraordinary. Robby had worked with brilliant doctors his entire life. Surgeons with impossible technical skill. Attendings who could diagnose patients in seconds. People who built entire careers on being the smartest person in the room.

You were different. You cared just as much as you excelled. That combination was rare enough to feel dangerous.

“You know what your problem is?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “I have several. Narrow it down.”

“You don’t realize how impressive you are.”

Immediately, you groaned. “Oh no. We’re not doing this.”

“We are.”

“Robby.”

“You literally saved a kid’s life today and your reward to yourself was artery-clogging fries.”

“They’re celebratory fries.”

“You should have a parade.”

“I don’t want a parade.”

“You deserve one.”

You leaned forward over the table then, resting your chin in your palm while studying him carefully.

“You know what I think your problem is?”

“This feels like a trap.”

“I think,” you said slowly, “you spend so much time taking care of everyone else that you forget you’re allowed to admire people without immediately turning it into emotional damage.”

Robby stared at you. You held his gaze calmly. Then you smiled just a little and stole one of his fries directly off his plate.

“And I think,” you added, “you get very cute when you’re emotionally overwhelmed.”

“I am not cute.”

“You are right now.”

“I’m literally exhausted.”

“You’re staring at me like I hung the moon because I successfully removed a perforated bowel and can also consume my body weight in cheese.”

“That second part is genuinely concerning.”

You laughed, bright and loud enough that a couple people nearby glanced over. Robby’s chest tightened painfully. There it was again. That horrible, wonderful feeling. The one where every single day with you somehow made him more in love instead of less. And judging by the look you gave him when you reached under the table to hook your foot around his ankle, you knew it too.

******

The pediatric trauma room was too loud. Not chaotic yet. Not full disaster mode. But loud in the specific way hospitals became loud when too many intelligent people started talking over each other while trying not to panic.

Monitors beeped steadily near the bed while a six-year-old boy cried hard enough to hiccup between breaths, his small hands clutching desperately at the dinosaur blanket one of the nurses had thrown over him. His mother stood pressed against the wall with both hands over her mouth while Dr. Shamsi flipped through imaging on the computer screen beside the bed, brows pulled tight in concentration.

“There’s abdominal guarding,” Santos said quickly. “Heart rate’s still elevated despite fluids.”

“It could still just be stress response,” Javadi countered.

“No,” Dr. Shamsi said firmly without looking away from the scans. “There’s likely a splenic laceration. We prep for OR.”

The kid whimpered harder at that word. OR. Robby, standing near the foot of the bed with his trauma notes half-finished in his hand, looked between the scans and the child again. Something about it wasn’t sitting right with him. The vitals were off, yes, but not catastrophically. The pain response seemed inconsistent. The kid’s left side tenderness had decreased after medication, which wasn’t impossible, but then the trauma room doors swung open.

You walked in wearing navy scrubs under a black zip-up fleece with your hospital badge clipped crookedly near your collarbone, hair partially falling from the messy bun you’d clearly thrown together hours ago. You carried a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other.

The room shifted immediately. Not dramatically. Nobody stopped speaking. Nobody announced your arrival. But Robby watched the exact second every resident unconsciously straightened. You had that effect on people.

“What’ve we got?” you asked calmly.

Dr. Shamsi exhaled like she’d been waiting for backup. “Six-year-old male. Bike accident. Initial FAST negative. Persistent abdominal pain. Elevated heart rate. I think splenic injury.”

You moved directly toward the imaging screen while taking a sip of your coffee. Robby tried not to stare. Failed instantly. Because this was his favorite version of you. Focused. Alive in a way that had nothing to do with romance and somehow made him want you even more. You studied the scan silently for several long seconds while the room waited. Then you tilted your head slightly.

“Hm.”

That single sound made Dr. Shamsi narrow her eyes. “What?”

You pointed toward the screen. “That’s not fluid tracking from the spleen.”

“It’s free fluid.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But look at the positioning. It’s too centralized.”

One of the residents stepped closer. You handed your coffee to Robby without even looking at him. Pure instinct. He took it automatically. Your fingers brushed his for barely half a second and somehow that tiny contact still went straight down his spine.

“You’re focused too high,” you continued, zooming in on the image. “The bowel wall thickening’s subtle, but it’s there. And the pain presentation changed after meds because the issue isn’t primarily the spleen.” You looked toward the kid gently. “Buddy, can you point where it hurts the most now?”

The little boy sniffled hard and pointed lower than before. You nodded once.

“There it is.”

Dr. Shamsi crossed her arms. “You think bowel injury.”

“I think bowel perforation.”

The room went quiet. Robby watched your brain work in real time. Calm. Certain. Not arrogant. Never arrogant. Just methodical in a way that made everyone around you better.

Santos hesitated. “But the FAST was negative.”

“And FAST scans miss bowel injuries all the time in pediatric trauma,” you said easily. “Especially early.” You looked back toward Shamsi. “If we chase the spleen first and wait too long, he gets septic.”

Dr. Shamsi stared at the screen another moment before slowly exhaling through her nose. Then she nodded once.

“Damn it,” she muttered. “You’re right.”

You grinned immediately. “I know. It’s devastating for you.”

That startled a laugh out of two nurses nearby.

Even Shamsi rolled her eyes affectionately. “You’re insufferable.”

“You invited me down here.”

“Unfortunately.”

You turned back toward the child then, and Robby watched the shift happen instantly. Your entire body softened. You crouched beside the bed slowly enough not to startle him, your voice dropping into that warm steady tone Robby had heard soothe terrified children at three in the morning more times than he could count.

“Hey, buddy,” you said gently. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N. Your belly’s being kind of rude right now, huh?”

The boy nodded miserably.

“Yeah. I figured.” You glanced at the dinosaur blanket. “Good news is I’ve fixed way meaner bellies than yours.”

That earned the tiniest watery smile. Robby’s chest tightened. Every fucking time. You never talked down to kids. Never used fake sweetness. You treated them like people. Scared people, yes, but still people. The trust you built in minutes was unbelievable to watch.

“You gonna cut me open?” the boy whispered.

Your expression stayed calm.

“Probably a little,” you admitted honestly. “But I’m gonna do everything I can to make you feel better after, okay?”

“Will it hurt?”

“A little at first,” you said softly. “But we’re really good at helping with that part too.”

The boy looked at you for another second before finally nodding. Consent. Trust. Robby could practically feel his own pulse in his throat watching it happen.

Jesus Christ.

You stood back up smoothly while speaking to the nurses about OR prep, already transitioning into surgeon mode again. Efficient. Precise. Commanding without ever sounding cruel. The room moved with you naturally. Not because you demanded authority. Because you earned it.

Robby leaned against the counter near the monitors, still holding your coffee like an idiot while watching you explain operative planning to the residents. Javadi asked a question about pediatric perforation protocols and you answered immediately without even glancing at notes.

Dr. Shamsi caught Robby staring. A slow grin spread across her face.

“Oh no,” she murmured.

Robby blinked. “What?”

“You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The heart eyes thing.”

“I do not have heart eyes.”

“You absolutely do.” She smirked. “You look like you want to climb inside her pocket and live there.”

Robby scoffed quietly. “I’m literally just observing a consult.”

“You’re observing your girlfriend like she personally invented medicine.”

“She’s good at her job.”

Shamsi barked out a laugh. “That is the understatement of the century.”

Across the room, you looked up suddenly. Directly at him. Like you’d felt him staring. Robby’s stomach dropped in the dumbest possible way. Then you smiled. Not big. Not showy. Just enough to completely wreck him. You crossed the room toward him after finishing instructions with the residents, stopping close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest lightly.

“You’re holding my coffee hostage,” you said.

“I forgot I had it.”

“That’s concerning for an ER physician.”

“You distracted me.”

Your mouth twitched.

“Oh?” you asked mildly.

Robby immediately regretted speaking. You loved when he got flustered. Loved it. Especially because it happened so rarely.

“You were impressive,” he admitted quietly instead.

Your expression softened just a fraction.

“That’s a very clinical compliment.”

“You want less clinical?”

“Always.”

Robby glanced around the room instinctively. Still busy. Still moving. Nobody paying attention. When he looked back at you again, your eyes had already darkened slightly like you knew exactly what he was thinking. Dangerous woman.

“You know,” you said softly while taking your coffee back from his hands, “watching you try not to stare at me in trauma consults is becoming one of my favorite hobbies.”

“I was not staring.”

“Robby.”

“I was assessing.”

You stepped one inch closer. Close enough that he could smell your shampoo beneath the hospital antiseptic and coffee.

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “And what was your professional assessment, Dr. Robinavitch?”

Robby looked at you for one long second.

Then he said quietly, honestly, before he could stop himself, “That I trust you with literally anything.”

The teasing disappeared from your face instantly. There it was again. That shift. The emotional one. The one that always hit hardest between you. Your gaze held his for a beat too long before you leaned in just slightly and murmured near his ear.

“That’s good, because I like showing off for you.”

Then you walked away toward the trauma room doors without another word. Robby stood there completely motionless while Dr. Shamsi dissolved into helpless laughter behind him.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed. “She just clinically seduced you in front of the entire department.”

Robby rubbed a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he muttered weakly while watching you disappear down the hallway. “I know.”

******

Robby hated hospital donor events. Not disliked. Hated. He hated the fake lighting and the tiny overpriced appetizers that somehow always involved goat cheese. He hated shaking hands with rich people who suddenly wanted to discuss “healthcare innovation” after two glasses of champagne. He hated wearing suits after spending most of his life in scrubs. Most of all, he hated the version of himself these events required. Smiling politely. Making conversation. Pretending he didn’t have three unfinished charts sitting in his inbox while someone explained golf to him for twenty straight minutes.

Normally, he spent the entire evening counting down until he could leave. Tonight, however, he had a different problem. You.

Specifically, you in that dress. Robby had been staring at you for approximately forty-five uninterrupted minutes and it was becoming a genuine medical concern.

“You look psychotic,” Dana informed him flatly from beside the bar.

Robby didn’t look away from you across the ballroom. “What?”

“You’ve been holding the same whiskey for twenty minutes while openly staring at your girlfriend like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.”

“I’m not openly staring.”

“You are so openly staring.”

Beside her, Langdon glanced toward the center of the ballroom where you stood laughing softly with a cluster of donors near one of the pediatric fundraising displays. Then he grimaced.

“Oh,” he muttered. “No, he’s got a point. That’s…wow.”

Robby finally tore his eyes away long enough to glare at him. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird. You brought a weapon to a donor gala.”

Dana snorted into her champagne. You really did look unfair. The dress was black and sleek and fitted so perfectly it should probably have been illegal. Long sleeves. High neckline. Elegant enough for hospital donors and yet somehow devastating anyway because the fabric hugged every inch of you without apology. Your hair was down for once, falling in soft waves over one shoulder, and every time you tilted your head while listening to someone speak the lights caught against the gold earrings dangling near your throat. Robby gave you those earrings two months ago.

But it wasn’t even really the dress. That was the problem. It was you inside it. The way you moved through rooms like you belonged there without ever demanding attention. The way people naturally turned toward you when you spoke. The way your intelligence sat just beneath your skin no matter what you wore.

Robby had spent the first ten minutes after arriving trying to maintain professionalism. Then he watched you dismantle a conversation with an orthopedic donor who kept interrupting one of the pediatric residents. Now he was hanging on by threads.

“You know,” Dana said casually while stealing an olive from somebody’s abandoned drink tray, “most people at these things try to charm donors by being agreeable.”

Robby looked back toward you automatically. You were currently smiling pleasantly at a silver-haired man near the stage while explaining something with animated hand gestures.

“Yes,” he said distractedly.

“She’s charming them by being smarter than everyone in the room.”

“That tracks.”

“She just corrected that man on pediatric surgical outcomes without him even realizing he was being corrected.”

Robby’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That also tracks.”

Across the ballroom, one of the donors laughed loudly at something you said.nYou smiled again. Robby felt his entire nervous system short-circuit.

Langdon watched him for another second before shaking his head slowly. “You are down catastrophically bad.”

“He’s been down catastrophically bad,” Dana corrected. “He just used to hide it better.”

“I still do hide it.”

Both of them looked unconvinced. Then suddenly your eyes lifted across the room. Straight to him. Robby’s heartbeat stumbled. It happened every time. Like you had some internal radar specifically calibrated to find him in crowded rooms.

Your smile shifted instantly the second you noticed him watching. Not public anymore. Private. For him. You excused yourself from the donor conversation gracefully before making your way across the ballroom toward the bar. Heads turned while you walked. Not dramatically obvious, but enough for Robby to notice because unfortunately he noticed everything about you. Dana noticed too.

“Oh, this is gonna be disgusting,” she muttered before stepping away. “I’m leaving before you two start emotionally undressing each other in public.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“No,” Langdon said while following her. “Unfortunately, she’s correct.”

Then they abandoned him completely. Cowards. You reached the bar a second later and immediately stole the whiskey glass from Robby’s hand for a sip.

“It still tastes terrible,” you informed him.

“Then stop drinking my whiskey.”

“But stealing your drinks is part of our dynamic.”

Robby took the glass back slowly, his eyes dragging over you before he could stop himself. Your eyebrow lifted.

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“The staring.”

“I’m allowed to stare at my girlfriend.”

“You’re doing it like you’re conducting a medical examination.”

“That is not true.”

“Robby,” you said dryly. “You just looked at me like you were trying to diagnose structural weaknesses in the fabric of my dress.”

He blinked once.

“You noticed that?”

You burst out laughing. God. That laugh. Warm and bright and genuine enough to cut through the suffocating ballroom noise instantly.

“You are unbelievable,” you said while touching his tie lightly. “You know that?”

His throat tightened embarrassingly fast at the tiny contact.

“You look…” He stopped.

You tilted your head. “Dangerous?”

“That too.”

Your mouth curved slowly.

“What was the original word?”

Robby stared at you. Beautiful felt too small. Hot felt insufficient. Brilliant was always true but not enough. You waited patiently while he visibly struggled. Then your expression softened.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

Yeah. You reached up and fixed the collar of his suit jacket gently while speaking low enough only he could hear.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Robinavitch.”

“That’s because you bullied me into buying a suit that actually fits.”

“I saved you from looking like a divorced geography professor.”

“I do not dress like a geography professor.”

“You absolutely do.”

Robby huffed out a laugh. Before he could answer, a voice interrupted from behind you.

“Dr. Y/L/N.”

Both of you turned. An older man approached carrying a champagne flute, expensive watch gleaming beneath the ballroom lights. Robby vaguely recognized him from one of the donor boards near the entrance. The man smiled warmly at you.

“Your presentation on pediatric trauma initiatives was remarkable.”

You smiled immediately, professional and warm all at once. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“No, truly.” He gestured toward the fundraising displays nearby. “I had no idea how underfunded some of these pediatric programs still are.”

“That’s unfortunately pretty common.”

The donor frowned slightly. “Which is ridiculous considering outcomes improve so dramatically with early intervention.”

Robby watched your face light up instantly. There it was. That spark. That dangerous brilliance that always pulled people toward you.

“Exactly,” you said, stepping naturally into the conversation. “Especially with pediatric trauma. Kids compensate until they absolutely can’t, which means delayed intervention becomes catastrophic very quickly.”

The donor nodded immediately, clearly hooked. Robby leaned against the bar silently while watching you work. Not manipulative. Never manipulative. You genuinely cared. That was the thing that made you impossible to resist. Every word came from somewhere real.

You spoke passionately about pediatric surgical recovery spaces and family-centered care and access to trauma specialists. About terrified parents sleeping in waiting room chairs for days because hospitals still weren’t built with families in mind. The donor listened to every word. Completely captivated. So was Robby.

“You know,” the donor admitted after several minutes, “I came tonight expecting to write a check for general hospital funding.” He smiled slightly. “Now I’m wondering why pediatric trauma hasn’t already been my priority.”

You blinked once. Then you smiled softly. Not triumphant. Not calculating. Just hopeful.

“That would change a lot of lives,” you said quietly.

The donor nodded slowly. “I think perhaps it’s time it did.”

Robby physically felt something shift in his chest watching your expression afterward. Not excitement about money. Relief. Because somewhere in your head you were already thinking about the children who might survive because of it.

Jesus Christ.

The donor eventually excused himself after promising to follow up with the foundation board. The second he disappeared into the crowd, you exhaled hard and reached blindly for Robby’s whiskey again.

“You’re evil,” Robby informed you quietly.

You nearly choked on the sip. “Excuse me?”

“You just got that man to emotionally adopt pediatric trauma care in under ten minutes.”

You laughed softly. “I didn’t manipulate him.”

“No,” Robby agreed immediately. “That’s what’s terrifying.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Terrifying?”

“You believe every word you say.”

“That’s usually how speaking works.”

“You know what I mean.”

You did. He could tell by the way your expression shifted slightly. The ballroom noise faded strangely around them for a second. Robby looked at you standing there in black silk and gold earrings with donor brochures tucked under one arm and whiskey on your lips and something inside him just completely gave way.

Because this wasn’t even about attraction anymore. It was admiration so intense it bordered on reverence. You noticed the exact second his expression changed. Your voice softened.

“What?”

Robby shook his head once like he could physically clear the thought away. Didn’t work.

“You have any idea what you do to people?” he asked quietly.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You walk into rooms and make people care. You make them listen. You make them want to be better.”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face. Robby stepped closer before he even realized he was doing it.

“You save kids,” he continued softly. “Then you come to events like this and fight for the ones you haven’t even met yet.” He laughed once under his breath, almost helplessly. “And somehow you still come home with me afterward and steal my fries like you’re not the most impressive person I’ve ever known.”

Your entire expression melted. Not flirtation this time. Something deeper. Robby saw your throat move when you swallowed.

“Careful,” you murmured quietly. “You keep talking to me like that and I’m gonna drag you out of this fundraiser early.”

His pulse spiked instantly.

“Would that really be such a tragedy?”

Your eyes darkened beautifully.

“No,” you admitted. “Probably not.”

******

The trauma pager went off at 2:13 in the morning. By 2:15, the emergency department was already spiraling.

“Pediatric MVC inbound!” someone shouted across the ER as nurses moved fast between bays. “Seven-year-old female, unrestrained passenger, hypotensive at scene!”

Robby shoved his stethoscope into place while jogging toward Trauma Two, adrenaline slamming through his bloodstream hard enough to erase the exhaustion that had been dragging at him all shift. Around him the department snapped into motion automatically. Monitors rolled into place. Supplies appeared. Residents scrambled for gloves. Another ambulance siren screamed somewhere outside.

“ETA ninety seconds!” Dana called from the nurses’ station.

“Get blood ready now,” Robby ordered immediately. “And page peds surgery.”

Already done. Because somebody in this hospital knew him too well. The ambulance doors burst open less than a minute later. Chaos followed. The little girl was unconscious when they wheeled her in, blood soaking through the pediatric cervical collar while paramedics rattled off vitals rapid-fire.

“Seven-year-old female, high-speed collision, significant abdominal trauma, pressure tanking en route—”

Robby moved instantly to the bedside.

“Okay sweetheart, we’ve got you,” he said automatically while assessing airway and pupils. “Let’s move.”

The room exploded into motion around him. Monitor alarms shrieked almost immediately. Blood pressure dropping. Heart rate climbing. Too fast. Way too fast.

“Pressure’s crashing,” Whitaker said sharply.

“FAST scan ready,” Dana called.

Robby’s jaw tightened as he pressed gloved hands against the child’s abdomen. Distended. Rigid. Internal bleeding. A lot of it.

“Where’s surgery?” somebody demanded.

As if summoned by sheer force of will, the trauma room doors slammed open. You walked in wearing dark blue scrubs beneath a half-zipped jacket, hair still damp at the temples like you’d run from another floor. Robby physically felt himself exhale. It happened every single time.

The second you entered a room, some terrible tightness in his chest loosened. Not because you made things easy. Because you made them survivable.

“What’ve we got?” you asked immediately, already gloving up while approaching the bedside.

“High-speed MVC,” Robby answered quickly. “Hypotensive. Distended abdomen. FAST pending.”

You moved beside him seamlessly. No ego. No territorial bullshit. Just instinct. Your eyes swept over the child once before locking onto the monitor.

Then the FAST scan appeared. Fluid everywhere. Your expression sharpened instantly.

“Oh, that’s bad,” you muttered.

“Liver?” Dana asked.

“More than liver.”

You reached for the ultrasound yourself, scanning lower with terrifying efficiency. Robby watched your brain work in real time again. Faster than everyone else. Cleaner. Then your face changed.

Not panic. Worse. Recognition.

“She’s actively dumping blood into the abdomen,” you said immediately. “Massive bleed. We need OR now.”

“Pressure’s sixty over forty!”

“Blood’s here!”

The little girl suddenly jerked weakly beneath the blankets. Then vomited blood. The room shifted from tense to critical instantly.

“Shit.”

“Airway!”

“Turn her—”

Everything moved at once after that. Residents scrambling. Nurses shouting numbers. Blood products hanging. And through all of it, Robby could feel the edges of something ugly starting to crawl up the back of his spine. Because the girl looked too small. Too fragile. Too much like every nightmare pediatric trauma he’d ever carried home in pieces.

“Robby.”

Your voice cut through the noise sharply. He blinked. You were looking directly at him.

Steady. Focused. With me. That look said. Stay with me. Robby inhaled hard. Then nodded once. Together, you moved.

It became almost frightening how naturally you worked beside each other now after a year together. You anticipated each other before words even happened. You adjusted around one another instinctively. Robby stabilized airway while you coordinated surgical prep. He ordered blood while you caught a resident about to place the wrong line size before they even realized the mistake. Nobody questioned either of you. They followed. Because when the two of you locked into sync like this, the entire room sharpened around it.

“She’s peri-arrest,” Dana warned.

“We know,” you snapped without cruelty. “Move.”

The child’s mother arrived screaming somewhere behind the trauma bay doors. Robby physically flinched. God. That sound. Parents screaming for their children was the sound that stayed in his bones forever. For one horrible second he felt himself slip. Just slightly. The exhaustion. The endless shifts. The impossible losses piling up lately. All of it surged upward at once beneath his ribs until the trauma room suddenly felt too hot. Too loud.

Too much. You noticed immediately. Of course you did. Your hand hit the center of his back firmly while you spoke to the room.

“Robby, stay on airway. I’ve got abdomen.”

Simple. Direct. Not taking over. Holding him steady. Robby swallowed hard and refocused instantly. Because you trusted him. And somehow that always made him better.

Twenty minutes later the child was finally racing upstairs toward surgery with you jogging beside the bed shouting instructions at residents while blood dripped steadily from your gloves. The elevator doors nearly closed before your eyes found his one last time across the hallway. You nodded once. I’ve got her. Then you disappeared upstairs.

The ER suddenly felt strangely hollow afterward. Robby leaned both hands against the trauma desk while catching his breath. His scrub top clung damply to his spine and his pulse still hadn’t slowed. Dana appeared beside him quietly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Lie. She clearly knew it too. But before she could push, another trauma alert went off across the department. Of course it did. The universe never waited.

Three hours later, Robby finally found you again. The pediatric OR floor was quiet now, most lights dimmed low outside recovery rooms. He spotted you standing alone near the supply hallway with your surgical cap hanging loose around your neck and dried blood still streaked faintly near your wrist.

You looked exhausted. But alive. The second you saw him, your entire posture softened slightly.

“She made it,” you said quietly before he could ask.

Robby closed his eyes briefly. Thank God.

“She crashed twice on the table,” you admitted. “But we got control of the bleed.”

Relief hit him so hard it almost hurt. You watched him carefully for a second. Then your brows pulled together slightly.

“You okay?”

The question landed too directly. Robby laughed once under his breath, but it sounded rougher than intended.

“Yeah.”

Another lie. You stepped closer immediately.

“Hey.”

That tone. Gentle but unmovable.

Robby rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “I just…” He exhaled hard. “I don’t know. That kid got to me.”

“She got to all of us.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You stayed steady.”

You stared at him for a moment. Then you moved directly into his space. Not romantic at first. Just close. Your hand slid against the side of his neck gently.

“Robby,” you said softly, “steady doesn’t mean unaffected.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes. The blood still staining your skin. The brilliance of you. The impossible fucking competence of you. And suddenly something inside him cracked wide open.

“You have any idea what it feels like watching you in there?” he asked quietly.

Your expression shifted slightly.

“What?”

“You walk into rooms like that and everything changes.” His voice roughened. “People breathe easier when you show up. Including me.”

“Robby—”

“No, listen to me.” He stepped closer suddenly, words spilling out before he could stop them. “I spend every day in that ER waiting for something to go wrong. Waiting to catch mistakes. Waiting to hold everything together.” His eyes locked onto yours. “Then you show up and for the first time in years I don’t feel alone in it.”

Your breath caught softly. The hallway around you felt impossibly quiet now. Robby shook his head once, almost frustrated by the intensity of it.

“And the worst part is,” he muttered, “it’s not even just emotional anymore.”

Your eyes darkened immediately.

“No?”

“No.” His laugh sounded wrecked now. “It’s everything. Watching you work should not be as hot as it is.”

That startled a breathless laugh out of you. But Robby wasn’t joking.

“I’m serious,” he admitted, voice lower now. “You correct residents and I lose cognitive function.”

You covered your mouth briefly, eyes bright with disbelief.

“Oh my God.”

“You take control of trauma rooms and suddenly I’m thinking things that would get me fired.”

“That’s deeply inappropriate for an attending physician.”

“I know.”

“And probably concerning psychologically.”

“I know.”

Your smile turned softer then. More dangerous.

“Poor Robby,” you murmured. “Having such a hard time because his girlfriend’s competent.”

He made a low sound in his throat that absolutely was not professional. Your eyes widened slightly at the noise. Then suddenly you were both moving at the same time.

Robby backed you gently against the supply hallway wall and kissed you hard enough to steal the air from both of you instantly. It wasn’t neat. Wasn’t polished. It felt like adrenaline and exhaustion and relief. Your hands grabbed fistfuls of his scrub top immediately while his palms framed your jaw desperately, kissing you deeper the second you made that soft sound against his mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered breathlessly against his lips.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You laughed shakily. “You’re having a full psychosexual crisis over pediatric surgery.”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s so embarrassing for you.”

Robby kissed you again before you could keep talking. Harder this time. Your fingers slid into his hair and he physically melted against you. Because this was the other unbearable thing about loving someone this capable. When you finally chose softness with him, it felt sacred.

******

You were late. Not irresponsibly late. Not concerningly late. Just late enough that Robby had checked his phone three separate times in the last twenty minutes while pretending he wasn’t doing exactly that.

Your shift had technically ended hours ago. Technically. But medicine did not care about technicalities and neither did you. Robby sat on the couch in gray sweatpants with an untouched beer sweating against the coffee table while the apartment stayed quiet around him. The television played some documentary he hadn’t actually absorbed a single second of and rain tapped softly against the windows overlooking the city.

Normally by now you would have texted him something sarcastic.

Running late. Save me fries.

Or:

If one more resident says “quick question” I’m driving into the ocean.

Or maybe just a selfie in surgical scrubs with dead eyes and the caption:

Medicine is beautiful.

Tonight there had only been one text sent almost an hour ago.

Still at the hospital. Rough one.

That was it. Robby knew you well enough by now to understand what that meant. You only got quiet when something hurt. The lock finally turned close to midnight. Robby was already standing before the door fully opened.

You stepped inside slowly, still wearing scrubs beneath your coat, your hair a complete mess now like you’d dragged your hands through it fifty times. Your exhaustion hit him instantly. Not physical first. Emotional.

Your eyes found his. For one terrible second you looked like you might cry. That alone nearly cracked his chest open.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You shut the door behind yourself carefully before leaning back against it with a long exhausted exhale.

“Hi.”

Robby crossed the apartment immediately.

“You okay?”

Your laugh came out thin. “That depends. Are we defining okay in medical terms or emotional terms?”

Both, he almost said. Instead he reached for your coat gently.

“C’mere.”

You let him help peel the damp coat from your shoulders without protest. Another bad sign. Normally you’d make some comment about him fussing over you. Tonight you just looked tired. Not dramatic tired. Soul tired. Robby’s hands settled against your waist automatically once the coat hit the chair beside the door. You leaned into him immediately.

Full body. Full trust. It hit him hard every single time you did that because nobody else got this version of you. Nobody else saw the brilliant terrifying surgeon who commanded trauma rooms go soft and quiet like this.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

Your forehead pressed against his shoulder.

“Three-month-old bowel necrosis.” Your voice sounded rough now. “We lost him on the table.”

Robby closed his eyes briefly. Fuck. You inhaled shakily against him.

“The parents were nineteen.” Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt. “They just kept looking at me like I could fix it anyway.”

He wrapped his arms around you tighter automatically.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

That word nearly undid you. Robby felt it happen physically. Your entire body tightening for one tiny second before finally sagging harder into his chest. You were so good at holding everyone else together. Sometimes he thought the hardest thing you ever did was let yourself fall apart afterward.

“I know medically we did everything right,” you whispered. “I know that.” Your voice cracked slightly anyway. “I know the scans were catastrophic before he even got to us but—”

“But you wanted more time.”

“Yes.”

Robby pressed a kiss into your hair slowly. Of course you did. You always wanted more time for them.

“That doesn’t make you wrong,” he murmured.

Your eyes closed briefly. For a few quiet seconds neither of you spoke. Rain tapped softly against the windows while the apartment stayed warm around you and Robby realized suddenly you were shivering.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’ve been in ORs for fourteen hours.”

“Come on.”

You made a soft questioning noise when he took your hand.

“Shower,” he said simply.

Normally you would’ve protested. Told him you could manage yourself. Told him he didn’t need to take care of you. Tonight you just nodded once and followed him quietly down the hallway.

That almost hurt worse. The bathroom filled slowly with steam while Robby adjusted the water temperature and grabbed towels from beneath the sink. Behind him, you sat on the closed toilet lid with your elbows on your knees watching him through heavy eyes.

“You know,” you murmured tiredly, “this competency kink thing of yours gets significantly less sexy when I’m emotionally compromised.”

Robby glanced back at you immediately. Even exhausted and heartbroken you were still trying to make him smile. Jesus Christ.

“You think this is about competence?” he asked softly.

You blinked slowly. “Isn’t it?”

“No.”

That got your attention. Robby stepped closer until he stood directly between your knees. Then he reached down carefully and untied your scrub top.

“You being brilliant turns me on,” he admitted honestly while sliding the fabric from your shoulders gently. “But that’s not the important part.”

Your tired eyes searched his face.

“The important part,” he said quietly, “is that you keep being soft anyway.”

Something fragile flickered across your expression instantly. Robby’s chest tightened painfully.

“You save lives all day,” he continued softly. “You walk into impossible rooms and somehow make people feel safer. Then after all of it…” His thumb brushed beneath one of your eyes gently. “You still cry for the ones you lose.”

Your throat moved when you swallowed.

“That’s the part that destroys me.”

Your eyes filled immediately.

“Oh,” you whispered.

Yeah. Oh.

Robby helped you undress slowly after that. Not sexual. Not rushed. Just careful. Tender in a way that felt almost unbearably intimate. By the time he guided you beneath the hot spray, steam curled thick around both of you while you leaned bonelessly against the tile wall with your eyes closed.

Robby wet your hair gently first. Then reached for shampoo. The second his fingers started massaging slowly against your scalp, you made the softest sound he’d ever heard from you. Pure relief. His heart nearly stopped.

“There she is,” he murmured quietly.

You actually melted against him further.

“Oh my God,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t stop.”

Robby smiled faintly despite everything.

“Yes ma’am.”

His fingers worked carefully through your hair while hot water poured over both of you. Your hands rested weakly against his ribs now, your forehead occasionally brushing his shoulder whenever exhaustion dragged heavier through you.

“You know what’s embarrassing?” you mumbled eventually.

“Hm?”

“I think this might be the most turned on I’ve ever been by you.”

Robby barked out a startled laugh. You smiled weakly against his chest.

“I’m serious.” Your eyes stayed closed while he rinsed shampoo gently from your hair. “You taking care of me like this?” You sighed softly. “Might kill me.”

“That would be inconvenient paperwork for both of us.”

“You’d still look hot doing it.”

“You are profoundly unwell.”

“You like me that way.”

God, he did. Robby wrapped one arm around your waist securely while reaching for conditioner. You tilted your face up slightly to look at him then.

Exhausted. Raw. Still beautiful enough to physically ache over. But softer now. Open.

“You know what the worst part is?” you asked quietly.

“What?”

You smiled just a little.

“I trust you enough to let you see me like this.”

Robby’s breath caught instantly. Because there it was again. That same thing he’d been trying to explain since the beginning.

Trust. The real kind. Not professional trust. Not surgical trust. This. The kind where two people handed each other the sharpest parts of themselves without armor. Robby stared at you for one long second before leaning down slowly to kiss you.

Gentle this time. No desperation. No urgency. Just love. You sighed softly into his mouth immediately, your fingers curling weakly into the damp skin at his sides while the shower poured warm around both of you. When he pulled back, your forehead rested against his again.

“Tough girl,” he murmured quietly.

You smiled with your eyes still closed.

The med student and two residents share subtle looks, watching the interaction. 

“Is my husband around?” You asked Dana, glancing around to see if he was nearby. It was never predictable where he might be. It’s not uncommon for him to not answer his phone when he works and you don’t blame him. It’s understandable. But it’s rare for you to show up at the department, that usually means it’s important.

The three watching noticed your eyes wandering, quickly busying themselves. Santos and Javadi looked at the same computer, as if they were reading results together. While Whitaker fumbled with the chart he’d picked up. The two women look at him in disbelief and annoyance. Smooth. 

“Trauma one. He’s in a mood.” Dana pre warned you, giving you a knowing look. You weren’t surprised by the fact, very aware how moody Robby can be when he’s stressed. 

“Not surprising.” You huffed out a dry laugh. “When isn’t he?”

“True that.” The charge nurse hiffs, knowing you'd understand more than anyone. But you’re able to diffuse him unlike anyone else. 

“Alright if I hang around?” You asked, knowing the answer but much preferring to be sure instead of assuming. 

“Of course.” Dana assured you, well aware you don’t like to presume but instead hear directly. Everyday is different in the ED. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just Levi.” You explained, not details but enough for her to understand that something had happened. Your son could get into his own mess these days, he’s 22 and at college, figuring out his life. Didn’t mean he didn’t avoid doing dumb shit. 

Before Dana could respond, her mouth hanging open before shutting as a painstakingly familiar voice rang out. 

“What’re you doing here?” You heard your husband’s gruff voice, head turning as he wandered up beside you. He pressed a kiss to your head before his eyes returned to your face. Concern was etched across his features, worried that something was wrong. You didn’t show up here without a reason. 

Javadi tried to not look invested but she was, Robby was married? Santos and Whitaker thinking the same thing. And this woman is his wife? No way. That can’t be right. 

“Your son decided that getting drunk and running around campus was a good idea.” You informed him dryly. This is the second time you've talked about this. Not that you were angry but more annoyed. You had to leave work, because Robby couldn’t, to go and get him from the police station by his campus. “Naked.”

“Why is he always my son when he does something stupid?” Robby inquired in disbelief before shaking his head immediately. It was too early for this, barely 8:30am.  “Actually, don’t answer that.”

He knew that if either of you had passed the doing something dumb gene, it was him. He had never done something quite like that but he was the more reckless between the two of you. He didn’t need to have his workplace hear about some of the dumb things he’s done in his 20s. 

Levi isn't a bad kid. Just tends to do dumb things.

Javadi, Whitaker and Santos all shared glances in utter shock. This man has a son? A kid? No way. They don't believe they’d heard this correctly. 

“Anyways. He’s alright. But he called Jack who called me.”

“Fuck.” Your husband signed, hanging his head low before looking back at you. “You going to get him?”

He gave you a look that said you gonna go or… not to rush you out but instead to figure out why you were hanging around with your shared son behind local station bars. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, pausing before you explained absentmindedly. “Letting him sweat a bit.”

“You’re evil.” He commented dryly. 

“It’s why you married me.” You grinned. 

He huffed a soft yet dry laugh. He won’t even deny it. Your nature was one of the many reasons he’d fallen inlove with you in the first place. He knows how incredible of a mother you are. He’s cherished raising children with you. He’d never seen you so soft and loving. He sometimes still found it hard to believe you had married and had kids with him. 

But he was aware that you weren’t going to let this stint slide. 

“That’s why you’re here?” He quizzed, almost a little amused, though pissed that his son had done something so stupid. This would be something you two would discuss with him later. 

“Partially. But thought I'd tell you before Jack blabs at shiftchange.” You answered, not going to have spoken to him later about this. It was too important. And you knew Jack would’ve let him know this evening. Better if it comes from you. 

Jack has been a staple in your kids' lives since he’d met Robby years ago. When Robby had started working at PTMC as an attending, you’d been pregnant with your second child. When Jack had joined a few years later, your kids were 8 and 6 at the time. He’d immediately grown attached, loving them like they were his own. They adored him, not having a day without him since (minus when he’d been in the army and deployed). 

As much as he loves them, he made it clear he wouldn’t keep things from you and Robby. Especially when it’s important. He loved them. But he loves you both too. All of you are like his family. He wasn’t going to lie. 

“Good thinking.” He nodded, appreciative you’d told him instead of letting him be blindsited later. 

“I’ll head out.” You said, wanting to get this whole thing sorted and just get back home. Not like you’d go back to the office. Thankfully your appointments were all via zoom today, it helped. “Hopefully won’t take too long but i’ll let you know.”

“Alright, thanks.” Robby replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It was something he always did when you’d separate for the day. “See you after work.”

“I love you.” You said softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I love you, honey.”

You waved goodbye to him and Dana, turning back around and heading back to your car. 

“You’re married?” Santos blurted in disbelief, unable to keep it in. Whitaker nudged her with his elbow in panic, she should not have said that. 

He looks over at her, pulling the chain out from under his undershirt. The chain dangled with a gold band hanging from it. His wedding ring. “26 years.” 

He doesn’t hide he’s married. He just doesn’t find himself needing to share that information unwarranted. He loves his wife and kids but he prefers to keep his family outside of the workplace. So if he’s not prompted, he doesn't talk about them. 

“How… when … what?” Santos stammered, in disbelief he’s been married. To you. For 26 years. 

“You didn’t know?” Langdon quizzed the three as he wandered to the desk, amused at their shocked expressions.

“Don’t act like you didn’t react the same way when you found out.” Dana mused, shooting Langdon a knowing look. 

He can’t even deny it. When he discovered his attending’s long-lasting marriage, he was shocked. The man didn’t seem emotionally capable. But must've been wrong. He’s grown to know that over the last few years when he’d seen you two interact. 

Robby is a man inlove. 

“How’d you meet?” Javadi mustered up the courage to ask, curious to hear how you’d met. Especially since you’d been married for so long. 

Robby huffed a laugh at the memory, recalling the evening you’d met. It was forever seared into his memory.

1995.

Robby was out with a couple of his med school classmates for a rare night out between rotations. Being a MS3 was intense, going from classroom to real direct-contact work with patients. 

The four of them were mostly sharing how their recent rotation had been. They’d all been put into different specialties. Paediatrics, orthopaedics, cardiology and gastroenterology. 

He was mid laugh when his eyes glanced over the room, eyes locking on you. It felt like his breath had been pulled from his lungs. 

You were out with friends for a monthly catch up. Since you’d both graduated and begun your career’s, you rarely get to spend time together. The two of you made it a point to organise a once a month where you’re both free to catch up in person. Talking on the phone can only do so much for a friendship sometimes. 

The two of you were chatting, discussing recent events in your lives. She was halfway through telling you about an incident at her new job. 

“God, can you believe it?” She said in disbelieving scoff. “I mean, who in their right mind thinks that it’s okay to show up drunk and deny the whole thing, it's just dumb to try and gaslight your boss.”

“That’s so fucked. Please tell me he was fired. Or at least suspended.” You said in disgust, already hating whoever this guy was.

“I wish.” Your friend shook her head in annoyance. She went to take a sip of her drink, to realise it was empty. “But I will say that I need another drink.”

“I’ll get some.” You said as you stood up with a chuckle, grabbing your wallet. Though you gave her a playfully pointed look. “Don’t venture anywhere.”

“No promises.” she teased, though not really planning to go anywhere. She was the type to just wander away without prompt. But honestly, so are you. She’s just worse than you, especially when intoxicated. 

You chuckled and rolled your eyes at the tease, but accepted it. It's normal for the two of you, the teasing. But you do hope she won’t venture far if she decides to. 

You made your way to the bar, sliding up between a tall man and a woman, there being a gap. They weren’t interacting so you took it as a safe spot to choose. It didn’t take long for the bartender to make it to you, barely 30 seconds.

“What can I get for ya?” He asked, leaning forward slightly to make sure he could hear you. It wasn’t too loud but to be safe. 

“Vodka lemonade and a vodka coke please.” You asked kindly, always making sure to be nice to staff. He nodded and got to making the drinks.

Robby glanced down at you when he heard the honeyed voice. Oh shit. It’s you. He made an effort not to stare at you from a distance when he’d noticed you earlier. He’s not shy but he respects you’d been with a friend and he’d been with his. He barely noticed the bartender he’s spoken to before, placing the beers he’d asked for in front of him. 

“Thanks.” He said to the guy but he made no effort to move. He glanced down at you again, at the same time your eyes had flickered up to him. You gave him a smile before looking back ahead of you, eyes seemingly glancing around behind the bar. 

Robby’s attention went back to the bartender as he dug out a few bills and handed them over. He gestured with his head towards you besides him. “Her’s too.”

The bartender nodded, not really having much of a thought as he put the money through, conversing with the other bartender for what you’d asked for to figure out the total cost. 

Your head had snapped up towards him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. You’ve had guys offer to buy you drinks, your friend too. Though never had been quite as forward as this. 

“That’s awfully nice of you.” You commented dryly, looking up at him. You were a little suspicious. But you can't help but think of how gorgeous he is. It’s not actually fair. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He said honestly, offering you a grin that made your heart skip a beat. Fuck this guy. 

“But it got you talking to me.” He added a beat later, that breathtaking grin widening a smidge. 

“Ah, so that was your plan, huh?”

“No, kinda just happened in the moment.” He said with a shrug, grin not faltering. It wasn't a total lie. He had been thinking about ways he could start a conversation with you. He normally can do without ease. But you’d made him throw away the idea of using shitty pickup lines. 

“In the moment.” You chuckled, a grin of your own forming. Somehow you could tell it wasn’t a complete lie, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth. For not, you wouldn’t question it. As gorgeous as he is, you didn’t plan on hanging around long. You had your friend to get back to. 

“That hard to believe?” He teased, having noted you seemed to be somewhat amused. 

“Nope, but you can’t tell me you don’t already have a list of pick-up lines ready to go.” You joked, but half-meaning it. He was unfairly attractive and you’re sure he knew it. No doubt he could easily get a girl’s attention. 

The bartender placed your drinks in front of you. Thanking him, you turned back to the man you’d been interacting with. 

“You got me.” He chuckled, not going to deny it. “But they don’t seem like something you’d be interested in”

“Now that's a line.” You laughed, grin turning into a genuine smile. 

That smile? That nearly stopped his heart. 

“Maybe it is.” He said with a light laugh, not denying but not having intended on it being that way. But really, anything to make sure you kept smiling like that. He leant his head slightly forward towards you, speaking in a conspiratorial murmur. “Did it work?”

“I’m not at liberty to answer that.” You chuckled, unwilling to admit that maybe it was. It might just be his pretty face. But you weren’t immune. 

“Besides, I have my friend to get back to.” You added, gesturing over to your friend. When your eyes landed on her, she seemed to be occupied with a guy. The two close together as they seemed in deep conversation. Good for her.

“Ah, that's one of mine.” he chuckled, eyes having followed where you’d directed and seeing it was one of his friends with your friend. He hadn’t quite anticipated his friend chatting with yours. But it certainly seemed to work in his favour here so he won’t complain. 

“Yeah?” You quizzed but weren’t completely convinced he hadn’t coordinated that. 

“Not my doing. Promise." He chuckled, raising his hands in faux-defence, sensing you thought it may have been. He meant it, genuinely not having a single thing to do with the situation. But he thought of it as good luck. 

Your eyes drifted back to him, eyebrows raised. You looked at him for a few beats before grabbing your friend's drink and one of his beers. “Don’t move.”

He didn’t say anything as you left him, and your own drink. Not a smart move but it hadn’t even occurred to you in the moment. You made your way back to the table your friend was at, placing the drinks down in front of her and her guest. You subtly winked at her before you turned back and headed towards the drink and man you’d left.

As you slid back besides him, he felt elated. He hadn’t felt this excited to just talk to a woman in well … ever. 

“Gonna tell me your name or am i gonna have to guess?”

“Michael. But you can call me Robby.”

“I don’t see how that correlates.” You mused, raising an eyebrow at him. You don't exactly see how those names worked together. Robby? You think Robert. 

“Robinavitch.” he explained with a chuckle, eyes dazzling. 

“Ah, gotcha.” You nodded with another light chuckle. Last name. You told him your name in return. 

He repeated your name, letting it roll off of his tongue. He liked it. It was your name after all. 

The two of you converesed. You discussed your lives, work, study, friends, hobbies. You discovered he was a third year med student, just completing a rotation in cardiology. He mentioned he liked the idea of emergency, wanting to help people at the hardest point of their lives. You respected it, understood it even. You were hanging onto every word he spoke, enjoying the words rolling off his lips and interested in what he was saying. That hasn’t happened in a long time.

He discovered you had graduated with a bachelor of psychology last year, now practising as such as you worked on completing your masters of clinical psychology. You explained how you want to conduct cognitive clinical assessments for patients who think they might have ADHD, autism and anything else that might support patients understand what is going on inside their brains. You didn’t go into details but you had admitted you’d had your own struggles with mental health. That being a huge part of wanting to support others with theirs. You wanted to work in a few areas of psychology, he had gathered. 

You two spoke for hours. Literally hours. About everything and nothing at the same time. You joked, had serious topics at hand and discussed absolutely anything either of you could think of. 

You checked the time on the wall with a glance, realising it was nearing 12am. God, you’d been talking to him since about 9, knowing you’d been here since at least 8 when you and your friend had arrived. Neither of you even touched your drinks, both just sitting there useless. 

“Not to cut this short…” You said with a light huff as you got up from the seat you’d been on. Eventually the two of you had drifted to an empty table, finding it more comfortable to be seated as you chatted. But he would’ve happily stood there in discomfort if he got to hear your voice. Not that he’d admit that. “...but I should go, it's nearly 12.”

He looked at the clock as you spoke, eyes widening in surprise. It had been 3 hours? That’s how long he’d been talking to you. It felt like it had been 30 minutes. His eyes drifted back to you, not going to argue. He should probably find out if his friends are still here or not. You’d both noticed yours and his friend leaving earlier, so you didn’t need to worry about her being alone. 

“Yeah, it was great talking to you.” He said with a soft smile. He was disappointed you were leaving but he understood. And he wasn’t going to make assumptions. Not with you. Other women he may have made some sort of line, getting them to go home with him or vice versa to never see them again the next day. But he didn’t want to do that with you. 

“You too.” You replied with a smile of your own. “Bye, Michael.”

“Bye.” He smiled, his lips tugging wider at the use of his first name. Not his nickname. But his name. He watched as you waved and made your exit, eyes trailing you as you walking out the front door. He let out a small sigh, disappointed you were gone. He realised a moment later that he hadn’t even asked for your number. The thought slipped. Likely to avoid the anxiety. He;d never been anxious to ask a girl for her number before. 

Meanwhile, the cold air was a welcomed slap to the face from the heat of inside the bar. It was soothing. But you couldn’t help the disappointment you felt. You had really begun to like him. You’d spoken for hours. Not like you’d spilled your entire life story. But still, you thought something was there. Something you hadn’t felt before. Not with your exes. 

You became annoyed. Had he not felt that? Or did he? Either way, he didn’t ask for any form of contact details for you. 

With a huff, you turned back inside and marched towards him. 

Robby was shocked when he saw your figure storming towards him. He had just stood up to go in search for his friends. 

“Okay. We have something. There’s this … this… I don't know … spark. It's there.” You ranted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. You wished you could blame it on the alcohol because this was not something you did. But you couldn’t help but blurt this at him. You can be embarrassed later. “We’ve been talking for hours. Literal hours. And you don’t ask for my number? Seriously? What the fuck?!”

His eyes were wide in shock as you spoke before softening. He hadn't exactly anticipated you running back to tell him off. It was hot. A soft grin tugged at his lips at each word you said. 

“What?” You asked him in annoyance, arms now crossed over your chest. 

“Is it too late to ask for your number?” He questioned, a hint of tease mixed in the hope in his voice. He had wanted to ask but had been caught off guard by you leaving. He was nervous at the prospect. What if you’d said no? That’d have just about broken his heart. 

“You’re asking now?” You asked dryly. “Because I yelled at you?”

“First, you didn't yell. You firmly stated your annoyance.” He corrected genuinely but firmly  “second, i wanted to but i got nervous.”

“Nervous?” you quizzed, not quite believing that. He hadn’t been nervous the entire time you’d spoken to him. Not openly anyways. 

“Yeah. Nervous.” He admitted without shame. “Beautiful girl I've been talking to all night rejects me? That's nerve-wrecking.”

“Enough with the lines.” You responded dryly. He hadn’t really given you lines but that didn’t automatically exclude him from going to use them. 

“Not a line. I'm serious.” Robby said, sincerity seeping through his voice. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He wanted you to know he wasn’t trying to be smooth. Just honest. 

You stared at him for a few moments, debating if you could trust it. He sounded painfully sincere. You don’t think you can fake this kind of honestly. 

“Still want my number?”

Present. 

“I love her.” Javadi rushed out immediately, then flushing with embarrassment as she realised she said that outloud. Her hand covered her mouth in shock at her own words. 

Robby just chuckled, which surprised her and the two residents. 

“She’s incredible.” He commented fondly. His mind reeled with thoughts of you. Both from recent years and the early times of your relationship. 

“Careful, you’re sounding human.” Dana joked, though she had grown fond of the dynamic between you and the attending. He was practically a different person with you. Your kids too. 

“Don’t let my daughter hear that, she’ll use it against me.” He joked back, having broken out of his thoughts and preferring the humour based dynamic in the workplace. He didn’t need to be vulnerable here. Not about his family.

Before anyone could respond, he headed off. Intending to see a patient, check in to see how his residents are doing. But he’d instead slowed his moments and pulled out his phone, pulling up your text chain.  

Husband <3: if he claims he was dared, you’re going to let me eat you out Wife: if he says that he’s made a mistake and won’t do it again, you’ll eat me out Husband <3: deal

“I’m sorry … DAUGHTER?!” 

He heard the disbelief of his resident, ignoring the question and instead pocketing his phone continuing on his day. He’s the chief attending here. At home? He’s just a man who’s obsessed with his wife.

—

her fingers faltered at the tablet, trying to keep her mind on the patient as she waited. ogilvie stood off to the side. eyeing her as he himself waited. dana had told him to assist. insisted on it apparently. from what ogilvie told the resident.

and when robby came by to see where things were at, looking to samira for an answer on why the student was in there—without actually asking—she carefully explains. “dana thought it’d be a good opportunity for him to—”

“I don’t know why- i was looking to get in on the trauma that came in. I wanted to practice my intubation for my medical procedure log but I was told I’d be learning a lot if I were to help dr. mohan.” the med student interrupts. robby and samira share a quick look before robby clasps his hands together and nods. albeit not being okay with the charge nurse assigning his students to cases without letting him know, he sees…why she did it.

the attending bites his lower lip. “I think dana is right. you’ll learn from this so just uh—” he scratches his beard. “wait for peds. dr.park is an exceptional pediatrician—”

“dr. park?” ogilvie asked looking to samira then back to robby.

“yes, she's—” “a child was abandoned?” your gloves snapped on as you walked in.

“dr.park.” robby acknowledged. you spare a side glance and a lifted hand. a wave. “present the case.”

ogilvie speaks as samira opens her mouth, "sats 99 on room air, normal bp, normal pulse…” your eyes brief them over, before shifting your attention to the small patient.

“well hydrated.” robby says from behind.

“how’s she doing?” you asked as you adjusted the blanket.

“she's seems happy enough. we got a quick a point-of-care CBC.” samira said softly. patiently waiting for you to examine baby jane doe.

“we don’t know the birth history and—” he speaks again.

“I’m aware.” you interrupt this time. sparing the kid a look. “you said so in the case presentation and it’s the indication you gave me. unless you—” “I know I just wanted to validate.” samira and robby don’t say a thing.

your head tilts as you stare at him. eyes sharpen. “student?” you question.

“dr. ogilvie. I’m actually a student doctor,” “I didn’t ask. it was a yes or no.”

that seemed to shut him up pretty quick.

“are you aware that you interrupt, doctor ogilvie?” not even looking at him when you speak as you go back to checking the child. it wasn’t even said as a correction to his introduction moments ago. but rather a bite to his need to have that acknowledgment. you look at him. expectantly. waiting for an answer that has seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“I was just telling you.” it’s a poor attempt to explain.

robby shakes his head, hands behind his neck. lips pressed tightly together. this is why dana was insistent.

“and I’m telling you.” you correct him. your tone hard. no room for arguments.

you look back to the baby, offering a smile to her before dropping it when you turn to those standing off to the side. “she looks good, no obvious source of infection, there’s a possibility of it being benign but since we don't know her history," your eyes find ogilvie's. “let’s get labs done.”

you give your orders as the gloves come off.

“I’ll be back in a few to check in.” you walk around and begin to leave. “and doctor?” you direct to ogilvie, your hand on the handle of the door. the young man turns to you.

“I get wanting to learn, but this isn’t a competition. so few words of advice—considering it is a teaching hospital— learn a thing or two about respect. do not to interrupt when someone is talking to you.”you grit and push at the door. “—even my kids know that.”

it quiet for a minute after you leave, the only noise comes from the small patient as she coos.

“that was dr. park. she's one of our attending pediatricians.” robby starts off slowly, picking up from earlier. his head tipping toward where you just walked out.

the student stands there, looking startled. “she works with kids?"

samira gives a tight lipped smile and robby laughs before he himself walks out. “just you wait.”

—

the med student stared at the man, who was assessing the amputation in front of him. shocked. because that was not the doctor he saw earlier.

“—clean wound. no crush injury. rapid transport time. replantation is a go. I'll book an OR. irrigate the hell out of this with 3 liters."

"3 liters?"

"of saline, genius."

"thanks, shark."

the surgeon walks out but not before giving a side eye— glaring— at the two young men.

"I thought dr. park was a pediatrician?" ogilvie questioned. eyes on robby for clarification.

"dr. park is pediatrics." robby slowly nodded "dr. brendon park, her husband, is orthopedics." the students' eyes widened when he finally caught up to his words.

“there’s two of them?”

—

Typical Park behavior involved three things: looking mildly annoyed and inconvenienced, saying as few words as possible, if any, and leaving immediately after doing the bare minimum, leaving no room for small talk with residents and med students.

He was currently standing beside trauma room 3, reviewing X-rays with Robby, sleeves rolled to his elbows, expression blank as usual. Santos stood to the side, taking notes and trying to learn from the two attendings without getting in the way.

“…fibular head’s intact,” Park said, “tibial plateau’s a mess though.”

Robby nodded. “Think surgery tomorrow?”

“Assuming he stops trying to stand on it, yes,” he stated simply, no smile, not trying to make a joke, as serious as he always was.

Then, the service elevator opened.

You stepped out pushing an empty gurney, coffee balanced beside the paperwork squeezed by your elbow as both your hands held the bar of the gurney.

Trinity noticed the way you caught Park’s attention and she thought back to the first time she met you. You were wheeling a gurney with a body into the elevator while eating a blueberry yogurt. She remembered being confused how you could stomach food in the morgue. And she’ll never forget when you looked at her after she asked you why you didn’t mind “all the death” and you simply responded: “it’s the only thing in life guaranteed, Dr. Santos.”

She shook her head of the memory and went back to analyzing the effect you seemed to be having on the Shark.

Park looked up automatically and smiled. It wasn’t a big grin, just his lips twitching up at the corners as he caught sight of you, which for Park might have been a celebration.

Santos nearly dropped the chart in her hands.

“Hey, corpse bride,” he called casually.

“Hey, butcher.” You glanced over at him without breaking stride. “So kind of them to let you out of surgery.”

Park’s eyes flicked to your coffee. “That your third one today?”

“Fourth. I work with dead people, Brendon. I’m tired,” you gave him a playful frown.

Robby immediately looked down to hide his expression and both men stepped aside to let you maneuver the gurney through the hallway.

“You stealing another patient?” he asked.

“Depends. You all done gawking at him?” You flicked your eyes through the ED.

Robby shrugged, Brendon did the weird lip twitch thing again.

You nodded toward the trauma room behind them as you moved passed them. “Try not to break that one.”

“No promises.” Brendon replied dryly.

Santos stared openly as you disappeared toward the back hallway. Then she whipped around slowly “…what the hell was that?”

Park blinked at her once. “A conversation.”

“No,” Santos said. “No, that was chemistry.”

“It was sarcasm,” Park corrected.

“Sexually charged sarcasm,” she said like it was obvious.

Park looked exhausted already, “I don’t even know why I’m engaging. I’m going back upstairs.” He flipped the chart, passing it back to Robby.

The second he left, Santos rounded on Dana and Robby, “you saw that, right?”

Dana kept typing, “saw what?” She asked flatly.

“The flirting!” Santos nearly shouted, growing frustrated with everyone’s denial.

“I think Dr. Park was discussing orthopedic treatment.” Robby said matter of factly.

Santos pointed aggressively. “Dana. Robby. That man looked at her like she was the prettiest girl in the ED. He nearly smiled. Do you understand that. He made a joke! A JOKE!”

Robby failed to hide a smile behind his coffee cup.

Whitaker looked between the two seasoned ED members, “you guys are being weird.”

“We’re not being weird,” Dana said carefully.

“You’re absolutely being weird,” Santos replied.

Dana and Robby exchanged the briefest glance. The kind shared by people actively withholding information. Santos narrowed her eyes at them immediately.

“Oh my God. You know something.” Trinity said with a glare.

“We know many things,” Robby said vaguely before shoving another chart in her direction and waving her and Whitaker off.

Over the next month, Santos became obsessed, once she noticed it, she started noticing everything. Park somehow always appeared downstairs when you were in the ED.

Never lingering. Never obvious.

But always there: an ortho consult, a pre-op check, a fracture reduction.

And somehow, somewhere in the middle of it, he’d run into you, nearly every single time. And the conversations were always more bizarre than the one before.

One afternoon you walked past while Park was scrubbing blood off his hands at the sink down the hall.

“Busy day?” you asked.

“Teenager launched himself off a roof,” he responded quietly.

“Ouch,” you said with a wince, bringing the straw of your smoothie up to your lips.

“He said he was trying to impress a girl,” he dried his hands and turned to face you.

You nodded solemnly. “Closed head injury then.”

Park huffed a laugh.

And then, without another word, you tilted the straw towards him… and he took a sip. An actual sip from your drink.

Santos clapped a hand over her mouth and nearly fainted from where she was spying around the corner.

Another night, you arrived to pick up a body while Park was waiting for radiology results.

You stopped beside him. “You eat today?”

He answered with a shrug, not even looking up from his chart, “crackers.”

“Those little peanut butter ones?” You asked furrowing your brow.

He nodded in response.

You grimaced. “Jesus. No wonder you surgeons are miserable.”

“Bold statement from the woman who willingly works in a basement full of corpses,” he said with a smirk.

“At least my patients don’t complain,” you smiled as you moved past him, putting your gloves on.

Park’s mouth twitched and Dana physically swiveled her chair in the other direction because she was smiling. Santos caught it instantly.

“YOU KNOW SOMETHING.” She yelled, pointing in her direction.

Dana straightened immediately. “I know lots of things.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Santos said, narrowing her eyes at Dana in suspicion.

“I’m actually excellent at it.” Dana quipped back with a proud smile.

Eventually the residents decided they had to take matters into their own hands and prove it. Because they couldn’t take Dana and Robby gaslighting Santos into thinking she was insane.

“You’re reading into things,” Dana said one morning.

“She called him Brendon,” Whitaker added as they crowded around Dana.

“So?” She said casually.

“NO ONE calls him Brendon,” Santos said, raising her hands in frustration, “not even Robby or Gloria call him Brendon.”

Whitaker looked up from charting. “Actually that’s true. Attendings call him Dr. Park because they’re just as scared of him as the rest of us.”

“He let her steal fries off his plate one time in the cafeteria,” Santos hissed.

“Maybe he wasn’t hungry,” Dana shrugged.

“He looked happy, Dana. He even sipped from her straw once. I saw it. With my own eyes.” Santos said confidently.

Dana made a thoughtful face. “Hm. That is concerning. But you were probably tired, who knows what you saw.”

Trinity nearly screamed out of frustration. Whitaker sighed, “unbelievable.”

So the residents began engineering situations.

“Hey, can someone page ortho?”

“Call the morgue upstairs for a transport.”

“Wow, Park’s here again… coincidence!”

“Maybe if we lock them in a closet they’ll kiss!”

The betting board went wild.

The first few times, you and Park ignored it completely. But the fourth time, Park caught Santos physically trying to shove Whitaker toward you both so he could “observe naturally” is what you think you overheard.

“You people need hobbies,” Park said flatly.

The breaking point came during a particularly brutal overnight shift.

The ED was packed, there were distant groans and whines in the distance of all the people around you having the worst days of their lives. Santos was already emotionally hanging by a thread when you appeared at the desk carrying paperwork.

Park happened to be there reviewing scans with Robby, as he always seemed to be doing when you appeared.

You set your clipboard down beside him. “You forgot your wedding ring in the bathroom this morning,” you placed it gently in front of him.

The entire desk went silent. Park closed his eyes briefly. “…thank you.”

Santos stopped breathing and Whitaker slowly lowered his energy drink. Robby suddenly became very interested in his computer screen. Dana bit the inside of her cheek so hard she nearly lost composure.

Santos was pointing at you dramatically, right where your wedding ring sat on the chain around your neck, which you had never worn on the outside of your clothes before.

You looked around at the silence, “…why does everyone look constipated?”

Santos pointed violently. “WEDDING RING?” She wheezed like she was hyperventilating.

You blinked once and then looked at Park. He looked back at you with the exhausted expression of a man realizing the secret had finally died.

“You left it by the sink,” you clarified weakly, giving a casual shrug, as if that would solve the problem. He calmly slid the ring on his finger and it fit there like that was its home.

Santos looked moments from cardiac arrest. “You’re MARRIED?”

Neither of you answered immediately, just glancing at one another, which was answer enough.

“WHAT?” Victoria suddenly chimed in, making you jump, “ugh. I’m out $60. I had it on sleeping together NOT married.”

“How long?!” Whitaker asked.

Dana finally cracked, laughing into her hand. Robby shook his head. “I told you this would happen eventually.”

Santos spun toward them so fast she almost slipped. “YOU KNEW? I KNEW YOU KNEW SOMETHING,” she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger between the two of them.

“Knew what?” Dana asked, feigning innocence.

“Santos,” Robby said calmly, “you’re making assumptions,” but the smirk he was trying to hide gave him away.

“You were at their wedding, weren’t you?!” Javadi asked accusatorily.

Dead silence.

Dana burst out laughing like she was going to combust if she held it in any longer and Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back a laugh.

Park muttered, “Fantastic.”

You covered the lower half of your face, covering the smile you were wearing, but your eyes gave it away.

Whitaker looked horrified. “YOU GUYS KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME?”

Dana was still laughing. “We were sworn to secrecy!”

“YOU LET US INVESTIGATE THEM FOR WEEKS.”

“To be fair,” Robby said, “it was very entertaining.”

Santos looked betrayed on a spiritual level, “you gaslit me.”

Dana pointed at her. “You called it ‘sexual sarcasm.’ We couldn’t encourage that.”

“Because I WAS RIGHT. AND YOU TWO,” she said turning towards you and your husband.

He was already rolling his eyes, and you were smiling beside him.

”You did this on purpose. This is how you decided to blow it?!” Santos sounded borderline offended as she glared between the two of you and Brendon’s ring.

You simply shrugged, Brendon mumbled something under his breath before turning back to his chart.

“How did you guys meet?” Whitaker pressed.

You shook your head, Brendon’s eyes snapping up, “you already know too much.” He said it firmly, enough for all the residents to go back to being scared of him.

After that, the secret obviously didn’t survive.

Not that you or Park particularly cared.

The ED just slowly adjusted to the fact that the terrifying orthopedic surgeon and the deadpan morgue attendant were disgustingly in love and weirdly domestic.

People noticed Park bringing you coffee during shifts and realized he wasn’t just a manly man with no feelings who fixed bones all day.

There was also you fixing his badge as you caught up in between transports and dropping off food upstairs whenever you got a chance.

There was the fact that he always waited downstairs patiently by the service elevator if your shift ended late.

One night Santos caught the two of you near the ambulance bay taking a break together. You were leaning against Park while he scrolled through his phone one-handed, the other resting automatically at your waist.

Santos sighed dramatically. “I need you both to understand this ruined my life,” she shook her head, “Langdon walked away with almost $700 from this bet. He was literally the only one that got it.”

You looked up. “That feels like you’re redirecting your anger. You lost a bet that you started, might I add.”

“You’re too compatible,” she accused. “It’s upsetting.”

Park nodded thoughtfully, “you should probably lie down before your head starts to hurt. You’ve been thinking way too much.”

Santos groaned.

And Park smiled down at where your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, a real smile this time.