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Did You Eat? - Dr. Robby x Female Reader - Part Two
Request - Hi! I really like your writing style and enjoyed reading through your whole masterlist. I watched the Pitt recently and I was thinking if you would consider writing about Robby with anemic reader who always forgets to eat sometimes to the point of just dropping from ✨low iron moment ✨, some angst with hurt/comfort and fluff? Thank you 🫶🏻
Your chair swiveled around so quickly it made your head throb.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would.”
“Melissa.”
“He told you to eat, didn’t he?”
“How do you know that?”
“Because every person with functioning eyes has told you to eat today.”
“I ate.”
“What?”
“A protein bar.”
“All of it?”
Silence. Melissa crossed her arms.
“How much?”
“Some.”
“How much is some?”
“An amount.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s fine.”
“You look gray.”
“I do not look gray.”
“You absolutely look gray.”
“People keep changing the color. This morning I was pale. Then I was white. Now apparently I’m gray. By five I’ll be fucking lavender.”
Melissa did not laugh. That was when you knew she was actually worried. You looked away first.
“I’m okay.”
“Then stand up.”
You hated that she had trapped you. You pushed the chair back.
“Fine.”
Slowly, deliberately, you stood. Nothing happened. You lifted both hands.
“Ta-da.”
Melissa stared at you. You smiled
“Happy?”
“No.”
“You should work on that.”
“Walk over there.”
“I know how to walk.”
“Then demonstrate.”
You rolled your eyes and walked toward the other side of the room.
“See?”
Melissa exhaled. Some of the tension left her face.
“You still need to eat.”
“Yes.”
“And sit down.”
“Yes.”
“And maybe call your boyfriend.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s working.”
“That logic is shit.”
“Most hospital logic is shit.”
The phone rang. Melissa picked it up.
“Yeah. Okay. We can take him now.”
She hung up.
“ED’s sending up a trauma.”
“What?”
“Motorcycle versus car.”
You closed your eyes.
“Of course they are.”
“He’s stable enough for imaging. Head, C-spine, chest, abdomen, pelvis.”
You nodded automatically.
“Okay.”
Melissa studied you.
“You’re not doing it.”
“What?”
“You’re not helping transfer.”
“Melissa.”
“No.”
“We’re short.”
“I don’t care. You almost passed out three times today.”
“I got dizzy.”
“Same neighborhood.”
“Not even remotely.”
“Sit at the console.”
“I can help.”
“You can help by not becoming another fucking patient.”
You stared at her. She stared back. The doors opened. The trauma team rolled the patient in.
Conversation over.
The next fifteen minutes moved quickly. That was the dangerous thing about hospital work. Adrenaline could make you forget almost anything.
The patient was a twenty-seven-year-old man, helmeted rider, hit at an intersection, blood pressure holding but borderline, obvious deformity to one leg, scattered road rash, possible abdominal injury. Everyone moved at once.
“On my count.”
“Watch the C-spine.”
“I’ve got the tube.”
“Three, two, one.”
You stayed near the console at first. Just like Melissa told you. Then someone needed another set of hands. Of course they did. You stepped forward automatically.
“Grab the sheet.”
Melissa looked at you.
“I’ve got it.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m fine.”
“Goddammit.”
There wasn’t time to argue. You helped reposition the patient. The effort was minimal. Barely anything. But when you straightened, your heart slammed violently against your ribs. You froze. One beat. Two. Three. Too fast. Your breath caught. You took one slow inhale. Then another. Nobody noticed. Good. You stepped back.
“Ready for scout.”
You moved behind the glass. The scan started. You concentrated on the screen. Images populated. Head. Neck. Chest. Your vision blurred slightly. You blinked. Better. You rubbed one eye. Melissa glanced at you.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
She frowned. You focused harder. The scan continued. Then suddenly your stomach turned. Hard. You swallowed. The room felt too warm. Much too warm. You tugged at the collar of your scrub top. Melissa noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sweating again.”
“I’m hot.”
“You were freezing an hour ago.”
You looked at her. She was scared now. Not worried. Scared. That irritated something inside you because fear made the situation feel real, and you were still very committed to the idea that nothing real was happening.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
“I need a second.”
“You need to sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“Then stay sitting.”
The scan finished. The patient needed to be moved. A nurse opened the door.
“We’re clear?”
Melissa nodded.
“Yeah.”
You stood. Melissa immediately grabbed your arm.
“No.”
“I’m just moving out of the way.”
“Sit.”
“I’m in the way.”
“Then I’ll move the chair.”
You laughed weakly.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I am standing.”
Barely. The floor felt wrong. Soft. Like walking on a mattress. You gripped the edge of the console. The rushing sound started in your ears.
“Hey.”
Melissa’s voice sounded farther away. You opened them again. The room had narrowed. Not black. Not yet. Just a tunnel. You could see Melissa’s face. Everything around her was blurry.
“Sit down.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
You looked down. She was right. You were standing. When had you stood? You couldn’t remember. That frightened you.
“I’m okay.”
Your voice sounded strange. Too soft. Melissa stepped closer.
“Sit.”
“Give me a second.”
“You’re going down.”
You took one step backward. Bad idea. The room tilted violently. You reached for the counter. Missed. Melissa grabbed your forearm.
“Hey!”
“I’m okay.”
“You keep saying that.”
Your knees felt weak. Not metaphorically. Actually weak. Like the muscles had disconnected. You locked them. Stupid instinct. Your vision dimmed further. Someone else entered the room.
“What’s happening?”
“She’s about to pass out.”
“I’m not.”
The words barely came out. Melissa tightened her grip.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
You didn’t know. You tried to bend your knees. Your body didn’t respond correctly. A cold wave moved through you. Your skin prickled. Then heat. Then cold again. Your heart was racing. Your breathing was too fast. You knew enough about medicine to understand that none of this was good. You also knew enough about yourself to keep arguing anyway.
“Just give me a second.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I just need—”
The room disappeared. Not completely. There were still voices. Shapes. Light. But your body suddenly felt impossibly heavy. Someone said your name. You tried to answer. Nothing happened. Then your knees gave out.
It was terrifying how quickly control vanished. One second you were standing. The next, you weren’t. Melissa caught one arm. Someone else grabbed you around the waist. Your shoulder hit something. Not the floor. Maybe the chair. You couldn’t tell.
“Got her.”
“Easy.”
“Get her down.”
“Hey. Stay with me.”
“Can you hear me?”
You nodded. Or thought you did.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m okay.”
This time you heard yourself. Slurred slightly. Melissa swore.
“No, you’re fucking not.”
You tried to sit up. Several hands stopped you.
“Stay down.”
“I have a patient.”
“The patient is fine.”
“I need to—”
“No.”
You blinked. The ceiling moved. Or maybe you moved. You couldn’t tell.
“Hey.” She touched your cheek. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“You fucking folded.”
“I’m awake.”
“Barely.”
Someone crouched beside you. Another tech.
“Pulse is fast.”
“How fast?”
“One twenty.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m fine.”
Three people answered at once.
“Shut up.”
You would have laughed if you had enough energy. Your eyes closed.
Nobody listened. Of course nobody listened. You tried to push yourself upright. The moment you lifted your head, nausea rolled through you. You dropped back down.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Easy.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
“Turn her.”
Someone rolled you slightly. Nothing happened. The nausea passed. Mostly. You breathed through it.
“This is embarrassing.”
Melissa gave you an incredulous look.
“You almost face-planted in CT and you’re worried about being embarrassed?”
“Yes.”
“Your priorities are fucked.”
“I know.”
A stretcher appeared. You stared at it.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not getting on that.”
“You know what would be more embarrassing?”
“What?”
“Passing out again in the hallway.”
You considered that.
“I hate you.”
Two people helped move you. You tried to assist. Your arms shook. That shut you up. You lay back. The ceiling above you swayed slightly. Someone tucked a blanket over you. You immediately realized how cold you were. Really cold. Your teeth almost wanted to chatter. Melissa touched your forehead.
The stretcher started moving. You grabbed the rail.
“Where are we going?”
“Downstairs.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need the ED.”
“You nearly lost consciousness.”
“Nearly.”
Melissa stared at you.
“That distinction is not helping.”
“I can go home.”
“You can’t even sit up.”
“I can sit up.”
You attempted it. The room tilted. You lay back down. Melissa raised her eyebrows.
The elevator doors opened. Someone pushed the stretcher inside. The movement made your stomach twist again. You closed your eyes.
“Don’t close your eyes.”
You opened them. Melissa was watching you. Someone else stood at the foot of the stretcher. A nurse from radiology. You recognized her. Barely.
“What happened?” she asked.
Melissa answered.
“She’s anemic, hasn’t eaten shit all day, got dizzy multiple times, then almost passed out.”
“I ate.”
Melissa looked at you.
“Half a protein bar does not count.”
The nurse stared at you.
“Is she always like this?”
“Unfortunately.”
The elevator descended. Your pulse still felt fast. The adrenaline was fading. In its place came something worse. Weakness. Heavy, deep weakness. Your arms felt weighted. Your legs felt like they belonged to somebody else. You swallowed.
“Melissa.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“What?”
“I feel weird.”
That one sentence erased every trace of humor. She moved closer.
“What kind of weird?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dizzy?”
“A little.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Chest pain?”
“No.”
“Can you see me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
You closed your fingers around the blanket.
“I’m really tired.”
“I know.”
“No.” Your voice dropped. “Like really tired.”
Melissa looked toward the nurse. The nurse stepped closer.
“Stay awake for me.”
You frowned.
“I am awake.”
“Good. Stay that way.”
The elevator doors opened. Emergency department. The noise spilled in. Your heart sank.
“He’s going to be pissed.”
She knew exactly who you meant.
“Good.”
“I promised him.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“I told him I’d call.”
“And did you?”
You said nothing. Melissa sighed.
“Oh, you’re dead.”
“I know.”
The stretcher rolled into the department. Princess looked up.
“What’ve we got?”
“Near syncope upstairs.”
“Patient or staff?”
“Staff.”
She looked at you. Recognition.
“Oh.”
You knew that expression. You hated that expression.
“No.”
Princess looked toward the central desk. You grabbed Melissa’s sleeve weakly.
“No.”
She looked down.
“What?”
“Don’t call him.”
Melissa stared at you.
“You cannot be serious.”
“He’s busy.”
“You almost passed out.”
“I know.”
“You think nobody’s going to tell him?”
You looked toward the department. Your vision blurred again briefly. Princess was already speaking to someone. You couldn’t hear the words. Then another person looked toward you. Then toward the trauma bays. Your stomach dropped.
“Melissa.”
“What?”
“Please.”
Her face softened. For half a second. Then she squeezed your hand.
“Sorry.”
You closed your eyes.
Across the department, someone called loudly,
“Where’s Robby?”
Your eyes opened. No. Another voice answered.
“Trauma Three.”
“Get him.”
You swallowed.
“I’m going to kill all of you.”
Melissa looked down at you.
“You’ll have to stay conscious first.”
You would have told her to fuck off. But the room tilted again. Your eyes closed. And this time, somewhere beyond the noise of the emergency department, you heard someone say,
“Call Robby. Now.”
******
Robby knew something was wrong before anyone said your name. It was the way Dana looked at him. He had been standing in Trauma Three with blood drying across the knuckles of his left glove, listening to Whitaker run through repeat vitals on the motorcycle patient who had come through CT less than twenty minutes earlier, when Dana appeared at the opening of the bay and didn’t immediately speak.
That alone got his attention. Dana Evans did not hover. She did not hesitate. She did not stand silently in doorways looking at him like she was trying to decide the least catastrophic arrangement of words. Robby looked up.
“What?”
Dana’s eyes flicked briefly toward Whitaker. Then back to him.
“Robby.”
Something cold moved through his chest.
“What?”
“You need to come out here.”
He stared at her.
“Why?”
“Just come with me.”
“No.” His voice sharpened immediately. “Tell me what happened.”
Dana stepped closer.
“It’s not a patient.”
He stopped. The noise of the trauma bay seemed to recede around him.
“What?”
“One of the staff came down from Radiology.”
For one stupid second, his brain did not connect the words. Staff. Radiology. Then it did. Everything inside him dropped.
“Where is she?”
Dana’s face answered before her mouth did. Robby was already moving.
“Robby—”
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Bay Nine.”
He ripped the gloves from his hands as he walked.
“What happened?”
“Near syncope upstairs.”
“Near?”
“She went down.”
His stride lengthened.
“Did she lose consciousness?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she hit her head?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I haven’t assessed her yet. They literally just brought her down.”
“Vitals?”
“Robby.”
“Vitals.”
“I don’t have them yet.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
He rounded the corner. And saw you. That was the moment everything changed. You were lying on a stretcher. There were probably a hundred things he should have noticed first.
That you were awake. That you were breathing. That you were talking to Melissa. That you weren’t intubated. That there was no blood. That nobody was doing compressions. That nobody around you was moving with the frantic urgency that meant someone was actively dying.
None of that registered first. He saw you on a stretcher. Pale. A blanket pulled over you. Eyes half-closed. And for approximately three seconds, Michael Robinavich was not a physician.
He was just a man looking at the woman he loved lying in his emergency department. His heart stopped. Not literally. It felt like it. Someone said something to him. He didn’t hear it. Then your eyes opened.
You saw him. And somehow, impossibly, your first reaction was guilt.
“Oh, fuck.”
Robby stopped beside the stretcher. You looked up at him.
“Hi.”
He stared at you. You swallowed.
“You look mad.”
Nothing.
“Robby?”
He reached for your wrist. His fingers found your pulse automatically. Fast. Too fast. His other hand touched your forehead. Clammy.
“You with me?”
“Yes.”
“Any chest pain?”
“No.”
“Shortness of breath?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“Not anymore.”
“Headache?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
Melissa spoke from the other side of the stretcher.
“We caught her.”
Robby’s eyes snapped toward her.
“What happened?”
“She got lightheaded in CT, tried to keep working, then her knees buckled.”
“Did she lose consciousness?”
“I don’t think completely. Maybe a few seconds where she wasn’t really responding.”
“I was responding.”
Three people ignored you. Robby looked back at Melissa.
“How long?”
“Seconds. Ten, maybe.”
“I did not lose consciousness.”
Robby finally looked down at you.
“Stop talking.”
You blinked.
“That seems rude.”
“Stop.”
There was something in his face that made you obey. Not anger. Not exactly. Fear. Pure, unfiltered fear. You had seen Robby afraid before. At work. During traumas. When patients crashed. When something went wrong faster than medicine could fix it.
But this was different. This was personal. His hand remained around your wrist even though there was now a pulse oximeter clipped to your finger and a monitor displaying your heart rate directly beside him. He didn’t seem to realize he was still counting it himself. Dana stepped in.
“Let’s get her hooked up.”
“I’m hooked up.”
“You have a pulse ox.”
“That counts.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
You sighed. Robby looked at Dana.
“ECG. Fingerstick. CBC, CMP, ferritin, iron studies.”
Dana nodded.
“Already ordered.”
“Orthostatics when she can tolerate it.”
“Yep.”
IV fluids.”
“Working on it.”
“Pregnancy test.”
You stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
He looked at you.
“Standard.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Great.”
“I would know.”
“Fantastic.”
“Robby.”
“Standard workup.”
You looked at Dana.
“He’s being a dick.”
Dana was opening an IV kit.
“He’s scared.”
Robby’s jaw tightened.
“Dana.”
“What?”
“IV.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“Then do it.”
Dana gave him a look. You looked between them.
“Okay.”
Nobody answered.
“Everybody is being very intense.”
Robby looked down at you.
“You collapsed.”
“I did not collapse.”
Melissa made an incredulous noise. You looked at her.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side where you stop pretending you didn’t fucking fold like a lawn chair.”
Dana snorted. Robby did not. You pointed weakly at Melissa.
“That was unnecessarily descriptive.”
“It was accurate.”
Robby looked at her.
“She ate?”
Melissa’s face changed. You closed your eyes.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Robby went very still. Melissa hesitated. Robby’s voice dropped.
“What did she eat?”
You answered quickly.
“Protein bar.”
Melissa looked at you. You looked at Melissa.
Do not.
She looked back at Robby.
“Half.”
Traitor.
Robby’s eyes closed. You stared at the ceiling.
“Technically more than half.”
“Bullshit,” Melissa said.
“Whose fucking friend are you?”
“Yours. Unfortunately.”
Robby opened his eyes.
“What else?”
Silence. His gaze moved to you.
“What else did you eat?”
You knew better than to answer. Unfortunately, silence was also an answer. His jaw flexed.
“Coffee?” You smiled weakly. “Large.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Oat milk.”
“Stop saying that like it helps.”
“I’m just giving you the complete nutritional profile.”
Dana turned away suspiciously quickly. You were fairly certain she was laughing. Robby was not.
“When did you last eat an actual meal?”
You thought about it. That was another mistake. His expression changed as he watched you calculate.
“Last night?”
You hesitated.
“What did you have last night?”
“I ate.”
“What?”
“Food.”
“What food?”
You frowned.
“I don’t remember.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I was tired.”
“So was I. I still ate.”
“You had half a sandwich today.”
“That was lunch.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“We are not discussing my eating habits while you are horizontal in my emergency department because you forgot food exists.”
“Your emergency department?”
Robby stared at you. You smiled faintly.
“Very territorial.”
“Do not fuck with me right now.”
The smile disappeared. His voice had changed. You looked at him. He looked exhausted. Not the normal exhaustion. Something deeper. His eyes were darker. His face pale beneath the fluorescent lights. You suddenly remembered what you had promised him.
If it happens again, you call me.
You had promised. And you hadn’t. Your stomach sank.
“Robby.”
He looked away. Dana slid the IV into your arm. You barely noticed.
“Got it.”
Robby nodded.
“Fluids.”
“Already hanging.”
He stepped back. Not far. Just enough to create distance. That was worse. You watched him.
“Hey.”
He looked at the monitor.
“Robby.”
Nothing.
“Michael.”
His eyes closed.
“Don’t.”
Your voice softened.
“I’m sorry.”
He opened his eyes. The fear was still there. Now there was anger wrapped around it.
“You promised me.”
“I know.”
“You fucking promised me.”
“I know.”
“I asked you one thing.”
“I know.”
“If you got dizzy again, call me.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
You swallowed.
“After the patient.”
He laughed once. There was no humor in it.
“Of course.”
“Robby.”
“After the patient.”
“I was working.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
“You think I wouldn’t have come?”
“No.”
“You think whatever I was doing mattered more than this?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
You didn’t have a good answer. Because there wasn’t one.
“I thought it would pass.”
His face tightened.
“You thought.”
“I’ve had this happen before.”
“Not like this.”
“No.”
“No. Not like this.”
You looked down at your hands. The IV tubing crossed over your wrist. Robby was quiet. Then you heard him say, much softer,
“I watched them bring you through those doors.”
You looked up. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking toward the entrance to the department.
“I didn’t know what happened.”
Your chest tightened.
“Robby.”
“Dana came and got me. She said Radiology staff. She didn’t say your name right away.” He swallowed. “And then I walked out here and saw you on a stretcher.”
You reached for him. He hesitated. Only for a second. Then he took your hand.
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers closed tightly around yours.
“For about three seconds,” he said quietly, “nobody told me what the fuck happened.”
Your eyes burned. He finally looked at you.
“I see people I love come through those doors in my head all the fucking time.”
You knew what he meant. You didn’t need him to explain. Robby had spent years surrounded by the worst moments of other people’s lives. He knew exactly what could happen. Exactly how quickly. Exactly how little warning the universe sometimes gave. And because he knew all of it, there was no such thing as innocent uncertainty for him. His mind had filled those three seconds with every possible catastrophe. You squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked down at your fingers intertwined with his.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
His voice cracked slightly. Barely. But you heard it. Your eyes filled.
“Come here.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Closer.”
Robby looked around. You didn’t care.
“Closer.”
He stepped toward the stretcher. You lifted your free hand and touched his face. His cheek was rough beneath your fingers.He had probably shaved yesterday morning. Maybe the morning before. You rubbed your thumb gently along his cheekbone.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes closed. He leaned into your hand. Just slightly. Enough.
“I’m okay.”
His eyes opened.
“You’re not allowed to say that anymore.”
A laugh escaped you through the emotion.
“What?”
“You’ve lost privileges.”
“That seems unconstitutional.”
“I don’t care.”
“You can’t ban a phrase.”
“I just did.”
“You’re abusing your authority.”
“I’m not your attending.”
“You’ve made that very clear.”
His mouth twitched. Finally. Just barely
You smiled. His expression changed. You rubbed your thumb over his cheek.
“You don’t have to turn one into the other with me.”
Robby looked at you for a long time. Then he turned his face and pressed a kiss into your palm. Small. Private. Devastating.
“I know,” he whispered.
The fluids helped. Food helped more. Robby personally acquired you a turkey sandwich, crackers, apple juice, and something resembling pudding from somewhere in the emergency department, then stood beside your stretcher like an armed guard until you ate enough of it to satisfy him. You held up the pudding.
“This is objectively terrible.”
“Eat it.”
“It tastes like drywall.”
“You’ve eaten drywall?”
“I imagine this is similar.”
“Eat.”
“You’re very nurturing.”
“I’m a goddamn delight.”
You smiled.
“That’s what I tell everyone.”
“I’m sure.”
Your labs came back gradually. Your hemoglobin was low. Not catastrophically low. Not transfusion low. But lower than your last recorded result. Your iron studies were unsurprising. Your glucose had been low-normal by the time they checked it. You were dehydrated. Exhausted. Underfed. Anemic. And spectacularly stubborn.
Robby reviewed every result personally. Twice. Then had another attending review them because, as he said flatly when you teased him about it, “I’m compromised.” That made you stop smiling.
“You’re not compromised.”
“I’m emotionally involved.”
“That sounds nicer.”
“It means the same thing.”
“You love me.”
Robby looked up from the tablet. There was a pause. You had said it casually. Almost teasingly. But the words sat between you.
You had said I love you before.
Of course you had. But sometimes those words still landed differently. Robby set the tablet down.
“Unfortunately.”
You smiled.
“Asshole.”
He leaned down and kissed your forehead.
“Menace.”
By six thirty, you were medically cleared. By six thirty-one, Robby had decided you were going home. By six thirty-two, you discovered you apparently had no vote regarding transportation.
“I can drive.”
“No.”
“My car is here.”
“It can stay here.”
“I need it tomorrow.”
“You’re not working tomorrow.”
You stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You cannot call me out of work.”
“I can strongly suggest it.”
“You’re the chief of emergency medicine, not Radiology.”
“Thank you for explaining the organizational structure of the hospital.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I’m fine.”
Robby pointed at you.
“Banned.”
You sighed.
“I am medically stable.”
“Better.”
“I can work.”
“No.”
“Robby.”
“Your hemoglobin is down, you nearly lost consciousness, you’re dehydrated, you haven’t eaten properly in God knows how long, and you look like Casper’s exhausted cousin.”
“That was mean.”
“That was restrained.”
“You’re still on shift.”
“Not anymore.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“Langdon’s covering.”
“Why?”
Robby looked at you.
“Why do you think?”
“You didn’t have to leave.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“Robby—”
“I’m taking you home.”
The way he said it ended the argument. You looked at him. He looked back.
Then quieter, “I need to take you home.”
That was different. You nodded.
“Okay.”
His shoulders dropped slightly.
“Okay.”
The drive to his apartment was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just tired. Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh. He had touched you almost continuously since leaving the hospital. Your hand. Your back. Your knee. The nape of your neck while waiting for the elevator.
It wasn’t conscious. You didn’t think he even realized he was doing it. Every few minutes his thumb moved against your leg. Checking. Reassuring himself. You covered his hand with yours.
“You know I’m still here.”
His eyes stayed on the road.
“I know.”
“You keep checking.”
“I know.”
You intertwined your fingers with his. He squeezed. When you reached his apartment, he carried your bag despite your protests.
“I can carry a bag.”
“I know.”
“Then give it to me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m carrying it.”
“You’re very annoying.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’re also bossy.”
“Frequently.”
“Controlling.”
“Occasionally.”
“Old.”
He stopped in the hallway. You almost walked into him. Slowly, he turned his head.
“What?”
You smiled sweetly.
“Nothing.”
“Say it again.”
“I said you’re bold.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“Must be your hearing.”
Robby stared at you. You laughed.
“Keep walking, Grandpa.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
He unlocked the door.
“You’re sleeping on the couch.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re right. I don’t trust you unsupervised.”
You smiled as you walked inside. Home. The thought came without permission. His apartment. His furniture. His stupid three-thousand-dollar concrete mattress. His coffee cups. His books. His shoes kicked beneath the table.
Home.
Robby locked the door behind you.
“Sit.”
You turned.
“I have been sitting for four hours.”
“Then continue your impressive streak.”
“I want a shower.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You’re still a little orthostatic.”
“I can shower.”
“You can shower when I’m nearby.”
You stared at him.
“That sounded vaguely threatening.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Vaguely sexual?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
Robby’s mouth twitched.
“There she is.”
You smiled.
“Hi.”
He walked toward you. Slowly. Something in the room changed. The hospital was gone now. No monitors. No fluorescent lights. No scrubs moving around you. No one watching. Just him. Just you.
Robby stopped close enough that your bodies almost touched. His hand lifted. He brushed your hair away from your face.
“You scared me.”
You leaned into his palm.
“I know.”
“Don’t do that again.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s not good enough.”
You smiled faintly.
“It’s the most honest answer I have.”
He studied you. Then nodded.
“Fair.”
His thumb moved across your cheek. You turned your face and kissed the inside of his wrist. Robby exhaled. Something in him softened.
“Shower?”
You nodded.
“Shower.”
He followed you into the bathroom. Not because you needed supervision. At least that was what you told yourself. You turned on the water. Robby leaned against the counter.
“You’re really going to stand there?”
“Yes.”
You looked at him. His eyebrows lifted. You pulled your scrub top over your head. Robby’s expression changed. Not lust. Not exactly. Something quieter. His eyes moved over you. Checking. You knew him well enough to recognize it.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Assessing me.”
“I’m looking at you.”
“You’re checking for bruises.”
He didn’t deny it. You stepped closer.
“There aren’t any.”
His hand moved to your hip. Then around your waist. His fingers spread against your bare back. Warm. Familiar. You relaxed immediately.
You rested your forehead against his chest. Robby’s arms closed around you. Skin against scrubs. Your cheek against the familiar softness of his shirt. His chin resting lightly against the top of your head.
You knew this body.The shape of him. The warmth of him. The places tension collected between his shoulders. The scar near his ribs. The way his breathing changed when he was exhausted. The exact place beneath his jaw where your mouth could make him forget whatever sentence he had been trying to finish.
And he knew yours. Every curve. Every scar. Every place you were ticklish. Every place you weren’t. The way your shoulders relaxed when his hand moved slowly up your spine. The way you always tucked your cold feet beneath his legs in bed. The way you wanted to be held when you were frightened but hated admitting you were frightened.
His hand moved beneath the edge of your undershirt. Warm palm against your back. Not asking. Not taking. Just touching. Knowing. You closed your eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers moved slowly along your spine.
“I know.”
“I should’ve called.”
“Yes.”
“I knew you’d come.”
“I would’ve.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
You were quiet.
“Because I didn’t want to need you.”
His hand stopped. You immediately wished you could take it back. Robby leaned away enough to look at you.
“What?”
You swallowed.
“Not like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
You looked down. His hand moved beneath your chin.
“Hey.”
You looked at him.
“I like being independent.”
“I know you do. You do it too well sometimes.”
“I like handling my own shit and sometimes…” You sighed. “Sometimes I don’t know where the line is between letting someone love me and becoming dependent on them.”
Robby stared at you. Then his expression softened so completely it hurt.
“Jesus.”
“What?”
“You think calling your boyfriend because you’re about to pass out is codependent?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”
“It is stupid.”
You shoved his chest lightly.
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious.”
“You could be nicer about it.”
“I could. But then you might misunderstand.”
You rolled your eyes. Robby’s hand returned to your waist.
“You needing me sometimes does not make you dependent on me.”
You looked at him.
“And me needing you doesn’t make me weak.”
Your expression changed. He saw it.
“I missed you last night.”
“I…kinda liked that you did.”
“I hated sleeping without you.”
Your throat tightened.
“I thought about calling you at midnight and asking you to come over.”
“You should have.”
“You had work.”
“So did you.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve called.”
“Yeah.”
You smiled slightly.
“Sounds familiar.”
Robby sighed.
“Got you.”
“Don’t enjoy it.”
“I’m enjoying it a little.”
He shook his head. Then kissed you. Slowly. No urgency. No desperation. His mouth settled against yours with the familiarity of something done hundreds of times and still wanted every time.
You kissed him back. Your hands moved naturally to his waist. His slid along your bare back. You knew exactly how to lean into him. He knew exactly how to hold you.
When the kiss deepened slightly, you smiled against his mouth. Robby pulled back.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to be monitoring me.”
“I am.”
“With your tongue?”
He stared at you. You started laughing.
“God, you’re annoying.”
“That’s not medically indicated.”
“You are feeling better.”
“I told you.”
“Don’t push it.”
He kissed you again. Once. Twice. Then your cheek. Your forehead. Your temple. Softer each time. The last kiss lingered.
“Get in the shower.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“I’ll make food.”
“You already made me eat and that pudding was terrible.”
“You’re getting soup.”
“I don’t want soup.”
“You’re getting soup.”
“Can I have grilled cheese?”
Robby considered.
“Yes.”
You smiled.
“I love you.”
“Apparently only when I provide cheese.”
“It’s your best quality.”
“Shower.”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyebrows lifted. You pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
You laughed as he left. An hour later, you were in his bed. His terrible, expensive, aggressively firm bed.
You were wearing one of his T-shirts and underwear, your hair still damp from the shower, one leg tangled between his beneath the blankets. You had eaten. All of it. Grilled cheese. Soup. Water. Half an orange because Robby had read something about vitamin C helping iron absorption approximately six years ago and apparently intended to personally enforce nutritional science until death.
Now he was lying beside you wearing nothing but an old pair of sweatpants, glasses on, reading something on his phone. You watched him. He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m allowed.”
“Why?”
“You’re my boyfriend.”
“Questionable judgment on my part.”
“Terrible.”
He went back to his phone. You moved closer. Your hand slid across his stomach. Robby glanced down. You traced the familiar line of an old scar near his side. He didn’t flinch. He never did anymore. Not with you.
Your fingers moved slowly across his skin. Not sexual. Not entirely innocent either. Just familiar. Intimate.
The absent-minded touching of two people who knew each other well enough that bodies had stopped being mysterious territories and become places of comfort. Robby set his phone aside.
“You need something?”
“You.”
His expression softened.
“I’m right here.”
“Closer.”
“There is physically almost no closer.”
“Figure it out.”
He sighed dramatically. Then rolled toward you. You immediately tucked yourself against him. Your head beneath his chin. One arm around his waist.Your cold feet pushed between his calves. Robby jerked.
“Jesus Christ.”
You laughed.
“Cold?”
“You’re a fucking corpse.”
His hand slid beneath the back of your shirt. Warm palm settling against your skin. You sighed.
“There.”
“Better?”
“Yes…you know,” you murmured, “I told you.”
“What?”
“This morning.”
“What did you tell me?”
“I said I’d come home with you tonight.”
His hand stilled. You felt his breathing change. Just slightly. You lifted your head. Robby was looking down at you.
“What?” You asked.
“You said home.”
“So did you.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
He frowned.
“I said my place.”
You shook your head.
“I think I know what I said.”
“You said, ‘You coming home with me tonight?’”
Robby stared at you. You smiled.
“Do you want me to live here?”
“I want you to stop talking.”
“You want me to move in.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Robby rolled onto his back. You followed him immediately, resting partly over his chest.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere, apparently.”
“You want me here.”
He looked at the ceiling.
“Unfortunately.”
“Robby.”
His hand settled automatically on your thigh. You waited. He knew you would. That was another thing he hated about you. You could outwait him. Finally, he sighed.
“Yes.”
Your teasing disappeared.
“Yes what?”
He looked at you.
“I want you here.”
Your heart turned over.
“Like tonight?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
You stayed still. Robby’s fingers moved gently against your thigh.
“I mean here.”
You swallowed.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you spoke for several seconds. Then Robby looked away.
“This is probably a terrible time to have this conversation.”
“Probably.”
“You nearly passed out six hours ago.”
“I remember.”
“And I don’t want you thinking I’m asking because I’ve suddenly decided you require twenty-four-hour supervision.”
“That was going to be my first question.”
“I figured.”
“So why are you asking?”
Robby looked at you.
“Because your shit is already everywhere.”
You stared at him.
“That’s your romantic declaration?”
“You have two drawers.”
“Wow.”
“Half my closet.” He smirked. “You’re here four nights a week.”
“Sometimes five.”
“Exactly.”
You smiled. Robby’s voice softened.
“And I miss you on the nights you’re not.”
There it was. You stopped breathing for a second. He looked at you.
“I don’t want to keep missing you in a place that already feels like yours.”
Your eyes burned. You looked at him. Really looked. The tired lines around his eyes. The gray beginning to thread through his hair. The man who had stood beside your stretcher holding your pulse with his own fingers even while a monitor displayed it directly beside him. The man who had missed you last night. The man whose apartment already contained pieces of you everywhere. You touched his face.
“Yes.”
His expression changed. His hand moved behind your neck. He pulled you down and kissed you. This kiss was different. Still familiar. Still him. But deeper. Warmer. You smiled against his mouth. His arm tightened around your waist. When you finally pulled back, you stayed close enough that your noses touched.
“I love you.”
No joke. No hesitation. Just yes. Your expression softened.
“I love you too.”
Robby kissed your forehead. Then pulled you back against his chest. You settled into him. His hand returned beneath your shirt. Slow circles against your back. Your fingers rested against his ribs. The room became quiet. Several minutes passed.
“You scared the fucking shit out of me today.”
“I know.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s still not good enough.”
“It’s still the most honest answer I have.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
You settled back against him. His arms tightened. You closed your eyes. Warm. Fed. Safe. Home. Then Robby’s voice came quietly through the darkness.
“You really called me dad earlier?”
Your eyes opened. You started laughing. His arm tightened around you.
“I’m thirteen years older than you.”
“Ancient.”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe tomorrow. Doctor said I need rest.”
There was silence. Then you felt his chest move beneath your cheek. He was laughing. Actually laughing. Quiet and tired and helpless against it. You smiled.
“You’re a fucking nightmare.”
“You asked me to move in.”
“Clearly I’m cognitively impaired.”
“Too late.”
“Maybe there’s a rescission period.”
“Nope.”
“I should’ve checked.”
“You’re stuck with me.”
His laughter faded. His hand moved slowly up your back until it rested between your shoulder blades. Then he kissed the top of your head.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
You waited. His arms tightened around you. And sometime later, with your leg tangled through his, your hand resting over his heart and his palm warm against the bare skin beneath your shirt, you fell asleep in the place neither of you had to pretend was only his anymore.
Did You Eat? - Dr. Robby x Female Reader - Part One
Request - Hi! I really like your writing style and enjoyed reading through your whole masterlist. I watched the Pitt recently and I was thinking if you would consider writing about Robby with anemic reader who always forgets to eat sometimes to the point of just dropping from ✨low iron moment ✨, some angst with hurt/comfort and fluff? Thank you 🫶🏻
There were at least three different ways to get to Radiology without walking through the emergency department. You knew this because you had worked at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for nearly six years, because you had spent the better part of those six years learning every shortcut, stairwell, service elevator and poorly designed hallway in a building that seemed to have been constructed by someone with a personal vendetta against logical navigation, and because approximately eight months ago, when you had started sleeping with the chief attending of the emergency department, you had suddenly developed an inexplicable preference for the one route to Radiology that added almost seven minutes to your morning commute through the hospital.
It was inefficient. It was inconvenient. It was also 6:43 in the morning, you had slept approximately five hours, you were carrying a coffee large enough to qualify as an IV fluid replacement, and you knew Michael Robinavich had been at PTMC since five. So, really, there was no other reasonable choice.
The emergency department was already awake in the particular way hospitals were awake before the rest of the world had properly opened its eyes, fluorescent lights painfully bright against exhausted faces, monitors chirping behind curtains, phones ringing at the desk, wheels rattling against linoleum as someone pushed an empty stretcher down the hall, and somewhere near the ambulance bay a patient was loudly informing anyone willing to listen that he had been waiting for forty-five fucking minutes despite the fact that you distinctly remembered passing him smoking a cigarette outside less than ten minutes ago. You took another drink of coffee and slipped sideways around a transport tech pushing a wheelchair.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
“Radiology’s the other way.”
“Fuck off, Donny.”
He laughed without looking back. Apparently, you weren’t nearly as subtle as you believed yourself to be. You spotted Robby before he saw you.
He was standing at the central desk with one hip against the counter, scrub top slightly wrinkled, stethoscope hanging around his neck, glasses sitting low enough on his nose that you knew he had been reading something for too long, and a paper coffee cup abandoned beside his elbow that had probably been poured sometime during the previous presidential administration judging by the fact that he wasn’t touching it. His hair was already doing that thing where the front had been pushed backward too many times by his own hand, and there were tired shadows beneath his eyes that had become so permanently familiar you sometimes wondered whether you would recognize him if he ever slept eight consecutive hours. Probably not.
He was listening to Langdon say something while scrolling through a chart, his expression somewhere between concentration and irritation, which was admittedly where Robby lived approximately seventy percent of his professional life.
“No,” he said flatly.
Langdon stared at him. “I haven’t even finished.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“That seems unfair.”
“I’ve worked with you for years. I know where your sentences are going.”
“You do not.”
“You want to switch your Saturday.”
Langdon paused. Robby finally looked up from the computer.
Langdon pointed at him. “That’s fucking creepy.”
“That’s experience.”
“I have tickets.”
“I don’t care.”
“They’re good tickets.”
“I still don’t care.”
“Pirates.”
“Frank.”
“Behind home plate.”
“Frank.”
“I’ll buy you dinner.”
“You already owe me dinner.”
“I’ll buy you a better dinner.”
Robby sighed, rubbing two fingers beneath his glasses, and that was when his gaze drifted absently past Langdon’s shoulder and landed on you. The change was small. So small you probably wouldn’t have noticed it eight months ago.
His shoulders dropped maybe half an inch. The irritation around his mouth softened. And something warm appeared behind tired brown eyes. You smiled over the rim of your coffee. Langdon followed Robby’s gaze, saw you standing there and immediately groaned.
“Oh, thank God.”
Robby glanced at him. “Why are you thanking God?”
“Because you like her.”
“I tolerate her.”
“You voluntarily spend time with her.”
“She has cable.”
You started walking toward them. “I don’t have cable.”
Robby’s mouth twitched.
Langdon pointed between the two of you. “Whatever this is, use it to convince him to take my Saturday.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You don’t even know why.”
“I heard Pirates tickets.”
“Behind home plate.”
“I don’t care.”
Langdon looked genuinely wounded. “Nobody in this hospital respects me.”
Robby returned his attention to the computer. “There are probably several reasons for that.”
“Good morning to you too, sweetheart,” you said.
That got his attention again. His eyes moved over you slowly, not sexually exactly, although there was enough familiarity in the look to remind you that the man currently standing beneath aggressively unflattering hospital lighting had been naked in your bed two nights ago, but more like he was taking inventory.
Hair. Face. Scrubs. Coffee. You.
His gaze stopped on the coffee. Then returned to your face.
“Morning.”
You stepped around the desk until you were standing beside him. “That’s all I get?”
“You’re at work.”
“So are you.”
“Exactly.”
You stared at him. Robby stared back. Langdon looked between you both.
“I’m going to leave before this becomes foreplay.”
“Please do,” Robby said.
Langdon grabbed a chart from the counter. “Saturday’s still on the table.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Think about it.”
“I won’t.”
“Ask your girlfriend.”
“She doesn’t make my schedule.”
You lifted one shoulder. “I could.”
Robby turned his head slowly toward you. You smiled.
Langdon pointed at you. “I like her.”
“Go away, Frank.”
He did, still laughing under his breath, and Robby waited until he was several feet down the hall before turning fully toward you.
“You know Radiology isn’t this way.”
There it was.
You widened your eyes innocently. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
“You’ve worked here six years.”
“I have.”
“And somehow you still get lost every morning I’m here.”
“It’s a confusing building.”
“It’s a straight hallway.”
“There are turns.”
“There are no turns.”
“There could be.”
Robby looked at you over the top of his glasses. You took another drink of coffee.
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said.
“I’m actually an excellent liar.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You have no evidence of that.”
“I have eight months of evidence.”
“That’s hurtful.”
“It’s accurate.”
You smiled despite yourself, stepping a little closer until your shoulder brushed his arm. “Maybe I wanted to see you.”
His expression softened again. There. That tiny shift. It was one of the things you had learned about Robby slowly, because nothing important about him came easily. He could be funny without meaning to be, affectionate without touching you, worried without saying the word, and exhausted in ways he had long ago stopped acknowledging. Loving Michael Robinavich required learning a language composed mostly of pauses, glances, dry comments and hands that somehow always found the small of your back in crowded rooms. He looked down at you.
“You could’ve texted.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Robby pulled his phone from his scrub pocket, looked at the screen and frowned.
“You have seventeen unread messages,” you said.
“I’ve been busy.”
“It’s six forty-five.”
“People don’t schedule emergencies around my convenience.”
“They should.”
“I’ll bring it up at the next staff meeting.”
“You should.”
He slipped the phone back into his pocket without reading anything.
“You sleep okay?”
The question was casual. His voice wasn’t.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
“At your place?”
“Yes, Michael.”
His eyes narrowed slightly at the use of his first name.
“You hate my mattress.”
“I don’t hate your mattress.”
“You called it a medieval torture device.”
“It’s very firm.”
“It’s orthopedic.”
“It’s concrete with a fitted sheet.”
“It cost three thousand dollars.”
“You got ripped off.”
Robby gave you a tired look. “I slept on a couch for half of residency. Forgive me for not developing sophisticated mattress preferences.”
“You could sleep standing up.”
“I have.”
“I know.”
His mouth twitched again, but then he looked down at the counter, fingertips tapping once against the edge before he said, quieter, “Missed you last night.”
The teasing disappeared from your face. It wasn’t that Robby never said things like that. He did. Sometimes. Usually in bed, late at night, when the room was dark enough that he didn’t have to watch you react to whatever vulnerable thing had accidentally escaped him.
But not usually here. Not under fluorescent lights with thirty people moving around you and someone vomiting loudly behind Curtain Four. You studied him.
“You missed me?”
“Don’t make me regret saying it.”
“I’m just clarifying.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, no.” You caught lightly at the sleeve of his scrub top before he could turn away. “Come back.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Emotionally, you just left the building.”
“I’m working.”
“You told me you missed me.”
“I made a mistake.”
You laughed softly, and Robby finally looked at you again. There was something almost sheepish beneath the exhaustion. You lowered your voice.
“I missed you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He watched you for another second.
“I got home around one.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You texted me.”
“I did?”
“At one seventeen. You said, and I quote, ‘Home. Shower. Dead.’”
“That sounds like me.”
“You’re very romantic.”
“I was tired.”
“You’re always tired.”
“That’s because I work here.”
“So do I.”
“You occasionally escape.”
“You could occasionally escape.”
“I’m the chief attending.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Robby leaned slightly closer. “You’re very mouthy before seven in the morning.”
“You like me mouthy.”
His eyebrows lifted. You realized exactly how that had sounded approximately half a second too late. Robby’s gaze changed.
“Oh, fuck off,” you muttered.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I genuinely didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“My face is innocent.”
“Your face has never been innocent.”
His eyes moved briefly to your mouth. It was quick. Barely noticeable. But you noticed.
“You coming home with me tonight?” he asked.
There was something about the question that made your stomach warm.
Not coming over.
Not staying at my place.
Home.
Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and was pretending he hadn’t. That was the strange, quiet territory the two of you had drifted into lately, somewhere between dating and something more settled, your shampoo appearing permanently in his shower, his favorite coffee somehow always stocked in your kitchen, a drawer at his place that had gradually become two drawers and then half a closet without either of you acknowledging the territorial expansion. There was a phone charger beside his bed that belonged exclusively to you. Your moisturizer sat beside his shaving cream. He had dog-eared a book on his nightstand because you were halfway through reading it and kept forgetting to take it home.
You didn’t live together. Technically. But the technicalities were getting increasingly stupid. You smiled.
“I’ll come home with you tonight.”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“Promise?”
The word surprised you. Maybe him too. Your smile softened.
“Promise.”
Robby nodded once.
“Okay.”
“That sounded suspiciously pleased.”
“I’m indifferent.”
“Obviously.”
“I may not even be there.”
“You just invited me.”
“Plans change.”
“Asshole.”
“Menace.”
You smiled, and for one brief second his hand settled against your hip, hidden mostly by the counter between you, his thumb pressing once through the fabric of your scrub top. Nothing dramatic. Nothing anyone would notice.
Just Robby. Just you.
Then a nurse called his name from across the department.
“Dr. Robby?”
He looked over.
“EMS is three minutes out. Fifty-eight-year-old male, chest pain, hypotensive, possible inferior STEMI.”
And just like that, the softness disappeared behind the physician.
“I’m coming.”
He turned back toward you, already reaching for his stethoscope.
“Go.”
“I’m going.”
“You’re going to be late.”
“I have four minutes.”
“You’re seven minutes from Radiology.”
“Only because I took the scenic route.”
“You took the wrong route.”
“Debatable.”
You started backing away. Robby watched you. Then his eyes dropped to the coffee in your hand. He frowned.
“Wait.”
You stopped. There was a very specific tone Robby used when he had just noticed something. You knew that tone. You hated that tone.
“What?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Did you eat?”
You blinked. There it was. The fucking question. You looked down at your coffee as though it might offer legal counsel. Robby waited. You looked back at him.
“Good talk.”
You turned.
“Hey.”
You stopped again with a sigh.
“Robby.”
“Did you eat?”
“I’m going to be late.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I have to clock in.”
“Also not an answer.”
You glanced toward the hallway. He stepped around the desk.
“Oh my God.”
“What did you eat?”
“I’m thirty-six years old.”
“Congratulations.”
“I don’t need you checking whether I ate breakfast.”
“Then answer the question and I’ll stop checking.”
You stared at him. Robby stared back. The problem with dating a physician was that physicians were annoyingly observant when it suited them. The bigger problem with dating this physician was that he already knew the answer. You attempted casual.
“I had coffee.”
His expression went completely blank. You immediately regretted your strategy
“That’s not food.”
“It has calories.”
“So does bourbon. I wouldn’t recommend that for breakfast either.”
“There’s milk in it.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Oat milk.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
“It absolutely does not.”
“What did you eat?”
“I’m going to eat.”
“When?”
“When I get upstairs.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
“What is something?”
“Food, generally.”
He closed his eyes for one long second. You smiled.
“Don’t.” Robby warned.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Where you think being cute is going to make me forget you’re full of shit.”
Your smile widened. “You think I’m cute?”
Robby opened his eyes.
“You’re exhausting.”
“And yet you missed me.”
“I take it back.”
“Too late.”
Behind him, the ambulance bay doors opened and the department shifted immediately into motion. Robby glanced over his shoulder. You knew he had to go. He knew he had to go.
But when he looked back at you, the concern was still there. Not dramatic. Not yet. Just familiar. Because this wasn’t a new conversation between you.
You had been anemic for years. Not the kind that kept you permanently sick or unable to work, not something that defined your life, just chronic enough that you were supposed to pay attention to it and stubborn enough that sometimes you didn’t. You took iron when you remembered. You tried to eat properly when your schedule allowed. You knew the warning signs well enough to recognize them and had become far too comfortable dismissing them anyway.
The fatigue. The cold hands. The headaches. The occasional rush of dizziness when you stood too quickly after crouching beside a patient.
You knew your body. At least that was what you always told Robby. Robby’s counterargument was usually that knowing your body meant absolutely nothing if you routinely ignored everything it was trying to tell you. He pointed at you.
“Eat.”
You rolled your eyes.
“I mean it.”
“Yes, Dad.”
His entire face changed.
“Don’t ever fucking call me that again.”
You burst out laughing.
“I’m serious.”
“You should’ve seen your face.”
“That was deeply upsetting.”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
You were laughing hard enough now that a passing nurse looked between the two of you with open curiosity. Robby shook his head, already turning toward the incoming stretcher.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Currently evaluating.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Eat something.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
You started down the hall.
“Hey.”
You turned one last time. Robby was several feet away now, walking backward toward the trauma bays while pulling gloves from a box. He looked exhausted. He looked irritated. He looked like he had already worked ten hours despite the sun barely being up. And somehow, even with an ambulance crew rolling a critically ill patient through the doors behind him, his eyes found yours.
“Tonight,” he said.
You smiled.
“Tonight.”
Then he disappeared behind the curtain. You stood there for half a second longer than necessary before turning toward the elevators, warmth still sitting somewhere beneath your ribs. You would go home with him tonight. Maybe you would pick something up for dinner on the way. Maybe you would finally finish the movie the two of you had started three separate times and never managed to stay awake through.
Maybe you would tease him about missing you until he threatened to revoke your key. Maybe you would leave another piece of yourself at his apartment without either of you acknowledging that, slowly and quietly, you were beginning to leave more things there than you took home.
The elevator doors opened. You stepped inside and pressed the button for Radiology. Your stomach growled. You looked down at your coffee.
“Yeah, yeah.”
You’d eat when you got upstairs. Except when the elevator doors opened, one of the other technologists was already waiting for you.
“Thank fuck. There you are.”
You stepped out.
“That sounds promising.”
“CT is backed up, Mike called out, we’ve got six portables waiting, and apparently every person in Pittsburgh decided today was a good day to aspirate something.”
You sighed.
“Fantastic.”
“You eat yet?”
You walked past her toward the locker room.
“Why is everybody so fucking interested in my breakfast?”
She followed you.
“That means no.”
“It means mind your business.”
“Your boyfriend ask too?”
You opened your locker.
“He interrogated me.”
“Because he has eyes.”
“I had coffee.”
“That’s not breakfast.”
“You and Robby should start a support group.”
“We already have one. It’s called People Tired of Watching You Forget Basic Human Maintenance.”
You shoved your bag into the locker.
“Catchy.”
“We’re getting shirts.”
“Make mine a medium.”
“You’re not invited.”
You laughed, pulled your badge into place and closed the locker door.
“Okay. What’s first?”
She handed you a list.
“Portables.”
You looked at the page. Six had become eight.
“Jesus.”
“Welcome to Thursday.”
You grabbed the portable unit and started toward the hall. Behind you, your untouched protein bar sat exactly where you had tossed it inside your locker. Your stomach growled again. You ignored it. You’d eat after the first few patients. You always did. Or at least, you always meant to.
******
By ten thirty in the morning, you had stopped being hungry. That was usually how it happened. There was a window somewhere between the first growl of your stomach and the point when your body apparently decided food was no longer coming and simply gave up asking for it, and once you crossed that invisible line, eating became something you remembered you were supposed to do rather than something you actually wanted to do. It was a terrible habit, one you had been lectured about by your primary care physician, your mother, several coworkers, and most recently the deeply irritating emergency medicine attending you had made the questionable decision to fall in love with, but hospital work had a way of turning basic human needs into vague suggestions. You could need to pee for two hours and forget about it until you happened to pass a bathroom. You could be thirsty until someone mentioned water. You could carry a granola bar in your scrub pocket for an entire twelve-hour shift and somehow never find the thirty seconds required to open the fucking wrapper.
Today was worse than usual. Mike calling out had left Radiology short, CT had never recovered from the morning backlog, one of the portable units had developed an intermittent error that required you to smack the side of it with significantly more violence than the manufacturer probably recommended, and by nine fifteen you had already been to the ICU twice, the orthopedic floor three times, and the ED enough times that one of the nurses downstairs had started greeting you with, “Welcome home.”
At nine forty, you had gone back to your locker with every intention of eating the protein bar inside. Then CT called. At ten twelve, you remembered again. Then a stroke alert came through. At ten thirty-seven, your coworker Melissa found you standing in front of the workstation staring at the same image for considerably longer than necessary.
“You alive?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“I asked if you were alive.”
“I’m standing.”
“That was not my question.”
You looked at the chest film on the monitor. Something felt slightly off. Not wrong. Just off.
Like your brain was operating half a second behind everything happening around you. You blinked again and leaned closer to the screen.
“What are you doing?” Melissa asked.
“Looking.”
“You’ve been looking at that same portable chest for, like, two minutes.”
“I’m admiring my work.”
“It’s a chest X-ray.”
“And?”
“It’s not the fucking Mona Lisa.”
“You don’t appreciate art.”
“I appreciate lunch.”
“Good for you.”
Melissa crossed her arms. You could feel her looking at you. You ignored her.
“You look like shit.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean more than usual.”
“Again, thank you.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m always pale.”
“No, you’re white.”
“That is generally how ethnicity works.”
“Jesus Christ.”
You clicked through the images. Melissa stepped closer.
“Did you eat?”
You stopped. Slowly, you turned your head toward her.
“Is there a fucking group chat?”
“What?”
“Did Robby start a group chat?”
“Why would Dr. Robby start a group chat?”
“To coordinate surveillance.”
Melissa stared at you.
“You’re weird.”
“I’m being harassed.”
“You’re being asked if you ate breakfast.”
“Repeatedly.”
“Which means you didn’t.”
You turned back to the monitor.
“I’m going to.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“God, you sound like him.”
“Maybe because he’s right.”
“Don’t ever tell him that.”
“I’m absolutely telling him that.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You don’t even have his number.”
“I can get it.”
“You’re threatening to contact my boyfriend because I skipped breakfast?”
“I’m threatening to contact your boyfriend because apparently he’s the only person you’re mildly afraid of.”
You laughed.
“I’m not afraid of Robby.”
Melissa gave you a look.
“You become significantly more cooperative when he takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose.”
“That’s because it means I’m about three seconds away from hearing a lecture.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not fear. That’s self-preservation.”
Melissa shook her head.
“Go eat.”
“I have patients.”
“So do I.”
“We’re short.”
“We’ll survive ten minutes.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“You mentioned that.”
“You’re also doing that thing.”
You frowned.
“What thing?”
“Rubbing your hand.”
You looked down. Without realizing it, you had tucked your left hand beneath your right arm, rubbing your fingers against the warmth of your scrub top. They were cold. Really cold. You pulled your hand away.
“The hospital is freezing.”
“It’s seventy-two degrees.”
“That’s freezing.”
“You bitch when your apartment gets below seventy.”
“Exactly.”
Melissa stared at you another moment.
“Go eat.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I have to take this portable upstairs.”
“I’ll take it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“It’s an X-ray, not a fucking puppy.”
You grabbed the requisition from the printer.
“I’m fine.”
Melissa sighed. There it was. The phrase you had already said approximately twelve times that morning. You were fine. And technically, you were. You weren’t sick. You weren’t injured. You weren’t dying. You were tired. Everybody in the building was tired.
Your hands were cold. Your hands were always cold. You had a slight headache beginning behind your eyes, but you had been staring at screens beneath fluorescent lighting since before seven in the morning. You hadn’t eaten, but neither had half the hospital. Nothing happening inside your body was particularly unusual.
That was the problem. You were accustomed to feeling slightly shitty. You had been anemic long enough that symptoms rarely announced themselves dramatically. They accumulated quietly, one small inconvenience at a time, until you realized you had been compensating for something for hours.
Cold hands. Fatigue. A headache. A little breathless after pushing equipment too quickly down a hallway. Standing up and seeing stars. None of it felt alarming individually. And because none of it felt alarming, you had become very good at ignoring all of it collectively.
You grabbed the portable unit. Melissa called after you.
“Eat when you get back.”
You lifted one hand without turning around.
“Yes, Mom.”
“I’m serious.”
“So is my boyfriend.”
“He’s smarter than you.”
You stopped walking. Turned around. Pointed at her.
“Watch yourself.”
She grinned. You continued down the hallway. The headache worsened around eleven fifteen. Not dramatically. Just enough that you became aware of it every time you moved your eyes too quickly. You took two ibuprofen from the bottle someone kept in the staff room, swallowed them with three mouthfuls of water and considered that adequate healthcare.
At eleven forty-two, you crouched beside an elderly woman’s bed to adjust the detector behind her back.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” you said gently. “I know this isn’t comfortable. Just lean forward for me a little bit.”
The woman groaned.
“I’m ninety-one.”
“I know.”
“I’ve earned the right not to do this shit anymore.”
You smiled.
“Honestly? Fair.”
Her daughter laughed from the chair beside the bed. The woman pointed one thin finger at you.
“You tell the doctor I’m done.”
“I’ll put it in the official report.”
“Put it in bold.”
“Absolutely.”
You positioned the detector.
“Okay. Deep breath for me.”
You stepped back. Took the image. Checked it. Perfect.
“Beautiful.”
“I haven’t been beautiful since 1978.”
“I was talking about the X-ray.”
The woman stared at you. You smiled. Her daughter burst out laughing.
“Smartass,” the woman muttered.
“I’ve been called worse.”
You moved back toward the bed and crouched again to remove the detector. Everything was fine until you stood. The world tilted. Not spun. Tilted.
Like the floor had suddenly shifted several inches beneath your feet. Your vision darkened at the edges. You stopped breathing. Your hand found the bed rail automatically. You stayed perfectly still.
One second. Two. Three.
The room returned. You blinked. The daughter was looking at you.
“You okay?”
You straightened slowly.
“Yes.”
“You looked dizzy.”
“Stood up too fast.”
You smiled. Easy. Normal. Nothing to worry about. The woman in the bed narrowed her eyes.
“You’re pale.”
You almost laughed.
“Apparently everyone’s decided to tell me that today.”
“You should listen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You eat breakfast?”
You stared at her. She stared back. Her daughter covered her mouth. You pointed at the woman.
“You’ve been talking to my boyfriend.”
“I don’t know your boyfriend.”
“He’d love you.”
“Is he handsome?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Doctor?”
You hesitated.
“Yes.”
She made a face.
“Doctors are trouble.”
You laughed.
“You have no idea.”
You packed your equipment. The dizziness was gone. Completely. See? Fine.
You pushed the portable back into the hall. By twelve fifteen, you had forgotten about it. By twelve forty, you had missed lunch. Not intentionally. You had actually walked into the break room. You had opened your locker. You had taken out the protein bar. You had even ripped open the wrapper. Then someone stuck their head through the doorway.
“We need a tech in CT now.”
You looked at the protein bar. Then at the door.
“How now is now?”
“Stroke.”
“Fuck.”
You shoved the bar into your scrub pocket.
“I’m coming.”
Forty minutes later, it was still there. At one twenty-eight, you finally remembered it while walking toward the ED for another portable. You reached into your pocket. Your fingers closed around the wrapper. You could eat it while walking. That was reasonable. You pulled it halfway out.
“Radiology!”
Someone shouted from behind you. You stopped. A nurse jogged toward you.
“Please tell me you’re going downstairs.”
“I am.”
“Can you grab Eleven after your current one? They just put in a chest.”
You shoved the protein bar back into your pocket.
“Sure.”
“You’re my favorite person.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ll say it again if you do Twelve too.”
“Buy me dinner first.”
“Deal.”
You continued toward the elevator. When the doors opened on the emergency department floor, the noise hit you immediately. The ED had deteriorated significantly since morning.
Every bed appeared full. Several stretchers lined the hallway. The waiting room was overflowing. A trauma alert had apparently come in recently because there were bloody footprints near one of the bays and someone was shouting for more gauze. You exhaled slowly.
“Jesus.”
You pushed the portable into the department. Dana saw you first.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Seven needs a chest.”
“That’s where I’m headed.”
“Then Eleven.”
“I know.”
“And Twelve.”
“I know.”
“And probably Fourteen.”
“Dana.”
She smiled.
“Welcome to hell.”
“I work in a basement. I’m familiar.”
You pushed past the desk. That was when the headache pulsed sharply behind your eyes. You winced. Stopped for half a second. Then continued.
Room Seven was straightforward. Sixty-eight-year-old male. Shortness of breath. Possible pneumonia. You introduced yourself, positioned the detector, took the image. You crouched to retrieve the plate. Fine. You stood. Not fine.
The darkness came faster this time. Your hand shot out. Hit the wall. Hard. You closed your eyes.
“Miss?”
You heard the patient. You couldn’t answer immediately. Your ears filled with a strange rushing sound. You swallowed. Breathed through your nose.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The sensation passed. You opened your eyes. The patient was watching you.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.”
Your voice sounded normal. Good. You smiled.
“Just stood up too fast.”
“You people work too hard.”
“You have no idea.”
You pulled the detector free. Your heart was beating harder than it should have been. Not fast exactly. Just heavy. You could feel each beat in your chest. You pushed the machine back into the hallway. You should eat. The thought appeared clearly. Finally. You should eat now. Not later. Now. You reached into your pocket for the protein bar.
“Hey.”
You froze. You knew that voice. Slowly, you looked up. Robby was standing approximately fifteen feet away. Of course he was. Because apparently the universe had decided you required supervision. He was standing outside one of the trauma bays, gloves in one hand, glasses pushed up into his hair, speaking to a resident when he noticed you.
His sentence stopped. His eyes narrowed. Fuck. You smiled. Bad decision. Robby handed the gloves to the resident without looking away from you.
“I’ll be right back.”
The resident looked confused. Robby was already walking toward you. You considered fleeing. Unfortunately, pushing a five-hundred-pound portable X-ray machine made fleeing difficult.
“Hi,” you said brightly.
Robby stopped in front of you. His expression changed almost immediately.
“What?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes moved over your face.
“You look like shit.”
You stared at him.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Romance is alive.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You really know how to make a woman feel special.”
Robby stepped closer.
“Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“No, you’re performing. Stop.”
That shut you up. His voice wasn’t harsh. It was quiet. Clinical. You hated when he used that tone on you. You looked at him properly. Robby studied your face. His hand came up and touched the side of your neck. Not romantic. Assessing. His fingers were warm. Yours were freezing.
“You’re pale.”
“So I’ve been informed by approximately twelve people.”
“More than usual.”
“That’s also been mentioned.”
His thumb shifted slightly beneath your jaw.
“You dizzy?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly. Robby’s eyes narrowed. You sighed.
“Not currently.”
His hand dropped.
“What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said.”
“When were you dizzy?”
“I stood up too fast.”
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“How much earlier?”
“I don’t know.”
“An hour?”
“Maybe.”
“Once?”
You looked away. Robby went still.
“Hey.”
You looked back.
“How many times?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“How many?”
“Twice.”
His jaw tightened.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”
“To who?”
“To fucking anybody.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Robby.”
“When did you eat?”
There it was again. You glanced toward the portable. He followed your eyes. Then looked back at you.
“When?”
“I’m literally about to.”
“What did you eat after you left me this morning?”
Silence. His face changed.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So have I. I managed half a sandwich.”
“Congratulations.”
“That wasn’t a fucking accomplishment.”
“Then why are you bragging?”
“I’m not bragging.”
“You sound like you’re bragging.”
“I’m trying very hard not to lose my patience with you.”
“Then maybe go back to your patient.”
“Maybe answer the question.”
“I had—”
You stopped. Robby waited. You searched mentally. Coffee. Water. Ibuprofen. Technically oat milk.
Fuck.
His expression told you he had watched the entire calculation happen behind your eyes.
“You haven’t eaten anything.”
“I was going to.”
“It’s one thirty.”
“I know what time it is.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because apparently you’ve forgotten several other basic concepts today.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.”
“You’re doing the doctor voice.”
“I am a doctor.”
“You’re not my doctor.”
“No, I’m your boyfriend who apparently has to remind you that humans require fucking food.”
You glanced around. A nurse walking past suddenly became very interested in something across the department.
“Can you lower your voice?”
“I’m not yelling.”
“You’re doing that quiet yelling thing.”
“I don’t quite yell.”
“You absolutely quiet yell.”
Robby closed his eyes briefly. There. The glasses were already in his hair. Now the bridge of the nose. Melissa was right. You were fucked. He pinched between his eyes.
“Do you have anything with you?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
You pulled the protein bar from your pocket. Still unopened. Robby stared at it. Then stared at you. You held it up.
“See?”
“That is not helping your argument.”
“I was literally about to eat it.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“You’ve been carrying it around all day, haven’t you?”
“No.”
He looked at you. You sighed.
“Since lunch.”
“You missed lunch.”
“I was busy.”
“Stop saying that like it changes anything.”
“It explains it.”
“It doesn’t excuse it.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“You have chronic anemia.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?”
That irritated you.
“Yes, Michael. I am aware of my own medical history.”
“Then act like it.”
You stared at him. He stared back. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The emergency department moved around you. Phones. Monitors. Voices. Someone crying behind a curtain. Someone calling for respiratory. You could see the tension in Robby’s jaw.
You knew where it came from. Fear disguised as irritation. It was one of his favorite tricks. You softened slightly
“I’m okay.”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“You’re pale, you’re dizzy, you haven’t eaten, and your hands are freezing.”
You frowned.
“You haven’t touched my hands.”
Robby reached down. Took one. His fingers closed around yours. He stared at you. You stared back.
“Okay,” you said. “That was unnecessary.”
“You’re freezing.”
“The hospital is cold.”
“It’s not that cold.”
“I’m always cold.”
“Because you’re fucking anemic.”
“Which we already established.”
“And because you haven’t eaten.”
“I’m going to eat.”
“When?”
You lifted the protein bar.
“Now.”
“Open it.”
You stared at him. He stared back
“You cannot be serious.”
“Open it.”
“You’re standing here waiting for me to open a protein bar?”
“Yes.”
“Robby.”
“Open the fucking protein bar.”
You ripped the wrapper open dramatically.
“There.”
“Eat it.”
“Oh my God.”
“Take a bite.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“Take. A. Bite.”
You took the largest, most aggressive bite possible. Chewed. Stared directly into his eyes. Robby looked unimpressed. You swallowed.
“Happy?”
“Thrilled.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You missed me last night.”
“Momentary lapse in judgment.”
You smiled despite yourself. He didn’t. Not completely. His thumb moved once across your knuckles.
“You really dizzy?”
The question was quieter now. You shook your head.
“Not now.”
“Headache?”
You hesitated. His eyes narrowed.
“A little.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Short of breath?”
“No.”
“Palpitations?”
“No.”
“Chest pain?”
“Jesus, no.”
“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me. I’m asking.”
“I know.”
“When was your last hemoglobin?”
“Couple months ago.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Bullshit.”
“Ten-point-something.”
His face tightened.
“It’s usually around there.”
“That doesn’t make it normal.”
“It makes it normal for me.”
“No. It makes it your baseline. Those are different things.”
You sighed.
“I know.”
“You taking your iron?”
Another hesitation. Robby’s face went flat.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“I take it.”
“When?”
“When I remember.”
“That isn’t taking it.”
“It upsets my stomach.”
“Then take it with food.”
“I forget to eat.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
You laughed. He did not.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You scared me just looking at you.”
That stopped you. The irritation left his voice completely. He looked tired suddenly. Not physician tired. Robby tired. The kind you knew better than most people did. His hand was still around yours. You squeezed his fingers.
“I’m okay.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I am.”
“You almost passed out?”
“I did not almost pass out.”
“You got dizzy twice.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Did your vision go dark?”
You said nothing. His jaw tightened.
“Did it?”
“A little.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“But it passed.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It happens sometimes.”
“That is also not reassuring.”
“Robby.”
He looked at you. You stepped closer.
“I know my body.”
His expression changed immediately.
“Oh, I fucking hate when you say that.”
“Why?”
“Because you say it every time you’re about to make a stupid decision.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is absolutely true.”
“I know when something is actually wrong.”
“You know when something is wrong. You just decide whether it’s inconvenient enough to acknowledge.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Annoyingly accurate. Robby nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Don’t look smug.”
“I’m not smug.”
“You’re smug.”
“I’m concerned.”
“You look smug when you’re concerned.”
“I have one face.”
“You have many faces.”
“I really don’t.”
“You do.”
He shook his head. Then his gaze dropped to the protein bar.
“Finish that.”
“I have two more patients.”
“Finish it while you walk.”
“That feels medically irresponsible.”
“So does passing out in Radiology.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
“Good.”
“I’m not.”
“Then eat.”
You took another bite. Robby watched.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m enjoying being right.”
“That’s worse.”
“Probably.”
A voice came sharply from across the department.
“Robby!”
He turned. A resident was standing outside Trauma Two.
“We need you.”
Robby looked toward them. Then back at you. You could actually see the conflict.
Work. You. Work. You touched his arm.
“Go.”
He didn’t move.
“I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I’ m stable.”
“That’s marginally better.”
“Go.”
He looked at the protein bar. You took another bite.
“See?”
His eyes returned to your face.
“Eat the whole thing.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“And drink water.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“And after these patients, sit down for ten minutes.”
You smiled.
“Yes, Dad.”
Robby’s face went blank. You laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I couldn’t resist.”
“That joke needs to die.”
“It’s never dying.”
“Robby!”
He looked over his shoulder again.
“Coming.”
Then back to you. His hand briefly touched your waist.
“You call me if you get dizzy again.”
“I will.”
“No.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“No bullshit answer. Look at me.”
You did.
“If it happens again, you call me.”
There was something in his voice that made you stop teasing. You nodded.
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
The word again. The same one from this morning. You softened
“Promise.”
Robby studied you for another second. Then nodded.
“Tonight.”
You smiled.
“Tonight.”
He turned and walked quickly toward the trauma bay. You watched him disappear behind the curtain. Then looked down at the protein bar in your hand. You took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed.
See? Problem solved. You pushed the portable toward Eleven. You finished almost half the protein bar before a nurse stopped you to ask about another image. Then you tucked it back into your pocket. You forgot about it again.
At two fifteen, you were back upstairs. At two thirty-seven, you realized the ibuprofen had done absolutely nothing for your headache. At two fifty, you stood from a chair too quickly and had to grab the edge of the desk.
This time, nobody saw. You stayed still. Waited. The rushing sound filled your ears. Your heart thudded.
Once. Twice. Hard.
You breathed slowly. The darkness retreated.
“Fuck.”
You looked around. Nobody had noticed. Good. You remembered Robby’s voice.
If it happens again, you call me.
You reached into your scrub pocket. Pulled out your phone. Looked at his name. Your thumb hovered over it. Then someone shouted from CT.
“We need help in here!”
You closed your eyes. Just for a second. You put the phone back into your pocket. You’d call him after. You’d eat after. You’d sit down after. You would take care of yourself after you got through the next patient.
It was always after. And for the first time that day, when you started walking toward CT, the floor didn’t feel completely steady beneath your feet.
******
For about forty-five minutes, you convinced yourself you were feeling better. It was almost impressive. The headache was still there, but it had dulled from a sharp pressure behind your eyes into something more diffuse, the sort of miserable background ache you could work through if you stopped thinking about it. The dizziness had passed. Mostly. Your hands were still cold, but your hands were always cold, and the protein bar in your pocket had technically been opened, which in your mind apparently counted as evidence of responsible nutritional behavior even though you had eaten less than half of it.
You drank some water. Not enough. You sat down once. For maybe three minutes. You even found yourself feeling slightly smug about the entire thing.
Robby had worried. You had been fine. You had eaten. Nothing terrible had happened. See?
You knew your body. That thought would become deeply irritating in retrospect. At three seventeen, Melissa found you in the control room staring at a CT study.
“You look worse.”
You didn’t turn around.
“Hello to you too.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’ve all become very repetitive today.”
“You’re sweating.”
That made you look at her.
“I’m not sweating.”
Melissa pointed at your forehead. You lifted a hand. Your skin was damp. That was odd. The department wasn’t warm. If anything, you had spent most of the day complaining that it was too cold. You wiped your forehead with the back of your wrist.
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
“I’m warm now.”
“That’s your medical assessment?”
“Yes.”
“Brilliant.”
You turned back to the monitor. Melissa did not leave. You could feel her behind you.
“What?”
“You’re breathing weird.”
“I’m breathing.”
“Congratulations.”
You sighed.
“I’m fine.”
“God, I hate that sentence.”
“So does Robby.”
“Then maybe everybody but you is onto something.”
You leaned back slightly in the chair. The movement made something inside your head shift. Not dizziness exactly. A brief swimming sensation. You waited for it to pass. It did. Melissa saw your face.
“There.”
“What?”
“That.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You just stopped moving.”
“I was thinking.”
“You don’t usually look like you’re about to throw up when you think.”
“I do depending on the topic.”
“Stand up.”
You looked at her.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s weird.”
“I want to see if you get dizzy.”
“You are not conducting neurological field testing on me in CT.”
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There were a handful of people inside PTMC who believed they ran the hospital.
The CEO believed it, of course. Gloria definitely believed it. Half the department heads liked to pretend they did. But the truth, the quiet, unspoken, structurally fragile truth, was that the hospital did not run because of titles.
It ran because of you.
Your office sat just far enough from the chaos to give the illusion of distance, but close enough that the noise of the Emergency Department bled into your walls at all hours, monitors beeping, stretchers rattling, voices raised, lives changing in seconds, and most days you operated like a conductor behind glass, keeping three of the most volatile departments in sync: Orthopedics, Psychiatry, and Emergency Medicine. Which meant, more often than not, you were cleaning up after one man in particular.
Dr. Michael Robinavich.
Robby.
You stared down at your laptop, scrolling through an email thread that had grown longer than your patience, your fingers pressing against your temple as you reread a complaint drafted by a patient’s family, again, this one citing “lack of communication,” “dismissive bedside manner,” and your personal favorite, “emotional negligence.” You exhaled slowly through your nose.
“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, already clicking into response mode, already restructuring language, already preparing to take the hit on behalf of someone who didn’t even know you were standing there catching the blows.
Because Robby never saw it. He saw the medicine. The procedures. The saves. The losses.
He did not see the emails intercepted before they reached the CEO. The calls you returned at midnight so he didn’t have to. The press inquiries you softened, reshaped, redirected. The conversations with Gloria that you carefully navigated so his name didn’t come up in a way that would stick.
You leaned back in your chair, eyes flicking to the clock. He was already two hours into his shift. Which meant—
Your phone buzzed. You didn’t even have to look at the name. You answered it on the second ring. “Hi, Gloria.”
Her voice came sharp, controlled, but threaded with that familiar edge. “Tell me why I’m getting a call from the CEO asking about a patient complaint tied to Robinavich.”
Of course you were. Because something had slipped past you. And that… that never sat well.
“I’m already reviewing it,” you said smoothly, your tone calm, grounded, steady in a way that had taken years to perfect. “It looks like a communication breakdown post-discharge, not a clinical issue. I’ll handle the follow-up and draft a response before it escalates.”
There was a pause. You could practically hear her recalibrating.
“You always do,” Gloria said, though it wasn’t quite praise and wasn’t quite criticism either. “Just make sure this doesn’t hit my desk again.”
“It won’t,” you replied, already knowing it wouldn’t.
Because you would make sure of it. You hung up, already pulling the patient’s chart, already mapping out the timeline, already constructing the narrative that would protect the department, and, more specifically, protect him.
Again.
******
By the time you made your way down to the Emergency Department, the controlled chaos had reached its usual midday peak. Nurses moved fast, voices overlapped, a gurney rushed past you toward trauma, and somewhere in the middle of it all, there he was.
Dr. Michael Robinavich stood at the central station, sleeves rolled, hair slightly disheveled, jaw tight in concentration as he flipped through a chart, issuing instructions with the kind of sharp precision that made people listen even when they didn’t like him.
You watched him for a moment. Because it was always easier to understand him from a distance. He cared. God, he cared.
But it came out wrong half the time, too blunt, too fast, too detached, and you had built an entire professional existence around translating that into something the world could accept.
You stepped forward. “Dr. Robby.”
He didn’t look up immediately, finishing whatever note he was scribbling before snapping the chart shut and finally turning toward you. And just like that, the atmosphere shifted.
Because whatever patience he gave his patients, whatever focus he gave his medicine, he did not give to you.
“What is it?” he asked, already sounding irritated, already bracing like your presence meant a problem.
You kept your tone even. “I need five minutes.”
“I don’t have five minutes.”
“You do,” you replied, holding his gaze. “Because if I don’t fix this now, you’re going to have a much bigger problem later.”
That got his attention, even if only slightly.
He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “Make it quick.”
You stepped closer, lowering your voice just enough to keep it contained. “There’s a complaint from a patient’s family this morning. It’s already on Gloria’s radar and almost made it to the CEO.”
His jaw tightened.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” he said immediately, defensive and sharp.
“I didn’t say you did,” you countered, calm but firm. “But perception matters, and right now the perception is that you dismissed their concerns during discharge.”
“I didn’t dismiss anything,” he snapped, his voice rising just enough to draw a glance from a nearby nurse. “They were asking for unnecessary imaging and I told them no.”
“And how did you tell them no?” you asked, not backing down, not softening.
He stared at you like the question itself was offensive.
“Directly,” he said.
You nodded once. “Right. And that’s the problem.”
His expression shifted, annoyance sharpening into something more pointed.
“You’re kidding me,” he said, letting out a short, humorless laugh. “I did my job, and now I’m getting dragged into some administrative nonsense because someone didn’t like my tone?”
“It’s not nonsense,” you replied, your own patience beginning to thin. “It’s the reality of working in a hospital where patients are also stakeholders, and their experience matters whether you like it or not.”
He stepped closer, his presence suddenly more imposing, his voice dropping but no less intense.
“My job is to save lives, not hold hands and worry about whether someone feels heard while I’m telling them the truth.”
“And my job,” you said, meeting him head-on, “is to make sure you can keep doing that without getting written up, investigated, or dragged in front of the board.”
There was a beat. A flicker. Something almost like recognition, but it passed too quickly. Instead, his frustration snapped back into place.
“Then maybe do your job better,” he said, the words cutting sharper than he probably intended. “Because I’m not changing how I practice medicine to make your life easier.”
The words landed. Not because they were loud. But because they were careless. And for the first time, you didn’t absorb it. You didn’t redirect it. You didn’t smooth it over. You just… felt it.
And something in you, something that had been quietly, steadily building over months of cleaning up after him, of standing between him and consequences he never even saw, finally snapped.
But you didn’t say anything. Not yet.
You just held his gaze a second longer than usual, your expression unreadable, your voice when you spoke again calm in a way that should have warned him.
“Understood,” you said.
Then you turned and walked away. Leaving him standing there, unaware that for the first time since you started protecting him, you weren’t going to catch him before he fell.
******
By the time you got back to your office, the email was already half-written in your head, the response carefully crafted, the narrative aligned in a way that would shield him, protect the department, and keep everything from escalating. Like always.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. And then, they stilled. Because for the first time…You hesitated. And somewhere, deep down, a quiet, dangerous thought surfaced.
What would happen… if you didn’t fix it this time?
Across the hospital, Robby stood exactly where you had left him, staring at nothing for a second longer than necessary, something unsettled curling in his chest.
He didn’t know why. Didn’t know what had shifted. But for the first time, your absence didn’t feel like relief. It felt like something missing. And he didn’t understand that yet.
But he would.
******
The first sign that something was off did not arrive loudly. It never did. It arrived quietly, in the form of a phone call Robby didn’t expect to take.
It was nearly the end of his shift when Dana stepped up beside him, her expression careful in a way that made him immediately bristle.
“Robby,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to signal this wasn’t routine. “Gloria wants to see you. Now.”
He frowned, already irritated, already running through the mental list of possibilities, none of them good.
“For what?” he asked, not moving.
Dana gave a small shrug, though her eyes said she knew more than she was willing to share. “Something about a complaint.”
Of course it was.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing the nearest chart and shoving it into the stack before turning away, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “unbelievable.”
Because in his mind, this was exactly what he had been talking about. Administrative overreach. Sensitivity over substance. Time wasted on things that did not matter when people were bleeding out ten feet away. But as he walked toward Gloria’s office, something else began to creep in.
A question. One he didn’t like. Because normally…he never made it this far.
Gloria did not look pleased when he stepped into her office. She didn’t look angry either, which was somehow worse. She looked… tired.
“Close the door,” she said without preamble.
Robby did, the click echoing louder than it should have. He crossed his arms, leaning back slightly like he was bracing for impact. “If this is about the complaint, I already know—”
“Do you?” Gloria cut in, her voice calm but sharp enough to slice through his defensiveness. “Because from where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem like you do.”
He stiffened.
“I treated the patient appropriately,” he said, his tone controlled but edged. “There was no clinical error.”
“I am not questioning your clinical judgment,” she replied, her gaze locking onto his. “I am questioning why this is the first time I am hearing about this situation without it already being handled.”
That stopped him. Just slightly. Because that wasn’t how this worked.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
Gloria leaned back in her chair, studying him for a moment like she was deciding how much to say.
“Usually,” she said slowly, “these things never reach me. Or if they do, they arrive already resolved, already softened, already framed in a way that prevents escalation.”
A pause. “Do you know why that is?”
He didn’t answer. Because suddenly, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. Gloria didn’t wait.
“Because she handles it,” she said plainly.
And just like that, the room shifted.
Robby’s jaw tightened. “Handles what?”
Gloria let out a quiet breath, something almost resembling disbelief flickering across her face.
“Your messes,” she said, not unkindly, but not gently either. “Your complaints. Your communication gaps. The things that you don’t have time for or don’t think matter.”
He stared at her.
“That’s not—” he started, but the words faltered before they could fully form.
Because something in his chest had just dropped.
“She intercepts emails before they reach me,” Gloria continued, her tone even, factual. “She calls families. She rewrites narratives. She stands in front of the press when needed. She protects this department, and you, more times than you are aware of.”
Each word landed heavier than the last.
“And today,” Gloria added, her gaze sharpening, “she didn’t.”
Silence filled the space. Robby swallowed, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar settling into his ribs.
“That’s… not her job,” he said, though it came out less certain than he intended.
Gloria raised an eyebrow.
“It is exactly her job,” she replied. “And she is very, very good at it.”
Another pause.
“But she is not your shield.”
That one, that one hit.
Because suddenly, the conversation from earlier replayed in his mind with a clarity that made his stomach twist.
Then maybe do your job better.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling roughly.
“I didn’t know,” he admitted, the words feeling foreign in his mouth.
“I know,” Gloria said.
And somehow that was worse.
By the time he left her office, the world outside felt… different. Not quieter. Not calmer. Just… sharper. Like he was seeing something that had always been there but had never fully registered.
He walked back into the Emergency Department, his eyes scanning instinctively for you. You weren’t there. Of course you weren’t. You had retreated. And for the first time since he’d known you, he realized he had no idea where your office even was.
******
It took asking two nurses, one intern, and a passing administrator before someone finally pointed him in the right direction, and even then, it felt strange, walking away from the noise of the ED, down a quieter hallway, toward a part of the hospital he had never bothered to enter.
Your space. Your territory. The place where everything he ignored… lived.
He stopped outside your door for a moment, his hand hovering just above the wood, something unfamiliar settling into his chest.
Hesitation. He didn’t hesitate. Not with patients. Not with decisions. Not with anything.
This felt different. Because this required something he wasn’t used to giving.
He knocked anyway. There was a pause. Then your voice, calm and composed as ever.
“Come in.”
He pushed the door open. And stepped into a world he had never seen before.
Your office was not chaotic. It was not loud. It was not anything like the ED. It was… controlled.
Organized in a way that spoke of someone who managed complexity by creating order, with neatly stacked files, a whiteboard lined with timelines and notes, and a desk that held more responsibility than most people in the building would ever understand.
You sat behind it, typing, not looking up immediately.
“Give me a second,” you said, your tone professional, detached, like you didn’t already know it was him.
He closed the door behind him, the sound softer this time. And he waited. Because suddenly, he understood that he didn’t get to rush this. Not anymore.
After a moment, you finished what you were doing, hit send, and finally looked up. Your expression didn’t change.
“Dr. Robinavich,” you said evenly. “What can I do for you?”
The formality hit harder than anger would have. He shifted slightly, exhaling through his nose.
“I just came from Gloria,” he said.
You nodded once. “I assumed you would.”
Of course you had. Of course you had known exactly how this would play out. He ran a hand through his hair, searching for words that didn’t come easily.
“She told me… what you do,” he said finally.
A beat. Something flickered in your eyes—
, but it was gone just as quickly.
“She told you her version,” you replied.
He stepped closer, his voice quieter now, less sharp, more… uncertain.
“She told me you’ve been covering for me,” he said. “Handling complaints. Keeping things from escalating.”
You held his gaze.
“I’ve been doing my job,” you said simply.
“That’s more than your job,” he pushed, something in him needing you to acknowledge it, to define it, to make sense of the weight he was suddenly feeling.
You leaned back slightly, your hands folding loosely on the desk.
“No,” you said, your voice steady. “It’s exactly my job. What’s not my job is being spoken to the way you spoke to me today.”
There it was. Clean. Direct. No buffer. No softening.
He flinched, not visibly, not dramatically, but enough.
“I didn’t know,” he said again, quieter this time.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him.
“I believe you,” you said.
And somehow, that made it worse. Because there was no accusation in your voice. Just truth. He swallowed.
“Still,” he continued, forcing himself to hold your gaze, “that doesn’t make it okay.”
No, it didn’t. You let the silence sit for a moment, letting him feel it, letting him exist in it without rushing to fill it the way you always did for everyone else.
“No,” you agreed.
He nodded once, his shoulders dropping just slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The words were simple. But they weren’t easy. And you could tell. You studied him for a moment longer, weighing it, measuring it, deciding whether it was enough. Not to fix everything. But to move forward. Then you gave a small nod.
“Thank you,” you said.
Not forgiveness. Not yet. But not rejection either. And he took it for what it was. He hesitated for a moment, then, “How do I make it up to you?” he asked.
The question hung between you, heavier than he intended, more loaded than he realized. Because this wasn’t about a single moment. This wasn’t about one apology. This was about months, maybe longer, of imbalance. Of unseen labor. Of you standing quietly in the background while he moved loudly in the foreground.
You exhaled slowly, considering him.
“You start by understanding that I’m not here to make your life easier,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “I’m here to make sure this hospital functions. If that benefits you, great. If it doesn’t, I will still do my job.”
He nodded, absorbing it.
“And,” you continued, your gaze sharpening just slightly, “you don’t get to dismiss what I do just because it doesn’t happen in front of you.”
That one landed. Deep.
“I won’t,” he said.
You held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small nod, signaling the conversation was over. But he didn’t move. Because something had shifted. Something he didn’t fully understand yet. But something he wasn’t ready to walk away from either.
And for the first time since he’d known you, he saw you. Not as an interruption. Not as an inconvenience. But as something essential. Something steady. Something that had been holding him up this entire time. And he had never once said thank you.
******
The shift did not slow down just because something between you had shifted. Hospitals never worked that way. There was no pause button for tension, no quiet moment carved out for emotional recalibration, no space where two people could sit with what had just cracked open between them and figure out what it meant before being pulled back into the current.
And yet, Everything felt different. For both of you.
Robby noticed it first in the absence. Not your physical absence, you were still there, still moving through the hospital with the same efficiency, the same calm authority, the same quiet control that made people instinctively step aside when you passed, but your presence in his orbit had changed.
You were no longer… cushioning him.
There were no quick check-ins slipped between cases. No subtle redirections. No low, controlled voice pulling him aside before something became a problem.
Instead, you let things land where they landed. And for someone like Robby, who had unknowingly built a rhythm around you intercepting impact before it reached him, the difference was immediate. And jarring.
It started with something small. It always did. A family member questioning a discharge plan, their frustration escalating faster than usual, their tone sharper, less receptive.
Normally, something like this would have smoothed out before it reached a boiling point. Normally, you would have stepped in. But you didn’t.
You stood back, just outside the circle, arms loosely crossed, watching. Not cold. Not detached. Just… present. Letting him handle it.
Robby felt it before he even saw you, the lack of intervention, the absence of that invisible buffer, and it threw him off just enough that his usual bluntness came out sharper than intended.
“I’ve already explained why we’re not ordering additional imaging,” he said, his voice controlled but edged. “It’s not clinically indicated.”
The patient’s mother shook her head, her voice rising. “You’re not listening to me. Something is wrong and you’re just dismissing us.”
“I’m not dismissing you,” he replied, though his tone didn’t quite match the words.
That was where it usually would have shifted. Where you would have stepped in, reframed, softened, translated. But instead, you stayed where you were.
Watching. Waiting. Allowing. The moment stretched. Then cracked.
“I want someone else,” the woman said suddenly. “Someone who will actually listen.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Because for the first time, there was no one there to catch them before they landed. Robby exhaled sharply, stepping back, running a hand over his face as frustration flickered through him.
“Fine,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ll have someone else take over.”
He turned and that was when he saw you. Standing there. Watching. Not stepping in. Not fixing it. Just… letting it happen. Something in his chest twisted. Not anger. Not exactly.
Something closer to realization.
You held his gaze for a moment, your expression unreadable.
“I’ll reassign the case,” you said, your tone professional, even, giving him exactly what was needed and nothing more.
No rescue. No reassurance. Just function. And you walked away.
It should have ended there. It should have stayed small. Contained. A quiet shift in dynamics that only the two of you understood. But hospitals were not quiet places. And tension, when left to build, rarely stayed contained.
******
It was mid-afternoon when it happened. The ED was packed, the kind of packed that made the air feel tighter, the noise louder, the stakes higher, with patients lining the halls and staff moving faster, sharper, everyone operating at that edge where precision and exhaustion blurred together.
Robby was already running on too little sleep and too much pressure, moving from one case to the next without pause, when Samira Mohan hesitated mid-report, fumbling over details that should have been clear.
He snapped.
“Stop,” he said sharply, cutting her off. “If you don’t know the patient, don’t present the patient. Go back, figure it out, and come back when you actually have something useful to say.”
Samira flushed, clearly flustered, clearly trying. “I—I just thought—”
“Don’t think,” Robby cut in. “Know.”
The words landed harder than intended. Samira stepped back, embarrassed, rattled. And for a moment, everything stilled. Because this wasn’t new. This wasn’t unusual.
But today, something about it felt different. Because you were there. And you didn’t step in. Instead, you walked straight toward him.
Not fast. Not aggressive. But with a purpose that made people notice. That made people watch. And when you stopped in front of him, there was no quiet aside. No private redirection. No controlled, behind-the-scenes correction.
Your voice, when you spoke, carried.
“Enough.”
The word cut clean through the noise of the department. Heads turned. Samira froze. Robby blinked, caught off guard not just by the interruption, but by the way you had done it.
Public. Direct. Unfiltered.
“Excuse me?” he said, his tone sharpening immediately.
You didn’t flinch.
“You heard me,” you replied, your voice steady, grounded, but unmistakably firm. “Enough.”
A beat. The entire ED felt like it had shifted into a different frequency. Robby straightened slightly, his expression tightening, something defensive rising up fast.
“This doesn’t concern you,” he said, his voice low but edged.
You let out a quiet breath, something almost like disbelief flickering across your face.
“It concerns me when one of our residents looks like they’re about to shut down in the middle of a shift because they’re being spoken to like they’re incompetent instead of being taught,” you said, your tone still controlled but no longer soft.
“They are incompetent if they don’t know their patient,” he shot back.
“And they stay that way if no one teaches them,” you countered immediately, not missing a beat. “Which is part of your job, whether you like it or not.”
A ripple moved through the room.Because this, this was new. Robby’s jaw tightened, his patience thinning fast.
“I don’t have time to hand-hold every resident who walks in here unprepared,” he said.
“And I don’t have time to keep cleaning up after the fallout when your approach creates more problems than it solves,” you replied, your voice still even, but sharper now, more pointed, more real.
That one landed. Hard. Now everyone was hearing it. And for a split second, something flickered across Robby’s face. Not anger. Not entirely. Something closer to shock. Because this wasn’t the version of you he knew.
This wasn’t the calm, behind-the-scenes, quietly capable administrator who fixed things before they broke. This was something else. Something that had clearly been there all along. He just had never forced it into the open.
“You think I’m the problem?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but more dangerous.
You held his gaze, unflinching.
“I think you’re brilliant,” you said.
And that threw him more than anything else. Because it wasn’t an attack. It was the truth.
“And I think you hide behind that brilliance to justify behavior that makes your job, and everyone else’s, harder than it has to be,” you continued, your voice steady, your words precise, deliberate. “And I have spent months making sure that didn’t catch up to you.”
A breath. A shift. “And I’m not doing that anymore.”
Silence. Heavy. Thick.
The kind that settles into bones. Now everyone understood. At least a little.
Samira stood frozen, eyes wide, while a nurse a few feet away pretended to be very interested in her chart, and across the station, someone stopped mid-step just to listen. Robby stared at you, something unraveling behind his eyes. This wasn’t just a confrontation. This was a revelation.
Of you. Of him. Of everything he hadn’t seen. He didn’t have a response. Didn’t have a quick comeback, or a sharp retort, or a way to reassert control of the moment. Because the moment was no longer his.
It belonged to you.
You let the silence sit just long enough. Then, finally, you turned slightly, your tone shifting, softening just a fraction as you addressed Samira.
“Go take five minutes,” you said. “Then come find me and we’ll walk through the case together.”
She nodded quickly, relief flooding their face as they stepped away. You turned back to Robby one last time. Your voice, when you spoke again, was quieter. But no less firm.
“You don’t have to be gentle,” you said. “But you do have to be better.”
Then you stepped past him. And walked away. Leaving behind a room full of witnesses and a man who, for the first time in a long time had absolutely no idea what to do next.
******
The Emergency Department did not erupt after you walked away. There was no dramatic shift back into chaos, no immediate explosion of noise to swallow what had just happened.
Instead it went quiet. Not completely. Machines still beeped, shoes still moved across tile, voices still existed, but underneath all of it, there was a current, a hum, something charged and aware and watching.
Because everyone had seen it. Everyone had heard it. Everyone had understood it.
Robby stood exactly where you had left him, the space around him feeling just slightly too open, like something had been pulled away and not yet replaced. No one approached him. No one spoke.
Not out of fear, necessarily, but out of recognition. Because something had just shifted in the hierarchy of the room. And no one quite knew what to do with that yet. He ran a hand over his face slowly, exhaling through his nose, trying to reset, trying to find his footing again in a place that had always been instinctual, always been his.
But now there was a fracture. Not in his authority. Not exactly. But in his certainty.
“Hey.”
The voice came from his left, careful, measured. He turned slightly to see Dana, someone who had worked alongside him long enough not to be intimidated by him, but long enough to choose her moments wisely.
“You good?” she asked, her tone neutral, but her eyes searching.
Robby let out a short breath, something almost like a humorless laugh escaping him.
“Yeah,” he said automatically.
She didn’t move. Didn’t nod. Didn’t pretend to believe him. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly.
“She’s not wrong,” she said.
The words landed without judgment. Without edge. Just… fact. Robby’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting away for a moment before coming back.
“I didn’t say she was,” he replied, quieter now.
Dana studied him for a second longer, then gave a small nod, like that answer was enough, for now.
“Then maybe don’t wait for her to say it next time,” she added, her voice softer as she stepped back. “We all feel it. You just don’t always see it.”
And then she was gone. Leaving him with that. With all of it.
******
Across the department, you had already moved on. Because that was the difference between the two of you. Robby lived inside the moment. You managed what came after it.
You found Samira exactly where you expected her, half-hidden in the break room, staring down at her hands like if she focused hard enough, they might stop shaking. You leaned against the doorframe for a second, letting your presence settle before you spoke.
“Hey,” you said gently.
She looked up quickly, embarrassment flashing across their face.
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, the words rushing out. “I should have known more, I just—”
“Stop,” you said softly, stepping into the room. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”
Samira blinked, clearly unsure what to do with that. You crossed the space slowly, sitting down across from them, your posture relaxed, open, intentionally non-threatening in a way that took practice to perfect.
“Tell me what you knew,” you said.
She hesitated, then started talking. And as she did, you listened, not to correct, not to interrupt, not to prove a point, but to understand where the gaps were, where the confidence had slipped, where the learning had stopped and the fear had taken over.
And then, you built her back up. Not with empty reassurance. But with structure. With clarity. With guidance. The way someone had once done for you.
******
Back in the ED, Robby tried to move forward. Tried to pick up where he had left off. Tried to reinsert himself into the rhythm of the department like nothing had happened.
But it wasn’t working. Because now, He noticed things. The slight hesitation before Whitaker or Santos approached him. The way Princess rephrased something more carefully than usual. The subtle shifts in tone, in body language, in space. Things that had always been there. Things that you had clearly been managing. Things he had never taken the time to see.
And it was driving him insane.
By the time he stepped away from the floor for the first time in hours, his patience was thin, his thoughts louder than usual, his chest tight with something he didn’t have a name for yet. He found himself walking without a clear destination. Which was how he ended up outside your office.
Again.
This time, he didn’t hesitate as long. But he still hesitated. Because this wasn’t just about an apology anymore. And he knew it.
He knocked. A beat.
“Come in.”
He opened the door.
You were standing this time, not sitting, a file open in front of you, your focus shifting to him as he entered. For a moment neither of you spoke. Because the last time you had stood across from each other, the air had been charged with something sharp, something breaking.
This felt different. Still tense. Still unresolved. But… clearer.
“You busy?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
You considered him for a second, then closed the file in front of you.
“I can make a minute,” you said.
A minute. Not more. Not less. He nodded once, stepping further into the room, the door clicking softly behind him.
“I didn’t come in here to argue,” he said.
“I assumed,” you replied evenly.
A pause. He exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck, a gesture that felt almost out of place on him.
“I didn’t realize how much you were doing,” he said, his words more measured now, less reactive, more deliberate. “Not just with the complaints. With… all of it.”
You watched him carefully. Because this mattered. Not the words themselves. But how he said them. Why he said them.
“And now you do,” you said.
It wasn’t a question. He nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Now I do.”
Silence settled between you, not uncomfortable, but not easy either. He shifted slightly, his gaze flicking briefly to the whiteboard behind you, the notes, the timelines, the structure of a system he had never bothered to understand.
“I’ve been making your job harder,” he said finally.
You didn’t rush to answer. This wasn’t about making him feel better. This was about truth.
“Yes,” you said.
He let out a quiet breath, something almost like acceptance settling into his shoulders.
“Okay,” he replied.
Another pause.
“I don’t want to keep doing that,” he added.
That was new. You tilted your head slightly, studying him.
“Then don’t,” you said simply.
A flicker of something, frustration, maybe, or the realization that there wasn’t going to be a checklist, a quick fix, a clear path forward, crossed his face.
“It’s not that simple,” he said.
“No,” you agreed. “It’s not.”
Silence again. Then he stepped a little closer, not crowding your space, but not standing at a distance either.
“Tell me how to do it better,” he said.
The request hung there. Not a demand. Not an expectation. A genuine ask. That shifted something. Because Robby didn’t ask for help. Not like this. Not without pushing back first. You held his gaze for a long moment, weighing it.
“You start by listening,” you said.
He nodded once.
“And not just to respond,” you continued, your voice calm but firm. “You listen to understand what people are actually saying, even when it’s not efficient, even when it’s frustrating, even when you already think you know the answer.”
He absorbed that.
“You slow down,” you added. “Not in your medicine. In your communication. There’s a difference.”
Another nod.
“And,” you finished, your gaze steady, “you remember that just because you’re right doesn’t mean you’re effective.”
That one hit.bBecause it was true. And he knew it.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
You watched him for another second, then gave a small nod, signaling that was all you were going to give him, for now.bHe didn’t argue. Didn’t push. Because for the first time he understood that this wasn’t something you were going to fix for him. He had to do it himself. He turned slightly, heading for the door, then paused, his hand resting lightly on the handle.
“There’s something else,” he said, without turning back.
You waited.
“I don’t like how I spoke to you,” he continued, his voice lower now, more personal, less professional. “Not just earlier. Before that.”
A beat.
“You didn’t deserve that.”
No, you hadn’t. But hearing him say it still mattered.
“Noted,” you said, your tone softer now, just a fraction.
He glanced back at you then, something unreadable flickering in his expression.
“I’ll do better,” he said.
And this time it didn’t sound like a promise made out of obligation. It sounded like a decision. You held his gaze for a moment longer. Then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
“Good,” you said.
He left your office with something new sitting in his chest. Not guilt. Not frustration. Something steadier. Something that felt… like direction.
******
The shift did not magically improve the moment Robby walked back into the Emergency Department. There was no cinematic turnaround, no sudden transformation into a softer, warmer version of himself that left everyone blinking in disbelief. Growth did not work like that. Change, real change, was quieter. Slower. Deliberate.
But for the first time…Robby was trying.
You noticed it before anyone else did. Of course you did. Because noticing things like that was, quite literally, what you were built to do.
It started small. Again. Because it always did. Mel King approached him cautiously, chart in hand, posture slightly tense like they were bracing for impact. You were across the department, reviewing something with a nurse, but your attention shifted anyway, instinctively, automatically, because you had learned to track him without looking like you were tracking him.
“Okay,” Robby said, his voice still direct, still efficient, but there was a pause this time, a fraction of a second where he seemed to catch himself before continuing. “Walk me through it.”
Not tell me what you know.
Not why don’t you know this already.
Mel blinked, clearly surprised, but started talking. And this time, Robby listened. Not perfectly. Not effortlessly. But intentionally.
You watched his jaw tighten once when the explanation wandered, watched his fingers flex like he was resisting the urge to cut in, watched him take a breath before responding.
“Okay,” he said again, slower now. “You’re close, but you missed something.”
Not an attack. A correction. A teaching moment. The difference was subtle. But it was there.
You looked back down at your notes, but something in your chest had shifted. Just slightly.
******
Later, when a patient’s family began to escalate, voices rising, frustration bubbling over, you saw him hesitate again. Not in uncertainty. In choice.
“I understand why you’re concerned,” he said, the words clearly not his default, but not forced either. “Let me explain what we’re seeing and what we’re not.”
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t polished. But it was… better. And better, in a place like this, mattered.
You didn’t step in. You didn’t need to.
By the time the shift began to wind down, the edge that had been sitting under everything had softened, not disappeared, not resolved entirely, but shifted into something that felt… manageable. Functional. Real.
You were gathering your things near the admin desk, closing out the last of your notes, your mind already moving on to the next day, the next problem, the next thing that would inevitably need your attention when you felt it.
That awareness. That presence. You didn’t look up right away. You didn’t have to.
“You’re going to work yourself into an early grave if you don’t stop doing that,” Robby said from a few feet away, his voice quieter now, lacking the sharpness it usually carried.
You finished typing the last sentence, hit send, then finally looked up at him.
“And you’re going to end up back in Gloria’s office if you don’t keep doing what you were doing earlier,” you replied evenly.
A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.
“Fair,” he said.
There was a pause. Not awkward. Just… unclaimed. For once, neither of you rushing to fill it.
“You were better today,” you said after a moment, your tone matter-of-fact, but not cold.
His brows lifted slightly.
“Better,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He considered that, then nodded once.
“I was trying,” he admitted.
“I noticed,” you said.
That landed. Because for someone like Robby, who didn’t care about recognition from most people, yours mattered. More than he expected. More than he was ready to admit out loud.
Another pause settled between you, softer this time, something underneath it shifting into unfamiliar territory. Less about work. More about… something else.
He shifted his weight slightly, his hand brushing the back of his neck again, that same gesture from earlier, that same quiet tell that he was stepping into something he didn’t fully know how to navigate.
“There’s… something I wanted to ask you,” he said.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him.
“Okay.”
He exhaled slowly, like he was calibrating, like he was choosing his words more carefully than he ever did in the ED.
“Do you ever… not do this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to the hospital around you, to the work, the systems, the constant motion. “Like, do you ever stop managing everything long enough to just, exist?”
The question caught you off guard. Not because it was invasive. But because it was… observant. You leaned back slightly, considering it.
“Sometimes,” you said. “Not often.”
He nodded, like that answer made sense.
“Would you?” he asked.
A beat.
Your brows pulled together just slightly. “Would I what?”
He held your gaze, something steadier settling into his expression now, less uncertain, more decided.
“Have coffee with me,” he said.
Simple. Direct. Very him. But also not. Because there was no edge to it. No expectation. Just an offer. And maybe, just beneath that, something softer.
“I feel like I owe you at least that,” he added, though his tone suggested it wasn’t really about owing you anything. “And I’ve been told I should probably practice… not being terrible at talking to people outside of crisis situations.”
A small, unexpected laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.
“You’ve been told?” you asked.
“Multiple sources,” he said dryly.
You studied him for a moment, your eyes tracing something in his expression that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe had always been there. You had just never been on the receiving end of it.
“You’re not terrible,” you said.
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had a full day of evidence that suggests otherwise.”
“You’re efficient,” you corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“That’s a generous interpretation,” he said.
“It’s an accurate one,” you replied.
Another pause. But this one felt lighter.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said after a moment.
You tilted your head again, just slightly.
“I’m considering it,” you said.
“Is that a no?” he asked.
“It’s a maybe,” you corrected.
He nodded slowly, like he would take that. Like he understood that with you, things were earned. Not assumed.
“You’d have to promise not to turn it into a performance review,” you added, your tone just teasing enough to shift the space between you.
His mouth twitched again.
“I think I’ve had enough feedback for one day,” he said.
“Good,” you replied. “Because I charge extra after hours.”
That got a real smile out of him. Brief. But unmistakable. And it did something strange to your chest.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to. But because stepping into something that wasn’t structured, wasn’t defined, wasn’t part of your carefully controlled world, that was new. And you felt it. The risk of it. The possibility of it. Then you exhaled softly.
“Tomorrow,” you agreed.
His shoulders relaxed just slightly, something easing in his posture that hadn’t been there before.
“Okay,” he said.
Another pause. But neither of you moved.
“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful, “I think this is the first time I’ve actually… seen you.”
The words were simple. But they carried weight. Because they were true. You held his gaze, something softer settling behind your eyes.
“Took you long enough,” you said lightly.
He huffed a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It did.”
This time, when the silence came, It didn’t feel like something waiting to be filled. It felt like something shared.
“Go home, Robby,” you said after a moment, your voice gentler now. “You look exhausted.”
He glanced at you, something warm flickering briefly in his expression.
“You always look like you have everything under control,” he said. “It’s… a little intimidating.”
You blinked, caught off guard.
“Is that your way of calling me scary?” you asked.
“Maybe a little,” he said.
You shook your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“Go home,” you repeated.
He nodded. Then hesitated. Just slightly.
“Hey,” he said.
You looked at him.
“You’re… kind of cute when you’re not fixing everything,” he added, like the words surprised him as much as they did you.
Your brows lifted, genuine surprise flashing across your face.
“Goodnight, Dr. Robinavich,” you said, because that was safer than whatever else you might have said.
He smiled, really smiled this time.
“Goodnight.”
And as he walked away, the distance between you felt different. Not smaller. Not yet. But… changed.
Because tomorrow wouldn’t be about the hospital. Wouldn’t be about complaints, or systems, or fixing things before they broke. It would just be, Coffee. Conversation.
And something that neither of you quite had a name for yet. But both of you, for the first time, were willing to find out.
Did You Eat? - Dr. Robby x Female Reader - Part Two
Request - Hi! I really like your writing style and enjoyed reading through your whole masterlist. I watched the Pitt recently and I was thinking if you would consider writing about Robby with anemic reader who always forgets to eat sometimes to the point of just dropping from ✨low iron moment ✨, some angst with hurt/comfort and fluff? Thank you 🫶🏻
Your chair swiveled around so quickly it made your head throb.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I absolutely would.”
“Melissa.”
“He told you to eat, didn’t he?”
“How do you know that?”
“Because every person with functioning eyes has told you to eat today.”
“I ate.”
“What?”
“A protein bar.”
“All of it?”
Silence. Melissa crossed her arms.
“How much?”
“Some.”
“How much is some?”
“An amount.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s fine.”
“You look gray.”
“I do not look gray.”
“You absolutely look gray.”
“People keep changing the color. This morning I was pale. Then I was white. Now apparently I’m gray. By five I’ll be fucking lavender.”
Melissa did not laugh. That was when you knew she was actually worried. You looked away first.
“I’m okay.”
“Then stand up.”
You hated that she had trapped you. You pushed the chair back.
“Fine.”
Slowly, deliberately, you stood. Nothing happened. You lifted both hands.
“Ta-da.”
Melissa stared at you. You smiled
“Happy?”
“No.”
“You should work on that.”
“Walk over there.”
“I know how to walk.”
“Then demonstrate.”
You rolled your eyes and walked toward the other side of the room.
“See?”
Melissa exhaled. Some of the tension left her face.
“You still need to eat.”
“Yes.”
“And sit down.”
“Yes.”
“And maybe call your boyfriend.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s working.”
“That logic is shit.”
“Most hospital logic is shit.”
The phone rang. Melissa picked it up.
“Yeah. Okay. We can take him now.”
She hung up.
“ED’s sending up a trauma.”
“What?”
“Motorcycle versus car.”
You closed your eyes.
“Of course they are.”
“He’s stable enough for imaging. Head, C-spine, chest, abdomen, pelvis.”
You nodded automatically.
“Okay.”
Melissa studied you.
“You’re not doing it.”
“What?”
“You’re not helping transfer.”
“Melissa.”
“No.”
“We’re short.”
“I don’t care. You almost passed out three times today.”
“I got dizzy.”
“Same neighborhood.”
“Not even remotely.”
“Sit at the console.”
“I can help.”
“You can help by not becoming another fucking patient.”
You stared at her. She stared back. The doors opened. The trauma team rolled the patient in.
Conversation over.
The next fifteen minutes moved quickly. That was the dangerous thing about hospital work. Adrenaline could make you forget almost anything.
The patient was a twenty-seven-year-old man, helmeted rider, hit at an intersection, blood pressure holding but borderline, obvious deformity to one leg, scattered road rash, possible abdominal injury. Everyone moved at once.
“On my count.”
“Watch the C-spine.”
“I’ve got the tube.”
“Three, two, one.”
You stayed near the console at first. Just like Melissa told you. Then someone needed another set of hands. Of course they did. You stepped forward automatically.
“Grab the sheet.”
Melissa looked at you.
“I’ve got it.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m fine.”
“Goddammit.”
There wasn’t time to argue. You helped reposition the patient. The effort was minimal. Barely anything. But when you straightened, your heart slammed violently against your ribs. You froze. One beat. Two. Three. Too fast. Your breath caught. You took one slow inhale. Then another. Nobody noticed. Good. You stepped back.
“Ready for scout.”
You moved behind the glass. The scan started. You concentrated on the screen. Images populated. Head. Neck. Chest. Your vision blurred slightly. You blinked. Better. You rubbed one eye. Melissa glanced at you.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
She frowned. You focused harder. The scan continued. Then suddenly your stomach turned. Hard. You swallowed. The room felt too warm. Much too warm. You tugged at the collar of your scrub top. Melissa noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re sweating again.”
“I’m hot.”
“You were freezing an hour ago.”
You looked at her. She was scared now. Not worried. Scared. That irritated something inside you because fear made the situation feel real, and you were still very committed to the idea that nothing real was happening.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.”
“I need a second.”
“You need to sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“Then stay sitting.”
The scan finished. The patient needed to be moved. A nurse opened the door.
“We’re clear?”
Melissa nodded.
“Yeah.”
You stood. Melissa immediately grabbed your arm.
“No.”
“I’m just moving out of the way.”
“Sit.”
“I’m in the way.”
“Then I’ll move the chair.”
You laughed weakly.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I am standing.”
Barely. The floor felt wrong. Soft. Like walking on a mattress. You gripped the edge of the console. The rushing sound started in your ears.
“Hey.”
Melissa’s voice sounded farther away. You opened them again. The room had narrowed. Not black. Not yet. Just a tunnel. You could see Melissa’s face. Everything around her was blurry.
“Sit down.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
You looked down. She was right. You were standing. When had you stood? You couldn’t remember. That frightened you.
“I’m okay.”
Your voice sounded strange. Too soft. Melissa stepped closer.
“Sit.”
“Give me a second.”
“You’re going down.”
You took one step backward. Bad idea. The room tilted violently. You reached for the counter. Missed. Melissa grabbed your forearm.
“Hey!”
“I’m okay.”
“You keep saying that.”
Your knees felt weak. Not metaphorically. Actually weak. Like the muscles had disconnected. You locked them. Stupid instinct. Your vision dimmed further. Someone else entered the room.
“What’s happening?”
“She’s about to pass out.”
“I’m not.”
The words barely came out. Melissa tightened her grip.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
You didn’t know. You tried to bend your knees. Your body didn’t respond correctly. A cold wave moved through you. Your skin prickled. Then heat. Then cold again. Your heart was racing. Your breathing was too fast. You knew enough about medicine to understand that none of this was good. You also knew enough about yourself to keep arguing anyway.
“Just give me a second.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I just need—”
The room disappeared. Not completely. There were still voices. Shapes. Light. But your body suddenly felt impossibly heavy. Someone said your name. You tried to answer. Nothing happened. Then your knees gave out.
It was terrifying how quickly control vanished. One second you were standing. The next, you weren’t. Melissa caught one arm. Someone else grabbed you around the waist. Your shoulder hit something. Not the floor. Maybe the chair. You couldn’t tell.
“Got her.”
“Easy.”
“Get her down.”
“Hey. Stay with me.”
“Can you hear me?”
You nodded. Or thought you did.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m okay.”
This time you heard yourself. Slurred slightly. Melissa swore.
“No, you’re fucking not.”
You tried to sit up. Several hands stopped you.
“Stay down.”
“I have a patient.”
“The patient is fine.”
“I need to—”
“No.”
You blinked. The ceiling moved. Or maybe you moved. You couldn’t tell.
“Hey.” She touched your cheek. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“You fucking folded.”
“I’m awake.”
“Barely.”
Someone crouched beside you. Another tech.
“Pulse is fast.”
“How fast?”
“One twenty.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m fine.”
Three people answered at once.
“Shut up.”
You would have laughed if you had enough energy. Your eyes closed.
Nobody listened. Of course nobody listened. You tried to push yourself upright. The moment you lifted your head, nausea rolled through you. You dropped back down.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Easy.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
“Turn her.”
Someone rolled you slightly. Nothing happened. The nausea passed. Mostly. You breathed through it.
“This is embarrassing.”
Melissa gave you an incredulous look.
“You almost face-planted in CT and you’re worried about being embarrassed?”
“Yes.”
“Your priorities are fucked.”
“I know.”
A stretcher appeared. You stared at it.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not getting on that.”
“You know what would be more embarrassing?”
“What?”
“Passing out again in the hallway.”
You considered that.
“I hate you.”
Two people helped move you. You tried to assist. Your arms shook. That shut you up. You lay back. The ceiling above you swayed slightly. Someone tucked a blanket over you. You immediately realized how cold you were. Really cold. Your teeth almost wanted to chatter. Melissa touched your forehead.
The stretcher started moving. You grabbed the rail.
“Where are we going?”
“Downstairs.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need the ED.”
“You nearly lost consciousness.”
“Nearly.”
Melissa stared at you.
“That distinction is not helping.”
“I can go home.”
“You can’t even sit up.”
“I can sit up.”
You attempted it. The room tilted. You lay back down. Melissa raised her eyebrows.
The elevator doors opened. Someone pushed the stretcher inside. The movement made your stomach twist again. You closed your eyes.
“Don’t close your eyes.”
You opened them. Melissa was watching you. Someone else stood at the foot of the stretcher. A nurse from radiology. You recognized her. Barely.
“What happened?” she asked.
Melissa answered.
“She’s anemic, hasn’t eaten shit all day, got dizzy multiple times, then almost passed out.”
“I ate.”
Melissa looked at you.
“Half a protein bar does not count.”
The nurse stared at you.
“Is she always like this?”
“Unfortunately.”
The elevator descended. Your pulse still felt fast. The adrenaline was fading. In its place came something worse. Weakness. Heavy, deep weakness. Your arms felt weighted. Your legs felt like they belonged to somebody else. You swallowed.
“Melissa.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“What?”
“I feel weird.”
That one sentence erased every trace of humor. She moved closer.
“What kind of weird?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dizzy?”
“A little.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Chest pain?”
“No.”
“Can you see me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
You closed your fingers around the blanket.
“I’m really tired.”
“I know.”
“No.” Your voice dropped. “Like really tired.”
Melissa looked toward the nurse. The nurse stepped closer.
“Stay awake for me.”
You frowned.
“I am awake.”
“Good. Stay that way.”
The elevator doors opened. Emergency department. The noise spilled in. Your heart sank.
“He’s going to be pissed.”
She knew exactly who you meant.
“Good.”
“I promised him.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“I told him I’d call.”
“And did you?”
You said nothing. Melissa sighed.
“Oh, you’re dead.”
“I know.”
The stretcher rolled into the department. Princess looked up.
“What’ve we got?”
“Near syncope upstairs.”
“Patient or staff?”
“Staff.”
She looked at you. Recognition.
“Oh.”
You knew that expression. You hated that expression.
“No.”
Princess looked toward the central desk. You grabbed Melissa’s sleeve weakly.
“No.”
She looked down.
“What?”
“Don’t call him.”
Melissa stared at you.
“You cannot be serious.”
“He’s busy.”
“You almost passed out.”
“I know.”
“You think nobody’s going to tell him?”
You looked toward the department. Your vision blurred again briefly. Princess was already speaking to someone. You couldn’t hear the words. Then another person looked toward you. Then toward the trauma bays. Your stomach dropped.
“Melissa.”
“What?”
“Please.”
Her face softened. For half a second. Then she squeezed your hand.
“Sorry.”
You closed your eyes.
Across the department, someone called loudly,
“Where’s Robby?”
Your eyes opened. No. Another voice answered.
“Trauma Three.”
“Get him.”
You swallowed.
“I’m going to kill all of you.”
Melissa looked down at you.
“You’ll have to stay conscious first.”
You would have told her to fuck off. But the room tilted again. Your eyes closed. And this time, somewhere beyond the noise of the emergency department, you heard someone say,
“Call Robby. Now.”
******
Robby knew something was wrong before anyone said your name. It was the way Dana looked at him. He had been standing in Trauma Three with blood drying across the knuckles of his left glove, listening to Whitaker run through repeat vitals on the motorcycle patient who had come through CT less than twenty minutes earlier, when Dana appeared at the opening of the bay and didn’t immediately speak.
That alone got his attention. Dana Evans did not hover. She did not hesitate. She did not stand silently in doorways looking at him like she was trying to decide the least catastrophic arrangement of words. Robby looked up.
“What?”
Dana’s eyes flicked briefly toward Whitaker. Then back to him.
“Robby.”
Something cold moved through his chest.
“What?”
“You need to come out here.”
He stared at her.
“Why?”
“Just come with me.”
“No.” His voice sharpened immediately. “Tell me what happened.”
Dana stepped closer.
“It’s not a patient.”
He stopped. The noise of the trauma bay seemed to recede around him.
“What?”
“One of the staff came down from Radiology.”
For one stupid second, his brain did not connect the words. Staff. Radiology. Then it did. Everything inside him dropped.
“Where is she?”
Dana’s face answered before her mouth did. Robby was already moving.
“Robby—”
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Bay Nine.”
He ripped the gloves from his hands as he walked.
“What happened?”
“Near syncope upstairs.”
“Near?”
“She went down.”
His stride lengthened.
“Did she lose consciousness?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she hit her head?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I haven’t assessed her yet. They literally just brought her down.”
“Vitals?”
“Robby.”
“Vitals.”
“I don’t have them yet.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
He rounded the corner. And saw you. That was the moment everything changed. You were lying on a stretcher. There were probably a hundred things he should have noticed first.
That you were awake. That you were breathing. That you were talking to Melissa. That you weren’t intubated. That there was no blood. That nobody was doing compressions. That nobody around you was moving with the frantic urgency that meant someone was actively dying.
None of that registered first. He saw you on a stretcher. Pale. A blanket pulled over you. Eyes half-closed. And for approximately three seconds, Michael Robinavich was not a physician.
He was just a man looking at the woman he loved lying in his emergency department. His heart stopped. Not literally. It felt like it. Someone said something to him. He didn’t hear it. Then your eyes opened.
You saw him. And somehow, impossibly, your first reaction was guilt.
“Oh, fuck.”
Robby stopped beside the stretcher. You looked up at him.
“Hi.”
He stared at you. You swallowed.
“You look mad.”
Nothing.
“Robby?”
He reached for your wrist. His fingers found your pulse automatically. Fast. Too fast. His other hand touched your forehead. Clammy.
“You with me?”
“Yes.”
“Any chest pain?”
“No.”
“Shortness of breath?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“Not anymore.”
“Headache?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
Melissa spoke from the other side of the stretcher.
“We caught her.”
Robby’s eyes snapped toward her.
“What happened?”
“She got lightheaded in CT, tried to keep working, then her knees buckled.”
“Did she lose consciousness?”
“I don’t think completely. Maybe a few seconds where she wasn’t really responding.”
“I was responding.”
Three people ignored you. Robby looked back at Melissa.
“How long?”
“Seconds. Ten, maybe.”
“I did not lose consciousness.”
Robby finally looked down at you.
“Stop talking.”
You blinked.
“That seems rude.”
“Stop.”
There was something in his face that made you obey. Not anger. Not exactly. Fear. Pure, unfiltered fear. You had seen Robby afraid before. At work. During traumas. When patients crashed. When something went wrong faster than medicine could fix it.
But this was different. This was personal. His hand remained around your wrist even though there was now a pulse oximeter clipped to your finger and a monitor displaying your heart rate directly beside him. He didn’t seem to realize he was still counting it himself. Dana stepped in.
“Let’s get her hooked up.”
“I’m hooked up.”
“You have a pulse ox.”
“That counts.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
You sighed. Robby looked at Dana.
“ECG. Fingerstick. CBC, CMP, ferritin, iron studies.”
Dana nodded.
“Already ordered.”
“Orthostatics when she can tolerate it.”
“Yep.”
IV fluids.”
“Working on it.”
“Pregnancy test.”
You stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
He looked at you.
“Standard.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Great.”
“I would know.”
“Fantastic.”
“Robby.”
“Standard workup.”
You looked at Dana.
“He’s being a dick.”
Dana was opening an IV kit.
“He’s scared.”
Robby’s jaw tightened.
“Dana.”
“What?”
“IV.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“Then do it.”
Dana gave him a look. You looked between them.
“Okay.”
Nobody answered.
“Everybody is being very intense.”
Robby looked down at you.
“You collapsed.”
“I did not collapse.”
Melissa made an incredulous noise. You looked at her.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side where you stop pretending you didn’t fucking fold like a lawn chair.”
Dana snorted. Robby did not. You pointed weakly at Melissa.
“That was unnecessarily descriptive.”
“It was accurate.”
Robby looked at her.
“She ate?”
Melissa’s face changed. You closed your eyes.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Robby went very still. Melissa hesitated. Robby’s voice dropped.
“What did she eat?”
You answered quickly.
“Protein bar.”
Melissa looked at you. You looked at Melissa.
Do not.
She looked back at Robby.
“Half.”
Traitor.
Robby’s eyes closed. You stared at the ceiling.
“Technically more than half.”
“Bullshit,” Melissa said.
“Whose fucking friend are you?”
“Yours. Unfortunately.”
Robby opened his eyes.
“What else?”
Silence. His gaze moved to you.
“What else did you eat?”
You knew better than to answer. Unfortunately, silence was also an answer. His jaw flexed.
“Coffee?” You smiled weakly. “Large.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Oat milk.”
“Stop saying that like it helps.”
“I’m just giving you the complete nutritional profile.”
Dana turned away suspiciously quickly. You were fairly certain she was laughing. Robby was not.
“When did you last eat an actual meal?”
You thought about it. That was another mistake. His expression changed as he watched you calculate.
“Last night?”
You hesitated.
“What did you have last night?”
“I ate.”
“What?”
“Food.”
“What food?”
You frowned.
“I don’t remember.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I was tired.”
“So was I. I still ate.”
“You had half a sandwich today.”
“That was lunch.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“We are not discussing my eating habits while you are horizontal in my emergency department because you forgot food exists.”
“Your emergency department?”
Robby stared at you. You smiled faintly.
“Very territorial.”
“Do not fuck with me right now.”
The smile disappeared. His voice had changed. You looked at him. He looked exhausted. Not the normal exhaustion. Something deeper. His eyes were darker. His face pale beneath the fluorescent lights. You suddenly remembered what you had promised him.
If it happens again, you call me.
You had promised. And you hadn’t. Your stomach sank.
“Robby.”
He looked away. Dana slid the IV into your arm. You barely noticed.
“Got it.”
Robby nodded.
“Fluids.”
“Already hanging.”
He stepped back. Not far. Just enough to create distance. That was worse. You watched him.
“Hey.”
He looked at the monitor.
“Robby.”
Nothing.
“Michael.”
His eyes closed.
“Don’t.”
Your voice softened.
“I’m sorry.”
He opened his eyes. The fear was still there. Now there was anger wrapped around it.
“You promised me.”
“I know.”
“You fucking promised me.”
“I know.”
“I asked you one thing.”
“I know.”
“If you got dizzy again, call me.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
You swallowed.
“After the patient.”
He laughed once. There was no humor in it.
“Of course.”
“Robby.”
“After the patient.”
“I was working.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
“You think I wouldn’t have come?”
“No.”
“You think whatever I was doing mattered more than this?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
You didn’t have a good answer. Because there wasn’t one.
“I thought it would pass.”
His face tightened.
“You thought.”
“I’ve had this happen before.”
“Not like this.”
“No.”
“No. Not like this.”
You looked down at your hands. The IV tubing crossed over your wrist. Robby was quiet. Then you heard him say, much softer,
“I watched them bring you through those doors.”
You looked up. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking toward the entrance to the department.
“I didn’t know what happened.”
Your chest tightened.
“Robby.”
“Dana came and got me. She said Radiology staff. She didn’t say your name right away.” He swallowed. “And then I walked out here and saw you on a stretcher.”
You reached for him. He hesitated. Only for a second. Then he took your hand.
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers closed tightly around yours.
“For about three seconds,” he said quietly, “nobody told me what the fuck happened.”
Your eyes burned. He finally looked at you.
“I see people I love come through those doors in my head all the fucking time.”
You knew what he meant. You didn’t need him to explain. Robby had spent years surrounded by the worst moments of other people’s lives. He knew exactly what could happen. Exactly how quickly. Exactly how little warning the universe sometimes gave. And because he knew all of it, there was no such thing as innocent uncertainty for him. His mind had filled those three seconds with every possible catastrophe. You squeezed his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked down at your fingers intertwined with his.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
His voice cracked slightly. Barely. But you heard it. Your eyes filled.
“Come here.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“Closer.”
Robby looked around. You didn’t care.
“Closer.”
He stepped toward the stretcher. You lifted your free hand and touched his face. His cheek was rough beneath your fingers.He had probably shaved yesterday morning. Maybe the morning before. You rubbed your thumb gently along his cheekbone.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes closed. He leaned into your hand. Just slightly. Enough.
“I’m okay.”
His eyes opened.
“You’re not allowed to say that anymore.”
A laugh escaped you through the emotion.
“What?”
“You’ve lost privileges.”
“That seems unconstitutional.”
“I don’t care.”
“You can’t ban a phrase.”
“I just did.”
“You’re abusing your authority.”
“I’m not your attending.”
“You’ve made that very clear.”
His mouth twitched. Finally. Just barely
You smiled. His expression changed. You rubbed your thumb over his cheek.
“You don’t have to turn one into the other with me.”
Robby looked at you for a long time. Then he turned his face and pressed a kiss into your palm. Small. Private. Devastating.
“I know,” he whispered.
The fluids helped. Food helped more. Robby personally acquired you a turkey sandwich, crackers, apple juice, and something resembling pudding from somewhere in the emergency department, then stood beside your stretcher like an armed guard until you ate enough of it to satisfy him. You held up the pudding.
“This is objectively terrible.”
“Eat it.”
“It tastes like drywall.”
“You’ve eaten drywall?”
“I imagine this is similar.”
“Eat.”
“You’re very nurturing.”
“I’m a goddamn delight.”
You smiled.
“That’s what I tell everyone.”
“I’m sure.”
Your labs came back gradually. Your hemoglobin was low. Not catastrophically low. Not transfusion low. But lower than your last recorded result. Your iron studies were unsurprising. Your glucose had been low-normal by the time they checked it. You were dehydrated. Exhausted. Underfed. Anemic. And spectacularly stubborn.
Robby reviewed every result personally. Twice. Then had another attending review them because, as he said flatly when you teased him about it, “I’m compromised.” That made you stop smiling.
“You’re not compromised.”
“I’m emotionally involved.”
“That sounds nicer.”
“It means the same thing.”
“You love me.”
Robby looked up from the tablet. There was a pause. You had said it casually. Almost teasingly. But the words sat between you.
You had said I love you before.
Of course you had. But sometimes those words still landed differently. Robby set the tablet down.
“Unfortunately.”
You smiled.
“Asshole.”
He leaned down and kissed your forehead.
“Menace.”
By six thirty, you were medically cleared. By six thirty-one, Robby had decided you were going home. By six thirty-two, you discovered you apparently had no vote regarding transportation.
“I can drive.”
“No.”
“My car is here.”
“It can stay here.”
“I need it tomorrow.”
“You’re not working tomorrow.”
You stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You cannot call me out of work.”
“I can strongly suggest it.”
“You’re the chief of emergency medicine, not Radiology.”
“Thank you for explaining the organizational structure of the hospital.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I’m fine.”
Robby pointed at you.
“Banned.”
You sighed.
“I am medically stable.”
“Better.”
“I can work.”
“No.”
“Robby.”
“Your hemoglobin is down, you nearly lost consciousness, you’re dehydrated, you haven’t eaten properly in God knows how long, and you look like Casper’s exhausted cousin.”
“That was mean.”
“That was restrained.”
“You’re still on shift.”
“Not anymore.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“Langdon’s covering.”
“Why?”
Robby looked at you.
“Why do you think?”
“You didn’t have to leave.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“Robby—”
“I’m taking you home.”
The way he said it ended the argument. You looked at him. He looked back.
Then quieter, “I need to take you home.”
That was different. You nodded.
“Okay.”
His shoulders dropped slightly.
“Okay.”
The drive to his apartment was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just tired. Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh. He had touched you almost continuously since leaving the hospital. Your hand. Your back. Your knee. The nape of your neck while waiting for the elevator.
It wasn’t conscious. You didn’t think he even realized he was doing it. Every few minutes his thumb moved against your leg. Checking. Reassuring himself. You covered his hand with yours.
“You know I’m still here.”
His eyes stayed on the road.
“I know.”
“You keep checking.”
“I know.”
You intertwined your fingers with his. He squeezed. When you reached his apartment, he carried your bag despite your protests.
“I can carry a bag.”
“I know.”
“Then give it to me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m carrying it.”
“You’re very annoying.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’re also bossy.”
“Frequently.”
“Controlling.”
“Occasionally.”
“Old.”
He stopped in the hallway. You almost walked into him. Slowly, he turned his head.
“What?”
You smiled sweetly.
“Nothing.”
“Say it again.”
“I said you’re bold.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“Must be your hearing.”
Robby stared at you. You laughed.
“Keep walking, Grandpa.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
He unlocked the door.
“You’re sleeping on the couch.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re right. I don’t trust you unsupervised.”
You smiled as you walked inside. Home. The thought came without permission. His apartment. His furniture. His stupid three-thousand-dollar concrete mattress. His coffee cups. His books. His shoes kicked beneath the table.
Home.
Robby locked the door behind you.
“Sit.”
You turned.
“I have been sitting for four hours.”
“Then continue your impressive streak.”
“I want a shower.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You’re still a little orthostatic.”
“I can shower.”
“You can shower when I’m nearby.”
You stared at him.
“That sounded vaguely threatening.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Vaguely sexual?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
Robby’s mouth twitched.
“There she is.”
You smiled.
“Hi.”
He walked toward you. Slowly. Something in the room changed. The hospital was gone now. No monitors. No fluorescent lights. No scrubs moving around you. No one watching. Just him. Just you.
Robby stopped close enough that your bodies almost touched. His hand lifted. He brushed your hair away from your face.
“You scared me.”
You leaned into his palm.
“I know.”
“Don’t do that again.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s not good enough.”
You smiled faintly.
“It’s the most honest answer I have.”
He studied you. Then nodded.
“Fair.”
His thumb moved across your cheek. You turned your face and kissed the inside of his wrist. Robby exhaled. Something in him softened.
“Shower?”
You nodded.
“Shower.”
He followed you into the bathroom. Not because you needed supervision. At least that was what you told yourself. You turned on the water. Robby leaned against the counter.
“You’re really going to stand there?”
“Yes.”
You looked at him. His eyebrows lifted. You pulled your scrub top over your head. Robby’s expression changed. Not lust. Not exactly. Something quieter. His eyes moved over you. Checking. You knew him well enough to recognize it.
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Assessing me.”
“I’m looking at you.”
“You’re checking for bruises.”
He didn’t deny it. You stepped closer.
“There aren’t any.”
His hand moved to your hip. Then around your waist. His fingers spread against your bare back. Warm. Familiar. You relaxed immediately.
You rested your forehead against his chest. Robby’s arms closed around you. Skin against scrubs. Your cheek against the familiar softness of his shirt. His chin resting lightly against the top of your head.
You knew this body.The shape of him. The warmth of him. The places tension collected between his shoulders. The scar near his ribs. The way his breathing changed when he was exhausted. The exact place beneath his jaw where your mouth could make him forget whatever sentence he had been trying to finish.
And he knew yours. Every curve. Every scar. Every place you were ticklish. Every place you weren’t. The way your shoulders relaxed when his hand moved slowly up your spine. The way you always tucked your cold feet beneath his legs in bed. The way you wanted to be held when you were frightened but hated admitting you were frightened.
His hand moved beneath the edge of your undershirt. Warm palm against your back. Not asking. Not taking. Just touching. Knowing. You closed your eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers moved slowly along your spine.
“I know.”
“I should’ve called.”
“Yes.”
“I knew you’d come.”
“I would’ve.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
You were quiet.
“Because I didn’t want to need you.”
His hand stopped. You immediately wished you could take it back. Robby leaned away enough to look at you.
“What?”
You swallowed.
“Not like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
You looked down. His hand moved beneath your chin.
“Hey.”
You looked at him.
“I like being independent.”
“I know you do. You do it too well sometimes.”
“I like handling my own shit and sometimes…” You sighed. “Sometimes I don’t know where the line is between letting someone love me and becoming dependent on them.”
Robby stared at you. Then his expression softened so completely it hurt.
“Jesus.”
“What?”
“You think calling your boyfriend because you’re about to pass out is codependent?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”
“It is stupid.”
You shoved his chest lightly.
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious.”
“You could be nicer about it.”
“I could. But then you might misunderstand.”
You rolled your eyes. Robby’s hand returned to your waist.
“You needing me sometimes does not make you dependent on me.”
You looked at him.
“And me needing you doesn’t make me weak.”
Your expression changed. He saw it.
“I missed you last night.”
“I…kinda liked that you did.”
“I hated sleeping without you.”
Your throat tightened.
“I thought about calling you at midnight and asking you to come over.”
“You should have.”
“You had work.”
“So did you.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve called.”
“Yeah.”
You smiled slightly.
“Sounds familiar.”
Robby sighed.
“Got you.”
“Don’t enjoy it.”
“I’m enjoying it a little.”
He shook his head. Then kissed you. Slowly. No urgency. No desperation. His mouth settled against yours with the familiarity of something done hundreds of times and still wanted every time.
You kissed him back. Your hands moved naturally to his waist. His slid along your bare back. You knew exactly how to lean into him. He knew exactly how to hold you.
When the kiss deepened slightly, you smiled against his mouth. Robby pulled back.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to be monitoring me.”
“I am.”
“With your tongue?”
He stared at you. You started laughing.
“God, you’re annoying.”
“That’s not medically indicated.”
“You are feeling better.”
“I told you.”
“Don’t push it.”
He kissed you again. Once. Twice. Then your cheek. Your forehead. Your temple. Softer each time. The last kiss lingered.
“Get in the shower.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“I’ll make food.”
“You already made me eat and that pudding was terrible.”
“You’re getting soup.”
“I don’t want soup.”
“You’re getting soup.”
“Can I have grilled cheese?”
Robby considered.
“Yes.”
You smiled.
“I love you.”
“Apparently only when I provide cheese.”
“It’s your best quality.”
“Shower.”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyebrows lifted. You pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
You laughed as he left. An hour later, you were in his bed. His terrible, expensive, aggressively firm bed.
You were wearing one of his T-shirts and underwear, your hair still damp from the shower, one leg tangled between his beneath the blankets. You had eaten. All of it. Grilled cheese. Soup. Water. Half an orange because Robby had read something about vitamin C helping iron absorption approximately six years ago and apparently intended to personally enforce nutritional science until death.
Now he was lying beside you wearing nothing but an old pair of sweatpants, glasses on, reading something on his phone. You watched him. He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m allowed.”
“Why?”
“You’re my boyfriend.”
“Questionable judgment on my part.”
“Terrible.”
He went back to his phone. You moved closer. Your hand slid across his stomach. Robby glanced down. You traced the familiar line of an old scar near his side. He didn’t flinch. He never did anymore. Not with you.
Your fingers moved slowly across his skin. Not sexual. Not entirely innocent either. Just familiar. Intimate.
The absent-minded touching of two people who knew each other well enough that bodies had stopped being mysterious territories and become places of comfort. Robby set his phone aside.
“You need something?”
“You.”
His expression softened.
“I’m right here.”
“Closer.”
“There is physically almost no closer.”
“Figure it out.”
He sighed dramatically. Then rolled toward you. You immediately tucked yourself against him. Your head beneath his chin. One arm around his waist.Your cold feet pushed between his calves. Robby jerked.
“Jesus Christ.”
You laughed.
“Cold?”
“You’re a fucking corpse.”
His hand slid beneath the back of your shirt. Warm palm settling against your skin. You sighed.
“There.”
“Better?”
“Yes…you know,” you murmured, “I told you.”
“What?”
“This morning.”
“What did you tell me?”
“I said I’d come home with you tonight.”
His hand stilled. You felt his breathing change. Just slightly. You lifted your head. Robby was looking down at you.
“What?” You asked.
“You said home.”
“So did you.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
He frowned.
“I said my place.”
You shook your head.
“I think I know what I said.”
“You said, ‘You coming home with me tonight?’”
Robby stared at you. You smiled.
“Do you want me to live here?”
“I want you to stop talking.”
“You want me to move in.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Robby rolled onto his back. You followed him immediately, resting partly over his chest.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere, apparently.”
“You want me here.”
He looked at the ceiling.
“Unfortunately.”
“Robby.”
His hand settled automatically on your thigh. You waited. He knew you would. That was another thing he hated about you. You could outwait him. Finally, he sighed.
“Yes.”
Your teasing disappeared.
“Yes what?”
He looked at you.
“I want you here.”
Your heart turned over.
“Like tonight?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
You stayed still. Robby’s fingers moved gently against your thigh.
“I mean here.”
You swallowed.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you spoke for several seconds. Then Robby looked away.
“This is probably a terrible time to have this conversation.”
“Probably.”
“You nearly passed out six hours ago.”
“I remember.”
“And I don’t want you thinking I’m asking because I’ve suddenly decided you require twenty-four-hour supervision.”
“That was going to be my first question.”
“I figured.”
“So why are you asking?”
Robby looked at you.
“Because your shit is already everywhere.”
You stared at him.
“That’s your romantic declaration?”
“You have two drawers.”
“Wow.”
“Half my closet.” He smirked. “You’re here four nights a week.”
“Sometimes five.”
“Exactly.”
You smiled. Robby’s voice softened.
“And I miss you on the nights you’re not.”
There it was. You stopped breathing for a second. He looked at you.
“I don’t want to keep missing you in a place that already feels like yours.”
Your eyes burned. You looked at him. Really looked. The tired lines around his eyes. The gray beginning to thread through his hair. The man who had stood beside your stretcher holding your pulse with his own fingers even while a monitor displayed it directly beside him. The man who had missed you last night. The man whose apartment already contained pieces of you everywhere. You touched his face.
“Yes.”
His expression changed. His hand moved behind your neck. He pulled you down and kissed you. This kiss was different. Still familiar. Still him. But deeper. Warmer. You smiled against his mouth. His arm tightened around your waist. When you finally pulled back, you stayed close enough that your noses touched.
“I love you.”
No joke. No hesitation. Just yes. Your expression softened.
“I love you too.”
Robby kissed your forehead. Then pulled you back against his chest. You settled into him. His hand returned beneath your shirt. Slow circles against your back. Your fingers rested against his ribs. The room became quiet. Several minutes passed.
“You scared the fucking shit out of me today.”
“I know.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s still not good enough.”
“It’s still the most honest answer I have.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
You settled back against him. His arms tightened. You closed your eyes. Warm. Fed. Safe. Home. Then Robby’s voice came quietly through the darkness.
“You really called me dad earlier?”
Your eyes opened. You started laughing. His arm tightened around you.
“I’m thirteen years older than you.”
“Ancient.”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe tomorrow. Doctor said I need rest.”
There was silence. Then you felt his chest move beneath your cheek. He was laughing. Actually laughing. Quiet and tired and helpless against it. You smiled.
“You’re a fucking nightmare.”
“You asked me to move in.”
“Clearly I’m cognitively impaired.”
“Too late.”
“Maybe there’s a rescission period.”
“Nope.”
“I should’ve checked.”
“You’re stuck with me.”
His laughter faded. His hand moved slowly up your back until it rested between your shoulder blades. Then he kissed the top of your head.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
You waited. His arms tightened around you. And sometime later, with your leg tangled through his, your hand resting over his heart and his palm warm against the bare skin beneath your shirt, you fell asleep in the place neither of you had to pretend was only his anymore.
second masterlist for robby .ᐟ.ᐟ ran out of room in the first one!!
all contain smut unless otherwise stated .ᐟ.ᐟ
all blurbs are less than 1k words .ᐟ.ᐟ all one-shots are anything over 1k words
— val ᨳଓ .
blurbs 𝜗ৎ
distracting robby from his work
riding robby's tummy
edging subby!robby
subby!robby’s punishment
after work sex with a very tired robby
subby!robby’s punishment
robby has a humiliation kink
fucking actor!robby at a party
robby notices you crying during sex
robby teasing you
riding dadbf!robby (fauxcest)
cuddling with robby (fluff no smut)
neighbor!robby catches you on your way to the gym
mom's exbf!robby
7 week itch
actor!robby leaks your sex tape
robby gives duke a present
dbf!robby teasing you at the dinner table
robby had a rough day at work
robby and his younger alt!gf
old man neighbor!robby (perv!robby, no smut)
being robby's stay at home gf (no smut)
dadbf!robby catching u humping ur pillow
subby!robby wants to come home with you
robby just wants to warm you up
putting on a show for neighbour!robby
robby riding your thigh
i’m old enough to be your dad
like it doesn’t turn you on
pretty girls shouldn’t have to work (dadbf!robby)
dadbf!robby talks you through it
letting jack and robby piss in your mouth
pathetic!robby at the bar
one-shots ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
subby!robby has a breastfeeding kink
getting caught with boyfriend's dad!robby
indifference
finally hooking up with neighbour!robby
a late night encounter with bsfdad!robby
stepdad!robby blurbs 𝜗ৎ
stepdad!robby is a pathetic little mess
stepdad!robby can look but not touch
stepdad!robby can't help himself
stepdad!robby is your obgyn
rockstar stepdad!robby
gotta keep quiet
climbing into bed with stepdad!robby
stepdad!robby comforts you after a breakup
yapping to stepdad!robby while he fucks you
helping out stepdad!robby in the bath
stepdad!robby wants a little reminder of you
stepdad!robby one-shots ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
teasing stepdad!robby in the summer
stepdad!robby’s strip club adventure
stepdad!robby has 'blue balls' again
subby!stepdad!robby begs for forgiveness
rabbot blurbs 𝜗ৎ
jack punishing robby (x f!reader)
rabbot x roommate!reader
director!jack reminds actor!robby who he belongs to
From Eden (Part 2) - Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader
Summary: After finally giving in to temptation, Robby breaks your heart. It's what's best for you--at least, that's what he tells himself. But resisting you is easier said than done, and Robby just can’t let you go.
Part 1- From Eden
Warnings: smut (18+ only), fem!reader, piv, oral (f receiving), resident/attending relationship, power dynamics, age gap, lots of angst with a happy ending (ofc), medical inaccuracies, no use of y/n, jealousy, brief violence
WC: 13.1k (oops)
Notes: Part 2 is finally here! sorry for the wait, but it's brutal out here for slow writers. I definitely got carried away, I have no idea how this ended up being so long. Robby is going through it in this lol
The last days of summer withered away, the warmth of the sun waning, and autumn crept in with a quiet chill. The weeks following the conversation in his living room felt like hell and the only thing on Robby’s mind was you.
The memory of you haunted him. It was always there, the thought of you, and it would crawl its way unexpectedly into his consciousness, stubbornly placing itself right at the forefront of his mind, immovable until you were the only thing he could think of. He avoided his bed. It remained empty, devoid of touch and comfort. Every time he looked at it, he thought of you. He was afraid that the sheets would smell like you, but he couldn’t bring himself to strip the sheets and wash them–it was the last lingering thread he had to you.
He slept on his couch. It was old and lumpy and uncomfortable, but it didn’t matter much to him, considering he was barely getting any sleep at all. The memory of you, gorgeous and naked and spread out on his bed, was a recurring dream when he was able to fall asleep–the only time he felt any semblance of peace. The rest of the time, sleep was difficult to find; the memory of the sadness in your eyes, your heartbreak…it was a restless tide that crashed against him over and over and over again.
Being forced to see you every day was torture. He no longer spoke with you in the break room, or the roof, or the park. He felt like the thoughts trapped inside his head would make him implode–thoughts he previously rattled off to you without hesitation. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed you, just how much he had entrusted himself to you.
At first, he was angry with you. The thought of interacting with people and smiling and joking like nothing had happened seemed excruciating. But you did it, so he did it, too, even though everything felt so wrong. He couldn’t look at you. He blamed you, for making him have feelings for you, which was unfair. He blamed himself, which was more fair, but made him feel worse.
He was hyperaware of you at every moment–where you were, what you were doing. He would see you in passing, where you would pointedly avoid his gaze, like he was an eclipse you couldn’t look directly at. You were both professional enough that you did not allow it to affect your work, but the discomfort of being around him was obvious in the quiet moments.
You were good at compartmentalizing and you came in with your work ethic and your sarcastic quips–to everyone, except him–but he knew you. He noticed when you would glance at him when you thought he wasn’t watching, but made sure to avoid any eye contact when he was looking at you. He noticed your smile, once joyful and genuine, turning fake and forced. He noticed how you avoided any group plans where he was invited. He noticed the sadness in your eyes, even if no one else did.
His soul hurt. It hurt when he remembered how you looked in his space–natural, like you belonged there with him. It hurt more when he thought of your pain. He was frustrated, his hopes shattered by his own hand and a deep anxiety took root in their place. But he ignored it, he willed you to move on from him, to be happy again, and he worked through the pain, just like he always did, and he knew you were strong enough to do it, too.
That morning was no different. He made his way into the ER, backpack slung over one shoulder and his eyes immediately found their way to you. You were at the nurses' station, a smile plastered on your face as you spoke with Dana. You were as beautiful as ever, eyes glimmering and black scrubs clinging to your body in a way that he had no right to be looking at.
He tried to ignore you, but he just couldn’t help himself. He craved even a hint of your scent, an ounce of your attention like it was a drug. He knew he should keep his distance, give you the space that he insisted on, but he found himself slowly approaching you and Dana.
“Good morning.”
Your spine straightened at the sound of his voice from behind you and your shoulders grew visibly tense. He noticed, and the suspicious glance Dana threw at him made him think that she had noticed, too.
“Good morning,” you forced out, without sparing him a glance. He was staring at your profile as you steeled yourself, jaw clenched tightly. The silence grew strained and heavy, and he felt like he wanted to scream. You cleared your throat before speaking again to Dana. “I’ll go check in on that patient.”
You walked away without another word and the scent of your shampoo wafted toward him as you passed him. His gaze followed you, heart aching in a way that was entirely too familiar, taking him back to that morning in his living room.
He could sense the poignant look that Dana was shooting his way, and forced himself to look at the screen above them.
“So, how have things been lately? You’ve been kind of distant.”
“They’ve been like they’ve always been.”
“Robby.”
“Dana.”
“I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. You two were like two peas in a pod, and now she can barely look at you and you hover around her most of the day, silent and brooding.” He didn’t respond, knowing she was right.
She hesitated before speaking again. “Robby, did something happen between the two of you?”
“We’re both fine. Just doing our jobs, Dana.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew that she did not believe him.
“Alright, you don’t have to tell me anything. But, this tension…I’m not the only one who’s noticed, and it needs to stop. One way or another. Whatever it is that happened or didn’t happen, you have to find a way to fix it or get over it.”
He looked away from her. “Nothing to fix.”
She heaved a sigh and shook her head.
“You should help her with the patient. Irregular heart rate and oxygen sat is dipping despite supplemental oxygen.”
He nodded and made his way to check on you and the patient. He made his way in, the clean, antiseptic smell overtaking him. He walked into the room, pulling on his gloves, and you grew tense and quiet with him there. While you usually would jump right into the case, you stayed silent for a moment.
“What do we have?” he finally asked.
“Irregular rhythm,” you said, eyes avoiding him. “Possible atrial fibrillation with RVR. BP 78/52. He’s hypotensive, maybe septic, but he doesn’t have a fever.”
“Could be cardiogenic shock,” he interrupted. “What’s your differential?”
You took a deep breath, your eyes finally meeting his. You were clipped and concise when you answered him, expression serious and guarded and Robby’s chest felt tight.
“A-fib with rapid ventricular response, possible underlying CHF. Could be ischemic. PE is on the table given the collapse and hypoxia.”
He nodded once. “Labs?”
“N-Troponin and BNP pending. Blood gas shows metabolic acidosis, with lactate elevated. Chest X-ray… cardiomegaly, pulmonary edema.” He looked at the monitor again, the patient's heart rate in the 150s and oxygen down to 86.
“We need to slow him down, but he’s too unstable for diltiazem or beta-blockers.” You glanced at him, and he wished he didn’t know you well enough to know that you were nervous. “Amiodarone infusion?”
“Make the call.”
You clenched your fists and gulped before speaking again. “Amiodarone, 150 milligrams IV bolus,” you said, the words clipped. You glared at him defiantly, eyes molten and angry and hurt and he needed to get out of the room before he did something he would regret.
Robby nodded once, murmured ‘good’, and left the room, lungs finally feeling like they could breathe again. He rubbed his hands over his face, frustration growing deep within him. Every interaction between the two of you felt like you were walking on a thin line, a tightrope that shook and wavered with every step, but he stubbornly held on. And, worst of all, he knew that it was his fault. He knew that if he were a worse man, he could have everything he wanted.
Perlah and Princess were huddled close together near the ambulance hub, speaking in hushed tones and giggles. Robby raised an eyebrow at them as he and Santos approached them. Santos let out a sudden laugh, and they broke off their conversation, looking at the young doctor before the three of them burst out in giggles.
“I have no idea what I just missed,” Robby commented.
Santos said your name, causing his heart rate to increase, and he looked back to where he had last seen you, speaking to Kiara.
“What about her?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as unaffected as he could.
“Are you gossiping, Dr. Robby?” Perlah teased, and he rolled his eyes, trying to play it coy.
“Just wondering what you could possibly be whispering about her. Anything I should know about?”
“Not really…Just her and Dr. Reese.”
You…and Dr. Reese. The new, young, handsome attending cardiologist? What could you possibly have to do with him?
“From cardiology, right?” Santos asked, and the two nurses nodded.
“He asked her out this morning when he came down for a consult. In front of everyone,” Princess said.
He froze for a moment, his heart clenching deep in his chest, and he felt nauseous for a moment. His hands clenched at his sides and he gulped, trying to get rid of the lump growing in his throat.
“Yikes,” Santos said. “It’s kind of giving desperate.”
“No way!” Princess said.
“She could feel obligated to say yes if it’s so public,” Santos continued, and Robby was inclined to agree.
“Or it could be seen as a grand gesture. You know, making his intentions clear. I don’t think she minded, considering she said yes.” He felt his heart sinking to his stomach, the uncomfortable tugging making heat crawl up his face and he felt his eyes sting for a moment before he swallowed it down. You said yes.
He walked away after that, not wanting to hear more about you and Dr. Reese. For a moment, fury burned in his veins and he wanted to confront you, for moving on so quickly and so publicly and so callously. But, he knew that he was wrong to feel that way; he didn’t deserve to feel that way. He knew that he was the one who pushed you away and he was right to do so. He did the right thing.
So, why did he feel the ugly, sharp talons of jealousy clawing up his heart? Why did the thought of you with Dr. Reese–young, age-appropriate, handsome, and excessively nice Dr. Reese–make him want to commit a capital crime?
He didn’t want to acknowledge the bitter jealousy and the crushing feeling of insignificance swirling around him. Reese was exactly the kind of man you should be with. He was young, could offer you more…His job didn’t put yours in jeopardy. He was perfect for you.
The thought was only solidified as he turned the corner, finding you and the man of the hour speaking. Reese had a smile plastered on his face, teeth perfectly straight and eyes not flickering away from you for a moment. Your smile was small, almost uncomfortable. It was the smile you gave patients when they got overly friendly and it made his jaw clench to see it on your face. What if Santos was right? What if you felt obligated to say yes?
Reese said something indiscernible to you, and you chuckled nervously, glancing away and making eye contact with Robby.
“Dr. Robinavitch,” you said, smile fading and spine straightening, and Robby almost flinched. “Dr. Reese was looking for you. It’s about our Afib patient.”
Robby could feel the tension tight in his shoulders as Reese smiled at him, his irritatingly perfect teeth almost as white and crisp as the coat that rested on his shoulders
“Well, better late than never. Time management is not really a thing for cardiologists, is it?” He walked towards the patient’s room without waiting for a reply. He heard the breathy chuckle behind him and two sets of footsteps following.
“Afib with RVR,” Robby said before Reese could open his mouth. “Hypotensive, borderline crashing. Started an amiodarone bolus. Pressure’s holding at eighty over fifty.”
Reese glanced at the monitor, then at Robby, then at you. You stood on the opposite side of the bed, hands braced on the rail, eyes sharp, and attention fully on Reese. You looked at him the way residents always look at subspecialists—like maybe the cavalry had just arrived. Robby wasn’t sure if he was more irritated at Reese for being there or at you for looking at him that way.
“Good call,” Reese said, nodding to you. Not Robby. You. “Amio’s reasonable, though I’d be careful with the infusion given how tenuous he looks. Might need cardioversion.”
Robby folded his arms, annoyed. “Really?” he mumbled under his breath, but the room was quiet enough for you and Reese to hear him.
Reese looked up, blinking, like he wasn’t sure if Robby was joking.
You shifted your weight, glancing between the two men and he caught the brief clenching on your jaw and the careful breath you let out. You were annoyed, and that just pissed him off even more. “He’s awake, intermittently responsive. We’d have to cardiovert with sedation. Etomidate?”
“Yes,” the cardiologist said warmly, like a professor praising his favorite student. “And once he’s stable, we’ll need an echo. Might be underlying structural disease—valvular pathology, left atrial enlargement.”
You frowned slightly, biting your lip and looked back at the monitor. “Should we push for synchronized cardioversion now?”
“She’s asking me,” Robby said before the cardiologist could open his mouth. His voice was sharper than he intended–no doubt caused by the grating presence and obscene levels of frustration and anger and envy that flowed through him. Your eyes flicked to his, startled and wide. For a moment, the monitors and alarms blurred into background noise.
Reese cleared his throat and looked at Robby, cool and unbothered. The sudden, overwhelming urge to punch his nose in was a bit concerning, but if there was something Robby knew about, it was self-control.
“Well, technically, she asked both of us. But since you’re running the bay…” He gestured with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Go ahead.”
Robby leaned in, focusing on you and pointedly ignoring the other man. “Line up the pads. Let’s cardiovert before he bottoms out. I’ll walk you through it.”
You hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Reese, and Robby fought the urge to roll his eyes. He called your name and you looked back at him before nodding and jumping into action.
Robby didn’t miss the way Reese’s gaze lingered on you—interested and entirely too much. He begrudgingly looked away, and focused on his job instead.
The sudden influx of patients made the rest of the afternoon busy for everyone, and while Robby tried to focus, his thoughts kept drifting to you and Reese. He felt anger, and embarrassment, and frustration bubbling deep in his belly and he knew that he had forfeited the rights to those feelings, but he couldn’t stop them from building as the day passed by. Every time his gaze caught on your figure it was like a lighter was lit under him and the annoyance and anger were boiling in him.
It was nearing the end of the day shift, a lull settling into the department, and everyone was finally able to take a breath. He watched as you stepped outside through the ambulance bay for a break and he followed you against his better judgement.
You were leaning against the wall of the hospital, shoulders hunched and eyes tired as you stared ahead at nothing in particular. He was silent as he approached you and you didn’t notice, giving him the opportunity to admire your profile–the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips, the length of your lashes. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he cleared his throat before speaking.
“Reese, huh?”
You startled for a moment before your wide, stormy eyes fixed on his, face unreadable. You stared at him, a beat passing in silence, before taking a deep breath, your chest expanding, and you looked away, shrugging.
“What about him?”
He wanted to roll his eyes at your coyness, but fought the urge.
“You’re really going on a date with that guy?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out as biting as it did, but the words burned on his tongue before he could stop them. He wanted you to laugh it off, to roll your eyes at Perlah and Princess’ gossip, to say the young doctor was just being friendly. He wanted to prove there was still a line between you and everyone else. To prove that what had happened between you hadn’t already faded.
But he wasn’t that lucky.
“Yes, I am.” You gave him a pointed look, chin lifted in defiance. “No one’s stopping me.”
His chest tightened, a fist curling at his side. No one’s stopping me. The words sounded like a slamming door in his face. He should have shut his mouth, should have swallowed the bitterness clawing up his chest at an alarming rate, but it slipped out anyway. “That quick, huh?” he scoffed.
You stood straight, shoulders going rigid. You took a step closer to him, glare sharp enough to cut. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged and rocked back on his heels, trying to look casual while he was completely unraveling on the inside. He needed to stop talking immediately, but the anger had been bubbling all day, and he needed to let it out. You confirming your date just stung deeper, rubbing salt in a wound that was way too fresh and way too painful. Anger and something darker kept his tongue loose and it chose you as its target.
“A few weeks ago, you were in my bed and now you’re moving on up to the cardiologist.” It reeked of bitterness and jealousy, but he clinged to the venomous feelings because they almost felt like proof that you still belonged with him.
For a fraction of a second, you looked like you had been slapped, stung and hurt and he never hated himself more. You took a deep breath and your face twisted in fury. Your voice was tight when you spoke and your chest heaved. “You’re fucking kidding me. How dare you throw that in my face?”
He shrugged again, his hands finding their way into his pockets to hide how hard they were shaking.
“Just saying…you made it seem like you had feelings for me.”
“I could say the same about you,” you said, taking another step closer to him. He looked down at you, the color of your eyes making his heart skip a beat, and regret flared hot in his chest.
“I’m not the one going on a date with some asshole.”
You smiled at him cynically. “No, you’re just the one who was too much of a coward to actually do something about your feelings, let alone admit them, and ran away scared.”
You were right. Fuck, he knew you were right. He wanted to say something, anything, but it seemed like his brain had finally stopped spewing bullshit out of his mouth.
“You don’t have the right to be jealous, Robby. This is what you wanted. I’m respecting your wishes and I’m trying to be as professional as I can. Do you know how hard it is to have to come into work every day and see your face? How humiliated I feel? And now that I’m finally trying to move on, you pull this bullshit?!”
Your hands shook in anger and tears began lining your eyes, and he knew he was the worst person in the world. “Shit. I’m sorry—”
“No, Robby. You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to be angry and make me feel guilty for trying to move on.”
You walked away from him, then, leaving him silent and still in his spot. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and the guilt he was feeling was shoved deep, deep down. You were right. He shouldn’t have said what he did. He knew that he hurt you…again.
He shouldn’t make you feel guilty for something that was his decision. A decision he was starting to question and regret. The deep fear that he had completely lost you took deep root in his heart and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to let go and move on that easily.
But he also knew that Reese didn’t deserve you and wouldn’t know how to treat you, he wouldn’t know what you needed. How self-depricating you could be and what to say to make you feel better. He didn’t know you like Robby did. And Robby was a moth to your flame, finding it impossible to just let go.
He found himself hovering over you, taking any case he could with you. He could tell it annoyed you–the clench in your jaw and your flared nostrils every time he directed a smart comment your way were dead giveaways. But the attention you gave him, even in those brief moments, was enough to keep him coming back for more.
He would press his body close to yours during traumas, savoring in the brief seconds he had of your body heat against him, flashbacks of that night spawning in his mind on replay. The way your body looked, moved, felt. He remembered every moment and every time he had you against him, or put his hand on your lower back to move past you, or grabbed your hand to guide you during a procedure that he knew you had performed many times before on your own, he thought of that night.
He relished it. The way he felt your body relax in his grip–as if it knew that it was where it belonged. The way you tried to hide the sighs that escaped every time he touched you. The way you bit your lip and grew embarrassed each time he praised you or supported your decisions. The way you both still moved with a practiced ease when working on a patient, almost like your minds were connected in those moments.
You could have stopped him. You should have stopped him if you were actually serious about Reese. But you didn’t. You let him continue to touch you, continued trying to hide that he affected you. And it drove him fucking crazy.
It was all he could think about late at night, when he was lying on his bed. It had grown cold for the weeks following that night, but Robby had to bite the bullet and start sleeping on it again. He was fifty years old–and so was his spine. But the soft mattress and clean sheets brought him no comfort. All he could see was you, standing in his room, lying on his bed, skin bare and eyes closed in pleasure as he fucked into you.
He ran a hand down his face in frustration.
“Fuck.” He could not stop thinking about you.
He picked up his phone, the light illuminating his face in the dark room. He squinted his eyes at the brightness and ignored the time reading 12:17 am. He opened his text messages and opened your conversation. The last message he had from you was from two weeks before he slept with you, and it was you agreeing to cover for Mohan. He stared entirely too long at the meaningless words you sent and the smiley face emoji you tagged on at the end.
He knew he should go to sleep. He was tired, probably sleep-deprived if he was being honest with himself. He knew that he should just leave you alone.
But his fingers typed the message before he could think twice. His finger hovered over the send button for a few tense moments where his heart beat hard in his chest. He really should not text you. But he hit send anyway.
Hey, what ended up happening with the trauma 1 patient? He knew the ostensible purpose of his message would not escape you, but when the status switched to ‘read’ and three little dots appeared, a small flicker of hope ignited in his chest, and he sat up.
Surgery was waiting on a bed to come and get him…
Robby, it’s midnight. And you were there when Garcia said they would take him. Why are you texting me?
He debated responding. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know what to say. How could he tell you, after everything that had happened, that all he wanted was to hear your voice and speak with you because you were all he could think about? He knew you well, and he knew that you didn’t want to hear it. Especially not through text. He typed the first thing that came to mind.
I’m sorry.
And he couldn’t help himself.
Is he with you?
The silence was deafening. He saw the three dots appear and reappear a few times, and it was almost five minutes of anxious torture before your response came through.
Robby, what are you trying to do?
I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about you.
It was another few moments before you responded. He could almost picture you in bed, face smushed adorably against a pillow, a frown on your face, and eyebrows furrowed as you read his texts. Your next three texts came in one right after the other.
This is what you wanted.
You need to stop. You need to let me move on.
You should go to sleep. Goodnight.
It felt almost like an out-of-body experience when he typed out his message.
Is he?
It took entirely too long, but he waited for your answer with bated breath and a lump in his throat.
No.
Undeserved relief flooded him. He knew he didn’t deserve the kindness you afforded by even entertaining his invasive questions and unwarranted texts, but he had to know if you were with Reese. Thinking about it made bile threaten to rise up, but knowing you weren’t with him, that he wasn’t there kissing you or holding you or fucking you, was enough for him tonight and he was able to find some sleep after that.
The loud, upbeat music thumped in his ears as he leaned against the counter with a beer in hand. The dim lighting in the overcrowded bar made it hard to see through the room, and the air reeked of liquor. The end-of-shift laughter echoed in his ear as the ED staff clustered in booths and around sticky tables. It’s not normally where he would find himself on a Friday night after a long shift, but he heard from Javadi who heard from Mateo who heard from Princess, that you would be making an appearance.
His eyes kept flicking to the door, like a compass needle stuck north, and anticipation built slowly in his veins at the thought of just being able to see you outside of the hospital.
He noticed when you walked in immediately, and the loud noise dimmed in his head. You looked beautiful–you’d changed into some comfortable jeans and a long-sleeve top, casual and pretty and the low neckline made his cheeks turn red.
You were laughing at something Reese whispered as he guided you inside with a hand at the small of your back. Robby clenched his jaw and huffed a breath through his noise. He wanted to look away, but his eyes couldn’t stop tracking the way Reese leaned in too close to you and the way you tilted slightly away politely, but didn’t quite step out of his reach.
Robby took a swig of his malty beer and tried to ignore the sight of you on his arm. He didn’t think you’d bring him here.
The two of you walked towards the rest of the group and you smiled wide as you greeted everyone. Your eyes met his for a moment and your grin faltered before you turned your gaze away.
“Hey, man.” He looked to his left, finding himself face to face with Reese. The younger man held out his hand for a handshake and smiled, and Robby never wanted to punch somebody’s face in as much as he wanted to at that moment.
He briefly glanced at Reese's hand, still held out, before he shook it, gripping his hand a bit rougher than he should have. The shorter man grimaced, a forced smile remaining on his face as he started at Robby.
He felt Dana’s gaze on the side of his face, but he pointedly ignored her. The tension in the room grew, and Robby knew that everyone else could feel it, too.
“Let’s go get a drink!” Samira exclaimed, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you over to the bar along with Trinity and McKay.
A silence lingered, long and uncomfortable, until Langdon cleared his throat. He smiled at Reese, friendly and trying to diffuse the tension.
“Wanna play some pool?” Langdon’s eyes met Robby’s, confused, but a hint of understanding in his gaze.
“Sure thing, man.” Reese and Langdon walked away, though it didn’t do much to alleviate Robby’s discomfort. Donnie clapped him on the shoulder as he passed by, joining the other two men at the pool tables at the back of the bar. He knew he was being rude, probably acting like a petulant child, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the others noticed something was off. He hugged the rest of his beer, avoiding the questioning looks he was sure he was getting.
You came back with a drink in hand, eyes meeting his, and again, the air between the two of you tightened like a drawn bowstring, ready to snap. It was awkward around you, silent and regret coiled in his chest. Regret at ruining what you two had. Your friendship. At ruining what was the best night of his life and hurting you. He had you and he drove you away. And it was too late.
He knew he was staring at you, but he couldn’t look away.
Someone cleared their throat behind me and he turned, finding Jack.
He titled his head towards the back of the bar, where the pool tables were. “Looks like the other table is free. Why don’t we get a game in?”
Jack’s eyes flickered towards you for a moment, then back to Robby and he could see the questions lingering in his friend’s eyes. They made their way to the table and Jack began setting up the table.
“Nice of you to join us, Robinavitch,” Reese said. Robby’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding painfully.
The strain was obvious to everyone there, humming in the air like static.Robby had felt like he was somewhat succeeding at not completely losing his mind, and then Reese decided to open his mouth.
Langdon, sensing the tension, began asking Reese about you.
“It was pretty brave of you asking her out like that,” Langdon said.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to make sure she said yes,” Reese said and Robby’s hand clenched around the cue. He lined up for the break, hitting the cue ball with more force than necessary. “
“Well, don’t mess it up, man. She’s awesome and we love her down in the Pitt,” Langdon said.
“Yeah, she’s cute,” Reese said. His voice was pitched low, but Robby noticed the hint of arrogance it carried. “Sweet enough, too, but–I gotta ask, since you guys know her well–is she kind of a prude?”
Robby’s spine straightened as Langdon looked at Reese in disbelief and then his eyes flickered to Robby behind him.
“It’s been a couple of weeks and she hasn’t put out yet. Do I have to get her a little drunk for it or what?” the cardiologist continued, ignorant to the tension in the room.
The glass of beer Robby was holding slammed down harder than he had intended and heads turned in their direction at the sound of the breaking glass, but he paid them no mind as he took a step closer to the shorter man and narrowed his eyes.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Robby asked, voice low and sharp.
Reese turned to face him, brows lifting in mock surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t talk about her like that.” Robby’s chest was heaving, his pulse a loud in his ears.
Reese smiled, leaning back on his heels. “Relax, man. It was a joke between us guys.”
Robby took another step towards the man, close enough that the air between them crackled and rage boiled in his veins. “No one’s fucking laughing.”
Reese’s smile faded and he assessed Robby, his eyes flicking up and down, before he scoffed out a laugh.
“Really, man? She’s a little young for you. But maybe that’s the way you like them.”
The tension snapped like a live wire. Reese shoved first, a sharp palm to Robby’s shoulder. Robby stumbled back half a step, then surged forward, fist curling before his brain could catch up. The punch landed with a dull crack against Reese’s jaw. Gasps erupted around them, but Robby could barely hear them over the roaring in his ears. Someone shouted. Chairs scraped.
You were there in an instant, grabbing Robby’s arm before he could swing again, your voice cutting through the chaos. “What the hell is wrong with both of you?”
Reese was rubbing his jaw, glaring as he was held back by Donnie and Langdon. Robby noticed Jack hovering, ready to grab onto him if he decided to swing again. And he wanted to swing again. But the furious look in your eye pinned him in place. You looked between them—two grown men circling each other like idiots in front of the entire department—and your face was twisted in fury and humiliation.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” you snapped, stepping back. “What the actual fuck is wrong with the two of you? You want to measure dick sizes or something?”
“Why don’t you ask him what he said about you?” Robby’s voice cut through the noise of the bar–low, rough, and threaded with barely contained anger.
You turned to him, brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
He nodded towards Reese, jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack from the pressure. “Tell her.”
Reese gave a dry, incredulous laugh, shrugging off Donnie and Langdon. “You’re really gonna believe this guy?”
Your spine straightened. You looked between them, your tone firm. “What did you say?”
Reese’s smile flickered, eyes darting between you and Robby. “Honey, you don’t wanna do this here.”
“Actually, I do,” you said, voice steady but laced with warning, “What did you say?”
Langdon shifted from behind Reese, uncomfortable. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “you don’t wanna know. It was… messed up.”
You didn’t even glance his way. Your eyes stayed locked on Reese. “Tell me.”
“Babe, come on,” Reese said, forcing a chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. “Are we really doing this?”
You glared at him, fury simmering below the surface, the kind that came from deep disappointment rather than shock. The kind that burned colder, like you had been expecting something like this to happen sooner or later.
“Yeah,” you said, voice low, unflinching. “We are.”
Even over the hum of the bar, Robby could hear the faint hitch in Reese’s breath — the sound of someone realizing they’d made a mistake and finally running out of room to hide.
Donnie was the one that spoke up, cringing and hesitant to repeat what he had said. “He asked if he should get you drunk to…get you to…put out.”
Robby could tell that the words landed like a slap. You took a deep breath through your nose, slow and steady, and stayed silent for a moment. Robby could tell the anger was building within you–your hands were clenched at your sides, knuckles straining against the skin of your hand, and you took measured breaths, trying to keep calm.
Robby’s jaw was tight, teeth grinding, and he was ready to throw another punch at the smug man with just one word from you. He prayed you’d give him the satisfaction, but he knew you wouldn’t.
“Babe, it was a joke. Something I don’t think anyone here gets,” Reese said, rolling his eyes and he flashed his charming smile at you. Robby could see right through him and hoped you would, too.
“A joke,” you repeated softly, almost to yourself. You straightened, eyes locking on him. “You think implying you need to get me drunk to sleep with you is a joke?”
Reese’s grin faltered.
“Lighten up—”
“No,” you cut in, your voice sharp and even. “Don’t tell me to lighten up. Don’t talk to me like I’m some cheap punchline you can throw around, especially not in front of my friends. Did you honestly think they would let you get away from saying some stupid bullshit like that?” You took a step closer, every word precise and calm, but Robby could see the storm brewing and you were barely holding it together. “I’ve worked too hard, and I respect myself too damn much to let anyone disrespect me. You don’t get to talk about me like that.”
Reese’s mouth opened, closed. Nothing came out.
You turned to Robby, eyes briefly meeting his—there was anger there, yes, but also hurt, something raw and complicated that twisted in your chest. You turned away, without saying a word to him and he felt like he had been punched in the gut.
“I’m going home.”
Reese huffed an annoyed breath. “Alright, babe. Let’s go.”
You turned your furious gaze towards him.
“I’m going home alone. We’re done, Reese. Fuck off.”
And before either man could speak, you turned, walking towards the booth where the rest of the staff was watching, grabbed your bag and stormed out without looking back, the door slamming behind you.
The silence left in your wake was heavier than the music starting up again. Robby stood frozen, his knuckles aching, his chest hollow. Reese moved to follow you before Abbot placed his hand on his chest and pushed him back.
“Leave her, man.”
Robby walked away, glad no one stopped him, following you to the exit of the bar. He opened the door to the chilly night air and saw you standing at the curb, your arms crossed and your shoulders trembling. He approached slowly, and tried to breathe through the ache in his chest.
You turned towards him, facing but not looking directly at him. You both stood quietly for a moment, and he didn’t know what to say to you. He admired the neon lights painting your skin in pinks and blues, skimming and jumping across your cheekbones.
You sighed before speaking. “What do you want, Robby?”
“Just wanna make sure you’re ok,” he rasped out.
You sighed again, shoulders hunching. “I’m fine. Been through worse.”
You glanced at him before quickly looking away. “Your knuckles are bleeding.”
He looked down at his hand, shocked to find the skin split. The pain didn’t register; adrenaline was still running through his system. He flexed his hand, testing and relief filled him when he realized it was just the split skin and nothing worse.
“I’m okay, just broke the skin.” You rolled your eyes and turned away from him.
He hesitated before speaking again. “I’m sorry.”
You looked back at him, eyes finally meeting his, your face softer than it had been for a long time. The words were heavy between the two of you. You gave him a small, sad smile and shook your head.
“Don’t be. I think I dodged a bullet there.”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think so, too.”
The silence grew loud again, the sounds of the city fading back into background noise as you both stared at each other.
He cleared his throat. “You need me to take you home? I’ve got the bike.”
You shake your head. “No, thank you. I ordered an Uber. It should be just a few minutes away…You shouldn’t be riding that thing anyway.”
You turned away and silence pulled between you once more, until Robby imagined he could hear it come alive.
He whispered your name. “I think about you all the time.”
The muscles in your spine stiffened and you refused to look at him. “Don’t do this, Robby. We can never be anything more than what we are right now.”
He couldn’t see you, but your voice was sad, lacking any real spite or anger–like you had resigned yourself to the fact that it would never be. He stepped closer and you finally turned to look at him, eyes shiny with restrained tears.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said. It was simple, but it seemed to be the only thing he could think of. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
You hesitated briefly before speaking.
“I was so angry with you for a long time. I couldn’t understand why you did what you did. I always thought we had a special connection and then...that night happened. It felt like everything I had been wishing for was finally happening. And then you said it was a mistake. That I wasn’t enough for you. That you never cared about me.”
He shook his head, stepping so close to you that he could see the specks of color in your eyes and the texture of your skin and smell the sweet scent of your perfume.
“That’s not true. I never said I didn’t care or that you weren’t enough.”
“You didn’t have to. You proved it to me. You showed me that I wasn’t worth it for you. You didn’t even…” Your voice cracked and you took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “You didn’t fight for us. I wasn’t enough for you to do that.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Fuck, Robby, save the excuses,” you said, your tone resigned and you seemed tired. “I risked everything that night. My career. My reputation. I knew what I was doing, I was willing to accept those risks. Because it was you. Because I lo–”. You cut yourself off, turning your eyes away from his and he felt his heart sink. Were you going to say it? Were you going to put a name to the tight, full feeling he felt in his chest every time you crossed his mind? To the feeling of electricity running beneath his skin every time he was near you? To the desperation to have you in his arms again and the pain in his heart when he knew he couldn’t?
“You told me it was a mistake,” you continued and your voice cracked, a tear escaping down your cheek. He raised his hand, fingertips softly trailing against the delicate skin of your face and brushing the tear away. You squeezed your eyes shut and your face leaned into his touch.
Your eyes opened. “I was willing to risk everything for you, but you didn’t want to give us a chance. I trusted you with everything that night…I’ve tried to respect your wishes. It’s so hard to go into work every day and have to be around you. It’s driving me insane, and the only person I want to talk about it with is you, but I can’t even do that anymore either. And now, when I finally try to move on, you pull that possessive, jealous bullshit. You tease me at work, and I can’t even stop you because for just a second it feels like I have you. It’s cruel, Robby.” You raised your hand to his wrist, pulling his hand away from your face and he wanted to cry at the loss. You dropped his hand, letting it fall back to his side.
Your Uber pulled up on the curb and you stepped down to the street and opened the back door of the black sedan. He felt pathetic–watching you walk away from him and he still could not bring himself to say what he needed to say to you. What he needed to admit to himself.
You turn back to him, the wistful look in your eye carving new holes in his chest. “Either be with me–for real–or let me go.”
The door closed behind you and he watched in frozen silence as the car drove away.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching the streetlights change color and staring down the street. He was unsure what ached more–the sting in his fist or the ache in his chest. The hum of the bar, laughter and music and scraping chairs bled into the street, but he felt like he was miles away from it. A hand to his shoulder startled him out of his stupor and he turned. Abbot stood there, silent for a moment and then shook his head.
“Hell of a mess you made in there,” he said. Robby didn’t answer for a beat, gaze finding itself straying back to the street he had watched long after the cab’s taillights disappeared.
He sighed in frustration, dragging a rough hand through his hair. “He shouldn’t have said that about her.” His voice was low, hoarse from holding back everything else he wanted to say.
“No,” Abbot agreed. “He shouldn’t have. But throwing a punch in front of half the staff? That wasn’t for her, Robby. That was for you.”
Robby turned on him, anger flashing. “You think I was just—what—marking territory?”
Jack didn’t flinch. “I think you care too much about her, and you don’t know what to do with it. So you swung and the only person who paid for it was her.”
The words cut, sharp because they were true. Robby shoved his hands deep into his pockets, shoulders tense. “I tried to let her go. I told myself it was better for her…For the both of us.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “But then I saw him with her. And it felt like I was losing her all over again.” His voice broke, his throat tightening. “And then he was saying all that bullshit…I lost control.”
“Where is she?” Jack asked, and Robby sighed.
“She left. What about Reese?”
“Still inside, seemed to be getting comfortable at the bar.” Robby nodded, but didn’t say anything. He knew that any further conversation about that man would make him want to head back inside and bash his punchable face in.
“Listen,” Jack started, a bit hesitant, but he continued anyway. “You didn’t lose her because of that asshole. Anyone with eyes could tell that wasn’t going to last. You lost her because you’re too damn scared to be honest with her. And this half-in, half-out thing? It’s not fair to either one of you.”
Honesty. Robby was good at keeping his emotions in. He rarely confided in anyone about his deep thoughts and troubles, but the emotion building in his chest was insurmountable, building to such a high pressure that it was nearly bursting out of his skin. He had not even dared to admit what that emotion was to himself, let alone anyone else. But the memory of you–eyes watery and face twisted in pain because of him–made the words flow out of him without reluctance.
“I love her.”
“Yeah, that part I know. You’re very obvious,” Jack said, amused.
Robby looked at him incredulously. “Obvious?”
“Painfully. There’s more than one betting pool about the two of you.”
Robby huffed out a laugh for the first time that night. He scrubbed a hand down his face and down the back of his neck.
“I slept with her two months ago and I told her it was a mistake the morning after.” He felt shame building his belly at his admission.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“That was pretty stupid,” he said and Robby scowled at his friend, self-loathing heavy in his chest.
“Thanks for the support.”
“You don’t need support. You need honesty. That was stupid.”
Robby wanted to argue, but the truth of it pressed too hard on his chest. “And now I regret it.” His voice softened, quieter, like the confession hurt more than a stupid bar fight ever could. “I regret it every damn day. And it’s too late.”
“Is it?”
“She hates me,” Robby said, certainty lacing the words.
Jack let out a barking laugh. “My friend, you’re a fucking idiot. She loves you too, man. You’re just too caught up in your own thoughts to see it.”
Robby opened his mouth, denial ready on his tongue, but Jack continued before he could slip a word in.
“Don’t. It’s true. Everyone sees it. You two orbit each other like fucking planets.”
Robby shook his head, the weight of his own arguments rushing in. “It’s wrong.”
“Why?”
“The age difference, I’m her superior, it’s against hospital rules.”
Jack stared at him, then shook his head slowly. “Never knew you to be such a stickler for the rules, cowboy. It’s not against the rules. HR will have a long conversation with both of you about boundaries and she’ll get shuffled to a different supervisor. She’s a grown woman, Robby. She can make her own choices and that choice was you.”
The bar door creaked open, warm light spilling out into the street and the sound of an upbeat pop song cut through the stillness of the night. Mohan stepped out, smiling awkwardly at the two men.
Jack’s gaze softened slightly and he looked back at Robby. “Let yourself be happy, brother.”
The words hit Robby harder than he expected. Jack stepped away, wrapping an arm around Mohan’s shoulders and they walked away down the cracked sidewalk. Robby watched them for a moment, the sudden realization that Abbot’s advice about HR might be more based on personal experience than assumptions. He was happy for his friend and a spark of hope lit up within him.
Maybe it wasn’t as forbidden as he had previously thought. Abbot was right–you were a grown woman and could decide to love him if you wanted to. He just had to let you.
He had tried so hard not to, tried to smother the spark before it grew into something dangerous, something that he wouldn’t be able to control. He told himself it was wrong, that the night you shared was a mistake, that he had to protect you from the weight of what it would mean if anyone ever knew. So he buried it, buried your smile, your voice, the way you looked at him, the softness of your skin and how it felt to hold your body close to him.
But love couldn’t stay buried. Love claws out of the earth, it demands to be felt, and with every stolen glance, every moment of distance he forced between the two of you, it only caused his heart to yearn harder for you. And letting you go, losing you—it felt worse. Because he told you it was a mistake and he hurt you, and it felt like it was tearing him apart. He carried the loss of you like a punishment, the wound self-inflicted.
He failed. He hurt you. And now he let you down again. He did nothing, and he knew that if he continued that way—doing nothing—he could lose you forever.
He was in love with you. He was finally ready to accept it, to admit it. And he would spend the rest of his life repenting and making sure you knew just how much he loved you. He only hoped you could forgive him.
The cab ride to your apartment had been a blur of anxiety and hopeful self-assurances. He tried to ignore thinking about the possibility of your rejection, even though he deserved it. He got off at your building, staring up at the looming, brick structure and took a deep breath, wishing he had thought more about what he would say to you.
He made it to your front door, staring at the thick slab of wood for entirely too long before he finally gathered the courage to knock. There was silence for a few moments, until he knocked again, heavier and insistent.
The door swung open and you stood before him, a frown on your face. You had changed into your pajamas, face bare of any makeup, and he was stunned for a moment at just how beautiful you were. He was sure he was a sight as well, shoulders tense, hair a mess from how much he had run his hands through it, and his knuckles were still raw and swollen.
“Go away, Robby,” you sighed and started to close the door, but his hand shot out in desperation, holding it open before you could shut it in his face.
“Please,” he said. His voice cracked on the word. “Just give me five minutes.”
You glared at him, unyielding. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”
“Please,” he begged, voice low and hoarse and pleading. With a sharp exhale, you stepped back and let him in.
He lingered just outside the doorway, running a hand down his face. For a moment he didn’t speak, and the silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Then he looked at you like it was the first time, like he’d never really seen you before tonight. He walked in, your scent enveloping him and he felt an odd comfort at being in your space.
You opened your mouth to speak, but he knew he had to get the words out before you changed your mind and asked him to leave.
“I love you.”
You froze, eyes widening and jaw slackening in shock.
“I think I was falling in love with you since that first night on the hospital roof,” he said, voice rough, words spilling before he could catch them, but he didn’t want to stop. He wanted you to know exactly how he felt. He was done running away. “I tried to stop it. I told myself I had to. That I had to protect you, that what happened between us was a mistake. I thought if I buried it deep enough, I could save you from all the fallout. From me.”
You stared at him, stunned and silent and he took that as an invitation to continue.
“I failed,” he went on, stepping closer. “I failed, because I kept falling. Harder. And when I finally had you…God, it feels like you are branded into my soul. Every day I tried to keep my distance, it just got worse. You are all I can think about. And then tonight…” He swallowed hard, shaking his head, willing his anger to stay at bay as he remembered Reese’s vulgar words. “Hearing him talk about you like that—like you were nothing—do you know what that felt like? It felt like losing you all over again. And I couldn’t—” His voice broke. “I don’t think I could survive that twice.”
You took a step back from him, arms wrapped tight around yourself, and he felt his heart sink to his stomach.
“Robby…” You sounded like you had earlier in the night. Tired and resigned.
“Please, I just need to know there’s still a chance,” he said. “I know that’s more than I deserve.”
“All I’ve done since that morning is replay that moment again and again in my head. It feels like I’m torturing myself, but I can’t stop it. I don’t think it was a mistake, I never did, but the fact that you saw it that way made me realize that maybe I’m not good enough for you.”
“Don’t,” he said, his heart twisting at the pain in your voice and an ugly knot building in his throat. “Please don’t say that. It’s not true. You’re…you’re perfect.”
You looked away, arms tightening around yourself. “You hurt me, Robby. You pushed me away. You made me believe I was nothing more than a one-night stand to you.”
“I know.” His eyes glistened, raw with regret. “And that’s on me. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was break us both. I can’t take it back. I can only be honest with you now. Tell you that I love you. That I always have. And if it’s too late—” He drew a shaky breath. “If it’s too late, then I’ll walk out that door right now. But I needed you to know before I lost my chance forever.”
The room felt unbearably still. The only sound was your breathing, sharp and unsteady, as you tried to process the weight of his words. He stood there, chest rising and falling, waiting for the verdict, like your answer would decide whether he kept standing or shattered right where he was.
“I want to say yes, but I'm scared, Robby.” You hesitated before speaking again. “What if you change your mind again?”
“I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do,” he said, resolute. “Because you are worth the risk to me. You’re everything to me.”
He sank to his knees before you, arms rising and wrapping around your legs. He buried his face into the soft skin of your thighs and reveled at the feeling of your warmth and sweet scent flooding his senses. It was the first time he had been this close for a long time and he felt like crying at the respite granted to him and the brief lightness in his chest at the fact that you didn’t push him away.
“Please,” he begged, desperate to cling to the feeling of you.
There was a reverent moment of silence that followed, and he stayed on his knees, clutching you, as if he was praying at the altar.
“Robby,” you said, your voice soft. He looked up at you, tears making his vision blurry, but he could see them lining your eyes too and he wanted to sob.
“Honey…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for doing that to you. I’m sorry for lying to you, for hurting you, for making you feel like you weren’t enough. Pushing you away has been the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ve made some bad ones, but this is the one I’ll regret for the rest of my life.” He dragged a hand down his face, trying to dry his tears, before bringing it back around your leg. He continued, his voice quieter now, afraid of your silence and desperate for you, and slightly muffled from where his face was pressed against your thighs.
“I told myself that I was protecting you, that I was doing the right thing, but I was just a coward. I’ve been hiding behind excuses and made up rules and my own guilt, but all it cost me was you. I know that I’m not worthy of you, that you deserve more than I could ever offer, but you’re the only one who makes me feel like I could be better, be more. That I might be able to earn you.”
His fingers curled, gripping tightly to your pajama shorts, and a tremor ran through his shoulders. “But I’m done running. You’re worth every risk, every hard choice, every ounce of me I’ve been too scared to give. You’re worth it, and I want to try, even if I don’t know how. Because when I’m with you…” He swallowed hard. “When I’m with you, I feel like I can finally let myself be loved. Like I don’t have to be this untouchable, lonely person anymore.”
He exhaled, shaky and raw. “Please. Please forgive me. Please give me another chance. I know I don’t deserve it yet, but I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to.”
He began crying again, burrowing his face more into you, as if he was trying to fuse your skin with his so that he never had to leave you.
“Robby, please get up,” you said, your voice tight. His arms tightened around your legs, dread building up in him. “Please.”
It took him a moment to build up the courage to let you go, his arms feeling as heavy as his heart. He stood at your pleading, his hands immediately holding both of yours in his larger ones and he raised them up, bending down to press a gentle kiss on your skin.
“I’m tired,” he whispered. “I’m tired of missing you when you’re standing two feet away, of wishing you were with me, even though I know it’s my fault you’re not. I’m tired of running away. I need you with me, baby, please. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
You stepped closer, pulling your hands away from his gently before cupping his face. He could see every detail of your watery eyes as you stared at him, softly bringing his face closer to you, and you kissed him, gentle and careful. He felt his heart stop beneath his ribcage, something that as a doctor should concern him, but the only thing flooding his senses was you and the intense feeling of relief–like a stranded man finding water in a desert after weeks of thirst.
You broke away after a few seconds, forehead resting against his, and he took a deep breath before pulling you in again, his lips moving against yours faster, frantic and desperate. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him and he kissed you like a prayer, like an apology. Like he was trying to pour every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling into you.
You broke apart again, panting and trying to catch your breath. You ran your hand across his cheekbone and he sighed at the flutter of your skin across his.
“I forgive you,” you said and he couldn’t stop the shaky sigh that escaped him. “I’m still really hurt and it’s going to take a long time to trust you again, but I’m willing to give it a chance if you are. Because…because I love you too, and I don't want to lose you again.” Your voice broke at the end and a tear ran down your face. He pulled you close, hugging you to his chest and buried his face in your hair, relishing your heat against his and the soft tickle of your hair on his skin.
“You won’t. I promise. I swear that I’ll be a better man for you.”
He meant what he said. He had a second chance with you, and he wasn’t going to fuck it up. He didn’t deserve it, he knew that, but he thanked whatever force there was in the universe for bringing you back to him, for giving him the courage not to let you go.
You pulled away and smiled at him softly and he felt his heart melt.
“I’m really happy you came, Robby,” you said sincerely and he returned your smile.
“Me, too. I’m sorry it took so long to figure my shit out.”
“It’s ok.” You squeezed his hand in yours, eyes soft. “You’re worth the wait.”
“I hope I can prove you right. Who knew all it would take was one piece of shit cardiologist?” he joked and you rolled your eyes, scoffing.
“Ugh, yeah, he was a dick,” you said. Robby agreed, although one part of his brain, a deep, possessive part of it, kept thinking back to what Reese had said earlier that night. It’s been a couple of weeks and she hasn’t put out yet.
He cleared his throat and you looked at him, eyebrows raised in question.
“So…” He could feel himself turn red at the way his thoughts were straying. “What he said…you really didn’t sleep with him?”
“Seriously?!” you scoffed, but the huffed laugh that escaped betrayed your amusement.
He shrugged defensively. “Did you?”
You turned bashful and it almost gave him pause. “No…I didn’t have sex with him.”
That possessive and jealous and territorial part of him felt relief that the young doctor had never touched you the way he did. Reese didn’t deserve you, although to be fair, neither did Robby, but he doubted that he could ever know how to please you.
“I couldn’t do it. I tried once, but all I could think about was you.” You looked down in embarrassment, although he didn’t see any reason for you to feel humiliated.
For a moment, Robby just stared, his pulse hammering in self-satisfaction. He felt his chest puff out and he raised a finger, slipping it under your chin and softly raising your face until his eyes met yours. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth tugged upward, his voice low and edged with mischief.
“You were in bed with him… and thinking about me?” He let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “Honey, you realize you’ve just handed me enough ego fuel to last a lifetime.”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved despite yourself.
“Oh, honey,” he went on, stepping closer, his voice dropping to something rougher. “Don’t worry. I’ll make damn sure that I’m the only one you will ever think of.”
He pulled you by waist, admiring the way your eyes darkened and the unconscious parting of your lips and dove in, his mouth tasting yours like a man starved. He ran his tongue over your lips, tracing their outline. The lack of oxygen was making him feel hazy and the scorching heat building in his belly spread over his body, encouraged by your small sigh and the feel of your body in his arms. He broke apart, taking a long, savory breath.
“Please tell me this is okay,” he said, leaning down to press small kisses to your cheeks and down your jaw. He wasn’t past begging.
“Yes, Robby, please. I need you,” you said, a whimper escaping you as he gently nipped at your swollen lower lip.
You thrusted your chest forward, head tilting slightly back and exposing your neck, which he could not help but to smother in kisses, chapped lips against the soft, warm skin. The saltiness of your skin lingered on his throat and he didn’t fight the uncontrollable urge to gently suck, praying that a mark would be left behind on your skin. Evidence of tonight–evidence that you belonged with him.
You quivered in his arms, a sigh escaping you. You leaned back, a small smile on your face as you trailed a finger down his chest, eyes remaining locked on his, and he shuddered. You reached down, fingertips lightly ghosting over his wrist and slid your smaller hand down to intertwine your fingers with his. You pulled gently, moving backwards and leading him down the hall to your bedroom.
He barely made it past the threshold, pulling you back against him, his lips descending on yours once again. His hands gripped your waist tightly, wandering down to grip your hips, then back up to graze softly over your clothed breasts. You moaned into his mouth and he felt you buckle, making him chuckle.
“Shut up,” you murmured against his lips and he smiled, leaning back and pulling his shirt off. Immediately, your hands attached to his skin and he sighed at the way your fingertips ghosted over him, his skin exploding in goosebumps.
His hands found the hem of your sleep shirt, pulling it up and off of you. His hands travelled to your back, finding the clasp of your bra, pulling it apart easily and he threw the offending item behind him, hands gliding over the newly exposed skin. Skin he had missed. Skin he still dreamed about.
His hands moved down your chest to your stomach and down to your hips, and he pushed your shorts down, taking your underwear along with them. He walked you backward, stepping out of the pile of clothes at your feet, and led you to your bed, gently laying you down.
He kneeled in front of you at the foot of the bed, looking down at you, your hair sprawled on the soft sheets, chest heaving, and lips swollen. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He leaned down, sucking a nipple into his mouth and you hissed, a hand finding its way to the back of his head and you gripped his hair tightly. He groaned, the pain sending a spark of desire down his spine.
His lips quickly found their way trailing down your belly, licking around your belly button, and continuing their trek down until he found himself in front of your parted thighs. His mouth watered at the sight, your pretty pussy glistening in the soft light of your room. He nudged his nose against your clit and you twitched. He took a deep breath, your musk invading every sense and he closed his eyes in pure bliss.
“Robby, please, don’t tease me,” you said, voice breathy and utterly fucked out.
“Well, since you said ‘please’.”
His hands gripped your hips and he pressed his mouth against you. His tongue traced your slit slowly, savoring your taste, until he reached your clit, lips circling it a few times and sucking hard.
You inhaled sharply, back arching and he tightened his hold on your hips, pinning you to the bed. Your hands found his hair, raking through it for a moment before you gripped the short strands. He flicked his tongue against you, lapping at your wetness and he felt like he was in heaven, reveling at your taste.
His hand trailed up the soft skin of your thigh, before finding your core. He inserted a finger, softly working you open until he could add another finger. Your tight, gummy walls tightened around him as he continued to work on your clit and he fought the urge to put his dick inside of you. He needed to make sure that this was perfect for you, that you understood just how devoted he was to you.
He increased his speed, fingers curling inside of you and you moaned, back arching off the bed as your orgasm closed in on you. Your body tensed and you quivered beneath him as you came, your slick gushing out and covering his beard. He groaned at the taste, lapping up every last drop.
“Holy fuck,” you mumbled and he chuckled into your skin, making you twitch. He smiled and began his journey back up your body, pressing kisses on every inch of skin he could find, before pressing his mouth against yours. The combined taste of your lips and your cum was divine and he groaned into the kiss.
He kissed you deeply and slowly, pressing his entire body over yours, your heated skin burning against him. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, moaning at the taste.
He broke away for a moment, gazing down at you in awe.
“I love you.”
There was no hesitation, no fear, no regret. He loved you and you loved him.
You smiled wide, smile lines deepening and your eyes creasing in the corners. It was the happiest he has ever seen you and his heart warmed at you unfiltered joy.
He kissed you again, tongue swirling around yours as he lined himself up at your entrance. He pressed in, and his breath hitched at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. Your mouth opened in a silent gasp as he bottomed out. He remained still, buried deep and pressed fully against you. You were tense under him and he kissed down your neck and chest, tasting the saltiness of your skin and feeling your body relax under him.
“I love your tits,” he mumbled against your skin, sucking a nipple into his mouth and nipping at it. You shivered.
“Robby, you’re so big.” Your voice was deep and hoarse and it was the sexiest thing in the world to him. He couldn’t help but pull out you and slam back into your pussy. You cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders and he groaned at the pain.
“Oh baby, you’re so perfect, so perfect for me. I love your pussy.” He thrusted into you, giving in to the months of pent up desire. He had dreamed of having you like this again and your welcoming body was driving him to the brink of insanity.
He pulled out, hands gripping your waist as he flipped you, placing you on your hands and knees. He sat back for a moment, admiring the view of your ass on display for him. You arched your spine, and shaked your hips, ass jiggling in a way that made his mouth water and a growl rasp past his lips. He grabbed a cheek, his fingers squeezing hard against the plush skin and you squealed.
“Fucking tease.”
He pressed a hand against your lower back, keeping you firmly in place as he fucked back into you, utterly mesmerized by the way your pussy swallowed his cock, welcoming him again and again into the most amazing pussy he’d ever had. The sound of your moans filled the room and urged him on.
“I love your ass,” he groaned, hands running over your ass.
You squeezed around him and he felt the pressure in his lower belly increasing and he panicked, pulling out quickly before he could reach his peak.
“Baby,” you whined, moving back against him. He held your hips in place and he took a deep, centering breath.
“Gotta give me a second, honey. I want this to last.”
“Can’t keep up, old man?” you teased, a moan caught in your throat as he fucked back into your delicious heat, pace relentless and rough.
“Oh ho, baby, don’t fucking test me.”
His pace didn’t slow until you tightened around him, back arching in pleasure as you squeezed tightly around him and gushed as you came on his cock for the first time.
He quickly flipped you back to face him, your back laying against the bed and your skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat. You were panting, eyes closed as you caught your breath and came down from your high, but he didn’t give you much of a reprieve, pushing back in. You whimpered, eyebrows furrowing, and he kept his rhythm slow and tentative.
“It’s okay, honey. You can take it.”
A part of him still didn’t know if he was allowed to have this. To have you. His hands roamed over your chest and the skin of your waist and his eyes bored into yours. Your gaze mesmerized him, it was so open, so vulnerable, and he gulped. His heart was soaring in his chest. He didn’t want this to end.
“You’re trembling,” you whispered tenderly, hand cupping his face, and he nodded.
“I’m okay.” He leaned down and kissed you again, your lips feeling like the most welcoming place on earth.
“I love you,” he murmured against your skin, lips trailing to your cheek, and down your neck to your collarbones, enjoying the taste of your skin as he continued thrusting into you.
“I love your heart. I love your intelligence,” he said, burrowing his face in your neck. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your moans and gasps echoing in his ears. “I love your kindness and your humor. I love everything about you.”
The heat building between your bodies was purely carnal, he felt it deep in his bones, burning straight to his soul until all he could think of was you. You, his temple, and him, your zealous worshipper. His hands trembled as they ran over your body and he finally let go of everything holding him back–finally allowed himself to want you, to have you.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked roughly, pressing his forehead to yours, the raw need building to a crescendo.
“Oh, god, Michael,” you moaned in his ear and he nearly growled, thrusting deeper and faster into you, your moans and sighs of pleasure edging him on until you came with a silent scream, tightening around him and your soft body writhing below him. It was the sweetest torture and he came with a groan, his vision turning white for a moment as waves of electricity danced beneath his skin.
He pulled away after a few moments, looking down at you. Your eyes were drowsy, half closed, but your smile was bright and full and happy and his heart soared.
“I love you, too,” you said, voice low.
He smiled, an incredulous laugh escaping him, as he leaned back down to press a kiss against you.
“Promise you won’t leave this time?” Your tone was teasing, but he knew you well enough to sense the hint of insecurity hiding behind your smile. He felt a new wave of self-loathing crash against his ribcage, and vowed to himself that he would never hurt you again. He had your smiles back in his life and he would make sure they would never leave him.
“I’ll stay as long as you want me.”
You grew timid, eyes meeting his through your lashes. “That may be a long time.”
“Sounds like heaven to me.” He rolled off you, laying on his side and pulling you against him, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You rested your head against his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his chest.
“Robby, what about work?” you asked, biting your lip in worry.
“There’s no reason for anyone to take issue with us if we do it the right way. We’ll tell HR and they’ll move you to someone else’s supervision. We’ll do it by the book.”
“What if they do take issue? This could affect you, too.”
“They won’t, I know they won’t. And if they do, I don’t care. I finally have something good, something that’s worth taking the risk for. I’ll defend you, us, every day if I need to.” He was certain as he spoke. You were worth every single risk, every single consequence. You were it for him. He didn’t tell you. It was too soon, but he knew it.
By some miracle of divine intervention, you were his. And he wasn’t going to lose you again.
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"shark week" is an annual one-week-long event where the discovery channel airs shark-themed programs. it is the longest-running cable television programming event in history, and in 2026, it takes place from july 26th to august 1st.
this year, i will be doing a shark week of my own, consisting of one week of content related to brendon park "park the shark" from the pitt. posts will be made daily and will include headcanons, moodboards, fanfics, etc. this is my first time doing something like this, but i am going to do my best to be consistent with it! pairing will be brendon park x reader, and any stories posted will likely be standalone.
let me know if there is any content you hope to see this week! i hope you enjoy. ⋆˚.༄
day one ｡˚○
pairing - brendon park x f!reader
wc - 4.2k
summary - brendon park asks you out for dinner after getting your number under the guise of "ordering you lunch" after the two of you completed a long surgery together. seven months later, you find yourself in a relationship with the older man, and he has no hesitation inviting you on a trip to visit his family in new jersey. | read anon's request here!
cw - potential ooc brendon, but he was also in the show for like a minute, so is it really?! mostly fluff, though b talks a little bit about angsty childhood things. reader and brendon talk about wanting children in the future. brendon is thirty-six, reader is imagined to be in her early twenties. i mention the details of an ortho surgery, any inaccuracies should be blamed on google, lmao. brendon talks about his family's christianity a bit. i imagine him to be italian, so i've filled in the gaps and assumed that his family is at least somewhat aligned with those beliefs. his mamma references praying; his nonna was an italian immigrant and wore a saint cosmas and saint damian medallion.
a/n -this is my first time taking an ask, so i hope i was able to do your idea some justice, anon! yes, i'm posting this the second the clock hits 12:00 am on the 26th, i got excited.
shark divider from @sisterlucifergraphics
You glanced at the daily assignment board, scratching the back of your neck. Penciled in is your name in the scrubbing section, right alongside a crossed-out Emily Winston. You’d scrubbed in for six surgeries this week, and it was only Thursday.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emily groaned, seeing her name crossed out and replaced on the circulating nurses list. “I fucking hate this.”
She’d been working at PTMC for six years before you, and when you’d started your orthopedic nursing position back in December, she’d been the first to welcome you. It was clear, by the end of that first month, that Emily hated circulating.
“At least you get some quiet. I have to listen to Park’s EDM for the sixth time this week. I swear I can hear the synth when I sleep,” you murmur, though you have to admit, when you see the surgeon rounding the corner, your heart picks up speed.
He crosses over just as Emily stops at the water fountain to fill her cup. “Hey, I just wanted to give you a note about the case you’re going to scrub in on,” Brendon Park murmurs, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Oh! Yeah!” You nod with a smile. “I was surprised to see my name,” you gesture to the board with your thumb. “I haven’t circulated all week, and last week I scrubbed into five surgeries total.”
Dr. Park shrugged. “Rotation must be a bit off. I usually just pick whoever has good stats. You’re doing well.”
You hum a thanks as he continues. “The patient is 58 and is coming in with severe spinal stenosis. We need to do a decompression from L3 down to S1. His thecal sac is being choked, and L4 is slipping completely off of L5. Plan is to do a wide laminectomy first; we’ll have a lot of bleeding from his epidural veins, so you’re going to need to keep the bipolar cautery and a supply of Gelfoam ready at all times. Once I have the nerves free, I’m going to move onto the disc spaces. Interbody cages on all three levels, all trial sizers, and then real PEEK cages. I’ll prep the endplates with osteotomes and disc shavers, and we’re going to need lots of bone graft mixed with the biologic. The screws will be placed at L3, L4, L5, and S1 to get the anchors in, and I’ll lock the rods down once the cages are packed.” You mentally note all of this as he gestures with his hands.
You can’t help but hang on every word. Heat flushes to your cheeks as he finishes, “It’s going to be tedious. I want you to make sure to eat something before you meet me in twenty.”
“Yeah. I’ll definitely make sure to eat something,” you nod with a smile, glancing around Brendon’s arm to see Emily raising her eyebrows and flipping you off. You roll your eyes at her antics.
“Good. I need you in there to make this go by faster.”
You frown, tugging off your gown and gloves and tossing them into the biohazard bin. Your eyes feel heavy, and for a long moment, you ponder if it’s normal for your vision to be slightly blurry after an eight-hour spinal surgery.
“Fuck,” Brendon groans, drawing the word out as he finishes washing his hands. He straightens, arms behind his head as his back releases a soft popping noise.
“It sounds like the ortho surgeon needs his own ortho surgeon,” you mutter under your breath with a smile, noting how he shakes out his arms and his hands, clearly releasing the tension from his body that he’d been carrying the entire operation.
He chuckles, and you can see a few of the members of the anesthesia team gawk, eyes wide at the sound. Mean, cold, closed-off, eerily observant. You’d heard the surgeon standing beside you be described as all of the above many times. While you may have believed it the first month of working on the orthopedic floor at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, it was hard to agree with them now. “I thought my back was going to give out in hour six. The only reason I stayed straight was because I didn’t want to make myself look like a fool in front of you.”
You click your tongue, dispensing sanitizer onto your hands. “You didn’t look like a fool. I think the procedure went beautifully…although I guess I’m not the surgeon who gets to decide that.”
“You’re right. You were on top of things and saved us a lot of time. It was a nice case, and you should be proud of yourself,” Brendon responded, tentatively reaching a hand out to pat your shoulder. “You don’t need to be a surgeon to see that.”
“Oh…uh, thank you, Dr. Park. I really appreciate it,” you murmur, twiddling your thumbs.
It’s quiet outside of the operating room for a minute before Brendon clears his throat. “Hey, I need to go write the operative notes and follow up with the family, but I’m going to give you my number. I want you to send me what you want me to order for lunch.”
“I packed food,” you mumble, reaching for your phone anyway as he pulls it from your hand, fingers typing in a contact quickly.
“I don’t care.” His words are clear, and you do your best to ignore how his confidence makes you squirm. “I’m buying lunch for you. You did great, and I like spending time with you.”
You swear he pauses for a moment before adding, “In the OR.”
Just as you stretch your legs out on the couch, your phone vibrates. You stare at the ceiling, counting to thirty. You’d gotten called to scrub into another surgery with Park after he’d bought you — and the team, though you had been trying to ignore that bit – lunch, and had been stuck in the operating room two hours past the official end of your shift. You were exhausted, and all you wanted to do was sit on the couch, numb your brain with television and a warm chocolate chip cookie, and fall asleep for a long time. You’d stupidly picked up a half-shift for Friday to cover for your coworker while she celebrated her son’s birthday, and thirteen hours before you were scheduled to head back to the hospital, you were already regretting it.
The last thing you wanted to do was read a notification from the hospital notifying you that they were short-staffed again.
You knew you’d end up filling in, weak to the idea of leaving patients to fall through the cracks. Even thinking of it made your eyes water.
You turned your phone on, reading the notification and hastily responding.
Just as you stretched your legs out on the couch, your phone vibrates. You stare at the ceiling, counting to thirty. You’d gotten called to scrub into another surgery with Park after he’d bought you — and the team, though you had been trying to ignore that bit – lunch, and had been stuck in the operating room two hours past the official end of your shift.
You were exhausted, and all you wanted to do was sit on the couch, numb your brain with television and a warm chocolate chip cookie, and fall asleep for a long time. You’d stupidly picked up a half-shift for Friday to cover for your coworker while she celebrated her son’s birthday, and thirteen hours before you were scheduled to head back to the hospital, you were already regretting it.
The last thing you wanted to do was read a notification from the hospital notifying you that they were short-staffed again.
You knew you’d end up filling in, weak to the idea of leaving patients to fall through the cracks. Even thinking of it made your eyes water.
You turned your phone on, reading the notification and hastily responding.
“It’s a six-day trip. My siblings and their kids will be there; we’ll probably be at the beach a lot,” Brendon says, his arms folded behind his head as he stretches out on your couch.
“Are you sure it’s not overstepping if I come? I wasn’t really invited, and I don’t want to just show up,” you murmur in response, leaning into his side. You’d been sitting at the dinner table finishing up a meal after a long shift when Brendon sprung the idea of you coming along with him to visit his parents' home in New Jersey.
He assured you that you were welcome and that his family – particularly his mother – would be excited to meet you for the first time. For some reason, you couldn’t shake the familiar feeling of anxiety in your belly.
You’d been dating Brendon for seven months now, and although you’d both deliberately kept it a secret at work, knowing you didn’t want to get branded as the “new nurse who is sleeping with the surgeon,” your lives outside the hospital had become intertwined. Still, visiting his family felt like taking a huge step.
Not that you didn’t want to continue moving forward with the man.
“I promise you that you’re not overstepping. My mom’s been begging me to bring you home since I told her about you.” He pulled you into his side with a reassuring smile, his arm settling around your waist comfortably. Brendon clearly liked showing his affection through touch, and you’d grown used to the contact, the warmth of his body a welcome sensation. “My sisters and brother will be there, and with all the kids running around, an extra pair of eyes will be a lifesaver when we get to the water.”
You laugh, feeling the lingering exhaustion of the surgery you’d been in for five hours fade away. “Is that all I am to you? An extra pair of eyes to watch children with?”
He pinches your side teasingly, “An extra pair of eyes and a good lay.”
“Can we drive there?” You ask, looking up at him as he presses kisses to your temple. “I’ll go only if you agree to drive.”
“Fine with me. I’ll drive; you sit in the passenger seat and look pretty,” he replied without hesitation.
Two weeks later, you peered out the windshield and watched as the familiar sight of Pittsburgh transitioned into New Jersey, the mountains flattening with each passing mile. The drive had been surprisingly relaxing, after Brendon had coaxed you into taking a Dramamine for your motion sickness, and you’d spent the large majority of it listening to the soft music of his non-operating-room playlist, grateful for the lack of EDM. His hand sat on your thigh, lightly squeezing it, and by the time he pulled into the gravel driveway of a large sky-blue house, you could hear the waves crashing against the shore.
Brendon barely had time to turn the engine of his sleek black car off before the front door sprang open and an older brunette darted out of the beach house.
“My baby boy!” She exclaimed, wiping her hands on an apron as she hurried down the front steps and pulled him into a tight hug. You smiled at the sight, slowly stepping out of the car.
Brendon had told you, shortly after you’d begun dating, that he was his mother’s favorite. You had been hesitant to believe him, knowing that his three older siblings likely claimed the very same thing, but as you took in his mom squeezing him in a warm embrace, you believed his words. Though you supposed it would be hard not to love Brendon loudly like this.
His mom pulled away with a bright and beaming smile, and your cheeks flushed as she apologized for not coming to you first and pulled you into a tight hug.
“It is so wonderful to finally meet you, sweetheart!” She said, drawing back to hold you at arm's length as she took you in. “My boy has talked about you so much, but his words can’t even describe you. You’re a doll!”
You chuckled, smiling at the woman. “Thank you so much, Anita. I can see where Brendon gets his looks from.”
“Oh, please call me Ma,” His mom tutted, taking your face in her hands. You’d known his family was Italian; different cultures came with different customs, and Brendon himself seemed to have no qualms about touching you, but this affection was new, and you found yourself squirming a little.
“Please, Mamma,” Brendon groaned softly, tapping her shoulder. “At least give her some space to stretch.”
“You’re right! I’m sorry!” She patted your cheek before stepping back. “I’m trying to be less touchy, but I’m just glad my baby finally brought a good girl home. His siblings have all settled down, and I’ve been praying he’d finally get a nice one to start a family of his own with. God willing, I’d like to at least see my grandkids be born!”
You catch your boyfriend’s eye and giggle when he gives you an apologetic grimace. His cheeks are flushed, but the way his eyes twinkle when his mom speaks to him is plain as day. You knew he loved his family, but seeing it made your heart warm.
“Come on, I’ve got dinner going, and I need you guys to help me decide which dessert to make.”
You stepped inside and were immediately hit with the rush of energy in the home. It felt alive; luggage dropped in the hallway as introductions flew by in a blur of handshakes and hugs.
Angela, Rebecca, Chris. You’d pressed Brendon for all of the information about his siblings that he could give you on the road trip over, and were instantly grateful to have a back pocket full of icebreakers as his family easily shifted into fast conversation. Voices overlapped, but it wasn’t long before your attention moved to the large back porch where his nieces and nephews sat on a picnic table covered in craft supplies.
You looked up at Brendon, his arm around your back, and murmured, “It’s calm out there.”
Nodding, he smiled, “You can go sit if you need some quiet.”
That was all the permission you needed to walk over and sit on the low wooden bench with Brendon’s seven nieces and nephews. “Is it okay if I join you guys?” You ask gently, waiting for their approval before you touch any of the materials. The four eldest share a glance, and you recall their names from earlier conversation: Nico, Archie, Evelyn, and Harlow.
You wait patiently for a moment before the littlest at the table, Nora, says, “Are you Uncle Brendon’s girlfriend?”
“I am,” you respond, pointing to Brendon inside the house. He’s smiling, watching you and the children from the sliding glass door, and you swallow at the attention, feeling flustered like you always seem to when Brendon stares with such focus. “We met at work.”
The kids smile and press for more information, and you fall into an easy flow of conversation with them, picking up one of the disc looms and yarn. “These are the best bracelets! I have so much fun making them.” You say, already finding yourself immersed in the project.
“My dad said that Uncle Brendon, Aunt Angela, and Aunt Rebecca used to make them when they were kids,” Jude, the second-oldest son of Brendon’s only brother, says.
“Did you make them when you were little?” Harlow asks, handing you her loom so you can untangle the lengths of colorful yarn.
You hum, “I didn’t make them when I was your age. I think they were common with people older than me, but I got introduced to them in college and thought they were cool.”
“You made crafts in college?” Archie gasps as he pulls his bracelet off and puts his arm out for you to tie it around. “Uncle Brendon said that he drank in college.”
You can’t help but laugh at the child’s words, imagining Brendon closer to your age, pre-medical school, when he still had time to go out with his frat brothers. It seems the opposite of the image of the calm man you sleep next to each night.
Brendon leans against the doorframe, a cup of wine in hand, watching the scene in front of him unfold. His chest warms at the sight of you with his siblings’ kids, falling into such easy conversation. You’d been shy in those first few months at the hospital, although Brendon had come to learn that you had a mean sense of humor, despite being one of the kindest-hearted people he’d ever known.
“She’s wonderful, Brendon,” his mother whispered from her spot next to him.
He didn’t answer right away, distracted by the way you laughed at something Nico said, his youngest niece crawling into your lap a second later. He swallowed, the stress that had followed him from the hospital all the way to New Jersey melting away at the sight of you sliding into place so easily with the people he loved most.
“Yeah,” he said softly after a long moment. “She really is, isn’t she?”
You giggle when Brendon tugs you against his side in the bed, so close you’re practically lying on top of him. He kisses the top of your head, one hand resting at your back, fingers grazing over your butt as you take the other and twiddle absentmindedly with his fingertips. “I’m so glad I came,” you murmur quietly, “Your mom is so funny, and the kids are perfect.”
“You’re perfect,” Brendon responds, pulling the blanket over the two of you as you settle into bed.
“I’m serious, Bren,” You speak, looking up at him. “I assumed I’d like your family because you love them and I love you, but I didn’t think I’d feel so comfortable already. I thought I’d be scared.”
He chuckles when he hears you drag out the last word, “You were scared. You squeezed my hand under the table the entire time we were eating.”
“True.”
“I’m proud of you, though. My family’s a lot, and you handled it well,” he praises, and you feel heat pass through your body. “You handled them well.”
He trails his fingers up and down your back, goosebumps rising on your flesh as he presses featherlight kisses to the top of your head. You’d never expected this behemoth of a man, called The Shark by nearly everyone in a Level 1 Trauma Center, to be so gentle. It still made your heart ache how carefully he treated you.
“Seeing my siblings and their kids…seeing my mom and dad and how much they still love each other,” you feel Brendon shrug as he pauses. “It really makes me appreciate what I had growing up. How much love was in this house, even if it was loud and messy and overwhelming.”
“I love how much you guys love each other,” you reply softly. “No embarrassment, no hiding, no nonchalance. You love, and you love loudly.”
“Quiet is good sometimes. Efficient. Effective,” he murmurs, his breathing soft and steady. “I don’t think we need to be quiet and efficient with people and feelings like that. There’s no reason to hide or to posture.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and you wait for him to speak, knowing that sometimes Brendon needs silence to make sense of his words. “My Nonna – my dad’s mom – died when I was seven. She was only sixty-two.” He swallows, and you squeeze his right hand, doing your best to comfort him.
“She loved weddings and family events more than anything in the world. She met my Nonno when she came here from Italy at sixteen, and they got married four years later. They were too poor for a wedding, so once she got older and had kids of her own, she thought it was a gift whenever one of us Parks got to have a wedding or a celebration. She prayed and prayed and prayed for her kids to find love, and my Mamma still tells me how much she cried and cheered at her and my Dad’s wedding.”
You smile, “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She was. I don’t remember her much, but God, I know she was.” Brendon shakes his head, running his thumb along your knuckles.
“When she passed, and my family went through her things, we found this binder. The cover said she bought it in 1950 in Matera, Italy. She would have purchased it three months before she immigrated to the US, and it was full of things. Pictures of us grandkids, postcards from her Mamma and Papa, little souvenirs my Nonno sent her when he was in the military. Everything. And at the back of the binder, there was a letter for each of her eleven grandkids and a little envelope, too. Mine was the last one she wrote because I was the baby. My Nonno looked through them all because he didn’t want us to have to read them until he knew what she said, and I remember him telling me, ‘Nonna ti voleva più bene di ogni viaggio che ha fatto verso casa e di ogni parola che conosceva in italiano e in inglese.’”
You looked up at Brendon as he translated the Italian, still not used to hearing him speak it. “Nonna loved you more than any trip she ever took home and more than any word she knew in Italian and English.”
“Bren,” you sniffle, feeling your eyes fill at the sentiment.
He smiles, wiping the tear that slips down your cheek. “She and my Nonno didn’t have a lot of money, but they gave everything they had to my dad and his siblings. They wanted us to live well.”
You press a soft kiss to his lips before he continues, the beach house around you quiet except for the sound of his voice. “She had this little medallion of Saint Cosmas and Saint Damian that she used to wear all the time. Patrons of surgery. I got to wear it at my white coat ceremony.” You smile at the image that comes to mind of him being given his white coat, the first step in the journey that led to the two of you meeting.
“When they looked at the letters, they found out that Nonna had been saving her change and dividing it up evenly between us grandkids. She wrote letters to us that she wanted to read at our weddings and said she hoped that her and Nonno's humble beginnings would lay a foundation of love for us to build success on. I still have that money she saved for my wedding.” He chuckles at the last sentence, scratching the back of his neck, but you don’t miss the pain in his eyes as he speaks about the grandmother he clearly loved so deeply.
“Today, seeing you with my family…” Brendon pauses, and you kiss the back of his hand, giving him time. “You have the same heart she did. So sensitive, so deeply feeling. I didn’t think I’d ever find that in someone. I didn’t know if I’d ever find a person that would make my Nonna proud.”
Your bottom lip wobbles when you breathe his name, and there is nothing you can do to stop the silent tears from slipping down your cheek.
“You were perfect with my family. With my Ma, with my nieces and nephews, with my Nonno, everyone.” His voice was quiet, but the softness did nothing to hide his assurance.
“When I saw you with the kids…” his voice trailed off before he continued, “For a moment, I could imagine exactly how my grandpa felt when he saw my Nonna for the first time. When she was young and finding her way in a new country. When she walked up to his church and asked in shaky English if they had a job for her. When he made a promise to himself, when he was seventeen years old, that he was going to marry the woman standing in front of him and make a family of his own. When he did exactly that four years later.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” you mumble, voice cracking.
“It’s the truth,” Brendon breathes your name. “I know we haven’t been together for that long, I know you’re younger than me, I know we still pretend like we’re just friends at work…I know all of that. But, I just…I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know that when I think of the future, I think of being married to you. I think of our kids who we will love more than every word we know in English, and Italian, and all of the other random languages you’ve studied for three weeks.”
You let out a choked-out laugh as Brendon wipes the tears from your face. “I love you, Bren. So much. I want all of those things with you too.”
And that night, in the comfort of Brendon’s childhood bedroom in a town in New Jersey you’ve never once visited, but suddenly feel so at home in, you fall asleep knowing the man that is holding you will continue to be the arms you fall into every night until the end of time.
The unnaturally bright-lit room was set up for an ACL in record time, with Dr Shaan prepping monitors, and surgery residents on stand-by outside the sterile field for the big bad ortho shark.
an: Part3! yay! Im trying to write ahead and schedule posts in advance. we'll see how it goes hehe. have some PTMC Dr Park and enjoy!<3
"Set up OR 3 for Dr Park, Please," Charge nurse Mariette said as she sped by behind you, "ACL reconstruction."
"Yes, Captain," You offered a lazy, two-finger salute and picked yourself off the lounge room counter.
She huffed a laugh, adjusting the beaded chain holding her glasses, and waved a hand to hurry you along.
This was the third surgery you attended with Dr Park since his first gym session. Brendon, you thought privately, was a name that did not suit this surgeon shaped like a stone fortress. Brendon was a name exclusively referring to that dry-witted, eye-rolling man who packed up the equipment with you and put it away when the training ended.
You went to find Dr Shaan, anesthesiologist and pet mom to 10 animals of 6 different species. Meeting her in the right direction to the patient's room, you went through the surgery details together.
"How's Mustang doing?" You asked.
"Back on the wheel in no time, thank god," She sighed, "thanks for asking, though."
"Of course!" you nudged her shoulder with a wink, "Hamster parents stick together."
"That's not a saying," she laughed.
"It should be."
You verified Hamdon Gerard's patient details, surgical sight on his right knee, and medical history together, then Dr Shaan headed to her office as you split to the elevators to head to Scrubs.
Scubs was the nickname of an older scrub nurse who's long experience in nursing made him a treasure trove of dad jokes and disproportionate wisdom. He was also an extra on the show Scrubs, but only few know that.
"Care Bear!" He welcomed you into OR 3, having almost wrapped up with his instrument inspection.
"Inspector Gadget!" you giggled, bumping your elbow with his.
The unnaturally bright-lit room was set up for an ACL in record time, with Dr Shaan prepping monitors, and surgery residents on stand-by outside the sterile field for the big bad ortho shark.
Since it is yours and Scrubs' role to call time out and confirm every single name and purpose before a surgery, you knew Brendon couldn't yet recognize you by your voice. Since he usually, regally, walks in after everyone involved is already kitted and masked up, you also knew he couldn't recognize you by your figure, or eyes.
You've worked with Dr Park for a while, long before you met Brendon. You understood how intimidating he was to residents and fellow doctors, how humiliating it is to have prompted a glare from the shark. However, you could also acknowledge that his ire is almost always triggered by incompetence. He cared about the patient outcome as a priority, which makes any mistake register as an insult to himself and his work.
That also means, that he has never actually been mean to nurses, was not allowed to say shit about their work, especially under the burning eyes of one Mariette Hale. Nursing students, of course, can make mistakes, but it is exclusively Mari's role to reprimand them. As a result, you felt exempt, Ortho Shark cannot hurt you, because you're a nurse, and you're good at it. You absolutely took advantage of that in the gym by teasing him annoyingly, though he wouldn't know that by seeing you in the OR.
You bounced on your heels, eye squinting with your smile under the blue mask.
Dr Park walked into the OR like he does everything, intentional in every step, studious with his eyes, and impossibly large in both legend and figure. All kitted out in that signature blue that was so clean it smelled like antiseptic, Park stood at the right side of the sedated patient and scanned the raised knee thoroughly.
For an ACL, the joint intended for surgery must have full range of motion, which you and Scubs applied by securing the leg up off the bed, and rubbing the area with chlorhexidine before draping. This was a common type of surgery, almost memorized by the entire staff present.
"What's that?"
But the residents, as they usually are, were new.
One of them, a lanky young man stood at the back of the main circle, outside the sterile field, and eyed the black bands that circled the patient's thigh. You blinked for a moment, but you were used to excellent students going blank during first experiences. Sometimes you know the textbooks cover to cover, but your eyes were not yet used to the same information visually.
Someone huffed a suppressed snort behind you.
Dr Shan hid her face behind the vitals monitor.
Brendon's face did not move, he stood still as stone while a fellow nurse tied his gown behind his back. His eyes flickered to her as she scurried away, then slowly to the resident. Park gave the stare a few seconds for it to achieve the intended effect, then turned back to fixing his gloves, "Why do we place padding on pressure points?" He droned.
The residents, all three of them, held their breath.
He did this sometimes, if the mood fit, place the answer in another, harder question, and wait for them to stammer.
Because the residents were right beside you, as your role is also to be outside the sterile field, and because you couldn't deny the urge, you tapped your finger soundlessly on the young man's forearm, "to avoid nerve injuries," you whispered with a smirk.
Dr Park's sharp eyes snapped to you, once and then twice. You were smiling under your mask, but it took extreme effort not to giggle audibly. Small beeps off the vitals monitors were the only sound in the cold blue room for what felt like minutes.
"Timeout!" Scrubs tapped his pen on the keyboard beside time, the metallic clink echoed, and immediately started declaring names.
The OR nurse at the back of the room caught his eyes twice in the past, but Brendon hadn't heard her voice before. More than that, there was a rare nudge at the back of his mind about how she looked right at him. You do that too.
For someone who was an entire head shorter than him, Brendon found your eyes right on his face every time he looked during that first session. He explained it away though, you were teaching so you had to be looking, he was learning form so he had to look too. Couldn't explain why he kept thinking about it days after.
Park kept remembering your eyes during shift, during surgery, and it frustrated the perfectionist ortho surgeon in him. That line at the top of your cheeks that creased right under your eyes when you smiled, and that slight quirk of your brow that jumped when you thought you're funny. It was flashing through his head in moments when he was, famously, intensely concentrating.
Of course, nothing drastic happened, Brendon was just that good a surgeon. But internally, his thoughts were occupied and scattered between the hospital and the gym.
"Greetings! Big B-"
"Nope," Brendon abruptly interrupted before that stupid nickname came out.
You laughed breathily through the speaker, the sound echoing over his kitchen tiles, "Ok, sour spot, I'm calling about tomorrows booking."
"Something came up?" He asked.
"For the big man, yes," you said, rambling about how both of you match the description so maybe BigMag, you know like a BigMac?-
"Ok," he interrupts again, lips pursing against a smile, "you need me to reschedule?"
"I'm been tasked to check, good sir," you enunciated slowly, audibly grinning, "If you'd like to go over the basics with me on the same booking, fully approved by Coach, or reschedule to fit his next opening?"
Brendon hummed, thinking over his options.
"I know it's repetitive, but it's good for your form," You softly added, prompting him pull his phone closer to his ear, "But if you feel like the daily homework is enough and you don't want to waste your time on an extra session, keep practicing and Coach will happily-"
"No," he said, suddenly feeling like he kept interrupting you, "Sorry, I mean, I'll keep my booking for tomorrow."
Your voice sounded smiley, "Great! I'll see you then! have a good night, Brendon."
"You too."
Three week ago it would have been a waste of time, and he never liked wasting his time. Brendon had always found aimless meandering and pointless small talk to be like time stolen, preferring to achieve something, be on the way to something worthwhile. During residency, this belief got so strong that he'd spent some nights in the on-call room so he doesn't waste time commuting to work.
As he got older, steadier in his position, it mellowed out, because he learned that some tasks require time and patience. He still had some conflicts about driving out more than 20 minute distance on workdays, because most of the time the "get-together-for-a-drink" was not worth the trip.
For some reason, this extra class as you called it, seemed to fall under "worthwhile". It's possible for it be just a repeat of the first session, form, movement, and muscle memory training. It's possible that he would be learning nothing new by the end of it. Still, Brendon wanted to go. He didn't even fight himself on it for a moment.
an: thank you sooo much for being here! let me know what you think! <3<3
"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it." -Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
SERIES:
speak of her over my grave -> (completed) robby x f!widowed!reader, you're cursed and so is your home, but robby is determined to break both one way or another, a gothic horror romance
i would've run -> (completed) robby x f!nurse!reader x abbot, after robby breaks your heart, you run to a widowed jack abbot for comfort. one thing leads to another and before you know it, you become mrs. abbot. but robby can't let you go and you're not sure you can let him go either.
sacraments of healing -> (completed) robby x f!attending!reader, a complicated love story told over the back drop of an even more complicated family fraught with grief, misunderstandings, and sometimes even cruelty. robby loves you through it all.
force of nature, pull of gravity -> (completed) robby x f!attending!reader, you and robby have had a sort of friends with benefits type relationship going back decades, but when adamson dies and robby pushes you away you're forced to lock him out, maybe for good. told parallel to season one timeline.
say goodbye like you mean it: part one | part two | part three | part four -> (completed) robby x f!oc!charge nurse, when gwen waltzes into robby's ER intent on replacing dana, he's more than a little prickly, but is quickly won over. now, if only he could win her over.
ONE SHOTS:
the fawn -> robby x f!pathologist!reader, after a bad one night stand in med school, you and robby get a second chance twenty years later
once more to see you -> robby x f!charge nurse!reader, after what you thought was a one night stand while on vacation, you're forced to now work in your hook up's emergency room.
you're a cowboy like me -> robby x f!forensic psychologist!reader, you come to the pitt to evaluate a client awaiting his murder trial. robby finds himself wanting to evaluate you instead.
baby goes again -> robby x jack's adopted sister!reader, f!intern!reader, you and robby start sleeping together behind jack's back. when he finds out, all hell breaks loose.
i'm your summer girl -> robby x f!reader, summer vacation romance, you're an old friend of samira's and are invited to a vacation full of doctors, one of which, you develop a huge crush on
tracing back lucky stars -> robby x f!attending!reader, a decade long will they won't they spurred by a fifteen hour car ride that sends you and robby down a path you couldn't change even if you wanted to.
flushed & flustered -> robby x f!resident!reader, emt keeps flirting with you in front of robby and he can't help but react.
but i stayed anyway -> robby x fiancée!reader, you're a clinical psychologist and head to the hospital to help when you heara about the shooting at pitt fest.
time after time -> robby x wife!reader, you're afraid of needles and have migraines, robby helps with your injections.
MISCELLANEOUS, SHORTER FICS, BLURBS, DRABBLES, ETC.
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the way we were raised and the people we were raised by leave permanent scars no matter how badly we wish them away. robby proves to you over and over that he loves those scars and wouldn’t change a thing, even if you’re always wishing things were different. (this started as a sort of reimagining of ep 2x06 of the bear and spiraled from there)
playlist | read on ao3
robby x f!attending!reader ; established relationship
content: 18+ only minors dni, angst, swearing, sexually explicit content, smoking, alcohol, sibling death, grief, complicated mother/daughter relationship, family/childhood trauma, mentions of physical/emotional childhood abuse, accidental pregnancy, abortion, canon medical events/gore, substance use disorder, drug abuse, overdose, mental illness, suicidal ideation, age gap
michael 'robby' robinavitch x widow!singlemom!reader
"girl you really got a hold on me,so this isn't just puppy love," me and your mama, childish gambino
tags please read: robby is not a good person, he's kinda creepy (morally dark grey?) it's just not a good thing what he's doing; infiltrates your family, trying to replace your deceased husband and the father of your children, unhealthy attachment to something that doesn't belong to him, dark(?) romance,
summary: your husband dies in The Pitt and the doctor that was trying to save his life becomes a part of your family. Your kids love him and so do you. Maybe even more than your dead husband.
wc: 7.4k
pt. 2
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
Just hours ago, your husband was alive. He was okay, talking, laughing, and joking around with the doctors. He said he was going to the ER because he was complaining about his chest pain and told you not to worry about it. He called you to tell you everything was fine and that he was okay. Then your world came crashing down.
The doctor pulled you aside, away from your children to explain to you what happened. "My name is Dr. Robinavitch and I was one of the doctors that was treating your husband today. Are you aware of why your husband came in?"
You nod, "He said it may have been a heart attack," You voice no higher than a whisper.
"Yes, he was suffering from chest pain and we were able to catch a blockage in his heart. As we were doing emergency surgery putting a catheter in his chest to help with the blockage he went into cardiac arrest and we were unable to resuscitate."
Tears stream down your face as you listen to him. You swallow any big emotions you had as you follow along. "He… he was hurting the last couple of days. He made it seem like it wasn't a big deal." You avoid the doctor's gaze, "I can't believe this. He's just gone."
"Do you have anyone you can call to support you right now?"
"No… I uh, I have no one," You sniffle, "Not right now anyway. I need to tell my kids."
"Of course, in this room," He touches the knob of the viewing room, "we have cleaned his body for your viewing. Take as much time as you need then let me know when you're ready." He takes a step back towards the doorway of the stairwell when he sees the kids on the stairs.
A young boy and a smaller girl. Both in their teens, he can guess. The boy was older, there were no tears in his eyes but he had a stiff jaw as he tried to repress his emotions. He reminded Robby of Jake a bit. The little girl leans into her brothers hold as her lip quivers. Tears flowing from her eyes like her mother. They looked like carbon copies.
Robby stays by the entryway as you lead the kids by the door of the viewing room. Your voice is still low as you repeat a bit of what Robby had just explained. The little girl begins to openly sob as the boy's jaw shifts. His eyes are watering now. Robby can tell as the sunlight catches the glisten in the boy's eyes.
You look to Robby and nod. He comes up to the viewing room door and opens it for your family. Your heart instantly falls into your stomach as you look at the relaxed expression on your husband's face. He looked so at peace like he was just resting. Your lips twist as you look over his features. It was like all the color drained from his face. You had to remember to breath as you hoped that he would too.
Your daughter, Vivian, holds his hand squeezing it as she cried. Your son, Elijah can't bear to look anymore shouldering past Robby back out into the hall. You sniffle as you look worriedly. Robby gives you a smile of understanding, "If you'd like, I can go speak with your son."
"Could you?" You smile, "They were inseparable. I can't imagine how he's feeling right now. His name is Elijah."
Robby nods and steps out in the hall to find Elijah against the wall by the door with his knees in his chest and his head resting on his kneecaps. Robby sinks down beside him. He hears the boy sniffle and inch away from him. "It's okay to feel the way you're feeling." He speaks gently, "There's nothing wrong with grieving."
Elijah lifts his head, "He texted me 2 hours ago… I didn't even look at it." He lets out a sob, "And now he's just gone. I… I didn't get to make him proud like he wanted me to."
"I'm sure you did." Robby says, "You shouldn't beat yourself up for missing a text message. Sometimes things happen out of our control. You are human and you texting him or not would not have changed the outcome here."
Elijah pulls out his phone and opens the message. His frown deepens then he closes his phone, "I should go check on my mom." He stands up. He holds out his hand for Robby.
Robby grabs his forearm and effortlessly the young man pulls him up. Without a second glance, Elijah enters the viewing room again. Robby enters back into the ED and stands in front of the nurse's station to look at the status board.
"How is the family?" Dana asks.
"Oh you know, just lost their patriarch and struggling with the loss. The boy acts stoic already trying to step into a new role of 'man of the house.'" He sighs as he looks back in the direction of the stairwell, "I suppose they'll be there for a bit."
Robby would never tell a soul this. Not even Abbot. He thought you were beautiful as you cried. How effortless tears slid down your face with a crease in your eyes. Was it weird to imagine you looking at him the same way you looked at your dead husband in the viewing room. There was a part of him that wished he could have been beside you. To be the shoulder for you to cry on. He shakes those thoughts out of his head and goes to find the med-students to discuss the case.
After a half hour, you and your family leave the viewing room. While Robby is busy, you speak to Dana. A funeral home will be coming back to pick up your husband's body. You ask for her to pass along a thank you to Robby before leaving the ED.
Of course, Robby was already eavesdropping so he heard everything. His heartbreaks as he watches you leave. Elijah still looked upset. He wonders what the text message was about that made him clamp up again. He sighs as he disposes those feelings he had and comes to terms that he will probably never see you again.
When he justified his feelings, he should have probably included not seeing your children too.
It was two weeks after your husband passed away in the ED. Elijah and his sister are sitting in North 1 waiting to be seen. Robby recognizes the boys name and takes the case from his resident.
He knocks on the wall and slides open the curtain. There on a stool is the girl, looking just as sad as she did two weeks ago. Her eyes were puffy and tears had dried on her cheeks. Robby gives her a reassuring smile, "Hey Elijah remember me?"
"Sure, the doctor from when dad died here." He mumbles.
"I didn't catch your name sweetheart," Robby looks to the girl. "I'm Dr. Robby."
"Her name is Vivian." Elijah speaks for the girl, "Can we just move this along?"
"Okay," Robby looks at his tablet for his chart, "Alright, based on your x-ray, you definitely broke your knuckle."
"Oh my god, Eli…" Vivian winces, "Mom is gonna be so mad."
"Mom has worse things to worry about." Elijah snaps at the girl then turns to Robby, "So can you fix it?"
"Sure. You'll just need to be in a splint for several weeks. Refrain from using your hand, flexing the knuckle and such. We can clean that up for you and get you some pain meds now."
"Great." Eli says flatly.
"Hey Vivian, the two of you have been waiting here awhile. Why don't you take this," He hands her a five dollar bill, "And get you and Eli a snack. There is a vending machine in the room right next door."
Vivian hesitates for a moment then hops off the stool. She sets her large backpack down and goes to the break room to get the snacks.
Once she's gone, Robby checks over Eli's hand. "Should I see the other guy?" He puts on his gloves and opens the cart for antiseptic and triple antibiotic ointment.
"There was no other guy." Eli winces as he feels Robby put the antiseptic on his cuts.
"Oh I know. Usually a broken knuckle comes from hitting something harder than a head or any other body part. Like a wall, or concrete…"
"It was a concrete wall…" Eli winces again, "Viv and I were at the skate rink."
"No wonder your sister's bag is so bulky. So, what happened? A toddler tripped you during free skate?"
"It's my bag. She's just carrying it for me. It has some of my gear in there." He corrects, "We were practicing. Mornings is figure skating. Afternoon is hockey. I started to get frustrated and I don't know… I just lost it."
"It can be frustrating getting back to the way of life after death," Robby mutters, "But wow, practice in the summer, you two are very devoted."
"Dad drilled it into us." He sighs, "We've been on the ice since we learned how to walk. Now it feels pointless."
"Pointless? You're life is just starting and it already feels pointless?!" Robby chuckles, "It can't be all that bad. This injury isn't a career ender." He sheds off his gloves, "Look, you're not going to feel better overnight, Eli. Take a deep breath and slow down. Or else you'll start to scare people."
Vivian returns with a small bag of chips and two cans of pop. She hands one to Eli and offers the other to Robby. He shakes his head, "You have it, sweetie." He stands up, "Let me get your splint really quick."
Robby goes to the nurse's station and finds a splint for Eli. He returns to find Vivian sitting beside her brother on the bed. Eli has his unharmed hand on her arm to comfort her. Most likely reassuring her. He places the hand splint on, keeping his middle and ring finger straight and covered by the splint. "Alright, good news Viv, your brother gets to live another day."
She smiles, "Thank you Dr. Robby."
"Of course. Now you have to make sure that he follows the home care instructions so he can heal right and get back on the ice."
She nods determined.
"Alright, Eli, you'll have to wear the brace for about four to six weeks. Make sure you aren't moving it around and hitting anymore walls. You can take some ibuprofen for the pain."
"Thanks" Eli gives a small smile. Robby returns the smile and leads them to triage after Eli signs his discharge papers.
"You can come back in a month so we can check on the progress of the healing." Robby pats the boy on the back. The boy nods then follows his sister out of the ED. Robby returns back to the nurse's station. After a few minutes, Vivian returns looking around confused until she spots Robby. "Dr. Robby, I forgot. Here's your change." She hands him back one dollar and fifty cents. "Thank you for the snacks." Her smile warms his heart. It was chump change to him but the thought that she was worried enough to return it made him smile too. He takes it from her.
"Thank you, sweetie. Take care of your brother for me?"
"Yes, sir." She nods assuredly before running back towards triage where her brother was waiting.
"Sweet kids." Dana says, "They're the kids of that MI two weeks ago, aren't they?"
"Elijah and Vivian. They are… strong together. You can tell they rely on each other." He says as he types on the computer, "Continuing on after their dad died."
"Does anybody know who's bag this is?" Perlah sets down a blue backpack on the nurse's station with 'Ice Princess' embroidered on the front, "It was on the couch in the break room."
Robby sighs, "My patient's sister. I didn't even notice her wearing a bag because she had a bigger bag with her brother's stuff. She must of taken it off when I had her go in there for a snack."
"You gonna call them back?" Dana looks over her glasses at him.
"Yeah, hopefully they haven't gone too far." He looks up Elijah's information then pauses. He could call the kids back but he could call you too. If Elijah is not doing so well mentally, who knows how well you're doing. He goes to Elijah's emergency contact information and pulls up your phone number.
He dials the number on his personal phone and goes outside to call. After the second ring, he hears your voice on the other end of the line, "Hello?"
"Hi, this is Dr. Robby at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Everything is okay. Your kids were here earlier and your daughter left her backpack here."
"Oh thank goodness. I recognized your voice and thought the worst." You let out a sigh of relief. You recognized his voice. He must have left quite the impression.
"No worries. I can't discuss the purpose of the visit due to HIPAA but the bag will be here if you want to pick it up."
"Yes, Vivian already told me. Elijah… did something to his hand," You let out another sigh, "I can stop by after work to get her bag. I don't want her getting too anxious about it. Thank you for letting me know."
"Alright see you soon." His heart leaps when he hangs up the phone. He tries not to smile as he returns to work. He slides the backpack under the nurse's station counter. "Their mom will be coming by to pick it up."
Dana gives him a suspicious glance, "Please don't tell me you're crushin' on a fresh widow."
"I am not. I know better than that." He bites his lip.
Just because he knew better didn't mean he wouldn't indulge himself. He felt this magnetic pull to you and your kids. He felt genuine worry when Elijah's name appeared on the status board. He sees distraught every day but the look on Viv's face was permanently etched in his mind. He never wanted to see her like that again
Then there was you. He wanted to know more about you. Be around you. Know what your husband fell in love with. Sleep next to you and wake up the next morning—
"Dr. Robby? May we present a case to you?" A voice snaps him out of his train of thought.
"Go ahead." He diverts his attention back to work.
It isn't until 6pm that you arrive. Robby sent you a text message about coming in through the ambulance bay instead of the front door. You were dressed in slacks and a nice blouse. You must work in an office downtown. Robby smiles when he sees you and pulls out the backpack. "Here you are."
"Oh perfect!" You sigh, "I'm so grateful these were in good hands. Skates are so expensive these days."
"I can imagine. Did you skate?"
"No, my husband was big into hockey. He played in college. Elijah plays hockey and Viv does figure skating." You sling the bag over your shoulder and Robby walks with you outside. You laugh a bit, "It's funny, he was kinda disappointed that he didn't get two boys to play and he thought he could try to teach Viv but she hated the gear too much."
"At least they still like the ice. Elijah told me, they've been on skates since they were little."
"Yeah, we live in Fox Chapel and there is a pond that freezes in the winter nearby. As soon as Eli could walk, my husband got him toddler skates to run around the ice on. And then they were passed down to Viv." You suck your teeth, "It's in their blood."
"Now, Fox Chapel, that's a pretty nice neighborhood."
"Uh, yeah, I work at an architect firm downtown and my husband was a software engineer for one of the big tech companies there too… I feel like I am just talking your ear off. You were just returning my daughter's backpack."
"It's not a problem. I am happy to listen." He purses his lip, "Do you have anybody to talk to about what happened? A therapist or counselor of some kind?"
"I do! And the kids do too. Outside of that, the world seems to just keep spinning. The funeral has already come and past. The facebook messages have slowed to a trickle. Family members asking for certain stuff of his…" Your eyes look off into the distance.
"Well, if you'd like, you do have my personal number, you can call or text me about anything." Robby's ears turn pink as he waits for your response with bated breath.
"Really? That would be okay?" You look at him with a smile, "I appreciate it. You've impressed Elijah today, you know."
"Have I?"
"He's been having a hard time getting back into hockey. Today was his first day back on the ice. His dad had him going to practice over summer and he didn't know if he wanted to keep doing it. He told me he wasn't going to get better overnight so he was going to try the later camp in August… Those were your words, right?"
"They were, I mean, his coach could have said them too but I knew that he was sulking." He shrugs, "I told him something I heard when I was a kid."
"Thank you for talking to him. I know he misses his dad's pep talks and was happy to hear that." You stop next to your car on the corner, "This is me. I'll uh, shoot you a text later."
"Sure, anytime." Robby clenches his fist refraining from touching you, "You have a good night. Get home safe."
You enter the car and wave at him before pulling off. He watches your car turn down the street and disappear into traffic. He lets out a deep breath before walking back to the hospital. He imagines what your house looks like. Fox Chapel was very nice with million dollar homes. He bets your yard was huge, and secluded, surrounded by trees. Private driveway away from the street. A big house that had to have at least 3 bedrooms… He could look it up but then that would ruin the surprise when you subsequently invite him over later on. He can't be impatient.
Months go by and your relationship with Robby grows. You text him every so often through out the day. You told him about the meaningless things. A meeting running too long, boring you out of your mind. Or a picture of lunch from the bistro next to your firm. Then you started sending him videos of your kids during their training camp. Vivian landing a triple axel or Elijah finally getting comfortable back on the ice.
You came with Elijah to his follow up appointment in the ED. His knuckle was feeling better so he took off the splint. That week he was back on the ice and you sent Robby a video of it. The first of many. Robby does the check up and you feel yourself getting nervous watching him.
You hadn't felt this way in decades. There was the butterflies in your stomach with the squeezing guilt in your heart. Like what you were doing was wrong. It was only a month ago that your husband passed away.
But you didn't stop and things started to get even more personal. You were calling him at night after your kids had gone to sleep. You'd be sitting on your couch with a glass of wine and talking for a few hours before bed. He had you smiling at your phone. Wishing you good night and sending you good morning the next day. Was that so bad?
On his off days, he would come with you to the ice rink where they practiced. You would all go out to dinner afterward. He would buy you all ice cream on a hot day. He was filling a deep whole in your heart with such finesse. You could almost forget the ache in your heart your husband left behind.
One night, you were left by yourself; your kids both had plans with their friends and chose to spend the night away from home. Your house was too big to be there alone. You text Robby to ask if he has any dinner plans and if he'd like to join you out for the night. You emphasize that it would be casual and that you just didn't want to be alone at home. Not that anything was wrong at home it was just lonely. Not that anything was wrong with being lonely you just hated being alone. He responds before you ramble on a paragraph more. "Yes, I would love to. I get off work at 7" He simply writes.
Fireworks shoot off above your head at the acceptance. You smile at the message and respond, "I'll meet you in the park across from the hospital. I know a place we can go." He sends a thumbs up and you take a deep breath trying to calm your nerves.
At 7, you sit on a bench and wait for Robby to get off work. You see him approach the bench and you can't help but smile. You can only see his silhouette under the park lights until he gets closer but there he was "Good evening, Doctor."
"Good evening." He smiles, "I hope I haven't kept you waiting."
"Not at all. I hope you're hungry." You bounce up from the bench.
"Famished." He pats his stomach. "Lead the way."
The two of you walk side by side. You talk sheepishly about your day. Usually you were in bed, talking on and on over the phone. You assumed he was probably preparing for bed himself, not really paying attention. But as you talk you feel his eyes on you. They rarely leave you to look ahead.
You arrive at a small hole-in-the-wall dive bar just a few blocks from the hospital. "I know it doesn't look like much but this place has the best cheese bread I've ever head. With a pint of beer it's basically heaven."
"I'll take your word for it." He opens the door for you.
It was small with an antique looking bar with old brass stools attached. A few booths line the far end and high tables surround the televisions as they play a baseball game. You lead Robby to one of the booths and order the bread immediately.
"Did you come here often with your husband?" He asks.
"Uh no actually." You hold back a laugh, "I had an internship on this side of the river when I was young. I'd be so high strung, I'd wander into whatever place would take me. I stumbled upon this place and fell in love. It was my little secret. He, uh, he never knew about it."
Robby refrains from smiling. You invited him in on your private place. A place your husband didn't even know about. What did that make Robby?
"I'm happy that you let me in on your secret."
"It's not that big of a deal," You wave it off, "It's near the hospital. I didn't even think about it until… uh— it doesn't matter. What are you drinking?"
"Whatever is on tap is fine" He purses his lips.
You stand up quickly and go to the bar to order. You rest your hand on your cheek as you feel your face burning up. An innocent invitation became more complicated. Well, it wasn't that innocent. You were thinking about Robby. You wanted him to keep you company because you have no one. You wanted Robby.
You are brought back to reality when a home run is hit and the bar patrons shout in excitement. The bartender sets down the two pints and you take them back to your table.
When you return, the cheese bread had arrived and the two of you dig in. Robby moans in satisfaction, "You're right it is delicious."
"I am glad you like it!" You say as you chew.
As you eat, you start to feel the buzz of your beer. "So, Dr. Robby, you would consider us friends, right?"
"Yes." Even though he felt it starting to become something more.
"Okay, tell me your juicy deets. I feel like I'm the one always talking."
"Well, I like listening to you."
It almost doesn't register to you. A passive flirtatious comment. You bite back a smile, "You won't get away that easy. So, tell me what was your last long term relationship?"
"Does the kale in the back of my fridge count?"
"Absolutely not." You giggle.
He leans back and sighs, "They, uh, don't usually last that long. I've kinda been on my own recently. I like it though. Being alone… with my thoughts."
"Convincing."
He shrugs as his defense, "I have friends to keep me company."
You give him a knowing smile, "Right, friends that bother you for dinner after a 12 hour shift. Who wouldn't want friends like that?"
"I would. It gets me out of my comfort zone."
"Oh yeah? A dive bar on a Friday night is out of your comfort zone?" You gulp down more of your beer.
"Being social is out of my comfort zone." He leans forward, "Listening, instead of talking. I find excitement in what you consider mundane."
Your heart feels like thunder in your chest. Your face and neck burned hot. You tap your nails against your glass and you take a breath, "I think you're trying to say that I'm not boring, but I'm not too sure."
"I am! I am, I promise." He nods, "I wouldn't hurt your feelings on purpose. Not after you showed me your holy grail."
"Greasy cheese bread is not my holy grail." You laugh.
"Well, now it's mine. I am telling everyone about this place."
"No! My secret spot. You can't." You pretend to pout, "I don't want this place over run with twenty-somethings."
"Weren't you a twenty-something when you found this place?" He chuckles.
"Stop ruining this for me!" You rest your head on the table.
The two of you continue to laugh and drink the rest of the night. You drink a way more than Robby does and feel your tipsy turn to drunk after your 3rd pint. As soon as you step out into the humid air of the August heat, you realize how fucked you were.
"Shit." You mumble, "I really don't want to leave my car here." You open your phone to order an Uber.
"I can take you home." Robby sees you stumble and holds your waist to keep you upright, "Give me your keys."
"Are you sure? I'd hate to trap you at my house." He wouldn't mind, "You can stay the night. I can take you home in the morning to make it up to you."
"It's fine." He takes your keys from your hand, "Let's just get you home in one piece."
You guide Robby to your car and he helps you into the car. You can smell his cologne on his skin. It has faded from the day but you could still get a whiff. It was less pungent than your husband's. A woody musk like rain in the forest. Where as your husband smelled like squeaky clean soap. It would give you a headache with its potency.
Your address is put in the GPS and you watch Robby drive you home. He was similar to your husband. Smart, responsible, and kind hearted but there were things that set the two of them apart. The way he listened so intently to you. He looked at you with soft eyes compared to sharp ones you were used to. You imagine what it would be like to see those eyes looking down at you in bed…
You quickly turn your head to face the window and roll down the window to get some air. You take a few big gulps as you try to swallow your arousal. You should not be thinking those thoughts just a month after your husband died.
You arrive at you home and direct Robby to just leave the car in the drive way instead in one of the two garages attached to the house. Robby was right, your house was just as big as he imagined, possibly bigger.
He helps you out of the car and he unlocks the door for you. He takes it all in looking at all the decorations. In the foyer are several family photos. School pictures, vacations, sports, graduations. "You've got a master's?"
"Uh huh, MBA, I went back to school when Viv was in kindergarten. We were going to school together." You smile. Robby follows you to your vast open concept kitchen, "Now this is my holy grail." You pour a cup of water and chug it, "It took a year of convincing my husband and another year to complete it."
Robby looks around the room at how nice it was, "I can definitely see why it is." A place he could get used to.
You pour him a cup of water as well, "Here, let me show you where you will sleep." You beckon him back to the foyer. A door sits at the bottom of the stairs. You open the door, "This is the guest bedroom. It has a bathroom attached so you don't have to worry about getting lost in the middle of the night."
"Thank you." He looks into the room then up the stairs. "Can you get up the stairs by yourself?"
You purse your lips and squint, "Good question. Let's not risk it." You slide your hand around Robby's back and his hand holds your shoulder. The two of you take to the stairs slowly. You nearly fall towards the top.
"Down this way is my room." You point Robby in the direction. He opens the door to find that your room is about twice the size of the guest bedroom. Your bed was massive.
"Wow…" He mumbles.
"I know, it's a king size. My husband insisted on it. I practically drown in it all by myself." You giggle. Robby sets you down on the bed and helps you out of your shoes, "God, you are so kind. How am I gonna repay you?"
He can think of a few ways but he doesn't say anything. He sets your shoes to the side and looks up at you. You rest your hand on his cheek and rubs your thumb over his scruff. Robby licks his lips. He doesn't want to interrupt your train of thought right now.
You lean down and press a kiss onto his lips. He hesitates before hold your wrist keeping you close. You deepen the kiss before pulling away, "We can't…" But you don't move away. You move in again, you pull him up to sit beside you as you two continue to kiss.
"It's okay, you're drunk. Emotions are running high." A kiss. "We can just hold each other." You're not stopping him; another kiss. "Pretend this never happened." He helps you swing your legs onto the bed and crawls between them as you move to the center of your bed.
You moan into his mouth as you continue. It's been so long since you've been touched. His fingers ignites fire on your skin. He moves down and kisses your neck. Your hands move to chest then over his back and through his hair.
"Michael~" You moan.
Robby moans in response. The first time you call him that is when he is on top of you, in your bedroom. You will be the death of him.
He starts to undo your blouse and underneath is a black lace bralette underneath. His kisses down your chest and sucks on the fat of your breast peeking under the lace. You sit up and rip it off. You then pull off Robby's shirt and kiss his neck to his chest. He grabs your shoulders and lays you back down, "Tonight is all about you." He kisses down your stomach and takes off your pants and underwear.
You black out the rest of the night. You wake up the next morning to Robby laying beside you. The both of you naked. What have you done? It hasn't even been 6 months since your husband died and you already have a man shacked up in your house. You feel the guilt in your chest but you can't bring yourself to cry. You stare at Robby's back and smile as you think back to the night before. You stay there for a few minutes more before getting dressed in fresh clothes and leaving the room.
Later in the morning, when Robby wakes up, he has a sick smile on his face. The feeling of your lips were still on his. He replays the night before over and over in his mind. He gets dressed again and comes down the stairs and finds you are silently cooking in the kitchen.
Robby sits at the kitchen island, "Good morning." He speaks up.
"Good morning, avocado toast or lox on a bagel?" You hold out two plates
"Lox please." He takes the plate from you to see along with the bagel is some scrambled eggs and bacon. "Thank you."
Neither of you speak as you eat together. You have no idea what to say. You wonder what was he thinking about? You can explain it to him that you have been lonely and that was reason you were so forward. You didn't want to ruin this relationship. You liked Robby.
But you had no idea that Robby liked you too. More than that. He wanted to do more things with you— to you. In the corner of his eye, he watches you fidget as you panic internally. He decides to speak, "Look about last night, you were drunk. You didn't have control of your impulses and that's okay. We can forget it even happened." He was never going to forget.
You swallow your bite of food, "I am really sorry about that. I don't usually get drunk like that. It's just been a while since… you know."
He smiles, "It's okay. It's all a part of a process."
You smile in return, "You are so kind, Robby. It's ridiculous."
"I am here for you. Also, you still kinda need to take me home so I don't want to burn the bridge too soon," He jokes. You laugh and pat his shoulder.
"Finish your breakfast and I will take you home." You finish your own food and place it in the sink.
Your relationship stabilizes after that but Robby doesn't want to take any chances. He gives you your space and only answers when you call. It wasn't often, you seemed to scare yourself with your behavior. But your kids were none the wiser which meant they had no ill-will with Robby.
In the middle of November, Eli sends a message to Robby. He got the man's phone number off of his mom's phone. He invites Robby to one of his hockey games during the month. Robby agrees to come.
At the rink, he looks around and doesn't see you around the stands. He comes over to the home box and finds Eli. "Robby! You made it!" Eli beams reminiscent to your own smile.
"Where's you mom?" Robby asks.
"Oh, Viv got sick so she's at home."
"Oh no, does she need anything?" He asks.
"It's a fever but mom says she's doing okay now." Eli says. "The game is about to start. I'll see you after." He puts on his helmet and the teams both get on the ice.
For a high school game, it was still an impressive game. Eli's team won 2-1. Due to Eli's size and speed, he played center. Robby remembered the boy mentioning that he was put in the new position for the season. And as you had mentioned a few of the mom's were not too happy about it since he had missed the camp with the rest of the team earlier in the summer.
Outside of the rink, Eli comes out and daps Robby pulling him in for a hug. "Thanks for coming, Robby. What did you think?"
"You are incredible, kid. I've never seen action like that. You have killer control." He pats his back.
"Thanks, coach is going to call some scouts from Toronto and Michigan. He thinks I have some potential."
"You definitely due. Your dad would be proud."
Eli doesn't respond to the statement and just smiles. It quickly fades when he sees a vehicle drive up. "Eli, sweetie, I am so sorry. My car is all filled up. Will you be okay getting home?"
"Uh—"
"He'll be fine. You have a good one." Robby squeezes his shoulder and waves the woman off. "Don't worry, kid, I'll take you home."
"That happens more often than you think." He mutters.
"Don't let it get to you. When you get to college, you'll be with teammates that will support you without the drama. Let's get some soup for your sister before we go home."
"Thanks Robby." Eli smiles.
In the car on the way to your house Robby speaks, "How is your mom doing?"
"She's doing okay. She's been looking kinda nervous recently though. She stares at her phone alot."
"I hope everything is okay."
"I'm sure it's fine. She likes to overreact about things. She never lets herself have fun."
"How come?"
"My dad…" Eli stares ahead into the darkness, "He had an image he wanted us to uphold and my mom was like a caged bird. The only time she ever looked happy was when he was away. At the rink or at home if he wasn't there she could be herself." He looks down at his own phone, "Even as he was hurting, he texted me to make sure my mom dropped us off on time to camp. She was worried about him and he could care less."
Robby just sits and listens.
"I can't remember the last time he said 'I love you' to her." Eli shakes his head, "I don't want to end up like him."
"You know not to." Robby speaks, "You see it now and know that isn't the way a woman you love should be treated."
"Yeah, it should be how you treat her."
Robby blinks a few times.
"I see the way you look at my mom, I'm not stupid. You listen to her talk and you laugh at her cheesy jokes. She's able to be herself around you. I think she feels like she's betraying my dad but I don't really care. I think she should."
Robby bites back a smile then chuckles, "Is this you giving me approval?"
"I guess so. You already had Viv's approval when you started coming to her practices. Dad wouldn't even do that."
Soon they arrive to your house. Eli takes his gear out of Robby's car and opens the garage door. "Thank you for the ride, Robby."
"Anytime kid." He smiles as they enter the garage and find you and Viv on the couch in the living room.
"Robby! Hi, what happened?"
"Rochelle, fucked me over, again." Eli sighs.
"Language, Eli." You hiss. "I'm sorry to that happened. Robby brought you home?"
"Yeah, he came to my game. It was nice that someone was there since you weren't able to come. We brought soup home for Viv."
"Oh how sweet. Thank you, Robby."
"Thanks Robby!" Viv gets up and takes the soup from Robby.
"No worries, you look better already, sweetie."
"Is it bad that I was hoping to get worse so I could go to the ER?" She asks.
"Yes. Very bad." He chuckles.
His eyes then land on you. You are already looking at him. Neither of you say a word. Your eyes tell him everything. You want him to stay. He wants to stay.
"I'm going to shower." Eli rushes up the stairs.
"Wash your hair!" You shout after him.
Viv walks out of the kitchen with a big mug, "I'm going to eat this upstairs and take my medicine. Goodnight Robby! Goodnight Momma!"
"Goodnight…" You both say.
You stand up, "Would you like to sit in the sunroom with me for a bit before you go?"
"Sure." He follows after you through the breakfast nook and into your indoor patio space. Although it was cold outside, it was insulated and warm inside. You sit on the couch and pat the cushion next to you.
"Thanks again for bringing Eli home. He feels guilty when he has to Uber home." You pick at your nails.
"Of course, he doesn't deserve that kind of treatment." He looks out in your yard at the fresh snowfall.
"Yeah, those women think they're building the next Penguins team."
"Training team." He mutters.
"I say that too," You laugh for a moment then turn to him, "Robby, I… I wanted to talk about the other night."
"Oh. Look, it's okay to have extreme feelings during grief especially when you're drunk—"
"I don't want you to explain it away. I don't want to run away from what I was feeling." You shift your body so you're facing him, "I like you, Robby. I enjoy your company, the way you are with my kids, and I am attracted to you. It felt like a betrayal because you aren't like my husband but I think that's why it doesn't affect me in a visceral way either; You make me feel like myself in a way I haven't been in a long time. My kids see it too. They think I'm fun." You laugh at yourself, "They never thought that before."
He laughs with you, "I am happy I can do that for you." He places his hand on the side of your face. "Because I can't stop thinking about that night. I could never forget it."
You lean in and capture his lips in a kiss, "Me neither. It was driving me crazy." You go back in for a hungrier kiss. You draw closer to him as you two continue, "I don't think I can live without you, Michael."
He smiles as he feels a chill down his spine. "I don't think I can either."
Some time in January, at work Robby takes a half day, Abbot comes in to cover him, "What is the occasion?" He asks.
"I am going out to Fox Chapel to play some pond hockey for a bit." He packs up his things, "I'm going to go change."
Abbot furrows his brows, "Fox Chapel? Who do you know out there?"
"His new girlfriend." Dana whispers.
Why has his friend never mentioned this new girlfriend? Abbot leans into Dana, "Who is she?"
"A patient's widow from over the summer. He won't talk about it but I've seen her coming and going more and more often." She whispers, "He said every thing was fine but turned around and is involved with her family."
"Family?"
"Two kids. High school hockey star and a figure skater." She says.
Abbot feels his stomach sink. He's heard this story before. A family, a big house, two kids. Robby was living a life that didn't belong to him.
Robby comes out of the bathroom changed and heads out through the ambulance bay, "Have a good night guys." Abbot follows after him.
Before he can speak, he sees a car pull up to the door. You roll down the window and smile, "Hello Handsome." Robby leans in and kisses you.
"You guys ready?"
The back window rolls down and a teenage boy sticks his head out, "Ready to dust your ass old man."
"Uh oh. Better put your money where your mouth is kid." He points the walks to the other side of the car.
You notice Abbot and smile, "We'll bring him back in one piece, promise."
"Speak for yourself." Eli retorts.
"Thanks Abbot!" Robby shouts from the passenger seat and you drive away.
Abbot watches on in displace. The stars had aligned and put Robby in the perfect position to take that family. Abbot didn't know if it was admiration, jealousy, or disgust that he was feeling at the sheer audacity Robby had.
It was his family now.
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