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.

“Hey!” said Samira falling at your side at the counter.

You were still too distracted by the two to even tear your gaze away and look at her. “Hey.”

Samira followed your eyeline. “You're staring, you know that?”

You nodded.

Robby rubbed at the side of his face as his cheeks flushed, Noelle shifted her weight onto her other heeled foot- apparently getting herself comfortable.

“Who is that, again?” asked Doctor Mohan.

“Noelle. She's from insurance.”

Samira nodded. “Noelle from insurance. Annnd do we like Noelle, from insurance?”

At that you realised just how transparent your glares might have been.

“Oh, you know,” you mumbled, finally looking back down to your tablet that had grown dark in the absence of movement. “It's our job to like everyone.”

Santos passed by you then, dropping herself down into your favourite chair in exhaustion. “Not everyone.”

“So we're all having a great day, I see,” you commented, sarcastically. However the sardonic tone of your voice was over-saturated with a loud laugh.

Your head practically snapped up to see Noelle laughing at something Robby had said. Even his face was scrunched up at his joke. You watched as Noelle's hand darted to his bicep, playfully hitting him in a way that could only be recognised as flirting.

You watched as Robby looked down to her hand on him and then he looked up, finding you and finding your watchful gaze. Only then did the pink in his cheeks subside and the wrinkles of amusement die.

“Didn't they have a thing before you and him got together?” asked Santos.

You sighed. “Yes, they did, thank you, Trinity.”

“Hey, just trying to be helpful.”

“Save it for the patients,” you said.

Robby took one step in your direction but you'd already dismissed yourself from Santos and Mohan, walking the ward like it was a battle field.

But you could hear your boyfriends heavy boots close behind you.

“Don't do that,” he said, calling after you.

“Do what? See a patient?”

“It's not what you think,” he said.

“Of course it's not,” you said, trying your best to be indifferent.

You knew about Noelle and Robby's history, just as you knew about his and Heathers, and his and the pathologist from upstairs, and the one from ortho. You knew and you understood, heck you'd even been around to joke about with Landon. Robby's famous seven-week itch.

Rumour had it before he finally got to hold your hand and kiss you whenever he liked he'd been trying to nail you down for years, but you weren't sure how much you believed.

It had been nine months, maybe closer to ten since you and Robby had officially started seeing each other. It was the real boyfriend-girlfriend deal where you could call each other at any moments of the day, could get take out together and discuss the boring things together.

Yet, you did none of that.

Robby and you didn't talk.

You fucked- but only each other. You worked on cases together- strictly professional. On the days where you were desperate there was an on-call room Robby could book out and steal time away with you.

But you didn't remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him.

“It's not,” said Robby again.

“Of course it's not.”

Robby sighed, falling closer behind you. “Well, it doesn't really sound like you believe me.”

“I believe you,” you said. “Do I believe Noelle...”

“Oh, c'mon,” Robby chuckled, like the very idea of them was ridiculous. Like the two of you didn't begin where they ended. “You seriously gonna be hung up on that?”

“Don't,” you warn, shaking your head.

You reached for an exam room door, where a sixteen year old boy was complaining of migraines but Robby grabbed your wrist and stirred you away.

“You wanna argue, not here,” he said.

“I don't want to argue.”

Robby led you out to the ambulance bay. Any nurses stealing a couple minutes of peace quickly diverted back in and even ambulances seemed to divert away. He let go of you, standing away and folding his arms over his chest, defensive. “So come on, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You're mad because I was talking to Noelle- about a case, might I add,” he said. There was nothing soft in his tone, nothing that calmed your nerves on edge. He said it all like it was a joke that he already knew the punchline to.

You rubbed at your temple. “You can talk to Noelle about cases, of course you can-”

“- Oh, thank you, glad I have your permission,” he chuckled.

“Can you just not be a dick about this, for once!” you snapped.

Robby's brows rose to his head, almost shocked at your snap at him. He held out his hands. “Okay, I'm not being a dick.”

“You are, and it's like sometimes you don't even realise.”

His hands were worn with the mornings patients and you could see the stress he tried to hide away as he wiped up and down his face.

You took a deep breath. “Robby, if you don't want this to work out all you have to do is say.” You said it, un-sure if you even meant it. Un-sure that you could ever go back to who you were before meeting Robby, let alone sharing in his life. In the small moments grabbing take out together and eating it on his sofa. In the mornings where you both naturally woke up early enough to just admire each other before you had to get to work.

Robby chuckled dryly, hands on his hips. “Oh my god, all of this because I spoke to another woman?”

“Because you laughed with her like you haven't with me for weeks!” you argued.

For once, Robby was silent.

You told yourself after the seven week mark that it would be any day now, that he'd tell you you were better off friends; colleagues. Every day and week it didn't come, every month he got more comfortable in your bed you figured you'd easily get rid of him in your life as easily as you welcomed him.

Now you stood across from him in the early morning light of the ambulance bay knowing if he left you now you'd never get back on your feet again.

“I see the way Noelle looks at you, how the others from upstairs do to,” you begin.

Robby shook his head, something earnest in his gaze. “They're not- they don't-”

“- I know, I know,” you said, cutting him off with a grimace of a smile. “ ”I know you don't love them, Robby. I'm just not sure you love me either.”

As un-cultured as you were with your own relationships you weren't sure when the right time to say I love you was. You knew Santos had said it to Garcia drunk one night and woke up with regret pinning her to the bed. You knew Dana and Benji had said it to each other a week in. You knew you loved Robby before you even kissed him.

Robby looked down to his boots, shaking his head. “That's not fair.”

Your heart pinched. “I know I love you, Robby. But I can't watch all these woman over you and-and wonder.”

“Your insecurities are not my fault!” Robby snapped.

You knew he didn't mean it, or hoped he didn't. You knew in the very small arguments you'd had that he spoke without thinking and came grovelling back.

Maybe it was worse this time because you knew it was the truth. You knew these women- his ex something's- didn't get to see Robby in the early mornings and be the last thing he spoke to at night. You knew Robby wasn't inviting them into his self, but he wasn't pushing them away either.

They'd all been quick, snaps of bands on wrists. You were supposed to be something more.

Maybe you weren't.

Biting on the inside of your cheek, you felt the familiar burning in your chest, rising up to your neck.

“Okay.” You held yourself tight, heading past him and to the doors that were already welcoming you back.

Robby was hot on your heels, quicker even as he pushed himself ahead of you. “No, no, no- hey- wait, no I-I didn't mean that.” His eyes were wide, hands held out in front of you, not quite clasped together, pointing to the sky but pleading none the less.

“We shouldn't talk about this now, Robby-”

“- I- we... honey, please.”

He stood in between you and the doors. Beyond him you saw the chaos of the room, the charts being passed, the labs being reported. The world still turned.

Robby's hands fell to your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. “Let me- jus' let me-let me-”

“Hey! You two!”

Robby didn't jump apart from you, he squeezed your arms tighter as the two of you looked back to Dana who rushed out, wisps of grey hair falling around her. “What is it?”

“There's been a crash down the docks, all hands on deck!”

You thought you knew chaos, having seen all sorts of terror and oddities in the Pitt but the scenes at the dock were nothing like it. A complication with a boat, an explosion- small enough- rattled ferries and had them crashing into one another like terrible scene of dominoes.

Heck, you weren't even sure if the docks were safe to be standing on.

There were fire trucks and ambulances that didn't just respond to PTMC but Presby too. Police were corning off the area, talking to any witnesses but everyone blurred in one as you weaved in and out of them.

You'd been sent as an emergency respondent thanks to how level-headed and sturdy you were in the Pittfest. You still remembered how Robby nominated you as well as Whitaker to go with some from surgery, his eyes dark on you, a trusting nod passed before you were handed a jacket and pushed into an ambulance.

You'd already pulled a sheet over three bodies, one of them too small for your liking.

“Any for me?” asked a first emergency responder, you think his name was Spencer, catching it in the rig you caught a ride in. “We can take two.”

“Yeah!” you yelled and led him away. “This guy, approximately in his thirties, head lack to the right, needs to go to surgery immediately. This woman, late twenties, lost consciousness, possible pelvic bleed but she's stabilised, need's a ultrasound.”

“Got it!”

You'd gone through almost all the gloves you had in your pockets. There was blood seeping into your scrub uniform at your knees. You'd forgone your coat to a little girl who took an ambulance back with her mother, trembling from the cold.

A steady, firm hand settled between your shoulder blades.

“How you holding on, Slugger?”

Your heart soared in relief when you recognised Jack's voice, felt his steady hand and saw his easy smile in the middle of all the pain.

“Jack, thank god. Are you here with your team?” you asked, eying the uniform he was in.

“Yeah, we came to secure the area, doing everything I can to help,” he said, the two of you nudging your way through the people, stepping over the rubble and pools of water or blood. “How you holding up?”

“Lost three,” you told him.

Jack looked down at you, the weight of his gaze always heavy. “And how many you saved, huh? Focus on that number.”

The wind picked up, sending a chill over your bones.

“Hey, where's your jacket?” asked Jack, a frown taking over his features.

You chuckled. “Probably half way to Presby by now, think we've handed off all the traumas PTMC can take.”

Jack tutted and shook his head aside. “I reckon they've got one more in them.”

You didn't know how you and Jack had got so close, somewhere along the lines of hand-offs and covering night shifts you just always gravitated toward each other, working well and saving lives. Every daring procedure you'd taken was with him over your shoulder only for him to go and boast about you to Robby later.

Jack led you to Robby, for that you always had to be thankful.

“Hey! I've got a guy seizing over here!”

With your case in hand the two of you rushed off.

The man seemed middle-aged with no obvious wound to him as you and Jack took either side. The man was at the edge of the docks, the crashing of the waves fighting against you as you worked to stablilse him.

Jack steadied him. “Check if there's any medication on him! It might be a disorder!”

You checked, coming up empty pocketed. You fumbled in your bag and tried your pockets before finding the vial and clean needle. “Pushing diazepam!”

With five cc's in his seizing slowed to dull twitches.

“We need a back board and neck brace,” said Jack, looking around to try and flag down anyone.

Nobody was catching your eyes. This close to the water you were out of the way of most of the chaos.

“Go!” you told Jack. “I'll stay with him, make sure he doesn't sieze again.”

Jack's brows pinched together for a second. “You sure?”

You nodded. Your hands remained on your patient, feeling his tremors and already timing his pulse with your watch. “I've got it, go!”

In hind sight you should have thought about the implications. You'd been grabbed and yelled at and spat at in the ED by less sever patients but once you'd been attacked by a man who just woke up from a seizure, dazed and confused and naming you his enemy.

Robby had never been so close to murder.

It took weeks for the bruises to go down, for your hand to heal properly from the fall and you were on bed rest for a week.

You knew what it meant to be alone with a patient, but sometimes you supposed it couldn't be helped.

The diazepam should have helped- you've seen it help- but soon enough the man started twitching, slow at first, before it started to fit and his whole body moved.

He was a strong man. You weren't.

“It's okay, sir- sir!” you threw your weight against him to hold him still, wonder what you can do to stop him biting down on his tongue with the little equipment you had.

The man was mumbling to himself, thrashing violently.

“C'mon Jack, c'mon-”

It only took a wide sweep of the mans arm to send you hurtling back and crashing into the icy water.

The sky was darkening by the time Robby counted off his thirtieth patient of the day. Twenty-five of them had been from the incident at the docks. Only one he couldn't save, two sent up to the OR.

He counted the patients, counted the hours that ticked by, counted every ambulance that came by not carrying you. He'd expected you back by now, expected to have a little piece of mind with seeing you back in his eyeline.

Robby's heart was being squeezed progressively as the day went on, ever since he'd snapped and said words he never even meant.

Every second, passing from patient to patient and tearing off gloves to replace them with clean ones he checked his phone for any update from you.

Nothing.

You must have been busy down there.

But just three ambulances ago Whitaker returned saying he lost sight of you practically immediately.

So where the hell were you?

“Hey, Dana-” he called, rounding on the nurses station.

She looked as dishevelled as he felt, wisps of hair, dark circles under her eyes.

“Can you get a hold of transport, ask where the hell is my resident.”

“I just got off the phone with them, Robby-” she reached over and placed a hand on his, the one that had been tapping relentlessly. “She's on her way in now.”

Before Robby could even wonder why Dana had to hold his hand to tell him, why her eyes were glassed over and her voice trembled to tell him the doors bust open.

“Robby!” Jack yelled out.

He turned, catching sight of his old friend, the greying hair damp and sticking to his skin. He was half dressed in SWAT gear, his jacket discarded and bits of tinfoil falling from his shoulders. Jack was set over a gurney, hammering down on a chest and going in for CPR the old fashioned way.

“What happened? You fall in-”

Robby got to the other side of the gurney and breath caught in his chest.

“She's been down thirty- thirty-five minutes, I dunno, man,” said Jack as he continued hammering down on your chest.

It was you. Blue in the face and eyes closed, droplets of water at your lashes. Your hair was turning to ice fanned out underneath you. He'd been running his hand through your hair just that morning, had he not. There was a blanket, maybe two, thrown over you but your body only reacted to the thumping Jack delivered on your chest, pinching your nose to breath down your open mouth.

This morning you'd been warm, so warm, with a leg thrown over his hips in attempts to keep him in your bed. And he'd been close, so close to burying himself in your warmth.

He didn't even have to touch you to know you were cold.

“I found her- in the water- pulled her out-” gasped Jack as he continued compressions.

“What do you mean in the water?” asked Robby, surprising himself by how calm he sounded.

“She- she fell, or-or something, I dunno man-”

“You don't know?” he snapped. “Why isn't she bagged?”

“We ran out,” said the paramedic pushing you in.

“You ran out?!”

“Robby- Robby!” Dana's hands were on his chest, keeping him at bay before Robby even knew what he was going to do.

Robby shook her off. “What's open?”

“Trauma two just got cleaned up-”

He grabbed the gurney and pushed you into the room. The weight of Jack on top of you trying to save your life squeaking the wheels against the floor not long wiped from blood. Robby was aware of other voices, of people wondering if that was Jack and was it... no... it couldn't have been.

The doors closed behind a team of people all teaming in, stuttering when they saw you.

“Hook her up!” ordered Robby, ignoring any protocol of gowns and gloves. If he was going to get you back he was going to feel the beat of your heart under his palms. “Jack, move!”

Jack slowly climbed down and Robby jumped up next, quickly taking over compressions.

He remembered kissing down your chest, hiding himself there on mornings he wanted to steal away five minutes, pulling the covers up past the two of you. How he was breaking ribs to keep you alive. “Somebody get a bag on her, now!”

“She's- she's been down a long time,” said Jack, catching his breath.

Robby thumped down on your chest, kidding himself with the dull flutter of your eyelashes, knowing it was only through the force of his hammering down on you. “She's alive.”

“Jesus, Jack, you're as cold as ice,” said Dana from somewhere behind Robby.

“I'm fine,” he dismissed. “Robby, you shouldn't be working on her, brother.”

Others in the room stopped, hearing that.

It was protocol family waited outside, that if family or friends ever came in demanding help the same DNA did not attend. They were too emotionally clouded. To invested to think straight. The last time Robby found himself in this situation: blood pumping in his ears, chest tight was trying to save Jake's girlfriends life.

He'd failed.

The only person to pull him back from that was you.

There'd be nobody if you didn't pull through. He'd be left in that pedes room, never to leave.

“Robby!” Jack tried again.

“Shut up and get me some warm saline!”

“Oh, no,” said Jack, walking around till he was on the other side of your gurney. “No, I'm not going anywhere.”

Robby was still pressing his hands down on your chest when Jack reached over, past the bag they'd finally clamped over on you, and stroked back your hair.

“We're gonna get you through this,” he uttered in an oddly tender moment.

“We need to get a central line in her,” said Matteo.

Jack looked at Robby. “Brother.”

“No.”

“You have to move, we need to get a line in her.”

Robby knew that. He knew so much as a doctor, as chief attending. But he couldn't stop, he physically couldn't bring himself to.

“Robby, man, you gotta let go.”

“I can't... I can't... I can't...” he said. The only thing keeping him sane was the one, two, three, four count in his head, was the cold feeling of your flesh under his hands. “Push three milligrams of epi.”

Jack huffed in frustration, probably the only thing keeping him warm. He marched around your bed to his side. “Robby, so help me god I will drag you out of here if you don't let her go!”

“I can't!” he yelled.

It was selfish but Robby had some how convinced himself he could be selfish with you. He could hold on tighter in the mornings and let you go for the rest of the day. He could watch patients get close to you because he knew it was him who got to kiss you. He could hold back the worst parts of himself to keep you, no matter how much it tore him apart to push you away on the days he wanted to be closest.

No, Robby could never let you go.

If you ever tried to leave him, he'd hold on tighter.

Robby dropped his voice low. “I can't.”

Jack took in a slow breath, a gentle hand on Robby's bicep. “Okay. Okay. You don't have to let her go... but to save her you have to move aside.”

A monitor somewhere in the room beeped.

Slowly, Robby moved from your chest.

The people swarmed you. Someone cut into you, getting a central line in on your other side.

Robby stayed where he was, a hand holding yours tightly as if he could squeeze his own life into yours. He cried- maybe loudly- at the feel of how cold you were.

“What's her temp?” asked Jack.

“Eighty.”

Robby looked up to the monitor reading your vitals. “That's- that's too low.”

“We're getting her warmed up.”

“Get the warm saline.”

“We are.”

Robby leaned over you once the line was placed, brushing back your hair and trying desperately to ignore how cold you were. “You're not dead, you're not,” he said, low for you. Your vitals may have been saying different. “You're not dead.”

“Doctor Robby-”

“Please,” he begged with trembling lips. “Please, don't do this to me.”

A monitor sung low and dry. The classic song of a flatline.

His head jerked up.

Jack caught his stupor and pushed him from you, sending him into Dana's ready hold. “She's going into V-fib!”

Dana held Robby. Physically she wasn't strong enough to hold him back but Robby wasn't strong enough to fight against her. “Robby... Robby, c'mon, let's wait outside.”

He was shaking his head.

“Panels, charge to three hundred!” called out Jack.

Dana had just managed to push him out the doors as he shouted clear!

Through the glass Robby watched your body jerk but not respond.

“Please, please, please,” he uttered. His back hit the nurses station, his knees giving out as he slowly slid and sank to the floor.

“Okay, okay,” muttered Dana, falling with him and holding him there.

The Pitt seemed to stand still at the sight of their boss, white faced and hands trembling, brushing back his hair. Noise travelled quick, that it was you in the bed, ribs breaking from compressions, chest hurting from the shock.

Robby's hands clasped in front of him, his star of David chain clenched in his hands. “Please.... she can't do this to me, please.”

Dana tugged on his body, bringing him in closer. With her sharp gaze she pushed everyone else that dared try and get closer away. “C'mon, Robby, she's strong, you know that. And stubborn like hell, huh?”

Robby nodded along with her words, un-sure if he could believe it.

“Charge again, three hundred, let's go!” called Jack, rubbing the panels before everyone backed up. “Clear!”

There was a small beep, a pick up in the line.

“There! Resume compressions!”

“Doctor Robby!” Santos ran up, her gown like a cape around her. She slowed to a stop in front of the two slumped. “Dana. Dana, is it- is it true, is it?”

Robby looked up, tear stained cheeks red.

“Yeah, kid,” said Dana, sadly.

Santo's jaw trembled before she shook her head in resolute, saying one simple word. No. Then she stormed into the room.

Robby knew you favoured Santos and somewhere along the way Robby had come to look for her when an interesting case came in. He came to favour the way you smiled at Santos when she did things right and Robby searched for any smile he could get from you.

So, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and followed her in- back into the chaos that was your room. The blankets had slipped from your body in the shocks and he desperately tried to hold himself back from fixing them.

“Doctor Abbot-” said a nurse or a intern or someone in the room. “It's been thirty minutes.”

“Hold compressions.”

Robby knew it was to check your pulse but he winced when they paused, when your body didn't respond.

“Still asystole, resume compressions.” Jack caught Robby's gaze.

He'd seen that look on Jack's face. Had seen the hopelessness and the devastation at losing a patient not only in his face but in his own reflection. “Don't-”

Jack lowered his head. “Robby.”

“No, Jack, her temp is not up! She's cold,” he said, walking back around the room. He rolled his shoulders back, pulling on gloves. If nobody else was going to save you he would. “She is not dead! She's not- She's not dead till she's warm and dead! Push another round of epi!”

Matteo jumped at the chance.

Jack stood by Robby's side. “Just... prepare yourself, okay? She's been down a long time. She might not come back from this.”

Robby glanced back at him. “She will.”

“And even if she did-”

Robby cut him off. “She will.”

They couldn't send you up to the OR- there was nothing surgical to do. They couldn't send you to the ICU- you weren't stable. They could work on you for hours, in the pitts of hell.

Robby didn't stop Jesse from compressions but he leant over you, leaning his lips into your forehead. “You'll come back, you have to come back.”

“What's her temp?”

“We're up to eighty-eight.”

“When was our last epi?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“Push again.”

At some point Santos pushed her through the crowd, taking compressions from Jesse who she deemed weak-armed.

“Doctor Santos-” said Jack, the only one seeing this for what it was. A disaster. One more emotional person in the room wasn't going to help. If you woke you might just choke on tears from them all.

“I can do it,” she argued, nodding to the night attending. “I can do it.”

Santos was as stubborn as you. If anyone might have been able to beat her heart into beating, it would be her.

Robby leant over you. Robby could feel your skin cold against his lips and he pet back any bit of you he could reach, trying to warm you. He caught Jack's tired gaze, his lifeless stare like he was already grieving you. “I never told her I love her, Jack.”

“Get an APG,” said Santos.

Jack clasped his shoulder. “Tell her now.”

Robby looked back down to you, past the bag pushing your breath, through Santos keeping your heart beat. He kissed your forehead. “I-” he chocked on the words. He couldn't remember a time where he'd said it and meant it like he does now.

He knew Jack was giving him a way out. He knew Jack was giving him the chance to live with no regrets.

But Robby would regret not dying with you if you didn't make it.

There was a silence throughout the room, not even the beating of a monitor keeping him sane.

Robby's hot tears hit your cheeks.

“Temp?”

“Up to neinty.”

“Halt compressions.”

Santos paused.

Nothing.

Then a shrill beeping.

If Robby thought it was life he was going to be souly mistaken.

“She's in V-fib again!”

Robby backed away, tucking his head down to his chest as he watched Jack get the panels, rub the gel on.

“Charge to three hundred- clear!”

Your body jolted again, blankets slipping down your bare body and Robby suddenly wanted to cover you, wanted to pull every tube keeping you alive out and just hold you. Warm or cold. He just wanted to hold you.

“Again, charge. Clear!”

There was a silence. Maybe you were so angry at him you were proving a point by dying. You were a good swimmer. Why didn't you swim?

Everyone in the room paused, seeming to wait for someone to call it.

Jack looked at Robby.

“No,” he said, pushing past everyone.

“Robby-” interjected Jack.

He snatched the panels from Jack. “Charge again, three hundred-”

“-Robby-”

“I said charge again!”

The room was heavy as Jesse moved to do so, charging them up.

“Clear!”

Your body jerked again, violent. Your face remained peaceful, Santos remained off to the side, waiting for orders, waiting to know. Everyone else was looking to each other, silently deciding who would be the one to drag Robby away from your body.

“Wait- there!”

In the middle of them all there sat a pick up in your heart.

The room jumped into discussion about how to carry on, about how to keep the momentum going while Robby pressed his stethoscope into his ears and the other down on you. He listened, catching the beat of your heart.

“She's warm, she's warm and she's alive,” said Jack with a smile.

You were dreaming. It was a sweet sort of thing.

It was a warm body blanketing you and hands holding you. It was lips you knew pressing along you and drawing out pleasure. There were three tiny words spoken into flesh.

It was Robby, his head laid upon your chest in your bed and mumbling the words, tracing every letter over your ribs. When you reached for his hair, when you tried to say the words again you coughed up water instead. You clawed at your throat. You chocked in panic-

Then there was a beeping bringing you out of sweet dreams.

“Hey, hey. Honey? Honey, can you look at me?” a warm hand was running over your head, pushing back your hair. “Open your eyes.”

You tried to. They felt heavy. Sleep heavy.

But someone was coaxing you through it, holding your hand and brushing back your hair.

“Yeah, there we go... there we go, hey.”

The lights were bright, almost painfully so as they blared in your eyes. It took you a couple blinks to get them right but when you did there was a dark shadow looming over you, blocking out the lights.

There was the ragged pull of a beard and the slope of a well known nose.

You breathed in and smelt burnt coffee and hand sanitiser. “Robby?”

He smiled, crows feet at his eyes. “Hey, honey.”

You pushed up your arm, finding it oddly weak like it had been weighted down. You found an IV down in your arm. The white lights... the white walls and the IV all made slow sense.

“Wh-what?”

“Easy, easy.” Robby grabbed at your arms, holding you. He helped you sit up, reaching over and plumping your pillow and holding you there.

Only when you heard the monitor calming down and felt the pain lessen did Robby let you go, perching close on the bed next to you and grabbing your hand again.

“What happened?” you asked, finding your throat parched.

Robby sighed, pulling your hand into your lap. “There was an accident at the docks. You went with the responders to help. Your patient had a seizure and...”

You remembered the dock, the wind cold and the yells. You remembered Jack was there and the patient, he was seizing. “What happened to him?” you asked.

Robby stared at you, a small shake in his head as his brows pinched together.

“The seizing, the patient.”

There was a small look of disbelief, a soft smile creasing his chapped lips.

“What?”

His smile turned sharp with affection as he looked down. Your hand, engulfed in his, was pressed to his lips. He stayed like that as the scenes played in his head and the smile slowly started to fall. “You were brought in, your body temp was eighty. Jack was- was doing compressions. We- we had to shock you, so much, you don't- ” Robby sighed out a shaky breath. “You don't know what it was like.”

The dock, the bodies, Jack. The bite of cold water like a thousand daggers piercing into your skin. You had gasped for breath, limbs flailing.

It had felt like dying.

“Oh.”

You rubbed at your chest, pain blooming.

“You might be a bit burnt, from the shocks. And we were- we did compressions for a while so you broke a rib,” he said, chocking down a cry.

You squeezed his hand. “We?”

He nodded, chin tucked into his chest. His lips were pursed.

You'd seen Robby cry before, in shades of red face and clenched palms and always trying to hide it away. But you'd never seen him try to hide away as much as he was now. Your hand escaped his hold, caressing down his cheek.

“Robby.... hey....”

His lips puckered to your palm, pressing a kiss there. His palm was large as he held your hand up to his cheek.

“Hey,” you cooed.

Robby glanced up at you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“No, no it's not, it's not okay,” Robby took a shaky breath and scooted closer. His arm came over you, bracing himself on the bed. “You almost died.”

You searched his eyes but only found pain and defeat. He looked tired. Really tired. “But I didn't.”

“That's not the point,” he said. He brushed back strands of your hair, kept petting it down in a way you guessed comforted him more. “Jack was doing compressions for almost an hour. Your temp was down the whole time. We shocked you four times. Four.”

Robby's voice broke.

“You almost died and the last thing we did was argue.”

You didn't know what to say to that. The words I'm sorry were already rising and like he sensed it, Robby gave a small shake of his head. “Yeah... probably wasn't the best timing.”

“We're never arguing again, you understand?”

You smirked, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You could feel the race of his pulse. “Give us a week.”

“No,” said Robby. “Never.”

Something sour tasted it your mouth.

“Because we- are we, broken up?”

“No. No. We are not,” he said sternly.

You let out a breath. “Good. Good. I'd have hated to wake up from near death to that.”

“I should have listened to you,” he uttered. “Noelle is nothing, everyone else is nothing, nobody means anything to me, only you. Only ever you. And I am never letting you go again, ever.” He kissed your hand again.

You smiled at him. “What if I need to pee?”

“You can hold my hand.”

“And on mornings where I have really bad morning breath?” you teased.

“That doesn't happen, you know that,” Robby smiled.

Without any arguments left you gave up, sinking into your sheets with a shiver.

Robby frowned. “Are you cold?” he was up at once, pulling at the covers over you and the blankets. He was all but tucking you in as you laid there, taking it.

“Robby.”

“Yeah?” he hummed.

You tugged at his arm, pulling him down.

“What are you- what are you doing?” he chuckled, lightly.

“I'm cold, you're a human furnace, hold me.”

Robby was on the verge of complaining even as you pulled him down on the bed. He grunted at the squeak of the bed, was careful of the monitors assessing you. He squeezed in, pulling the rail back up as you curled up to the side to give him space. “These beds are not made for two.”

“You'll have to get onto the attending about that,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, first thing tomorrow.”

“Meh, I can persuade him, if you like.”

Robby smirked. “He'll do whatever you say.”

His arm slung over your shoulder and rested there, holding your body into him till your head was on his chest and you could feel the beat of his heart. It was just like you dream. Of comfort and warmth.

Robby said your name in a whisper.

You looked up at him to see his eyes screwed shut before releasing them.

“I...”

You watched the move of his lips. “Robby, you don't have to-”

“No, I want to,” he said. Robby's hand was careful as he cupped your face.

“You don't have to say it just because of what happened.”

“I'm not, believe me, I'm not,” he said. “I love you.”

It was the words you wanted to hear, the words you needed to know, the very thing to finish off your dream.

“Robby-” you interjected.

“I love you,” he smiled, grinning wide at you. “I've said it now, I don't think you'll get me to shut up.” There was fake remorse in his voice, a feigned sort of sorry.

“I can think of a few ways.”

Robby's lips were warm and giving as you puckered your up to his, kissing him slow. If you lost your breath kissing him it'd be a hell of a way to go.

Robby smiled against your lips. “That might work.”

His body half rolled onto yours, the bed creaking in protest. Only when your monitor warned of you losing breath did he pull away and check the machine.

“Get some rest, Robby, you look like you need it,” you said, kissing his cheek slow.

There was fight of protest in him that quickly gave up.

Robby looked up at you, wide eyed. “Can I stay?”

You nodded.

“I love you.”

The words he'd given you, the words he'd never forget to say. The words he'd spoken and would never take back.