Did You Eat? - Dr. Robby x Female Reader - Part One
Request - Hi! I really like your writing style and enjoyed reading through your whole masterlist. I watched the Pitt recently and I was thinking if you would consider writing about Robby with anemic reader who always forgets to eat sometimes to the point of just dropping from ✨low iron moment ✨, some angst with hurt/comfort and fluff? Thank you 🫶🏻
thank you for being a reader 🫶
Part Two
Masterlist
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There were at least three different ways to get to Radiology without walking through the emergency department. You knew this because you had worked at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for nearly six years, because you had spent the better part of those six years learning every shortcut, stairwell, service elevator and poorly designed hallway in a building that seemed to have been constructed by someone with a personal vendetta against logical navigation, and because approximately eight months ago, when you had started sleeping with the chief attending of the emergency department, you had suddenly developed an inexplicable preference for the one route to Radiology that added almost seven minutes to your morning commute through the hospital.
It was inefficient. It was inconvenient. It was also 6:43 in the morning, you had slept approximately five hours, you were carrying a coffee large enough to qualify as an IV fluid replacement, and you knew Michael Robinavich had been at PTMC since five. So, really, there was no other reasonable choice.
The emergency department was already awake in the particular way hospitals were awake before the rest of the world had properly opened its eyes, fluorescent lights painfully bright against exhausted faces, monitors chirping behind curtains, phones ringing at the desk, wheels rattling against linoleum as someone pushed an empty stretcher down the hall, and somewhere near the ambulance bay a patient was loudly informing anyone willing to listen that he had been waiting for forty-five fucking minutes despite the fact that you distinctly remembered passing him smoking a cigarette outside less than ten minutes ago. You took another drink of coffee and slipped sideways around a transport tech pushing a wheelchair.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Radiology’s the other way.”
“Fuck off, Donny.”
He laughed without looking back. Apparently, you weren’t nearly as subtle as you believed yourself to be. You spotted Robby before he saw you.
He was standing at the central desk with one hip against the counter, scrub top slightly wrinkled, stethoscope hanging around his neck, glasses sitting low enough on his nose that you knew he had been reading something for too long, and a paper coffee cup abandoned beside his elbow that had probably been poured sometime during the previous presidential administration judging by the fact that he wasn’t touching it. His hair was already doing that thing where the front had been pushed backward too many times by his own hand, and there were tired shadows beneath his eyes that had become so permanently familiar you sometimes wondered whether you would recognize him if he ever slept eight consecutive hours. Probably not.
He was listening to Langdon say something while scrolling through a chart, his expression somewhere between concentration and irritation, which was admittedly where Robby lived approximately seventy percent of his professional life.
“No,” he said flatly.
Langdon stared at him. “I haven’t even finished.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“That seems unfair.”
“I’ve worked with you for years. I know where your sentences are going.”
“You do not.”
“You want to switch your Saturday.”
Langdon paused. Robby finally looked up from the computer.
Langdon pointed at him. “That’s fucking creepy.”
“That’s experience.”
“I have tickets.”
“I don’t care.”
“They’re good tickets.”
“I still don’t care.”
“Pirates.”
“Frank.”
“Behind home plate.”
“Frank.”
“I’ll buy you dinner.”
“You already owe me dinner.”
“I’ll buy you a better dinner.”
Robby sighed, rubbing two fingers beneath his glasses, and that was when his gaze drifted absently past Langdon’s shoulder and landed on you. The change was small. So small you probably wouldn’t have noticed it eight months ago.
His shoulders dropped maybe half an inch. The irritation around his mouth softened. And something warm appeared behind tired brown eyes. You smiled over the rim of your coffee. Langdon followed Robby’s gaze, saw you standing there and immediately groaned.
“Oh, thank God.”
Robby glanced at him. “Why are you thanking God?”
“Because you like her.”
“I tolerate her.”
“You voluntarily spend time with her.”
“She has cable.”
You started walking toward them. “I don’t have cable.”
Robby’s mouth twitched.
Langdon pointed between the two of you. “Whatever this is, use it to convince him to take my Saturday.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You don’t even know why.”
“I heard Pirates tickets.”
“Behind home plate.”
“I don’t care.”
Langdon looked genuinely wounded. “Nobody in this hospital respects me.”
Robby returned his attention to the computer. “There are probably several reasons for that.”
“Good morning to you too, sweetheart,” you said.
That got his attention again. His eyes moved over you slowly, not sexually exactly, although there was enough familiarity in the look to remind you that the man currently standing beneath aggressively unflattering hospital lighting had been naked in your bed two nights ago, but more like he was taking inventory.
Hair. Face. Scrubs. Coffee. You.
His gaze stopped on the coffee. Then returned to your face.
“Morning.”
You stepped around the desk until you were standing beside him. “That’s all I get?”
“You’re at work.”
“So are you.”
“Exactly.”
You stared at him. Robby stared back. Langdon looked between you both.
“I’m going to leave before this becomes foreplay.”
“Please do,” Robby said.
Langdon grabbed a chart from the counter. “Saturday’s still on the table.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Think about it.”
“I won’t.”
“Ask your girlfriend.”
“She doesn’t make my schedule.”
You lifted one shoulder. “I could.”
Robby turned his head slowly toward you. You smiled.
Langdon pointed at you. “I like her.”
“Go away, Frank.”
He did, still laughing under his breath, and Robby waited until he was several feet down the hall before turning fully toward you.
“You know Radiology isn’t this way.”
There it was.
You widened your eyes innocently. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“You’ve worked here six years.”
“I have.”
“And somehow you still get lost every morning I’m here.”
“It’s a confusing building.”
“It’s a straight hallway.”
“There are turns.”
“There are no turns.”
“There could be.”
Robby looked at you over the top of his glasses. You took another drink of coffee.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said.
“I’m actually an excellent liar.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You have no evidence of that.”
“I have eight months of evidence.”
“That’s hurtful.”
“It’s accurate.”
You smiled despite yourself, stepping a little closer until your shoulder brushed his arm. “Maybe I wanted to see you.”
His expression softened again. There. That tiny shift. It was one of the things you had learned about Robby slowly, because nothing important about him came easily. He could be funny without meaning to be, affectionate without touching you, worried without saying the word, and exhausted in ways he had long ago stopped acknowledging. Loving Michael Robinavich required learning a language composed mostly of pauses, glances, dry comments and hands that somehow always found the small of your back in crowded rooms. He looked down at you.
“You could’ve texted.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Robby pulled his phone from his scrub pocket, looked at the screen and frowned.
“You have seventeen unread messages,” you said.
“I’ve been busy.”
“It’s six forty-five.”
“People don’t schedule emergencies around my convenience.”
“They should.”
“I’ll bring it up at the next staff meeting.”
“You should.”
He slipped the phone back into his pocket without reading anything.
“You sleep okay?”
The question was casual. His voice wasn’t.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
“At your place?”
“Yes, Michael.”
His eyes narrowed slightly at the use of his first name.
“You hate my mattress.”
“I don’t hate your mattress.”
“You called it a medieval torture device.”
“It’s very firm.”
“It’s orthopedic.”
“It’s concrete with a fitted sheet.”
“It cost three thousand dollars.”
“You got ripped off.”
Robby gave you a tired look. “I slept on a couch for half of residency. Forgive me for not developing sophisticated mattress preferences.”
“You could sleep standing up.”
“I have.”
“I know.”
His mouth twitched again, but then he looked down at the counter, fingertips tapping once against the edge before he said, quieter, “Missed you last night.”
The teasing disappeared from your face. It wasn’t that Robby never said things like that. He did. Sometimes. Usually in bed, late at night, when the room was dark enough that he didn’t have to watch you react to whatever vulnerable thing had accidentally escaped him.
But not usually here. Not under fluorescent lights with thirty people moving around you and someone vomiting loudly behind Curtain Four. You studied him.
“You missed me?”
“Don’t make me regret saying it.”
“I’m just clarifying.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, no.” You caught lightly at the sleeve of his scrub top before he could turn away. “Come back.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Emotionally, you just left the building.”
“I’m working.”
“You told me you missed me.”
“I made a mistake.”
You laughed softly, and Robby finally looked at you again. There was something almost sheepish beneath the exhaustion. You lowered your voice.
“I missed you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He watched you for another second.
“I got home around one.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You texted me.”
“I did?”
“At one seventeen. You said, and I quote, ‘Home. Shower. Dead.’”
“That sounds like me.”
“You’re very romantic.”
“I was tired.”
“You’re always tired.”
“That’s because I work here.”
“So do I.”
“You occasionally escape.”
“You could occasionally escape.”
“I’m the chief attending.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Robby leaned slightly closer. “You’re very mouthy before seven in the morning.”
“You like me mouthy.”
His eyebrows lifted. You realized exactly how that had sounded approximately half a second too late. Robby’s gaze changed.
“Oh, fuck off,” you muttered.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I genuinely didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is innocent.”
“Your face has never been innocent.”
His eyes moved briefly to your mouth. It was quick. Barely noticeable. But you noticed.
“You coming home with me tonight?” he asked.
There was something about the question that made your stomach warm.
Not coming over.
Not staying at my place.
Home.
Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and was pretending he hadn’t. That was the strange, quiet territory the two of you had drifted into lately, somewhere between dating and something more settled, your shampoo appearing permanently in his shower, his favorite coffee somehow always stocked in your kitchen, a drawer at his place that had gradually become two drawers and then half a closet without either of you acknowledging the territorial expansion. There was a phone charger beside his bed that belonged exclusively to you. Your moisturizer sat beside his shaving cream. He had dog-eared a book on his nightstand because you were halfway through reading it and kept forgetting to take it home.
You didn’t live together. Technically. But the technicalities were getting increasingly stupid. You smiled.
“I’ll come home with you tonight.”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“Promise?”
The word surprised you. Maybe him too. Your smile softened.
“Promise.”
Robby nodded once.
“Okay.”
“That sounded suspiciously pleased.”
“I’m indifferent.”
“Obviously.”
“I may not even be there.”
“You just invited me.”
“Plans change.”
“Asshole.”
“Menace.”
You smiled, and for one brief second his hand settled against your hip, hidden mostly by the counter between you, his thumb pressing once through the fabric of your scrub top. Nothing dramatic. Nothing anyone would notice.
Just Robby. Just you.
Then a nurse called his name from across the department.
“Dr. Robby?”
He looked over.
“EMS is three minutes out. Fifty-eight-year-old male, chest pain, hypotensive, possible inferior STEMI.”
And just like that, the softness disappeared behind the physician.
“I’m coming.”
He turned back toward you, already reaching for his stethoscope.
“Go.”
“I’m going.”
“You’re going to be late.”
“I have four minutes.”
“You’re seven minutes from Radiology.”
“Only because I took the scenic route.”
“You took the wrong route.”
“Debatable.”
You started backing away. Robby watched you. Then his eyes dropped to the coffee in your hand. He frowned.
“Wait.”
You stopped. There was a very specific tone Robby used when he had just noticed something. You knew that tone. You hated that tone.
“What?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Did you eat?”
You blinked. There it was. The fucking question. You looked down at your coffee as though it might offer legal counsel. Robby waited. You looked back at him.
“Good talk.”
You turned.
“Hey.”
You stopped again with a sigh.
“Robby.”
“Did you eat?”
“I’m going to be late.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I have to clock in.”
“Also not an answer.”
You glanced toward the hallway. He stepped around the desk.
“Oh my God.”
“What did you eat?”
“I’m thirty-six years old.”
“Congratulations.”
“I don’t need you checking whether I ate breakfast.”
“Then answer the question and I’ll stop checking.”
You stared at him. Robby stared back. The problem with dating a physician was that physicians were annoyingly observant when it suited them. The bigger problem with dating this physician was that he already knew the answer. You attempted casual.
“I had coffee.”
His expression went completely blank. You immediately regretted your strategy
“That’s not food.”
“It has calories.”
“So does bourbon. I wouldn’t recommend that for breakfast either.”
“There’s milk in it.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Oat milk.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
“It absolutely does not.”
“What did you eat?”
“I’m going to eat.”
“When?”
“When I get upstairs.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
“What is something?”
“Food, generally.”
He closed his eyes for one long second. You smiled.
“Don’t.” Robby warned.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Where you think being cute is going to make me forget you’re full of shit.”
Your smile widened. “You think I’m cute?”
Robby opened his eyes.
“You’re exhausting.”
“And yet you missed me.”
“I take it back.”
“Too late.”
Behind him, the ambulance bay doors opened and the department shifted immediately into motion. Robby glanced over his shoulder. You knew he had to go. He knew he had to go.
But when he looked back at you, the concern was still there. Not dramatic. Not yet. Just familiar. Because this wasn’t a new conversation between you.
You had been anemic for years. Not the kind that kept you permanently sick or unable to work, not something that defined your life, just chronic enough that you were supposed to pay attention to it and stubborn enough that sometimes you didn’t. You took iron when you remembered. You tried to eat properly when your schedule allowed. You knew the warning signs well enough to recognize them and had become far too comfortable dismissing them anyway.
The fatigue. The cold hands. The headaches. The occasional rush of dizziness when you stood too quickly after crouching beside a patient.
You knew your body. At least that was what you always told Robby. Robby’s counterargument was usually that knowing your body meant absolutely nothing if you routinely ignored everything it was trying to tell you. He pointed at you.
“Eat.”
You rolled your eyes.
“I mean it.”
“Yes, Dad.”
His entire face changed.
“Don’t ever fucking call me that again.”
You burst out laughing.
“I’m serious.”
“You should’ve seen your face.”
“That was deeply upsetting.”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
You were laughing hard enough now that a passing nurse looked between the two of you with open curiosity. Robby shook his head, already turning toward the incoming stretcher.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Currently evaluating.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Eat something.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
You started down the hall.
“Hey.”
You turned one last time. Robby was several feet away now, walking backward toward the trauma bays while pulling gloves from a box. He looked exhausted. He looked irritated. He looked like he had already worked ten hours despite the sun barely being up. And somehow, even with an ambulance crew rolling a critically ill patient through the doors behind him, his eyes found yours.
“Tonight,” he said.
You smiled.
“Tonight.”
Then he disappeared behind the curtain. You stood there for half a second longer than necessary before turning toward the elevators, warmth still sitting somewhere beneath your ribs. You would go home with him tonight. Maybe you would pick something up for dinner on the way. Maybe you would finally finish the movie the two of you had started three separate times and never managed to stay awake through.
Maybe you would tease him about missing you until he threatened to revoke your key. Maybe you would leave another piece of yourself at his apartment without either of you acknowledging that, slowly and quietly, you were beginning to leave more things there than you took home.
The elevator doors opened. You stepped inside and pressed the button for Radiology. Your stomach growled. You looked down at your coffee.
“Yeah, yeah.”
You’d eat when you got upstairs. Except when the elevator doors opened, one of the other technologists was already waiting for you.
“Thank fuck. There you are.”
You stepped out.
“That sounds promising.”
“CT is backed up, Mike called out, we’ve got six portables waiting, and apparently every person in Pittsburgh decided today was a good day to aspirate something.”
You sighed.
“Fantastic.”
“You eat yet?”
You walked past her toward the locker room.
“Why is everybody so fucking interested in my breakfast?”
She followed you.
“That means no.”
“It means mind your business.”
“Your boyfriend ask too?”
You opened your locker.
“He interrogated me.”
“Because he has eyes.”
“I had coffee.”
“That’s not breakfast.”
“You and Robby should start a support group.”
“We already have one. It’s called People Tired of Watching You Forget Basic Human Maintenance.”
You shoved your bag into the locker.
“Catchy.”
“We’re getting shirts.”
“Make mine a medium.”
“You’re not invited.”
You laughed, pulled your badge into place and closed the locker door.
“Okay. What’s first?”
She handed you a list.
“Portables.”
You looked at the page. Six had become eight.
“Jesus.”
“Welcome to Thursday.”
You grabbed the portable unit and started toward the hall. Behind you, your untouched protein bar sat exactly where you had tossed it inside your locker. Your stomach growled again. You ignored it. You’d eat after the first few patients. You always did. Or at least, you always meant to.
******
By ten thirty in the morning, you had stopped being hungry. That was usually how it happened. There was a window somewhere between the first growl of your stomach and the point when your body apparently decided food was no longer coming and simply gave up asking for it, and once you crossed that invisible line, eating became something you remembered you were supposed to do rather than something you actually wanted to do. It was a terrible habit, one you had been lectured about by your primary care physician, your mother, several coworkers, and most recently the deeply irritating emergency medicine attending you had made the questionable decision to fall in love with, but hospital work had a way of turning basic human needs into vague suggestions. You could need to pee for two hours and forget about it until you happened to pass a bathroom. You could be thirsty until someone mentioned water. You could carry a granola bar in your scrub pocket for an entire twelve-hour shift and somehow never find the thirty seconds required to open the fucking wrapper.
Today was worse than usual. Mike calling out had left Radiology short, CT had never recovered from the morning backlog, one of the portable units had developed an intermittent error that required you to smack the side of it with significantly more violence than the manufacturer probably recommended, and by nine fifteen you had already been to the ICU twice, the orthopedic floor three times, and the ED enough times that one of the nurses downstairs had started greeting you with, “Welcome home.”
At nine forty, you had gone back to your locker with every intention of eating the protein bar inside. Then CT called. At ten twelve, you remembered again. Then a stroke alert came through. At ten thirty-seven, your coworker Melissa found you standing in front of the workstation staring at the same image for considerably longer than necessary.
“You alive?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“I asked if you were alive.”
“I’m standing.”
“That was not my question.”
You looked at the chest film on the monitor. Something felt slightly off. Not wrong. Just off.
Like your brain was operating half a second behind everything happening around you. You blinked again and leaned closer to the screen.
“What are you doing?” Melissa asked.
“Looking.”
“You’ve been looking at that same portable chest for, like, two minutes.”
“I’m admiring my work.”
“It’s a chest X-ray.”
“And?”
“It’s not the fucking Mona Lisa.”
“You don’t appreciate art.”
“I appreciate lunch.”
“Good for you.”
Melissa crossed her arms. You could feel her looking at you. You ignored her.
“You look like shit.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean more than usual.”
“Again, thank you.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m always pale.”
“No, you’re white.”
“That is generally how ethnicity works.”
“Jesus Christ.”
You clicked through the images. Melissa stepped closer.
“Did you eat?”
You stopped. Slowly, you turned your head toward her.
“Is there a fucking group chat?”
“What?”
“Did Robby start a group chat?”
“Why would Dr. Robby start a group chat?”
“To coordinate surveillance.”
Melissa stared at you.
“You’re weird.”
“I’m being harassed.”
“You’re being asked if you ate breakfast.”
“Repeatedly.”
“Which means you didn’t.”
You turned back to the monitor.
“I’m going to.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“God, you sound like him.”
“Maybe because he’s right.”
“Don’t ever tell him that.”
“I’m absolutely telling him that.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You don’t even have his number.”
“I can get it.”
“You’re threatening to contact my boyfriend because I skipped breakfast?”
“I’m threatening to contact your boyfriend because apparently he’s the only person you’re mildly afraid of.”
You laughed.
“I’m not afraid of Robby.”
Melissa gave you a look.
“You become significantly more cooperative when he takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose.”
“That’s because it means I’m about three seconds away from hearing a lecture.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not fear. That’s self-preservation.”
Melissa shook her head.
“Go eat.”
“I have patients.”
“So do I.”
“We’re short.”
“We’ll survive ten minutes.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“You mentioned that.”
“You’re also doing that thing.”
You frowned.
“What thing?”
“Rubbing your hand.”
You looked down. Without realizing it, you had tucked your left hand beneath your right arm, rubbing your fingers against the warmth of your scrub top. They were cold. Really cold. You pulled your hand away.
“The hospital is freezing.”
“It’s seventy-two degrees.”
“That’s freezing.”
“You bitch when your apartment gets below seventy.”
“Exactly.”
Melissa stared at you another moment.
“Go eat.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I have to take this portable upstairs.”
“I’ll take it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“It’s an X-ray, not a fucking puppy.”
You grabbed the requisition from the printer.
“I’m fine.”
Melissa sighed. There it was. The phrase you had already said approximately twelve times that morning. You were fine. And technically, you were. You weren’t sick. You weren’t injured. You weren’t dying. You were tired. Everybody in the building was tired.
Your hands were cold. Your hands were always cold. You had a slight headache beginning behind your eyes, but you had been staring at screens beneath fluorescent lighting since before seven in the morning. You hadn’t eaten, but neither had half the hospital. Nothing happening inside your body was particularly unusual.
That was the problem. You were accustomed to feeling slightly shitty. You had been anemic long enough that symptoms rarely announced themselves dramatically. They accumulated quietly, one small inconvenience at a time, until you realized you had been compensating for something for hours.
Cold hands. Fatigue. A headache. A little breathless after pushing equipment too quickly down a hallway. Standing up and seeing stars. None of it felt alarming individually. And because none of it felt alarming, you had become very good at ignoring all of it collectively.
You grabbed the portable unit. Melissa called after you.
“Eat when you get back.”
You lifted one hand without turning around.
“Yes, Mom.”
“I’m serious.”
“So is my boyfriend.”
“He’s smarter than you.”
You stopped walking. Turned around. Pointed at her.
“Watch yourself.”
She grinned. You continued down the hallway. The headache worsened around eleven fifteen. Not dramatically. Just enough that you became aware of it every time you moved your eyes too quickly. You took two ibuprofen from the bottle someone kept in the staff room, swallowed them with three mouthfuls of water and considered that adequate healthcare.
At eleven forty-two, you crouched beside an elderly woman’s bed to adjust the detector behind her back.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” you said gently. “I know this isn’t comfortable. Just lean forward for me a little bit.”
The woman groaned.
“I’m ninety-one.”
“I know.”
“I’ve earned the right not to do this shit anymore.”
You smiled.
“Honestly? Fair.”
Her daughter laughed from the chair beside the bed. The woman pointed one thin finger at you.
“You tell the doctor I’m done.”
“I’ll put it in the official report.”
“Put it in bold.”
“Absolutely.”
You positioned the detector.
“Okay. Deep breath for me.”
You stepped back. Took the image. Checked it. Perfect.
“Beautiful.”
“I haven’t been beautiful since 1978.”
“I was talking about the X-ray.”
The woman stared at you. You smiled. Her daughter burst out laughing.
“Smartass,” the woman muttered.
“I’ve been called worse.”
You moved back toward the bed and crouched again to remove the detector. Everything was fine until you stood. The world tilted. Not spun. Tilted.
Like the floor had suddenly shifted several inches beneath your feet. Your vision darkened at the edges. You stopped breathing. Your hand found the bed rail automatically. You stayed perfectly still.
One second. Two. Three.
The room returned. You blinked. The daughter was looking at you.
“You okay?”
You straightened slowly.
“Yes.”
“You looked dizzy.”
“Stood up too fast.”
You smiled. Easy. Normal. Nothing to worry about. The woman in the bed narrowed her eyes.
“You’re pale.”
You almost laughed.
“Apparently everyone’s decided to tell me that today.”
“You should listen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You eat breakfast?”
You stared at her. She stared back. Her daughter covered her mouth. You pointed at the woman.
“You’ve been talking to my boyfriend.”
“I don’t know your boyfriend.”
“He’d love you.”
“Is he handsome?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Doctor?”
You hesitated.
“Yes.”
She made a face.
“Doctors are trouble.”
You laughed.
“You have no idea.”
You packed your equipment. The dizziness was gone. Completely. See? Fine.
You pushed the portable back into the hall. By twelve fifteen, you had forgotten about it. By twelve forty, you had missed lunch. Not intentionally. You had actually walked into the break room. You had opened your locker. You had taken out the protein bar. You had even ripped open the wrapper. Then someone stuck their head through the doorway.
“We need a tech in CT now.”
You looked at the protein bar. Then at the door.
“How now is now?”
“Stroke.”
“Fuck.”
You shoved the bar into your scrub pocket.
“I’m coming.”
Forty minutes later, it was still there. At one twenty-eight, you finally remembered it while walking toward the ED for another portable. You reached into your pocket. Your fingers closed around the wrapper. You could eat it while walking. That was reasonable. You pulled it halfway out.
“Radiology!”
Someone shouted from behind you. You stopped. A nurse jogged toward you.
“Please tell me you’re going downstairs.”
“I am.”
“Can you grab Eleven after your current one? They just put in a chest.”
You shoved the protein bar back into your pocket.
“Sure.”
“You’re my favorite person.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ll say it again if you do Twelve too.”
“Buy me dinner first.”
“Deal.”
You continued toward the elevator. When the doors opened on the emergency department floor, the noise hit you immediately. The ED had deteriorated significantly since morning.
Every bed appeared full. Several stretchers lined the hallway. The waiting room was overflowing. A trauma alert had apparently come in recently because there were bloody footprints near one of the bays and someone was shouting for more gauze. You exhaled slowly.
“Jesus.”
You pushed the portable into the department. Dana saw you first.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Seven needs a chest.”
“That’s where I’m headed.”
“Then Eleven.”
“I know.”
“And Twelve.”
“I know.”
“And probably Fourteen.”
“Dana.”
She smiled.
“Welcome to hell.”
“I work in a basement. I’m familiar.”
You pushed past the desk. That was when the headache pulsed sharply behind your eyes. You winced. Stopped for half a second. Then continued.
Room Seven was straightforward. Sixty-eight-year-old male. Shortness of breath. Possible pneumonia. You introduced yourself, positioned the detector, took the image. You crouched to retrieve the plate. Fine. You stood. Not fine.
The darkness came faster this time. Your hand shot out. Hit the wall. Hard. You closed your eyes.
“Miss?”
You heard the patient. You couldn’t answer immediately. Your ears filled with a strange rushing sound. You swallowed. Breathed through your nose.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The sensation passed. You opened your eyes. The patient was watching you.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.”
Your voice sounded normal. Good. You smiled.
“Just stood up too fast.”
“You people work too hard.”
“You have no idea.”
You pulled the detector free. Your heart was beating harder than it should have been. Not fast exactly. Just heavy. You could feel each beat in your chest. You pushed the machine back into the hallway. You should eat. The thought appeared clearly. Finally. You should eat now. Not later. Now. You reached into your pocket for the protein bar.
“Hey.”
You froze. You knew that voice. Slowly, you looked up. Robby was standing approximately fifteen feet away. Of course he was. Because apparently the universe had decided you required supervision. He was standing outside one of the trauma bays, gloves in one hand, glasses pushed up into his hair, speaking to a resident when he noticed you.
His sentence stopped. His eyes narrowed. Fuck. You smiled. Bad decision. Robby handed the gloves to the resident without looking away from you.
“I’ll be right back.”
The resident looked confused. Robby was already walking toward you. You considered fleeing. Unfortunately, pushing a five-hundred-pound portable X-ray machine made fleeing difficult.
“Hi,” you said brightly.
Robby stopped in front of you. His expression changed almost immediately.
“What?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes moved over your face.
“You look like shit.”
You stared at him.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Romance is alive.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You really know how to make a woman feel special.”
Robby stepped closer.
“Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“No, you’re performing. Stop.”
That shut you up. His voice wasn’t harsh. It was quiet. Clinical. You hated when he used that tone on you. You looked at him properly. Robby studied your face. His hand came up and touched the side of your neck. Not romantic. Assessing. His fingers were warm. Yours were freezing.
“You’re pale.”
“So I’ve been informed by approximately twelve people.”
“More than usual.”
“That’s also been mentioned.”
His thumb shifted slightly beneath your jaw.
“You dizzy?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly. Robby’s eyes narrowed. You sighed.
“Not currently.”
His hand dropped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said.”
“When were you dizzy?”
“I stood up too fast.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“How much earlier?”
“I don’t know.”
“An hour?”
“Maybe.”
“Once?”
You looked away. Robby went still.
“Hey.”
You looked back.
“How many times?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“How many?”
“Twice.”
His jaw tightened.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”
“To who?”
“To fucking anybody.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Robby.”
“When did you eat?”
There it was again. You glanced toward the portable. He followed your eyes. Then looked back at you.
“When?”
“I’m literally about to.”
“What did you eat after you left me this morning?”
Silence. His face changed.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So have I. I managed half a sandwich.”
“Congratulations.”
“That wasn’t a fucking accomplishment.”
“Then why are you bragging?”
“I’m not bragging.”
“You sound like you’re bragging.”
“I’m trying very hard not to lose my patience with you.”
“Then maybe go back to your patient.”
“Maybe answer the question.”
“I had—”
You stopped. Robby waited. You searched mentally. Coffee. Water. Ibuprofen. Technically oat milk.
Fuck.
His expression told you he had watched the entire calculation happen behind your eyes.
“You haven’t eaten anything.”
“I was going to.”
“It’s one thirty.”
“I know what time it is.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because apparently you’ve forgotten several other basic concepts today.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“You’re doing the doctor voice.”
“I am a doctor.”
“You’re not my doctor.”
“No, I’m your boyfriend who apparently has to remind you that humans require fucking food.”
You glanced around. A nurse walking past suddenly became very interested in something across the department.
“Can you lower your voice?”
“I’m not yelling.”
“You’re doing that quiet yelling thing.”
“I don’t quite yell.”
“You absolutely quiet yell.”
Robby closed his eyes briefly. There. The glasses were already in his hair. Now the bridge of the nose. Melissa was right. You were fucked. He pinched between his eyes.
“Do you have anything with you?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
You pulled the protein bar from your pocket. Still unopened. Robby stared at it. Then stared at you. You held it up.
“See?”
“That is not helping your argument.”
“I was literally about to eat it.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“You’ve been carrying it around all day, haven’t you?”
“No.”
He looked at you. You sighed.
“Since lunch.”
“You missed lunch.”
“I was busy.”
“Stop saying that like it changes anything.”
“It explains it.”
“It doesn’t excuse it.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“You have chronic anemia.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?”
That irritated you.
“Yes, Michael. I am aware of my own medical history.”
“Then act like it.”
You stared at him. He stared back. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The emergency department moved around you. Phones. Monitors. Voices. Someone crying behind a curtain. Someone calling for respiratory. You could see the tension in Robby’s jaw.
You knew where it came from. Fear disguised as irritation. It was one of his favorite tricks. You softened slightly
“I’m okay.”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“You’re pale, you’re dizzy, you haven’t eaten, and your hands are freezing.”
You frowned.
“You haven’t touched my hands.”
Robby reached down. Took one. His fingers closed around yours. He stared at you. You stared back.
“Okay,” you said. “That was unnecessary.”
“You’re freezing.”
“The hospital is cold.”
“It’s not that cold.”
“I’m always cold.”
“Because you’re fucking anemic.”
“Which we already established.”
“And because you haven’t eaten.”
“I’m going to eat.”
“When?”
You lifted the protein bar.
“Now.”
“Open it.”
You stared at him. He stared back
“You cannot be serious.”
“Open it.”
“You’re standing here waiting for me to open a protein bar?”
“Yes.”
“Robby.”
“Open the fucking protein bar.”
You ripped the wrapper open dramatically.
“There.”
“Eat it.”
“Oh my God.”
“Take a bite.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“Take. A. Bite.”
You took the largest, most aggressive bite possible. Chewed. Stared directly into his eyes. Robby looked unimpressed. You swallowed.
“Happy?”
“Thrilled.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You missed me last night.”
“Momentary lapse in judgment.”
You smiled despite yourself. He didn’t. Not completely. His thumb moved once across your knuckles.
“You really dizzy?”
The question was quieter now. You shook your head.
“Not now.”
“Headache?”
You hesitated. His eyes narrowed.
“A little.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Short of breath?”
“No.”
“Palpitations?”
“No.”
“Chest pain?”
“Jesus, no.”
“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me. I’m asking.”
“I know.”
“When was your last hemoglobin?”
“Couple months ago.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Bullshit.”
“Ten-point-something.”
His face tightened.
“It’s usually around there.”
“That doesn’t make it normal.”
“It makes it normal for me.”
“No. It makes it your baseline. Those are different things.”
You sighed.
“I know.”
“You taking your iron?”
Another hesitation. Robby’s face went flat.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“I take it.”
“When?”
“When I remember.”
“That isn’t taking it.”
“It upsets my stomach.”
“Then take it with food.”
“I forget to eat.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
You laughed. He did not.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You scared me just looking at you.”
That stopped you. The irritation left his voice completely. He looked tired suddenly. Not physician tired. Robby tired. The kind you knew better than most people did. His hand was still around yours. You squeezed his fingers.
“I’m okay.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I am.”
“You almost passed out?”
“I did not almost pass out.”
“You got dizzy twice.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Did your vision go dark?”
You said nothing. His jaw tightened.
“Did it?”
“A little.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“But it passed.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It happens sometimes.”
“That is also not reassuring.”
“Robby.”
He looked at you. You stepped closer.
“I know my body.”
His expression changed immediately.
“Oh, I fucking hate when you say that.”
“Why?”
“Because you say it every time you’re about to make a stupid decision.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is absolutely true.”
“I know when something is actually wrong.”
“You know when something is wrong. You just decide whether it’s inconvenient enough to acknowledge.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Annoyingly accurate. Robby nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Don’t look smug.”
“I’m not smug.”
“You’re smug.”
“I’m concerned.”
“You look smug when you’re concerned.”
“I have one face.”
“You have many faces.”
“I really don’t.”
“You do.”
He shook his head. Then his gaze dropped to the protein bar.
“Finish that.”
“I have two more patients.”
“Finish it while you walk.”
“That feels medically irresponsible.”
“So does passing out in Radiology.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
“Good.”
“I’m not.”
“Then eat.”
You took another bite. Robby watched.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m enjoying being right.”
“That’s worse.”
“Probably.”
A voice came sharply from across the department.
“Robby!”
He turned. A resident was standing outside Trauma Two.
“We need you.”
Robby looked toward them. Then back at you. You could actually see the conflict.
Work. You. Work. You touched his arm.
“Go.”
He didn’t move.
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I’ m stable.”
“That’s marginally better.”
“Go.”
He looked at the protein bar. You took another bite.
“See?”
His eyes returned to your face.
“Eat the whole thing.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“And drink water.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“And after these patients, sit down for ten minutes.”
You smiled.
“Yes, Dad.”
Robby’s face went blank. You laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I couldn’t resist.”
“That joke needs to die.”
“It’s never dying.”
“Robby!”
He looked over his shoulder again.
“Coming.”
Then back to you. His hand briefly touched your waist.
“You call me if you get dizzy again.”
“I will.”
“No.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“No bullshit answer. Look at me.”
You did.
“If it happens again, you call me.”
There was something in his voice that made you stop teasing. You nodded.
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
The word again. The same one from this morning. You softened
“Promise.”
Robby studied you for another second. Then nodded.
“Tonight.”
You smiled.
“Tonight.”
He turned and walked quickly toward the trauma bay. You watched him disappear behind the curtain. Then looked down at the protein bar in your hand. You took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
See? Problem solved. You pushed the portable toward Eleven. You finished almost half the protein bar before a nurse stopped you to ask about another image. Then you tucked it back into your pocket. You forgot about it again.
At two fifteen, you were back upstairs. At two thirty-seven, you realized the ibuprofen had done absolutely nothing for your headache. At two fifty, you stood from a chair too quickly and had to grab the edge of the desk.
This time, nobody saw. You stayed still. Waited. The rushing sound filled your ears. Your heart thudded.
Once. Twice. Hard.
You breathed slowly. The darkness retreated.
“Fuck.”
You looked around. Nobody had noticed. Good. You remembered Robby’s voice.
If it happens again, you call me.
You reached into your scrub pocket. Pulled out your phone. Looked at his name. Your thumb hovered over it. Then someone shouted from CT.
“We need help in here!”
You closed your eyes. Just for a second. You put the phone back into your pocket. You’d call him after. You’d eat after. You’d sit down after. You would take care of yourself after you got through the next patient.
It was always after. And for the first time that day, when you started walking toward CT, the floor didn’t feel completely steady beneath your feet.
******
For about forty-five minutes, you convinced yourself you were feeling better. It was almost impressive. The headache was still there, but it had dulled from a sharp pressure behind your eyes into something more diffuse, the sort of miserable background ache you could work through if you stopped thinking about it. The dizziness had passed. Mostly. Your hands were still cold, but your hands were always cold, and the protein bar in your pocket had technically been opened, which in your mind apparently counted as evidence of responsible nutritional behavior even though you had eaten less than half of it.
You drank some water. Not enough. You sat down once. For maybe three minutes. You even found yourself feeling slightly smug about the entire thing.
Robby had worried. You had been fine. You had eaten. Nothing terrible had happened. See?
You knew your body. That thought would become deeply irritating in retrospect. At three seventeen, Melissa found you in the control room staring at a CT study.
“You look worse.”
You didn’t turn around.
“Hello to you too.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’ve all become very repetitive today.”
“You’re sweating.”
That made you look at her.
“I’m not sweating.”
Melissa pointed at your forehead. You lifted a hand. Your skin was damp. That was odd. The department wasn’t warm. If anything, you had spent most of the day complaining that it was too cold. You wiped your forehead with the back of your wrist.
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
“I’m warm now.”
“That’s your medical assessment?”
“Yes.”
“Brilliant.”
You turned back to the monitor. Melissa did not leave. You could feel her behind you.
“What?”
“You’re breathing weird.”
“I’m breathing.”
“Congratulations.”
You sighed.
“I’m fine.”
“God, I hate that sentence.”
“So does Robby.”
“Then maybe everybody but you is onto something.”
You leaned back slightly in the chair. The movement made something inside your head shift. Not dizziness exactly. A brief swimming sensation. You waited for it to pass. It did. Melissa saw your face.
“There.”
“What?”
“That.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You just stopped moving.”
“I was thinking.”
“You don’t usually look like you’re about to throw up when you think.”
“I do depending on the topic.”
“Stand up.”
You looked at her.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s weird.”
“I want to see if you get dizzy.”
“You are not conducting neurological field testing on me in CT.”
“Stand up.”
“No.”
“Then I’m calling Robby.”
Part Two Coming Soon
