i'm a sad shell of a woman

"Oh shit," you hear another voice approach from your left, Javadi resting her elbows on the desk you and Santos occupy.

"Yeah," you grumble, downing another sip like it's a shot. You wish it was. "Just another asshole wanting to get in my pants, only for him to care just about himself when I so stupidly let him."

You roll your eyes at yourself, your need for validation, any sort of affection taking over and picking these clowns against your better judgement.

"Classic," Javadi says, her own eyes rolling back, knowing all too well what you've been going through.

You've been able to bond with the newer staff in the past year over this, the trials and tribulations of your love lives. Whitaker joins in too sometimes, albeit against his will.

"You could always follow my lead," Santos suggests sarcastically. "Y'know, hook up with someone you work with in secret."

You stifle a chuckle, tipping your can back to your lips. You shake your head incredulously. "I can't believe those are my only options," you groan, your forehead falling to your hands.

"I just feel like there's nobody for me, you know?" You ponder aloud. "Like, if this is all that's out there, then I don't even know if it's even worth it? Ugh, that sounds so stupid and melodramatic," you massage your temples with your fingers, embarrassed by your out-flux of emotion.

"No, it's not," Javadi says in comfort. "I feel the same way sometimes. It's exhausting. These men- sorry, boys- have no idea what they're doing. All they care about is getting their dick wet."

You nod in agreement, another sardonic laugh escaping your lips. "Seriously," you mutter. "I don't even know why I keep trying. I have my vibrator, I might as well just use that for the rest of my life. At least those actually get me to finish."

Your heart stops, regretting your words immediately as you watch Santos' eyes widen, her posture stiff, a telltale sign that one of your superiors is behind you. You can only pray it's someone understanding, like Mohan or McKay.

Of course, you're not so lucky. You turn to find an achingly familiar navy hoodie, paired strong, veiny arms sticking out of the pockets.

Your face burns, your heart beating against your chest as you try to process that your boss, the senior attending partially responsible for your employment, just heard you talk about vibrators and orgasms.

"Sir," you breathe, unsure of what else to say.

His gaze flits to the ground the second yours finds him, and you swear you can make out just a bit of red on the apples of his cheeks.

He clears his throat, a hand coming up to the back of his neck before saying, "I can only assume this is not work related."

The look on his face is pointed, an awkward tension filling the space between you, the girls, and your boss. You shake your head, a pathetic, "sorrysir" spilling out of your mouth.

You watch him adjust on his feet, once again avoiding your gaze. He runs his finger in a circle, referencing the busy ER in which you stand.

"Get back to it," he huffs out, and the three of you scatter like he'd just dropped a bomb.

You flee with Javadi, your arm linking through hers as you keep your heads down, stifling giggles like school children.

"Oh. My. God," you breathe, embarrassment flooding through you like a tsunami.

You part ways when you make it to a turn in the hallway, splitting up to check on your respective patients, eager to run away from whatever just happened.

Hour eight comes and goes, as busy as ever. The only difference, though, is in the way Robby is treating you. Each bark of an order, every harsh correction like tiny needles pricking at the back of your neck.

It starts in triage, where you pop out to spot any incoming traffic. It feels nice, the fresh summer air wafting through the ambulence bay, a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of the ER.

You jump when the door opens behind you, Robby rubbing hand sanitizer into his skin. You avert your gaze, anywhere but the manipulation of his large hands. Santos' words from earlier ring in your head, 'just date someone you work with in secret.'

It feels ridiculous, thoughts of your senior attending ping ponging around your head. You feel dizzy at the consuming thoughts, unwilling to believe that this is where your disastrous dating life has led you- fantasizing about your senior attending while he's standing a foot away from you.

His closeness brings you back to life, the sharp exhale he exudes making you flinch. His eyes widen at your reaction, brows raising like he's waiting on you.

"Well? Did you hear me?" He asks, crossing his veiny forearms over his chest.

You will yourself to look away, your heart picking up speed at the flex of his muscles.

"I'm sorry, what was it?" You ask, your voice flighty and airy.

You fiddle with your hands, desperate to outrun this Molotov cocktail of embarrassment and desire. He's going to kill you by the end of this shift, you're convinced.

"I said," he starts, pointedly, "that you're staying with me for the rest of the day. Word on the street is that Pittsburgh Memorial is at max capacity. Something to do with a pile up on the service drive. So, you're on my team until you clock out," he grumbles into your ear.

His proximity stuns you, the deep growl of his voice crawling down your spine, settling low in your belly. A certain realization dawns on you, then, a chilling reality that settles deep in your bones.

Is this because of what he overheard earlier? Does he feel the need to keep an eye on you, so you don't go off embarrassing the team with your loud mouth? The possibility straightens your posture, tightens your jaw.

"Okay," you mumble, unable to meet his gaze. "We're on the first patient that comes through?"

You work up the courage to actually look at him, your gaze dragging along the scruff of his beard, the tint of gray weaknening your knees. An unsettling frustration rests at the base of your throat, threatening to burst through, to demand he says what's on his mind.

He just nods, though, his eyes trained on the entrance of the bay. Your breath comes out in short puffs, a fuzziness taking over as Robby's forearm grazes yours. The tickle of the hair on his body unzips a chill down your spine, so overpowering you have to close your eyes, to shake yourself out of this feeling.

He sees. You know he does. His gaze is peripheral, catching the way you react to him out of the corner of his eye. Though it's just a glance, it's enough to set your veins on fire, the want to reach out and touch him electrifying.

Silence blankets you, thick and suffocating. You rock on the balls of your feet, he wrings his hands together. You glance over at him again, unable to really keep your eyes off him for long. He doesn't look back, but his cheeks turn pink. You face foward once more, your lips curling into a smile.

The wail of an ambulance slices through the tension wafting through the bay, a wave of relief briefly washing over. You immediately snap into action, assessing the patient rolling in on the stretcher.

Robby is relentless in his questioning, and the world starts to spin around you as you flit from patient to attending, from asking to answering. Regardless of the familiar chaos, your stomach manages to flip at Robby's approval- the validation he gives at each right answer.

It's addictive, the way his brown eyes find yours, the subtle nod of his head. Time stops when he looks at you, you're convinced.

Once the patient is assessed and stabilized, you manage to document the patient's history and current symptoms without interruption.

You turn from the computer, looking over to see Robby, completely engaged with the patient. It's an older woman, a few years more so than Robby, who is putting on the ultimate display of charm. She's eating it up, as they all do.

You can't help but smile at the show, your heart speeding up in your chest. His ability to connect with those that are hurting, in pain, never ceases to amaze you. In moments like these, you remember why it is you decided to stay in emergency medicine. The teaching. The teacher, to be more specific.

A crash from the other side of the hallway pulls your attention away, and you whip your head around to see Langdon's hands full. He maneuvers around a stressed family, trying to care for his patient as best as he possibly can.

Without thinking, you take off to the other side of the room, putting on your best smile as you approach a teary mom, stressed father, and shy little girl.

"Hello!" You chirp, as cheerful as is appropriate when a family is watching their son be assessed in the ER. "I'm going to ask you give Dr. Langdon some space so he can work at the best of his ability. Please follow me and I can show you to our family room."

You start toward the exit, Langdon offering you a nod in thanks as you lead the family away from him. You catch Robby's gaze as you lead the family away, his teeth gritting at your disobedience. His eyes don't leave yours as you walk through the hospital, his cheeks glowing red like the human embodiment of anger.

You lead them through to the family room, your smile never leaving your face.

"Can I get you guys anything? Water, coffee, a snack?" You ask in the doorway. The gaunt father shakes his head, unable to look away from the tiled floors. You know this feeling, seen it many times in this room alone.

You turn to leave, when the mom speaks up, a tiny "uhm" leaving her lips. You stop on your heel, turning to her, your smile still there.

"Would you be willing to take Leah here for a snack?" She asks, referring to her daughter.

Your eyes find the little girl, a bunny stuffie clutched to her chest, a nervous thumb between her lips. Your heart softens at the sight, so you nod gently, offering your hand.

She only takes it when her mom gives her the okay, and she waddles to you dubiously. You take her hand in yours, offering her a soft greeting.

"Hello! It's so nice to meet you, Leah. Want to come see what snacks we have?" You ask, and can't help but giggle at her eager nod. "Okay, let's go, honeybun."

You lead her back into the ER, wavering through the chaos to get to the kitchen. You see Robby again on your way there, his eyes flitting to your new friend as you pass. His jaw does that tick again, though the rest of his face softens at the sight.

Annoyance flashes through his big brown eyes, frustration taking over his features. Your heart starts beating again, a rapid pitter pat against your ribcage. You keep your eyes forward, picking up your pace just slightly, as if you're escaping the flame of his gaze.

You shut the door once you're in the kitchen, and you stand on your tip toes to grab the kids' snacks that are stored in the top shelf. You lay out an array of goodies, from fruit snacks to Goldfish to Teddy Grahams.

Her eyes widen at the selection, the first smile you've seen from her curling her lips. You smile back, and she points at the fruit snacks.

"Good pick," you nod, opening the packet for her. "Here you go!"

She accepts the snack gratefully, munching on the gummy snack as she rests her head on the table. Poor thing, you think. Who knows how long she's been up.

The silence is cut by a tap on the glass window. You startle, causing Leah to sit up abruptly. You see that it's Dana, relaxing just slightly. You walk over to the door and pop your head out.

"Hey, what's up?" You ask.

"I'm takin' over with sweet girl over here. Get back to the boss man, he's not happy with ya," she tells you, and your heart sinks.

"Oh, okay," you open the door wider to let her in. "Hey, Leah," you start, and she looks up, her eyes widening at the new guest. "This is my friend Dana. She's going to be staying with you, okay? She's really nice. You guys will have fun with each other." You smile, turning to exit the kitchen.

"Mmph!" You muffle against cotton as you collide against a broad, rigid chest. "Jesus, Robby," you breathe out, taking a step to the side. Anything to escape the woody smell of his cologne.

He scoffs, the incredulous smile on his face flipping your stomach like a pancake. "Yeah, Jesus," he repeats, annoyance lacing his tone. "Find me in Exam Room 2 in five," he orders before stalking off.

You watch him walk, studying his frame as he saunters through the ER, using his broad shoulders to maneuver the crowd. It's pathetic, the way even his walk causes sweat to prick at your brow, your face heating with nerves. Curiosity pokes at your gut, Exam Room 2? It's a bizarre request from a senior attending, and you can only imagine how much trouble you've gotten yourself in.

You make your way to the exam rooms, your heart pounding louder with every step. You wring your hands together, the sweat accumulating there creating a slippery resistance. You let out a sigh as you reach the second room of the exam hallway, a green light indicating it's free usage.

You turn the knob, cracking it slightly to find Robby, hands on his head, facing the back wall. The door creaks as you push it open, and you clear your throat lightly to announce your presence. You press yourself against the door when it shuts, nerves so palpable you're surprised Robby can't feel it, can't taste it.

"Dr. Robby," you start, voice shaky, knowing he's about to hand you your ass. "I'm sorry I disobeyed your instruction-"

"Damn right you did," he cuts you off, arms crossed over his heaving chest. "You had a direct order to stay with me, so why did I find you with Langdon?" He stalks closer to you, just a step or two, though it feels like more.

"I-I just-" you fumble over your words, that damn cologne wafting through your nose again. "I saw a family, I thought I could help." It's a weak answer, but at least it's honest.

He nods, lips pursing together in thought.

"Guess I can't stay too mad about that," he admits, though his tone is clipped. He runs his palms over his forehead, his glasses pinched between his thumb and pointer finger as he rubs at his eyes.

You're not sure what to say next, treading carefully in the small, tense room. His silence eats at you, each second passing in agony. You watch your boss take deep, heavy breaths, committing the rise and fall of his chest to memory.

God, you wish you could rewind to a time where you weren't completely enthralled with Michael Robinavitch. Not being locked in a confine space with him would be helpful, too.

You shove your hands in your pockets, about to turn and leave when he stops you.

"Wait," he orders. You do as he says.

"I-about what I heard earlier…" he starts, and the breath is stolen from your lungs.

Your jaw drops, white hot embarrassment boiling deep in your stomach. This is what this is all about? Your cheeks burn, and you cover your face with your hands to escape his upending glare. You wish the ground would swallow you whole.

"Dr. Robby, I am so, so sorry about that," you stress, your eyes turning glassy. "It was entirely unprofessional, any patient could have heard me, and we shouldn't have been talking about that on the clock. I sincerely apologize, Sir-"

He cuts off your rambling with a sharp inhale, squeezing his eyes shut, almost as if your words pain him. He holds a hand up, glasses still in his grip. You take a moment, study the way his long, thick digits wrap around the metal.

"You can't- you can't call me that," he breathes out, a sarcastic laugh escaping his lips.

Your brows knit together in confusion, your mouth partially opened, unsure how to respond.

"I'm sorry?" You say, dumbly. It's all you can manage, shock at this new side of your boss taking over.

"You can't call me Sir. Not anymore," he avoids eye contact with you, the vein in his neck bulging.

"I'm sorry, did I do something to offend you, Dr. Robby? I promise I had no intention-"

"No-dammit," he cuts you off again, sweat starting to form at his brow. "Of course you didn't. You're one of my best nurses," he gruffs, almost annoyed at that.

"Thank you?" You respond, and he chuckles. It's a real one this time, a glint in his eye as he takes you in. Your own lips turn up in a smile.

"I just- I know it was a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear. It's just-" he plows five fingers through his hair as he struggles for the words. "All I've been able to think about since then is how I want to- you don't-you deserve so much better than that."

The last few words come out a whisper, and the world stops on its axis. Your mouth fully drops open, shock electrocuting your veins. The past few hours play back as a montage in your brain, his hesitation in the ambulance bay, the need to have you near him, his anger that you went to help Langdon.

Then, another realization dawns on you. A knowing laugh escapes your throat, and you palm your mouth closed. His brow quirks at you, red tinting his cheeks.

"Is that why I can't call you 'Sir'?" You ask, flirtation lacing your tone. "Because you want to help me out so badly?"

He pulls the collar of his sweatshirt away from his neck, fanning himself some as he once again avoids your gaze.

"Fuck!" He exclaims, ten fingers now raking their way through his mussed hair. "I can't- this is ridiculous, you're my nurse. This is entirely inappropriate-"

He rushes to the door, if only you weren't in the way. You stop him, a gentle hand on his forearm. The proximity is lethal, now. He's so close, you can hear his small pants, the tapping of his foot against linoleum.

"I mean, it would be inappropriate, yes," you start, allowing your fingers to graze his skin lightly. He shudders, and your smile is sinful. "If only I wasn't thinking about you all day, too."

His eyes snap to yours at the admission, and you can't help but flit your gaze to his lips. They're slightly chapped, the nippy fall air starting to mark its territory on his skin. They're plump all the same, though, and you wish you could brand the way he licks them onto your skin.

"Robinavitch!" Dana shouts, and you two flinch against each other.

The reality of this situation dawns on both of you, panic now taking place of the tension rumbling between you. Robby presses his fingers to his temples, eyes falling shut for a brief moment.

He pushes you toward the corner of the room, where you'd be hidden once the door opens.

"Stay here," he whispers, and the shoulder where he grips you may as well be on fire. "Give it five minutes. Then go. We can't-I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" he murmurs under his breath as he swings the door open, his quick gait finding Dana at the end of the hallway.

Silence settles over you like a winter's chill. You roll your shoulders, attempting to shake out any remnants of Michael Robinavitch. You take your hair out of its clip, mussing it lightly to try to at least appear like you've been working.

You take a deep breath in, pushing it out before swinging the door open yourself, finding Robby once again delighting a patient in his special way. Your stomach churns with desire at the sight. Now that you know he wants you, too, all bets are off.

The rest of your shift is a blur, darkness soon settling over PTMC like a blanket. Your tasks feel menial, painfully routine when Robby looks at you the way he is. He's living in the back of your mind until hour twelve blissfully arrives.

It all replays in your head as you walk to the lockers, the glimmer in his eye when he looks at you, the way his knees buckle when you continuously call him 'Sir'. You swing the door open, nodding to the night shift nurses while you collect your things.

You're halfway through the vestibule, the parking lot in near distance, the sweet freedom of home calling your name. Something calls louder, though, and your head swings to the noise.

It's the door to the roof, shutting abruptly. You hear heavy footsteps clunking up the staircase, and you know all too well who it is. You stand there, the angel and devil on your shoulder debating whether or not to follow him.

You think back to the moment you guys had in the exam room, his breathlessness when you called him sir, his knees buckling when you grazed his arm with your fingers. Hell, the man blushed. More than once. You follow him.

You take a moment to appreciate the view once you're up there. The colorful leaves paint a beautiful autumnal skyline. You huff out a breath, a small puff wafting through the crisp air.

You set your bag down, slinking your arms through your pink sweatshirt. It's cold up here. Sobering. You can tell why Robby likes it up here.

"Hey," you start, and he jumps.

It makes you giggle, the pressure of being on the clock no longer pushing down on the two of you.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, rubbing his forehead with his palm. "How'd you find me up here, huh?" He asks, a playful glint in his eye.

"Just a hunch," you smile sinfully, eyes trained on the October sky in front of you. "It's beautiful up here," you remark, as if the tension isn't suffocating.

"Yeah," he remarks, his eyes burning a hole through your cheek. "Yeah, it is."

You have a feeling he's not talking about the view.

"Robby-" you start, but it's not long before his lips are on yours.

The kiss takes your breath away, the firm press of his soft lips is a delicious contrast, enough to make you dizzy. You grip his biceps, your fingers squeezing the tough muscle there. He grunts against your lips and you ease up a little, rubbing soothing circles in apology.

"Do you know," he mutters between kisses, his hands finding your skin under your sweatshirt and scrubs, "how much," he kisses down your cheek, your neck, "I want you?" He pulls away at this question, his eyes finding yours, bewildered at his confession. He presses a kiss to your nose before pulling you closer to him again.

Your head buries into his chest, his hands relentless, exploring every square inch of your body he can reach, his lips following suit. It's you that kisses him this time, gripping his jaw and pulling him to you with a whine.

"You taste so fucking good," he groans, tongue peeking out, testing the waters.

The slide of his tongue against yours is delectable, butterflies flooding your stomach in record speed. You grip the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing him even closer to you. Your knees buckle, falling further into him as he wraps more of himself around you.

He sighs into the kiss as he hoists you around his waist, pulling you out of sight behind a wall lining the roof. Your back hits the hard cement, and Robby's hand resting on the area beside your head. His forehead presses into yours, his breathing coming out quick and shallow. Yours matches his, and you can't help but rake your nails up his stomach to his chest, reveling in the way he shivers at the contact.

"I want you so fucking bad," he grumbles, rocking his hips into yours against the wall.

"You have me," you mutter, "I'm yours."

He groans at that, a loud, pained sound that rumbles somewhere deep in your stomach. He shakes his head, then, and your heart drops.

"Not here," he pants, pressing his body further into you. You moan at the contact, his hips jerking in response. "Fuck."

He kisses you once more, then again, and again. "After what I heard today…" he trails off, pressing kisses all over your face, "about how you're only satisfied with your vibrator…" more kisses, "it made me crazy. Can't believe these idiots your age don't know what to do with a woman like you."

Heat rushes through your veins at his words, desire burning at dangerous temperatures. His kisses grow more frantic as you feel him plumping up through his pants. Your knees buckle around him, and you thrust your own hips up to meet his.

"Robby, please. I need you to at least touch me," you whisper, not above begging for this man.

Your heart clutches when he shakes his head no, though his brows are knit together in pleasure, his lips parted in a perfect 'o'. He's on the brink of snapping, you can tell. You think you know exactly what'll get him, too.

"Sir, please. I need it," you plead, widening your eyes and jutting out your bottom lip.

A groan rips out of Robby's throat, his frantic hands pushing your scrubs down just below your ass. His fingers find your folds in record time, slowly sliding up and down, collecting your wetness. You bite your lip at the contact, your eyes never leaving his.

His brows jump at your pained expression, fingers stopping for a brief moment. "This okay?" He ensures, and you nod, whining and desperate for him to move again.

"Nuh-uh," he swats your thigh and you yelp. "Is this okay? Yes or no," he demands, and you fall even limper in his arms.

"Yes, it's okay Robby," you breathe out, your hands gripping his wrist, guiding him back to you. He smiles sardonically as he finds your clit, his index finger rubbing slightly.

"Oh God," you moan, arching your back off the wall. "Faster, please faster ohmygod," you whimper out, keening when his speed picks up.

"Yeah?" He asks, a faux pity lacing his tone. "This where you use your vibrator?"

You moan in response, and he chuckles.

"Yeaahh," he draws out, a teasing gasp leaving his lips at the jerk of your hips. "You press it on this pretty clit? Make yourself cum after some asshole can't do it for you?"

You nod shamelessly, hands reaching for his biceps once again. "Please Robby, make me cum, please Sir."

A finger enters you at that, pushing a squeal out of you. He breathes another chuckle, moving his middle finger in and out slowly, trying to find a rhythm. It's hard, given your lack of space, and you wiggle your hips to try and give him a better angle.

He huffs out a breath, muttering "fuck it," before dropping to his knees, pulling your scrubs down to your ankles. You squeal at the sudden movement, his arms scooping under your legs and ass, holding you upright as his tongue finds your clit.

Heat boils in your stomach as he swirls circles into your clit. His spit and your arousal create a tantalizing friction against your most sensitive spot. You bury your hands in his hair, gripping and tugging, the vibrations of his groan against your pussy like a reward.

"So fucking delicious, holy shit," he mutters against your skin, his middle finger able to slide in easier now at this angle. He sucks your clit into his mouth, letting it go with a wet pop.

"God, Robby. Feels so good, never been this good," you whine, scraping your nails through his scalp. He shudders at this.

"Yeah? These fucking boys don't deserve you. I don't even fucking deserve you, shit-" he palms at his pants, pressing a kiss to your clit as he adds his ring finger. "Least I can do is make you cum."

Your eyes squeeze shut as white hot pressure builds in your stomach, almost too much to take. Your legs flail involuntarily, and he shushes you with sweet kisses to your clit.

"Shh, shh," he soothes, lessening his assault on your pussy. "You're okay, you can let go, I love the taste of you. So fucking delicious, can't wait to taste you."

You snap, intense waves of pleasure relentless as you writhe in his grasp, a high pitched moan wrestling its way out of your throat.

"Oh God Sir, I'm coming," you exclaim, his own groan vibrates against you, pushing you farther off the edge.

Your vision is spotty as you come down, taking advantage of the cool night air you breathe in. It takes a moment for you to set yourself back down on the ground, shaky legs beneath you like a baby deer.

Tension settles over you two once more as you take each other in. He's gorgeous- hair mussed, lips puffy, nose shining from your wetness. You can't help but smile, prompting his own in return. You take a small step forward, eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants. You raise your brows once, twice.

"Well," you start, reaching for him, "can I return the favor?"

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but no," Robby says, and it stops you dead in your tracks.

Tears spring to your eyes, and he's quick to the damage control.

"No, no, no, it's not like that," he reassures, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

"I just-" he shakes his head, eyes finding his feet, then flitting back to you, "if I get my dick out in any way tonight, I'm going to end up fucking you."

You throw your hands up, unsure what the problem is there. He chuckles again.

"We're not fucking until I can treat you to a proper date. I'm not going to be one of those assholes that's just trying to get their dick wet. Can I take you out?" He asks, and it's almost bashful.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach again, your cheeks heating at his loving gaze. You nod your head, lips pursed together.

"Yeah," you mutter, "yeah. That sounds nice."

He leans in to kiss you gently on the lips. You pull him back for one more, which turns into two, three, four.

"Can I pick you up Friday? Are you working then?" He asks, and you shake your head no. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

He slips a piece of paper out of his pocket and places it in your hands, wrapping your fist closed around it.

"Text me your address. I'll be there at 7. Don't be late," he punctuates this with a kiss on the cheek before walking off.