BOZO

He's making casual conversation with an older man in one of the rooms. At a rare day in the ED, transitioning patients to their respective departments above the usual chaotic floor of the Emergency Room was going smoothly--patients waited at three hours minimun to get seen, and Gloria wasn't up his ass for anything she can think under the sun.

"My sweet Jenny was a nurse. She loved her job, used to patch me up real good better than any doctor--no offense, Doc," his patient says with a laugh. Robby chuckles but keeps his hands steady, continuing his sutures. "None taken."

"My wife's the only one I trust around here," boasting wasn't Robby's thing but thinking about you always puts a little puff in his chest.

"Oh don't listen to my husband, Mr. Danvers. He'd be a chimney the way he blows so much smoke up my ass," your voice claims the small room. Robby stills in his seat, blushing all shades of red. His patient lets out a huge belly laugh.

"She's a firecracker, Doc. Don't lose her."

Jack

A rowdy group of hockey fans got into a bar fight, resulting in multiple minor injuries--mostly cuts and bruises.

'The Pens suck!'

'The last time your team won the cup, Facebook wasnt even invented yet!' the two groups, which were Stars and Pens fans by the symbols on their jerseys, shouted back and forth between two rooms. Unfortunately for you, you were stuck with the Away team while Parker took care of the Home team.

"You sure you don't want to sub in there, Doc?" the officer--who brought the two groups in, stands beside Jack and John, watching the chaos like it was the most entertaining show on television.

"Nah, my wife's got it. She's tough," Jack smirks a bit when you send him a wink, silently telling him you've got it handled.

Shen chokes on his iced coffee. "Like, 'work wife' , right?"

Frank

"Hey, sweet cheeks. Wanna give me a sponge bath?" Frank leans on the center bay, head hanging low between his shoulders. He glances at Myrna over his shoulder--her usual self cuffed to her wheelchair, giving him a flirty smile.

Turning around to face her, he crosses his arms and chides, "I don't think my wife, would appreciate you flirting with me, Myrna."

"Never saw a ring on it, champ. I can be real flexible," she purrs with her gravely voice, one foot extending infront of her with hands seductively inching her hospital gown up her thigh. You catch the conversation from the curtain behind Myrna, pulling it back you catch Frank’s wide eyes.

"I'll only let you borrow him if you ask nicely, Myrna."

Shen

Shen has a problem, and its called caffeine. He wouldn't say he's addicted to it, no. But if he were, he would probably blame you for putting him on the iced coffee bender. You both have sort of schedule down for who gets coffee for who on alternate days of the week. It's kind of a way to test out new coffee shops around the area and try new blends.

'Super late. Dunkin good?' he texts you, speed walking down the street to the said establishment. His phone dings with a text from you with just a thumbs up emoji. He scans the doughnut display while he waits his turn in line, mentally telling himself to add your favorite round treat to the order.

Approaching the register, his phone goes off with your name flashing on the screen while he gives the worker his coffee order.

"John, could you get me a-"

"Yes. I know, I know. Hey, man. Can you add a Boston for my wife, please," his hand freezes mid reach to his jacket's pocket for his wallet. His phone, which was pressed between his left ear and shoulder, almost slips when he hears you giggling at the other end of the line. The cashier clears his throat, and John quickly recovers, finally getting his card out to pay.

you look back down at the monitor, smiling. you knew something was going on between jack and samira, as much as she liked to deny it. ever since pittfest, the little glances between the two, the quiet moments between cases, the general take-her-under-his-wing-ness of it all, your friend could only deny it for so long. her dreamy little jack said or jack showed me as she recounted their conversations—when she stopped calling him dr. abbot, that’s when it got real obvious.

good to know that at least jack could admit it to his friend, even if the implication of robby being put off by a relationship with a younger woman made your heart hurt a little.

you didn’t mean to fall in love with robby, really, it just kind of…happened. sure, when you started at the pitt years ago, baby-faced and fresh out of nursing school, you’d thought he was handsome—tall and wide and doe-eyed and bearded and wide and tall and—but it was him that made it difficult not to.

a dry joke, a soft smile, a sarcastic comment, a quick save, a sincere praise—a quiet thank you, sweetheart, only once, when you gave his forearm a comforting squeeze, after finding him nervously pacing the hallway behind trauma 2 the day he was told he was the new chief of emergency medicine following dr. adamson’s passing.

“man, why do i even talk you? you got your own problematic crush on a younger woman. you can’t be objective here,”—wait, what?—robby said to jack, hands rubbing down his beard.

both men now standing a few feet away from you at the charting station, jack replies, “hey, this isn’t about me, brother. besides, dating a nurse,”—wait, WHAT?—“is different from your resident.”

robby just lets out an incredulous huff—a laugh?— “you know what? go home, you’re not being helpful.”

“don’t gotta ask me twice,” jack laughs back.

robby continues standing at the computers, logging in, jack turning to leave. as he does, he catches sight of you, gives a smirk and shakes his head. you must look as flustered as you feel—eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, face hot—surely, surely you didn’t know which nurse they meant, couldn’t let yourself hope even for a second it could have been you. no way.

there were plenty of young nurses in the pitt— princess, maybe, or kim, wait doesn’t she have a boyfriend? you think, maybe a guy? mateo is awfully pretty. no, they said ‘she’ and robby’s only ever dated women, well, that you know of at least. god, you biphobic loser—

your spiral is interrupted by a cough next to you, dana looking at you with a raised brow, hand on one hip, tablet in the other. “you losing’ it over here, kid?” she asks.

“pfft no, nope, all good,” you reply too quick, dragging out the A in all.

she smirks at that, “then get to work.”

“you’re not the boss of me anymore,” you tell her as she turns to walk away. she looks over her shoulder, brow once again raised. “technically,” you mumble, giving a small smile in return.

dana had already been day shift charge nurse for years when you were hired on, taking you under her wing before you learned how to hold your own against bratty patients and gossiping staff—and learning a few key words of tagalog. when you finally got your masters, a newly minted nurse practitioner, the chief nursing officer offered you a job, still in the pitt, but to help clear the bodies that treated the emergency room like a minute clinic, leaving the residents to actually learn emergency medicine—not strep tests and lacerations not even needing dermabond—only stepping in on traumas when short staffed. well, shorter than usual. technically dana wasn’t your supervisor anymore, the cno handling your schedule directly as she did all the charge nurses and other aprns in the hospital, but dana was still very much the boss in your eyes.

and really, you blamed your new np status at least in part for causing your brief spiral this morning.

you didn’t mean to do it, really, but he was there and looked so happy you just—

you stood at the nurses station during a lull in the chaos of the pitt, refreshing your email for what must have been the millionth time that day. still nothing.

“y’know, staring at the screen won’t make them come faster,” perlah said from where she was sat at the computer next to you.

“who’s coming fast?” donnie said as he walked up to return a tablet.

you mumbled a shuttup and refreshed the page again. still nothing.

perlah answered when you didn’t take the bait, “her aanp board results are supposed to come in today and she’s going insane in anticipation.”

biting at your thumbnail, you continued your refreshing.

and you gasped, yeah maybe a little too dramatically, when the email came in. perlah and donnie both called away on a trauma, dana the only person currently in the hub.

“well don’t leave us in anticipation, kid,” she said, having been subject to your click click clicking all day.

reading the email, you jumped up—you’d passed. a fully licensed and board-certified nurse practitioner. you turned and gave dana a hug, vibrating with excitement. an rt walked by and offered their congrats. whitaker came over, you high fiving him maybe a little too hard.

then robby cleared out of a trauma bay, coming around the counter and offered you a sincere congrats when you told him. and that would have been fine, if that’s all he’d said. but he added, “i knew you could do it, sweetheart,” looking down at you with a smile just a little too sweet, eyes just a little too soft.

you didn’t mean to jump into robby’s arms, really, but your body moved quicker than your brain. standing on your tip toes, you wrapped both arms around his neck, smiling and giving a soft thank you in his very red ear.

out of instinct—that’s what you told yourself that’s all it was later, after your brain replayed what happened a dozen times—his hands came to you, one gripped tight to the curve of your waist, the other moving up, splayed large between your shoulder blades, pulling you fully flush into him. robby was an excellent hugger, big and warm and somehow smelling good even after just coming out of a trauma, like sweat and body wash and man. you wondered how he’d feel closer, less clothes, more sweat, pinned under the weight of his thick body—

“mva 7 minutes out, cap,” dana hollered, breaking the moment.

you released from around his neck, hands sliding to his chest, his hands remaining on your waist, looser now. a brief bit of eye contact was all that happened, faces probably too close to call friendly, definitely too close to be hr compliant, before your face got incredibly hot—cartoon steam blowing out of your ears hot. robby didn’t seem to be fairing much better, red from his hairline down into his scrub top. you stepped back quickly, bumping into the chair behind you, saying something about needing to go prep for the incoming trauma, before turning on your heel and speeding away, leaving a blushing robby in your wake.

months have passed since then, your normal banter returning, neither of you bringing up whatever the hell that was to the other. you out of sheer embarrassment, especially as it became a reoccurring feature in your late night fantasies, your hand between your legs—it was just a hug! jesus christ, what are you, a victorian man seeing an ankle!?

it had taken weeks and many, many margaritas to give a play-by-play to samira and trinity—the latter both horrified and delighted thinking about, and then making fun of, her boss’ sex life; the former reassuring and analytical, talking you down from your drunken ramblings. dennis was there too, like he was for the hug, drug out by trinity as chauffeur for the evening. he just thought the hug was nice, loving. that took you from pathetic rambling drunk to pathetic weeping drunk real quick.

you figured if robby had confided in anyone, if he had felt the need to confide at all, it wouldn’t be with someone who would tell you. and you were right. apparently just with someone who talks a little too openly and a little too loudly at 7 in the morning.

collecting your next patient from chairs, you led him back to south 21. male, mid 40s, small laceration to right shin, leg vs shovel at his job site, vitals good, bleeding stopped, no other complaints—minute clinic stuff.

as you settle him into the curtained room, he immediately rolls up his sleeve and looks at you expectantly.

“triage got your bp when you checked in, no need to roll up your sleeve,” you state, opening his chart on the tablet.

“no, doc, it’s for the iv. lido don’t really work on me, so morphine’s better. they usually give me an iv at presby,” he said calmly, like he knew the routine.

you blink at him once, then down to his shin, then back to him. “sir,” you start, “i’m not sure you’d even need lidocaine for this. i’ll irrigate with saline to clean the wound and reassess, but i think a couple of butterfly bandages will have you all set.” you hated assuming anyone was drug seeking, but really, you’ve seen worse cuts on the playground. “also, not a doctor, nurse practitioner,” you add, tapping at your badge.

the man scoffs, “i waited an hour for a nurse? i want a doctor!”

“sir, i’m perfectly qualified to treat you today. waiting for a doctor with your complaints would be an easy eight hour wait at least,” you try reasoning, “we can get started and you’ll be out in no time.”

“my complaints, huh? well, i have shortness of breath, yeah? you allowed to treat that? or can i have a doctor then?” he crosses his arms, leaning back into the bed.

taking a breath, you reach over to the corded pulse ox—your cute portable one lost a battle to a four year old’s emesis bag last week—attaching it to his finger.

turning on the monitor, you wait a moment before saying, “o2 saturation at 99 percent, same as in triage. really, it’ll only take a—“

before you can finish, the man’s free hand grips the far end of the cord, ripping his finger out of the monitor, and begins whipping it at you.

“i said i want a real doctor to give me my medicine!” he screams, landing a few stinging hits to your forearm, welts rising in their wake, before you are able to back away.

the man continues his ranting, screaming and throwing anything he could reach—tissue box from the overbed table, pillow from the bed, his keys, which unfortunately are only thing that actually hit you, landing right at your brow. you reach up and feel wetness, pulling back to see blood on your fingertips.

in all the commotion, ahmad had heard and promptly enters the bay, tailed closely by robby.

“sir, i’m gonna have to ask you to calm down,” ahmed states as he steps next to the patient.

the man looks past him at robby, arms crossed low enough for the badge clipped to his collar to be seen—doctor written clearly.

“doc, man, finally!” he said relieved, like his tirade never occurred. “can you tell this bitch i need morphine and fix me up? i got places to be!”

ahmad started, “sir—“

but robby was louder, “okay, what you’re not gonna do is insult my nurses. you’re not gonna throw shit at them,” he steps closer to the man still atop the bed, “and what you’re really not gonna do is fuckin’ injure them when all they’re trying to do is take care of you,” he leans a little lower, eyebrows raised, condescendingly hot, “you understand?”

the patient again scoffs, “man, you can’t talk to me like that! i’m a patient! i’m injured!”

robby looks down to his shin, then turns to the hall as dennis happens to be walking by, “whitaker! disinfect this laceration, get him a bandage, and send him on his way.”

dennis looks from robby to you, holding your bleeding forehead with your welted arm, to the patient and back to robby and gave a nod.

robby turns to ahmad, “please stay and escort him out of the building when dr. whitaker is finished.”

“can do,” ahmad says, standing guard.

robby turns to you then, face softening, gently cupping the elbow of the arm holding your head to move it away to inspect your cut, the welts to your arm. letting out a soft hmm, he leads you to an open room and sits you on the edge of the bed with his hands on both your shoulders.

as he begins setting out supplies, you quickly start, “i can clean myself up, robby, you got more important things to—“

you’re cut off by his look—stern like he is about to deliver a lecture to a med student. “let me take care of it,” he then says softly, almost mumbled, sitting on the rolling stool and scootching toward you. bumping his knees into yours, he continues rolling forward until your legs part, his landing between your legs—this is fine.

as he dabs at the cut on your forehead, you can’t help but look at his face—it’s right there, who could blame you?—taking in his freckles, his crows feet, the grey speckling his beard, his mouth—

he looks over and sees your downturned eyes, knows what they’re looking at.

realizing you’d been caught, you quickly avert your eyes up and away, jostling your head a little. robby’s other hand comes up to your jaw, steadying your head with a hold still.

totally normal and chill about your current positions, you let out a shaky laugh, “i dunno doc, i think i need some morphine to get me through this.”

gaze turning from your temple back to your eyes, robby’s soften, smile creeping up as he shakes his head slowly. “ohho, i don’t think so. seems like you’ll only need a bandage, too.”

“ah, same treatment as my attacker. poetic,” you lament, “and i didn’t even have to assault anyone to get it.” you meant for it to come out sarcastic, to lighten the mood, but it comes out shaky, embarrassed.

you don’t realize a tear falls until robby’s thumb swipes it from your cheek, his soft smile now gone. he looks at you with…with something written on his face—brows furrowed up, mouth pursed into a small frown—something you don’t let yourself read into, afraid you’ll only find his discomfort in your now-obvious crush.

“i’m fine,” you say, pulling your head back and out of his hands, “this is quite literally the tamest thing that’s ever happened to a nurse here.” which was true—broken cheeks, punched noses, yanked out hair, gropings—it was rare for a week to pass without at least one of them occurring. crying over a minuscule cut and some thin welts made you feel green again, childish.

“sweetheart—“ that fucking name again, “anything that happens is bad,” he hesitates, almost imperceptibly, “especially when it happens to—” the nurses? his crew? her?

you don’t let him finish, cutting him off by standing—robby has to quickly roll back, managing to keep you from basically straddling him. you couldn’t hear it, not with the adrenaline fading and tears already in your eyes. “i’m a-okay, dr. robinavitch,” you say with a smile that doesn’t quiet reach your eyes as you start to walk out the room, “gotta get back out there!”

you manage to avoid robby for the rest of the shift, him pulled into traumas and teaching, you into any and every case you can, even covering for kim for an hour so she can have lunch with her boyfriend—you knew she had one. catching only glimpses from across the pitt, you turn the second you see robby, knowing he must—he has to—feel uncomfortable about you.

by the time shift change comes, you’re drained, both physically and emotionally. an evening full of cases and nonstop mental spiraling will get you there. catching the hushed tagalog fucking, nurse, robby—you would have asked perlah and princess for the full scoop yourself like normal if you weren’t so afraid of the answer—was just the cherry on top.

walking out to the staff parking lot, you hear rushed steps coming up behind you, a hurried voice calling your name—robby.

sighing, you stop and turn to him, one arm wrapped around your middle, the other’s hand gripping tight to the strap of your bag; self-soothing or self-defending, you couldn’t be bothered to figure out.

coming to a halt in front of you, robby asks, “hey, i didn’t get to see you tonight. how you holdin’ up, rocky?” joking tone, but he looks like he genuinely cares—you’re sure he does, just not how you want him to.

shrugging your shoulder and looking down at your shoes, you answer, “fine. head’s fine. arm’s a little tender, nothing some ibuprofen won’t take care of.”

he gives a short nod, not expecting your distant answer, so used to you meeting his jokes hit-for-hit.

“i’m sorry if i—“ he starts at the same time you say, “well have a good—“

you both take a beat before you say, “you first.” i’m sorry if i—what? let you get hurt today? didn’t let you clean yourself up? made you think we had…something? no sense putting off the inevitable, let him set you straight.

“i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable today,” he ends up saying—wait, what? “i didn’t mean to—i wasn’t trying to—i mean—“ he blew out a breathy chuckle, looking off to the side and shaking his head.

now confused, you ask, “uncomfortable? why would you have made me uncomfortable?”

he glances at you, embarrassed smile on his face—embarrassed? is that what that is? “just…with everything...you know.”

brows furrowed, more confused than before, you say, “robby, i truly have no idea what you mean. my brain in mush and my arm hurts and i’m exhausted, so please just tell me.” get it over with, you mean.

adjusting the strap of his backpack he turns to face you again. “jack told me at evening shift change that you heard our conversation this morning.”

oh, that.

you throw the on best smile you can manage, “oh, yeah, my bad i guess.” you’re not sure it lands.

“believe me, that’s not how i wanted to tell you—“ wait, what? tell you? “—really it was just rehashing what i’ve already been rambling at jack and my therapist about for the last few months—“ no really, what? “—i don’t actually need to figure my feelings for you out—“ did those keys hit you harder than you thought? “—i’m fully aware of how in love with you i am. so yeah, i understand if you were uncomfor—“

you didn’t mean to pull him into a mouth-bruising kiss, really, pulling back after a second—or maybe a minute or maybe an hour—ready to apologize. but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care when his hands found the sides of your face, pulling your lips back to his.

—

“Everything seems to be in order. Slow day today?”

Robby laughs, knowing Jack is being sarcastic. There are no slow days in the ER. Not ever.

“Today wasn’t so bad.”

It’s true. There had been worse days—much worse.

“The show must go on,” Jack says, giving Robby a pat on the back before heading to his locker. Then, remembering something, he turns around.

“Oh, try to be quiet when you get home. When I left, she was watching TV on the couch, but she’s probably out like a light by now.”

Robby shakes his head.

“I keep telling her not to wait for me.”

“What can I say? She’s stubborn,” Jack grins. “Like someone else I know.”

Robby rolls his eyes, muttering a small “yeah, yeah,” which only makes Jack’s grin widen.

“See you later, Jack.”

“There’s soup in the fridge. Oh—and give her a goodnight for me.”

“Will do.”

Robby drags himself home, every step reminding him of his aching feet and sore back. But the trek is worth it when he finally manages to get to the apartment—and see you.

You’re on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. The remote is on the ground a few inches from your hand, which tells Robby you fell asleep without planning to. He smiles at the sight. After taking his shoes off, hanging his hoodie, and dropping his backpack, he makes his way to you. He picks up the remote, turns off the TV, and focuses on you again.

His hand moves softly across your cheek. He doesn’t want to startle you, but he needs you to wake up. Your nose twitches, and then your eyes start to open slowly. You blink a few times, trying to remember where you are.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.”

“Robby…” you mumble.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me.”

You lift yourself off the couch so that you’re sitting, a small yawn escaping you. You press a palm to your eyes before looking around the room.

“Did you just get home? What time is it?”

“You should be in bed.”

Typical Robby—ignoring your questions to, yet again, tell you what to do. You ignore his affirmation, as you usually do.

“Did Jack get in okay?”

“Same as always.”

Robby stands, stretching to his full height, groaning as his muscles pop.

“There’s soup in the fridge.”

“Yeah, Jack told me.”

“Do you want a bowl?”

“What I want is for you to stop waiting for me. You’ll have a hard time waking up for work tomorrow.”

You bat your hand at him, getting up without bothering to argue. Robby watches you stumble into the kitchen and pull a container from the fridge. He lets out a soft sigh as you move to put a pan on the stove.

“Go take a shower.”

He doesn’t find it in himself to argue. He’s tired, and you’re stubborn—that’s just how things are. So he trudges his way to the bathroom while you heat up his dinner.

You had come into Robby’s and Jack’s lives as a surprise. They’d been living together for a year, and the three-bedroom apartment was feeling emptier by the day. They rarely spent time at home—both too busy to do much more than come in and collapse into bed. The unused third bedroom just meant expenses they didn’t need.

So they decided to put up an ad, not expecting much from it. And then you showed up at their door, asking about the room available—and the rest was history.

You were like three peas in a pod. Everything about you just fit into their dynamic. Even with their odd hours, you found ways to make yourself a constant presence in their lives. You were there to greet Jack when he arrived in the early hours of the morning, a plate of fresh pancakes already waiting on the counter for him. You were there for Robby’s late-night dinners, when all he could manage was enough strength to leave the dishes in the sink before collapsing into bed. And on the rare days they had off, they tried their hardest to repay you for your kindness.

Not that you ever expected them to. You liked taking care of them—it was nice to have someone to share space with. You’d lived alone for a while, and as much as you’d enjoyed the freedom that came with it, the loneliness had been almost unbearable.

When Robby made his way back to the kitchen, smelling faintly of mint, a damp towel hanging off his shoulder, you were almost falling asleep on the counter. You lifted your head at the sound of his footsteps against the floor, a tired smile spreading across your face. You knew how much Robby enjoyed the quiet—it was such a contrast to the constant chaos and noise of his day-to-day—so you just watched him eat in silence.

When he was done, you watched him hang his towel up and place his dishes in the sink. You climbed off the stool and followed him into the hallway. Once you reached your door, you stopped, your hand gripping the handle before turning to face him.

You stifled a yawn as you spoke, your voice soft. “Night, Robby.”

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

He leaned down and brushed a kiss against your forehead. Soft. Thoughtless. Automatic. When he pulled back, tired eyes watched yours flutter open. You turned, opened the door, and disappeared into your room, leaving him standing in the hallway for a moment longer before finally heading to his own.

It wasn’t until the next morning, standing in the locker room, that it hit him. The kiss. The warmth of your skin beneath his lips. The soft twitch of your mouth as he pulled away.

It was all he could think about.

It hadn’t worried him last night—not when his brain was so deprived of sleep that the action had felt like nothing important. But it worried him now, as the bright lights hit his eyes and he realized he might have fucked up.

“You look like hell,” Jack said.

Robby ran a hand over his face. “Did something stupid last night.”

Jack’s brows rose. “Define stupid.”

Robby hesitated. “Kissed her goodnight.”

Jack blinked. “You what?”

“It wasn’t—” Robby sighed. “It wasn’t like that. It just… happened.”

Jack leaned back against the locker, smirking. “You sure it just happened?”

Robby shot him a look, but Jack’s grin only widened.

“Well,” he said, voice low and teasing, “if you’re handing out goodnight kisses, I might start staying up late too.”

Robby groaned, but the tension between them—the kind that wasn’t just about teasing—hung heavy in the air. He leaned his head against his locker, sighing loudly. Jack shifted, resting his back against the lockers, his eyes fixed on his friend.

“So,” Jack said finally, voice low, “you gonna tell me why this is eating you alive, or do I have to guess?”

Robby huffed a humorless laugh. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

Robby turned his head slightly, meeting Jack’s gaze. “It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. It was just… habit, I guess. I was tired. She was half asleep.”

Jack tilted his head, that familiar half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “And yet here you are, looking like you confessed a crime.”

“It feels like I did,” Robby muttered. “What if she thinks I crossed a line? What if I made her uncomfortable?”

Jack studied him for a moment, his expression softening. “You didn’t.”

Robby frowned. “You don’t know that.”

Jack shrugged. “I know her. And I know you. You wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t instinct. You care about her. Hell, we both do.”

That last part hung between them, unspoken for too long and now too late to take back. Robby’s eyes flicked up, searching Jack’s face.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We do.”

Jack pushed off the locker, brushing past him with a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He gave Robby a pat on the back, silently asking him to straighten up. Robby did as he asked, accepting Jack’s hug without hesitation.

“You want me to talk to her about it?” Jack whispered, his tone clearly playful.

Robby let out a dry laugh, pushing the other man off him so he could look him in the eyes. “Didn’t your shift end like an hour ago?”

Jack just smiled, turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit. Robby stayed where he was, watching him go. And then Jack spoke—without turning around.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Robby frowned. “What is?”

Jack paused in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. The hallway light caught the edge of his profile when he finally glanced back.

“You,” he said simply. “You think too much.”

Robby raised an eyebrow. “That’s the problem?”

Jack’s smirk softened. “No. The problem is—you’re not the only one losing sleep over her.”

And with that, he left, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor. Robby stayed there a while longer. For once, the noise of the hospital around him felt distant, muted—like the only sound left was the echo of Jack’s words.

The week passed like it always did. You’d wake up and greet Jack as he came through the door, yelling a quick “Breakfast is on the counter!” as you rushed out to work. And when you got home—finding Jack getting ready for his shift—he’d ask how your day went while gathering the last of his things before heading out again.

You’d scroll through channels until you found something somewhat interesting, then settle on the couch to wait for Robby—fully prepared to hear him tell you, for the hundredth time, not to wait up for him.

There was no mention of the kiss. No shift in the atmosphere of the apartment, no change in the rhythm between the three of you to suggest anything had happened at all. But it kept eating away at Robby.

Every time he decided he was finally going to bring it up, he’d walk in to find you already asleep on the couch, and the words would die on his tongue.

It didn’t help that Jack was still being frustratingly vague about what he’d meant when he said Robby wasn’t the only one losing sleep over you.

So by the time Saturday rolled around, all Robby wanted was to sit in silence and talk to absolutely no one.

Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t an option. Because even though he didn’t have to go in to work, he had a gala to attend.

You stepped out of your room, your shoes clicking against the floor as you made your way down the hall. The smell of coffee hit you first, mingling with the unmistakable scent of aftershave and cologne.

Robby was standing by the mirror in the hallway, trying—and failing—to get his tie to sit right. Jack leaned against the wall nearby, already dressed to perfection, nursing a mug of something that definitely wasn’t coffee.

“You clean up nice,” you said, tilting your head as you took in the both of them.

Jack grinned. “We try. Someone’s gotta make sure the ER doesn’t look like a pack of zombies in suits.”

Robby huffed out a small laugh but kept his eyes on his reflection. “Speak for yourself.”

You stepped closer, motioning for him to bend down slightly. “You’re going to strangle yourself with that thing if you keep pulling on it.”

He hesitated, then leaned forward enough for you to fix it. The air between you was soft but charged—your fingers brushing against his collar, his breath catching ever so slightly. Jack’s eyes flicked toward the two of you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something, but didn’t.

“There,” you said finally, patting Robby’s chest lightly. “Perfect.”

He murmured a quiet thanks, eyes meeting yours for half a second too long.

Jack cleared his throat. “Alright, dream team. We should get going before the hospital board thinks we skipped.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “You’re lucky I like you, Abbot.”

He winked. “Most people do.”

The hospital’s annual gala was more extravagant than you expected. String lights wound around tall columns, and soft jazz floated through the air. Tables shimmered under glassware and silver, and everyone—doctors, nurses, administrators—looked momentarily free of exhaustion.

You found yourself walking between them, one arm loosely linked with Jack’s while Robby trailed a step behind. It was instinct, not preference, but Robby still felt the faint twist of jealousy in his chest.

“You really didn’t have to come,” Jack said at one point, leaning toward you to be heard over the music.

“I wanted to,” you replied easily. “Someone has to make sure you two actually enjoy yourselves instead of talking about patient charts all night.”

Jack’s grin softened into something more genuine. “You’re good to us, you know that?”

Robby could practically picture the way your face had lit up at Jack’s words, the easy smile that always seemed to come to you whenever Jack spoke seared into his mind. He turned his head away, pretending to look for someone. He couldn’t bear to see it—couldn’t make himself look at your face, knowing he wasn’t the one causing that expression.

When the speeches started, the lights dimmed and the crowd quieted. Robby and Jack were called up together, honored for their work in the ER during what had been the hospital’s toughest year in decades.

You clapped until your hands stung, pride swelling in your chest as the two of them took the stage—Jack composed and charming as ever, Robby standing beside him, shoulders tense but eyes steady.

Jack, of course, ended up taking the microphone.

“We wouldn’t be standing here without our team,” he began, scanning the crowd. “Without every nurse, every tech, every person who kept showing up even when it felt impossible. And, uh…”

He hesitated just long enough for Robby to glance over, curious.

“There’s also someone who puts up with us outside the ER. Keeps us fed. Reminds us we’re human. You know who you are.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the audience. Your face flushed warm, but you couldn’t stop smiling. Robby glanced at you then—really looked—and it hit him again. That same tug in his chest, the same weight that kiss had left behind.

Later, when the music picked up and people started to dance, Jack was the first to find you.

“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’ve been standing still too long.”

You laughed but took it anyway. His hand fit comfortably in yours, his grin easy and bright. You danced among the crowd, the two of you falling into a rhythm that felt effortless.

Robby watched from the edge of the room, fingers drumming lightly against the rim of his glass. He told himself he was happy for the two of you—that it was fine, that he was tired and overthinking again—but every time you laughed at something Jack said, his heart gave another slow, uncomfortable twist.

He slipped outside for air. 

The night air was cool and quiet, a relief after the buzz inside. He leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the city lights, trying to clear his head.

He didn’t hear the door open until you spoke.

“You disappeared.”

He turned slightly, his expression softening when he saw you. “You two looked like you were having fun.”

You shrugged. “Jack’s easy to dance with.”

Robby smiled faintly. “Yeah. He’s easy to like.”

The words came out lower than he meant them to. You watched him for a moment, the faint breeze tugging at your hair.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” you said finally.

“Just tired.”

You stepped closer, close enough that your hand brushed against the railing beside his. “You’ve been tired since the day I met you.”

He huffed a small laugh. “That’s fair.”

Silence stretched, comfortable at first—until it wasn’t.

“Robby,” you said softly, “is this about the other night?”

He froze, eyes flicking toward you. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up—you hadn’t mentioned it all week, so why talk about it now?

“It was just a goodnight kiss, Robby. You don’t need to get worked up about it. It meant nothing.”

He exhaled slowly, his chest tight. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.”

The words hung between you, raw and unguarded.

You didn’t get the chance to respond, because the door opened again.

Jack stepped out, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair slightly mussed. His gaze flicked between you and Robby, reading more than either of you said.

“Found you,” he said lightly, but his tone didn’t match the ease of his words. “They’re starting the awards for the donors.”

Robby straightened, nodding. “We’ll be right there.”

Jack lingered a second longer, then met your eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice caught.

He gave you a small nod—one that said I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it go—as you passed him to go back inside. Once you disappeared from view, Jack turned to look at Robby, his eyes catching on the way Robby clenched and unclenched his fist.

“You coming?” Jack asked.

Robby nodded, but didn’t move. Jack lingered for a moment longer, his brows furrowing as he watched his friend before heading inside.

The ride home was quiet. Jack drove, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping idly against his knee. You sat in the backseat, head against the window, pretending not to notice the glances they kept exchanging in the rearview mirror.

By the time they finally made it back to the apartment, the night had settled deep into the city—quiet, heavy, and humming faintly with exhaustion. Jack was the first to unlock the door, the click of the handle echoing louder than it should have in the stillness.

You slipped off your shoes with a sigh, the relief visible in your shoulders. “I forgot how tiring those things are,” you murmured.

“Tell me about it,” Jack said, tugging at his tie until it came loose. “Next time I’m faking a cough.”

You smiled faintly, amused, but Robby barely reacted. He’d been quiet the entire ride home, eyes fixed on the passing streetlights, his thoughts miles away from the conversation.

Jack noticed—he always noticed—but said nothing. He just gave you a soft “goodnight” before disappearing down the hall to his room, leaving you and Robby standing in the living room’s dim light.

You took a small step closer. “Robby…”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” he said finally. “You live with us. You’re our friend. It was… selfish.”

“Robby, you didn’t—”

“I did.” His voice was gentle, but there was something breaking underneath it. “And I’d probably do it again if you stood that close to me.”

That made you go still. Because a part of you wanted to test it out—a part of you wanted to inch closer, just to see what he’d do. Yet another part of you remembered that Jack was only a couple of steps away, and for some reason, the thought of him opening the door to find Robby kissing you—even if only on the cheek—made you hesitate.

When you finally spoke, your voice was careful. “You think you’re the only one confused about what that kiss meant?”

That made him look at you again—really look. His breath caught.

For the first time all night, you didn’t look like his roommate. You looked like something he’d been trying not to want for a very long time.

It took everything in you to reach for the handle. Took everything in you to turn away from Robby and face your bedroom door. You could feel his gaze on your back—could almost hear the way his breath came ragged. And then you paused, turning so that you could look at him.

“You two make it really hard to choose, you know that?”

Robby’s mouth opened, maybe to say something, maybe to stop you—but before he could, another voice cut through the hallway.

“So don’t.”

You both turned. Jack stood at the end of the hall, one hand on the doorframe, eyes flicking between you and Robby. You didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. Neither did Robby.

Jack’s expression softened when his gaze landed on you. “Don’t choose,” he said again, quieter this time. “At least not tonight.”

The silence that followed was deafening. None of you moved.

Robby’s jaw tightened. You couldn’t tell if it was from guilt, surprise, or something else entirely. Jack straightened from the doorframe, his voice quieter now, but still steady.

“Come on,” he said, eyes never leaving you. “You’re both exhausted. Get some sleep.”

You swallowed hard and gave a small nod, retreating toward your room. Robby didn’t look at you this time, though you could feel the weight of both their stares following you until your door clicked shut. 

The apartment had gone still, but sleep didn’t come easy for any of you. Not for you, with your heart caught between two steady heartbeats, and not for them—each lying awake in their rooms, pretending not to think about the same thing.

It snowballs from there. Every clean suture is met with a rumbled well done. Then praise melts into physical touch. It starts with a pat on the back after a correct diagnosis. Then comes the hand on your lower back, guiding you around. Eventually, a gentle hand tucking stray hairs behind your ears during traumas.

The effect he has on you is anything but subtle. It's clear as day to anyone with two working eyes and ears that you're head over heels for him. One day, as Robby works on charting at the nursing station, he overhears Santos and Javadi talking. They're not quiet, nor are they subtle as their eyes keep drifting over to Robby.

"I heard they went home together last night," Javadi says.

Not true. He just walked you home. Though, he may have made sure that the rest of the day crew drinking beers in the park could see his hand brush yours. It was a dumb move, but he caught Donnie talking to some nurses about you yesterday and needed to stake his claim somehow. You weren't his yet, but that doesn't mean he'd leave you to the wolves.

Santos rolls her eyes, "That would explain the eye fucking in trauma two this morning."

Okay. That one is true.

Javadi laughs at that. It's loud enough that Robby has to intervene. Glaring at them above the glasses perched low on his nose, Robby barks, "Santos, I believe you're supposed to be on triage right now."

Santos tenses, mouth hanging open for a brief moment. He'd almost find the fish out of water look amusing had they not been gossiping about you.

After some more bumbling, Santos finally clears her throat. "Yes, of course. Sorry, Dr. Robby."

Santos scurries away. Javadi doesn't wait for Robby to scold her, slinking off right away to find McKay.

As bad as the rumors are, they make his chest puff up in pride. People are associating you together, so you two might as well make it official. Well, okay. That might not be his most sound reasoning, but it should be good enough. He's already got you in the palm of his hand. You might as well make it official.

Your little crush is obvious at this point. Somehow, though, he's almost entirely certain you haven't caught onto the raging hard on he has for you. That's alright. He likes to see you flounder. It just proves how much you're made for him. How much the two of you ending up together is just inevitable.

It's been a while since he's felt like this for someone and he wants to say it makes him feel dirty, but that would mean he'd have to stop whatever it is that's going on. And doesn't he deserve this little indulgence of ogling at a student?

Apparently not everyone thinks so.

It's a Saturday in the summer, and between kids who got hurt from reckless play time and dehydrated, drunk sports fans, Robby is stretched thin.

As Robby look over a chart, Dana bumps him with her shoulder. He raises his eyebrow when she says your name, "You sure you don't want the kid with 'Mira? It'll help her teaching skills, plus she can give you a break."

"No," Robby responds quickly. And, fuck, it came out a bit harsh by the way Dana's pinching her face. He glances around the department to find you helping an older patient into a wheelchair. As though you can feel his eyes on you, you spot him and smile. Robby sighs, pushing his reading glasses on top of his head. "If I need a break, I'll reassign. But I don't."

Dana presses her mouth into a thin line. She's been on his case about you for the last month, starting when she caught Robby leaning in a little too close while whispering in your ear, his lips "accidentally" brushing against the soft skin of your neck. Dana ripped him a new one for that, warning him that he better keep his hands off of you.

"Robby-"

"And that is the end of this conversation."

By the time Dana's done staring at him with that I-know-what-you're-up-to-and-I-don't-like-it look, he's lost you.

He has half a mind to tell Dana off, as though that wouldn't be an egregious overstepping of his authority as chief attending. Well, more of an overstepping of his authority than trying to get in his sweet resident's pants. Who is, in his defense, currently lost thanks to Dana's meddling.

You certainly couldn't have gone far. He tries scanning the floor for you, but with the amount of people filtering in and out, it isn't exactly easy.

Frustration rising, Robby's about to leave the hub when he hears you call for him from somewhere behind him.

"Dr. Robby!" The sound is like a tranquilizer, his shoulders immediately softening at your coo. "Do you think we can help this gentleman out?"

"I'm sure I can find the ti-" The word dies on his tongue as Robby turns around.

You're a few feet back, positively beaming at Robby, looking more joyous than he's ever seen you on the clock. It doesn't take long to figure out why, not when there's a fat baby on your hip, smiling and chewing on a handful of your hair.

"Mommy's got a boo-boo and needs a CT," you explain in a baby voice, like you're explaining it to this infant and not your middle aged attending. Not that he's listening though, his ears are ringing from the way all the blood is rushing from his head downwards. You continue in that ridiculous baby-talk, "Daddy's on his way from work, but until Daddy-" Robby has to bite back a groan. "-arrives, someone's got to keep an eye on this goober."

You're looking at him with expectant eyes, but Robby can't find the brainpower to respond in a coherent way.

"Um," you continue, dropping the voice, "Could I offload my cases on you until he does? ETA around ten, fifteen minutes?"

You hold this kid like a natural. Like he's your kid and not some random patient's. There's a less civilized part of his brain that is waking up at the sight. You. A baby. Together. Robby's breathing from his mouth, heavy pants like a damn dog, and he can't be bothered to act normal, not with you in front of him.

You clear your throat, shifting the baby from your right him to your left. "Doctor Ro-"

"Yes," he grunts between his teeth.

You seem surprised by his answer, mouth falling open, though nothing comes out. As much as he wants to keep looking at you, Robby needs you out of his sight ASAP.

"Go," he grunts, "The staff lounge has diapers, formula, and baby food. I'll be fine."

Robby doesn't bother seeing if you've gone before making a b-line to the bathroom. He hurries, trying to hide himself away before the image of you with a babe on your hip makes his job a lot harder than it has to be. Harder than-

"Dr. Robby," someone says. Javadi, maybe, he assumes by the nervous quake in her voice, though he can't be bothered to look, not right now. "There's a patient in central-"

"Bathroom break. Find someone else."

As Robby slams the door to the staff restroom open, Robby can't help but wonder if he can get his baby on your hip by the end of your residency.

*****