Go ahead, underestimate me.

Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.

After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.

“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”

His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.

“With?”

“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”

“Of course.”

You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.

“Uniform off, please.”

“All of it?”

He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.

“Just the top half. For now.”

You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.

You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.

“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.

“Hmm?”

“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”

“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”

“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”

“Really?”

It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.

“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”

“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”

“Thank you. You’re an angel.”

“Just doing my job.”

Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.

“Come work with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”

“…It’s tempting.”

“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”

You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.

“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.

“Yeah?”

Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.

“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”

“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”

“Poach me, you mean.”

“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.

That was all it took.

That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.

The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I need-”

“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”

Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.

“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.

“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.

“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.

Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.

“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”

“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”

“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”

You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.

“You should talk to him.”

“Me? … I don’t know.”

“He might just listen to you.”

“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”

“He respects you.”

“No more than he respects you.”

“You two have something different.”

Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.

“Different?”

“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”

“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”

“He has one. You.”

“Jack-”

He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.

“I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”

You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”

“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”

I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.

Instead, you say,

“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”

He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.

“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”

“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.

“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”

“Call me if he flirts with you again.”

“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”

“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.

Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.

You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Jack?”

The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”

You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.

“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”

He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.

“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”

“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”

He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.

“You’re unhinged.”

“Now you sound like Jack.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.

“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”

His brows furrow in confusion.

“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”

When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.

“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”

He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.

“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”

Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.

“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”

His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.

“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”

He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.

“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”

Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.

“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”

He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.

“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”

Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.

You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.

“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”

“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.

“Always.”

You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.

He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.

“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”

They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.

“See you down there, silver foxes.”

There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.

“Marry that girl.”

The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.

“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”

They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.

“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”

You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.

“As okay as I can be.”

“Me too, honey.”

You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.

“You talked to Robby.”

“Yeah. Did he say anything?”

“Only that I should marry you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.

“I- sorry… what?”

“I think he might be right.”

Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?

You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.

Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.

Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.

When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.

“You wanna get breakfast after this?”

You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.

“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.

“Even hash browns?”

“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.

Nothing will ever be the same.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.

He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.

Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.

“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”

“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”

It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.

“What? You all know I’m right.”

No one says anything else. They know she’s right.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.

You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.

It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.

Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.

“Hey.”

You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”

Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.

“What happened? You okay?”

He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.

“He… he-”

“Take a breath. You’re okay.”

You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.

“Sorry, Robby.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”

“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“But you’re not most people.”

There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.

“You know him.”

“You could say that.”

“He hurt you.”

A pause.

“…you could say that.”

“You don’t have to go back in there.”

“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”

“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”

“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”

“What I need is to be here with you.”

You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.

“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”

You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”

You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.

When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.

Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”

“Same old shit.”

You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.

“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”

“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”

He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.

“…You thought of everything.”

“No, Robby. I thought of you.”

He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.

“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.

You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.

On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.

You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.

You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.

“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.

“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.

You try not to overthink it. You fail.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What happened?”

“We need you.”

You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.

An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.

You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.

“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”

“Blood?”

“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”

“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”

It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.

“My angel,” he breathes.

You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.

“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.

“You’re O Negative, right?”

“You remembered.”

“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.

“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Always am. You too.”

“Always am.”

Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.

He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.

“I quit the SWAT team.”

You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.

“I noticed.”

“You did?”

You’re confused at his confusion.

“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”

“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”

He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.

“What is it, Jack?”

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.

“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”

You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.

“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”

“Have you noticed that I love you?”

You’re stunned into silence.

“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”

“I love you so much, I could cry.”

He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.

“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”

“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.

“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.

“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.

Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.

He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”

“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”

“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”

“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.

You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.

You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.

The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.

Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.

“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”

“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.

“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”

“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”

You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.

“Robby, relax. Please?”

He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.

Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.

The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.

His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.

“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”

He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Jack.”

“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”

Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.

He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.

“You with me, honey?”

“Mhmmm.”

“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”

Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,

“Robby.”

Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.

“Worrying about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Wondering about him?”

“Mhmm.”

“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”

Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.

“All of that.”

“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.

He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.

“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.

“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”

“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”

You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.

Robby.

You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.

“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”

You’re formulating a reply when he continues.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.

Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.

“Hey, brother.”

Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.

You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.

Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”

“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”

“I don’t-”

“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”

He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.

All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.

“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”

You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.

“Then don’t go. Stay.”

It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.

“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”

Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”

And he will.

Forever.

for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” you joked. One of his gloved hands cupped your chin, nudging your gaze up. The other dabbed gently at the cut to your forehead. “Am I gonna make it?”

There was a line of displeasure in his lips. “Not funny,” he mumbled.

“Sure it is.”

“No, it's not.”

You rolled your eyes before going back to focusing on him.

It was rare you got to watch him in his concentration. Usually you were in the middle of a trauma when he pulled out the serious face and things were moving too fast for you to even catch a glimpse. Now- his focus was all on you. You could study the creases at his brows and the flecks of grey in his beard.

“You ever notice you have these deep lines between your eyebrows when you're concentrating?”

“It's called age,” he said but there was the smallest hint of a smile there.

“Aren't you twenty-seven?”

This time he couldn't stop the smirk of amusement and finally you won.

Robby dabbed away the blood at your cut, changing the gauze. “Don't think you're distracting me.”

You hummed as he tilted your head into the light. “Distracting you from what?”

“Reporting him.”

You grew silent and looked away.

It was Robby's turn to stare at you, eyes without warmth, stern in ways he was with patients that didn't want to listen to good advice. You may be sitting on a bed in exam room four and you may have a chart written up but you were not a patient. “He was scared and confused-”

“ - he pushed you.”

“And I was the one that tripped and bashed my head.”

“He threw you down!”

You winced at his snap and then winced at the pain your wincing brought you.

Robby sighed with some sort of regret. His fingertips brushed your skin as he finished cleaning the cut and you couldn't help but think it was a deliberate move. He'd been so careful not to touch or apply pressure but suddenly the callous of his fingers were there.. “If we don't take care of ourselves nobody else will do it.”

It was the same thing Dana had said to you when she saw the patient push you down and run out the room in distress, hospital gown slipping on his shoulders. She'd taken you under her arm, stirred you to a chair. She was firm in both checking you were okay and that you were going to report him for hurting you.

You look past Robby, trying to see through the glass door. The Pitt carried on it's usual bustle but Dana kept a close eye out on you in the room. “Where is he now?”

“None of your concern,” he said. “The cut's clean, looks like you won't need stitches.”

“You've restrained him haven't you?”

Robby frowned. His head shook slightly in disbelief- like he couldn't believe you. “He hurt you. Jesus- you think I was gonna just tuck him back in bed- you think Dana was!”

You were used to the rise in Robby's voice, as attending it was his job to command everyone. You just didn't like to hear it risen at you. “He woke up, confused and startled.”

The patient was brought in un-conscious at the side of the road, a gash in his arm. Nobody knew his name but you'd admitted him and ran some tests while he was semi-conscious. He'd woken up as you were checking his IV and the next thing you knew hard hands were pushing you away. You'd taken the tray down with you and smacked your head in the process. Then he'd ran and then Robby had you in his arms, willing to pick you up and carry you off if it weren't for your insistence to walk to an exam room.

Robby's body heaved in a sigh as he put his hands on his thighs. “He hurt you,” he repeated, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

You slowly met his gaze as he got closer on the stall in front of you. “I've had worse.”

It wasn't supposed to be a dig but as his eyes met yours in a haze of dark anxiety you figured it came off that way.

Really what happened between you and Robby was ancient history. A whole six months since you'd stopped seeing each other; if that's what it could be called. It was really only one stupid kiss and several flirts that created the thick tension between you two. Nothing had ever been done to encourage it further, yet nothing had also been done to squash it.

Whilst his gaze remained on you, Robby got out his penlight and checked your pupil reaction.

“Any pain?”

“Well, the light's a bit bright.”

He put it down and with his gloved hands he slowly pressed around the small cut on your forehead, hands cupping your face tenderly. “Any pain?”

“No, you've done all this twice now.”

“It's procedure for any patient.”

“It's special treatment,” you grumbled.

Robby grabbed a bandage from the tray. “You're a special patient.”

The heat crept up your cheeks before you stared at the bandage.

“Robby-”

In one hand he held a bandage, in the other a small spider-man plaster that he so obviously got from pedes.

You stared at him. “Really?”

His cheeks tilted in a small teasing grin. “All we have, I'm afraid.”

You seriously doubted it but tapped the spider-man plaster nonetheless. “I'm sure I could have done this myself, you know,” you said as he peeled away the plaster. “Or at least got one of the nurses to do it. I'm sure you're needed somewhere more important.”

He frowned again. “More important?”

“There's a guy that came in with a GSW to the chest ten minutes ago and you're saying you don't need to be there?”

Robby's hands fell to either side of your face, gently taking your cheeks. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek bone. He could feign he was checking your pupils but you both knew better. “There's nowhere else I need to be.”

Six months ago you'd kissed in a bar ten minutes away from the Pitt. Every day since- you'd been fighting the urge to kiss him again.

At that moment, with his gentle touch and soft gaze, you wondered if he'd been fighting to.

“Look up,” Robby said with a clear of his throat.

You weren't sure what he was trying to check for anymore. Maybe he was just looking for an easy way out.

“I still want you to get a CT scan.”

“Now that's dramatic, I didn't expect that from you.”

“Any nasuea?”

You shook your head as Robby steadied you, sliding the plaster in place.

“Have you been drinking enough today?”

“Two cups of coffee count?”

Robby gave you a plain look as he yanked off the latex gloves, throwing them into a corner of the room. “Ten minutes rest, I'll bring you some food and water.”

You sighed dramatically. “Robby!”

He pushed himself up from his stool. “As you're attending I'm not asking, I'm-”

“Telling?” you guessed.

Robby hovered as you pushed yourself up back on the bed. You wouldn't say it but your head was hurting from the fall. Nothing more than a headache that some painkillers couldn't stop. If you told Robby that yes, you were in pain, you were sure he'd pull the curtain, change you into a gown and play doctor all day.

You lied back on the pillow as Robby plumped it and smoothed out the sheets under you. He was lingering and for a moment you thought of asking him to stay.

Your mouth had opened to ask when the door was nudged open.

“Robby, we got a car crash coming in five,” said Dana. She looked at you then, eyes crinkled in worry. “How you feeling, hun?”

“I'm fine, thanks Dana.”

She nodded once, offering you a small smile before leaving.

You looked up at Robby as his body lingered over yours, one arm stretched high above your head, the other lower. Your gaze flickered up and you could feel the warmth of his breath fan over you. “Ten minutes?” you asked.

“On the clock.”

“Then I'm free to go?”

His head tilted, a sly smirk playing around his thin beard. “I'm not keeping you a prisoner.”

You folded your arms over your chest, glancing away. “Feels like it.”

He chuckled lightly. For a moment his breath lingered over your forehead, closer than before.

When you glanced up he froze, hands clenched on the bed, his jaw taunt. It was as if you'd caught him in the act.

Suddenly you wished you hadn't looked up. You wished you'd let him do whatever he was going to do. Because once he'd been caught he straightened up and threw you an awkward thumbs up. “Ten minutes.”

You trace your finger over the plaster as you slowly left your room, creeping out like you were a teenager sneaking out of your parents to meet a guy. Except you were trying to avoid the guy.

“That was eight minutes!”

You looked up and found Robby at the nurses station, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Were you timing me?”

Robby held up his phone, showing you the timer he had counting down as next to him, Dana snorted. “Have you had something to drink? Or eat?” he asked as you leant over the counter. He was still watching you eagerly, waiting for any sign you were in more pain then you let on so he could send you back to bed.

“Thought you were getting me a drink?”

He rolled his eyes before obliging, sliding away to get you a drink. He turned back only once. “Don't go near him!” he called, the both of you knowing who the he was.

You saluted him, watching him go before turning to Dana. “How is he?”

She peered at you over her glasses. “Terrible. He's been worried sick, was practically watching you through those windows. Didn't blink for a minute!”

“Not Robby, my patient. The John Doe.”

“Well that ain't your concern anymore," she said.

“I want to treat him.”

“He's awake now, we've restrained him in twelve but Robby wants you nowhere near him.”

“Robby is over-reacting,” you sighed.

Dana lifted her shoulders. “Of course he is, it's you. You think he's gonna react rationally?”

Nobody was supposed to know about you and Robby and the thing that lingered in the middle. But somehow, Dana always ended up knowing everything.

You backed away from the counter, assuring Robby was nowhere to be seen. “Twelve, you said right?”

Dana huffed but lucky for you there were a dozen more things she needed to do. “Fine! Go! But take security with you!”

You saluted and headed that way. Outside the door, Ahmed was already there.

“Hey, doc,” he greeted. “He's been asking about you, said he wants to apologise.”

You weren't scared like you thought you'd be, stepping into the room while Ahmed promised to stay outside, just a shout away of you needed him. Your heart wasn't pounding as you slowly moved the curtain, finding the patient lying on the bed, restraints around his wrists and tied down. He wasn't thrashing about. He was calm, clocking you as you walked in.

“You're the nurse?” he said.

“Doctor, actually,” you said, introducing yourself.

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes or add colour to his face. There was nothing in his eyes anyhow. He was pale and the thin bandaging that had been done for his arm while he struggled was bleeding through. “I-I pushed you, I am so sorry.”

You were about to say it was fine, but it wasn't you shouldn't tell him it was. You could accept the apology but still acknowledge that whatever state he was in, you shouldn't have been hurt. “Do you know where you are?”

“The hospital?”

“That's right, PTMC. Can you tell me your name?”

He nodded, gulping. There was a thin layer of sweat over his skin. “David Brown.”

“And do you know what month it is?”

“M-March.”

“Okay, good,” you said, making a quick note of his name in his chart. You sat down on the stool, shuffling to the side of his bed. “Mr Brown-”

“David,” he corrected you.

“David,” you said. “You were brought in just under an hour ago with a pretty bad laceration to your lower right arm. You were found un-conscious. Do you remember anything?”

You watched the sweat bead at his forehead, his eyes scrunched as he tried to think. His breathing grew heavier, face morphed into pain as he tried to think. “It's okay if you don't.”

“I-I don't,” a stray tear fell down his cheek.

“That's okay,” you assured him. “I'm gonna order you a CT and a toxic screening just to rule out any drugs or alcohol in your system. Is that okay?”

David's head jerked in something like a nod before you door swung open, clattering on the other side of the wall.

Robby stood at the end of the bed, face red, hands at his hips. “What are you doing in here?” he snapped.

“Doctor Robby-”

He gave you no time to explain, jutting his head back. “Step outside please, doctor.”

You stood, slowly and walked out slower.

David called out after you. “I really am sorry!”

Robby looked back like he didn't believe him.

The two of you stepped out and you spoke before he could, beating him by a second. “I'm ordering him a CT and toxicity test. That gash on his arms needs to be cleaned and stitched up, it's bleeding out.”

Robby didn't care to hear it. He pulled the curtains over and closed the door as he followed you out. “What did you think you were doing in there?”

“Tending to my patient.”

“I told you to leave him.”

“He wanted to say sorry. Ahmed, didn't he want to apologise?” you said, looking to security for some help.

Ahmed held up his hands. “Oh- I want nothing in this!”

“If he wanted to apologise he could've wrote a letter. Told me to apologise to you,” he said, still holding onto his anger. “I told you to leave it, the guy attacked you!”

“Lightly shoved me from shock!”

“Have you seen what he did to your head?”

“Yeah, a small cut, doesn't even need stitches- that's what you said!”

“It's a wound! There was blood!” he yelled. “You are not to go anywhere near him from now on, do you understand?”

There was a new anger in Robby then, something you saw rarely in him. Dana had said he was worried about you but you saw none of that concern in him now, only anger. Anger because you hadn't listened to him not because of well fair.

“I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to be helping people,” you defended, your own anger not rising to his.

His hands balled into fists. “Help someone who's asking for it. I see you in with that guy again and you're on triage for a week, you understand?”

Where was that softness in his eyes? Where was that care he tended to you in the room all alone?

“You understand?” he snapped again when you didn't answer.

You knew if you turned there'd be several pairs of eyes on the pair of you. Watching, assessing, see how you reacted. Nobody had ever heard Robby speak to you like that because he'd never shouted at you before. “I understand, Doctor Robinavitch.”

“So you yelled at her.”

Robby thought he'd find solace on the roof, that with only him and the night sky he stood a chance at thinking things through logically, for once on the right side of the rail.

Then Jack's voice sounded behind him and the peace he was searching for fell further out of reach.

“Who told you?” he asked, head falling.

“Oh, you know,” he mumbled, shoes shuffling over the roof as he got closer to him. “Just everybody that was in attendance to your little show.”

Jack leant next to him on the rail, staring at him.

Robby could feel his eyes but looked out on the skyline that was more favourable to him. Jacks eyes felt like everybody else that watched him yell at you. He could call it worry- it didn't change the way your face dropped the louder his voice rose.

“You wanna talk about it?” asked Jack.

“No.”

“I heard she got attacked.”

“Or lightly pushed as she'd put it.”

“She's a soldier.”

Robby shook his head. “No, she's a doctor. Today she could have been neither if that man-” the words chocked in his throat. What if he had hurt you even more? Punched you? Strangled you? He'd seen it all in the ER and yes, you'd been hurt before but that didn't mean he needed to have you hurt again.

“I saw her when I was coming up, she seemed fine,” said Jack. “About to clock off, you sure you want to end the day on such a bad note.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me.”

“Come on, she always wants to talk to you,” said Jack. “And I only know that cause you always want to talk to her.”

Robby wished he could say that telling Jack about the kiss so many months ago was a mistake but he couldn't because that would mean kissing you was a mistake. The only mistake made with that kiss is that he hadn't pulled you back in, kissed you every day since. But he'd told Jack on one of those lonely nights when they'd each had one too many beers how much he missed you even if he saw you every day.

“I was so fucking scared, brother,” he admitted with a long exhale of breath. Robby slumped over the rail, catching himself. “Code hula-hoop was called and her name and I- I didn't know...”

Jack's hand was firm on his back. “I know.”

Robby nodded, head tucked down. He wouldn't cry, he wasn't sure how these days but he sure as hell felt like it. It had been a hell of day, worse when he couldn't join your side without you walking off.

“You were worried, you don't know what to do with that,” said Jack.

He could admit that much.

“You go home now, she goes home, you're carrying this weight to the next day and it'll continue,” he said, therapizing him. “You were scared you might have lost her?”

Robby glanced Jack's way. There was never any judgment, only a keen understanding he sometimes didn't like.

“You might lose her if you don't do something about it.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Jack shrugged. “Apologise.”

Robby hesitated, the words 'I'm sorry' foreign on his tongue.

Jack chuckled low in his throat. “Is that really so hard for you?”

He nodded and Jack carried on laughing. By the end, even Robby was chuckling through watery eyes.

“Okay, okay, let's try,” said Jack, straightening up, encouraging him to do the same. “Repeat after me, I'm sorry.”

“Jesus-”

“Jesus, you can't even say it-listen we'll go slow, I'm-”

Robby's phone rung in his pocket, thankfully saving him from the embarrassment. “Dana-” he answered as he spotted Jack's phone going too.

“Get down here, now!”

“What's going on?” he asked, though his feet were already moving.

He didn't see the way Jack looked at him, he hardly heard how Dana said your name because when she did Robby dropped his phone and ran.

“Robby!” Jack called but he was off the roof and furiously pressing the elevator button. He managed to slide past the doors before they closed on him. “What did Dana say?”

But Robby couldn't speak. He heard Dana's voice re-play in his head again and again. That you had been attacked, that they needed him. He couldn't think beyond that. Beyond you and attacked there was nothing.

Jack was watching him closely. “Okay-” he must've known it was bad too. “Okay, Robby, we don't know what's going on down there but you gotta stay cool, okay? You gotta stay cool or leave us to it.”

He should've kept a closer eye on you, should've sent you home.

“Robby if you get in our way I'm taking you out of there, understand?”

The doors slid open and Robby ran out, Jack quick on his heels.

“Where?” he barked out. There were no faces around him he could figure out, no Dana, no Langdon- so everyone must have been in with you-

“Trauma one!”

Robby burst through the doors.

The chaos was everywhere and he paused. There were more bodies in the trauma room then he'd ever seen. In between them all a body that he could vaguely re-call as yours. Your trainers- usually white- were seeping in blood.

“Can you open your eyes?”

“No respond to command!”

“Two stab wounds to the left flank! First one L-two, second L-five.”

“Is it the spinal chord?” asked Whitaker.

“Can't tell it depends on the angle!” said Langdon. “Jesus- there's too much blood, I can't see a thing!”

You lied on the bed, blood splattered around your clothes, un-responsive to everyone around you. You were letting them prod, push and pull when you'd hardly let him asses your cut just hours ago.

Hours when you were teasing him and he was thinking about kissing you again.

What had happened.

If it was a papercut you'd be feigning death.

This was the closest you'd ever looked to dying and Robby couldn't feel his legs.

"Doctor Robby?" someone called in the room but it wasn't you. You weren't responding to anyone. “Doctor Robby!”

Jack moved past him, body knocking his. “I'm here!”

“BP seventy over fifty, pulse one-twenty.”

Jack moved around you, pressing the chest piece of the stethoscope to your chest. “Push in two litres of O-neg. Good breath sounds bilaterally.”

Robby's ears were ringing but he could feel himself shake his head. “She's not-she's not O-neg, she's B-positive,” he heard himself mumble.

There was a sharp beeping through the room and Robby thought it was a strange sound for his heart breaking.

“Pulse ox ninety-three!”

“Do we intubate?” asked Mohan.

Your body jerked and as if you were the puppet master tugging on his strings, Robby found his feet and moved to your side.

He moved around until he was the closest to you, replacing anyone else at your side. Others watched, un-sure if they should've told him to wait outside like he was family.

Jack gave them the nod and the room moved again.

“Give me ten by mask, no intubation. Send a trauma panel!” ordered Robby.

“We need X-ray for a chest!” yelled Jack.

“X-ray can come to us! I am not moving her!” he shouted. “Help me roll, let me see!”

The blood on the front of your scrubs was splashed but as they turned you, leaning you on your side Robby's body slumped, something like a chocked sob wracking through his body.

He couldn't see the puncture wounds through the blood that soaked you. Just as Langdon had said it was a mess. “Jesus chr- oh god.”

“Pressure's up to ninety palp!”

“Who did this?” he yelled out as they gently set you back.

“The guy who came in un-conscious earlier!”

Jack looked over at Robby.

Robby felt the muscles in his jaws work and he grunted. “I'll kill him,” he grumbled.

“Robby!” lectured Jack.

But he wasn't going to take back his words. “He's fucking dead.”

“He fled the hospital,” Langdon told him. “Left his knife in the room though, they'll find him.”

It couldn't have been a scalpel, it couldn't have been scissors. The guy came in, found a knife- or brought one from home- to harm you. If Robby ever saw him again he'd kill the guy and deal with the consequences that came.

“Toes are down going, no spinal injury,” said someone else in the room but he was losing all focus that wasn't you.

Garcia walked through the doors, joining the crowd of people around you.

“Tell me you've got an OR booked!” said Jack.

“With her name on it! How we doing in here?”

Santos pushed her way ahead, a small and un-characteristic tremble to her hands. There was another unit of blood pushed into your bloodstream and Robby was seconds away from hooking himself up and giving you his very blood. “Pressure's up!” she reported, lingering over you with a light. “Right pupil five millimetres and reactive -”

Suddenly your body jerked at the light. Your head thrashed side to side as you slowly returned to consciousness.

“Huh... I-wha-”

“Hey! Hey!” Robby pushed his way to you, looming over you and catching your eyes.

They were wild, looking around before settling on him.

“Robby?” you uttered, lips dry, dried blood at your neck. Your eyes were looking around like you couldn't quite see.

“Yeah- yeah it's me.” His hand flew to your hair, brushing it back as your eyes were going from him to around you, panic rising in your eyes. “Look at me, focus on me.”

“What-what?”

“You were stabbed,” he uttered.

Your eyes widened and he brushed back your hair again, doctors moving around the two of you. They could've been right on his back or a thousand miles away. All he focused on was you. Your hands waved around, getting in the way of tubes and the doctors.

Robby grabbed your hand, squeezing.

You focused on him and he tried to smile, tried to make himself convinced everything would be alright. He knew it was a grimace.

He'd never hated his medical training more. Because he knew this amount of blood loss was bad, he knew stabbing so close to the spinal chords was dangerous. He knew you were strong and hated staying still for too long and now you'd be forced to recover.

“My pressure?”

“It's up.” He watched as your eyes teared up, looking away from him again. “Good, that's good.”

Your hair sprawled out as you shook your head. “Am I gonna.... will I walk again?”

Robby hesitated. “Yeah- yeah we think it missed your spinal chord.”

Robby knew that but he couldn't help the tears that fell, couldn't help the small sob that ripped through his throat. You'd been calm at the cut with your head, damn right comedic. Now- you were quiet, whimpering and crying in pain and there wasn't anything he could do.

He was a doctor, he could help and check vitals and squeeze the bag of blood slow.

But he couldn't move from your side.

You nod before your back arched in pain and you yelled out.

“BP eighty palp!”

Robby got up, ignoring the ache in his knees as he loomed over you, trying to calm the pain. “Do something!”

“Robby!”

He looked.

You'd drained the blood dry.

“What?” you uttered, voice trembled in terror.

“Okay she needs to go up, now!” Jack called out.

“Let's get her moving!” yelled Garcia.

You groaned in pain. “What's going on?”

Robby didn't know what to do. It wasn't a conversation of telling a patient what was going on or what wasn't. It was telling you. He stuttered lamely, lost as another tear slid down his cheek. You hadn't even cried yet and he was close to blubbering.

His head bowed to you. He was mumbling, he thinks he was praying.

“Robby-” your hand waved out in front of him and he grabbed it, squeezing. “It hurts.”

“Okay, okay, we're gonna-” what was he gonna do? He pressed your hand to his lips, holding it there.

“Hey, honey,” Jack appeared at your other side and your eyes moved to see him but Robby didn't let go. “Hell of a way to get into the night shift.”

“Jack-” you winced.

Jack looked from you to Robby, the same way he looked at the family of unfortunate patients. “We're taking her up to the OR now.”

Your fingers wiggled in Robby's grasp and he looked back to you. “It's bad huh?”

“No, no,” said Robby smoothing back your hair again.

“Your losing a lot of blood, and your foley output is bright red,” said Jack. “But we're gonna sort it and you'll be fine. You trust me?”

Your breathing was shallow, hard breaths hardly coming out. Still, you tried to smile. “Do I- do I have a choice?” your voice came out through seethes of breath.

Robby closed his eyes tight, as if he could feel the own stabbing in his heart.

“Robb-Robby?”

He glanced at you, your eyes fluttering shut. The little hold you had on his hand weakening. He fumbled up, hands holding your cheeks. “Woah-woah- open your eyes! Look at me- look at me!”

You mumbled, head lulling.

“Going up!”

“Look at me, open your eyes!” he all but shouted at you as your eyes were still rolling to the back of his head, wavering between waking and whatever else was on the other side.

“Robby!”

Robby held onto the side of your bed as the team around you wheeled you away and through. There was a stutter of shock waving through the crowd, fear chocking them, shock eating at them. There was police around, all trying to get a look.

“Talk to her, Robinavitch!” said Garcia.

He didn't talk to patients, he evaluated them, stitched them up when he could.

Robby looked up at Jack, hoping for help. He looked grave, watching Robby un-sure but people came back from worse. You'd come back. “Hey, hey look at me,” he uttered and squeezed your hand. When that didn't work he pulled at your eyelids and finally you responded with a grumble.

The elevator doors slid open and you were hauled in, Robby squeezed in too.

“Wh-what?”

He got a flash of your eyes before they closed again.

Your lips were dry and chapped but Robby kissed you anyway, pressing his lips to yours soft, not pushing afraid he'd hurt you but he wanted you to know he was there.

He smiled. He'd never seen you first thing in the morning, he imagined this is what it was. Groggy eyes, words hardly there but with less pain and blood. Robby pulled back and ignored the blood drying in splatters on your neck. “Are you with me, honey?”

You blinked and groaned in pain. “I don't-I don't know.”

“You're with me, yeah you are, you're with me,” Robby mumbled. “You look very pretty, even covered in blood, you know that?” he mumbled, trying to say it so only you could hear.

There was a huff of a smile followed by pain.

“You can't flirt with me while I'm dying, Robinavitch.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Robby grabbed your face, smooching your cheek maybe a bit too harsh. “You're not going anywhere.”

“You've pushed four bags,” you whispered. “You're gonna push a five.”

There was a huff of laugh from Jack.

Robby sniffed. You were too good at your job sometimes, ignoring the ache in his back as he leant over you. “You shouldn't be counting.”

“What can I say I'm over-qualified,” your eyes shut again but your lips moved in mumbles.

“What is it? What are you saying?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “What? Tell me.... tell me.”

But you weren't really there anymore. You were incoherent, eyes not really there. None of you was really there. “Robby.... Rob.... please, Robby.”

“What? I'm here, I'm right here, okay? Okay, honey?” Robby felt his chest cave in. “What's taking this elevator so long?” he snapped.

“It's bad, I know,” you said, fingers drifting soft over his arm before it dropped. “I can't- I can't-”

The doors slid open, a team waited on the other side.

Garcia pushed you ahead into the team, spouting who she wanted to scrub in, telling them all who she wanted out front watching. Your condition was a perfect teaching sort.

You weren't for teaching. You were for saving!

Robby wanted to tell as much as the team wheeled you away and Jack's arm came out to stop him.

“You can't go in there man,” he said.

“Like hell I can't!”

“No, you can't!” said Jack.

Any other time Robby would have argued more but he had nothing to say. He needed to be there, he wanted to be there but as soon as they cut you open he'd break. As soon as he saw inside your body he'd tie himself to you.

He'd seen over a hundred bodies cut open in his time but yours might break him.

Robby nodded, hands going to the back of his head.

Someone in the room cried and it took him a moment to realise it was him.

“Hey-hey-” Jack embraced him and Robby couldn't reach to hug him back but he could let himself down. “I will go in, I will be there, you know I will do everything to save her. We will save her.”

“Abbott!” Garcia shouted. “If we're moving, we're moving now!”

To save your life, Robby let him go and stood alone. He looked down at his hand as if he could feel the ghost hold of you still there. When he looked down, all he saw was the hair on the back and the tremble of his fingers.

Robby- for the first time since he was a boy- learnt how to cry.

He tried- boy did he try- to get back into the swing of things. Robby walked into the Pitt with red, blotchy eyes and a waver in his voice. He looked at the board, picked up a sixty year old patient with migraines.

“Hello I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robby. What seems to be the problem today?”

That was as far as he got before Dana walked in.

“No, no, no, no!” she said, putting the chart down and dragging him out. “I am so sorry Mrs Klepton, we'll get Doctor Shen with you in just a moment. Come with me.”

He was dragged out like a scolded child and shoved into the lounge.

“What do you think you're doing?” she'd snapped.

Robby had put himself in the corner, crowding himself in, arms over his head. What was he doing? Trying to be useful. You'd be up in the OR lord knew how long. If he sat and waited he'd go mad.

Dana leant on the counter. “What'd you think you're doing here, Robinavitch? Get outta here, go home! Better yet go wait for her.”

“I-I can't.”

“Robby.”

He could feel the tears start again. Didn't the human run out of tears eventually? They didn't teach that in med school. “I- I can't. I'm useful in-in here, I'm not- I'm not-”

“Right now there's only one person you can be useful to, so go to her.”

That's how he ended up in the OR waiting room, alone, not flicking through the magazines provided, not even watching the fish in the tank. He was just sitting.

Waiting.

At some point he'd taken the clock down to not watch the hands turn but eventually the sun rose and he was terrified like no other day.

It was going on 05:00 am when the door slowly pushed open. It wasn't with a rattle of relief or with a cheer, it was a slow push.

Robby thought his heart was broken before.

He was hunched over himself, elbows balanced on his knees as he hid his face in his hands and slowly rocked himself. “No... no... no...”

“Robby,” Jack said quietly. His steps were slow but he felt his hand on his back.

Robby flinched, shrinking into himself.

Where was the knife so he could stab himself?

“Robby- she's okay.”

There was a crack in his neck from how quick he looked up. It wasn't enough to convince him, his clinical trained mind wondering all the what would comes? Had it got into your spine? How much blood had you lost.

But Jack listed it off like he knew what Robby needed to hear first. It hadn't hit an aorta, it got an artery hence the bleeding but they'd stabilised it with more blood than they would have liked. But you were alive, though sleeping and they had no worries for you at the moment.

Robby nodded when Jack finished. He must have come right from the OR to tell him because he was still in scrubs and covered in blood. Your blood. “Can I see her?”

You didn't look peaceful. Robby had never thought how uncomfortable the hospital gowns must have been until he saw you lying in one. There was oxygen tube in your nose and an IV in your hand. There was some bruising he hadn't noticed before on your arms from the fall you took.

“What do I do now?” Robby mumbled. He was good at the saving lives part, he just wasn't sure what to do when they hung in limbo.

Jack patted his back, leading the way in the room. “For a doctor you're pretty clueless. You sit with her.”

Robby followed in, un-sure what to do with himself so he held onto either end of his stethoscope.

There was a chair already pulled up to your side as Jack busied himself on the other, checking your IV and BP- all looked good.

Robby had caught you napping at your desk once, fallen asleep while charting. He'd admired you for a moment before slowly waking you with a pen poked in your head. You'd looked so peaceful then- nothing like it now.

“Is she cold?”

“No- I don't think so.”

Robby slowly sank down in the chair and picked up your hand again. It stopped the trembling in his at once.

“I gotta get off, I'll cover the day, do something about the nights. Stay with her, call me if there's any changes,” said Jack.

“Thank you, brother,” said Robby.

There was a dull drumming in your head. Your back was aching and even moving your eyes hurt. Beyond all of that there was something else, something heavier.

Your eyes opened slowly and you found the lights ahead. They burned brighter than the sun, like every morning when you walked into PCMT. You tried to hide, to shield yourself with your hand but you couldn't move it.

Panic coursed through you. Why couldn't you move it? Why could you hardly feel your hand? Dear god-

“Hey,” a gentle voice greeted and you searched for them.

Jack stood over you, leaning at you bed.

Your mouth was parched as you tried to speak.

“You're okay,” said Jack in a whisper. “You remember what happened?”

Step by step you thought back. You were leaving, only checking on David once more before sharp pain hit you in the back and you were shoved. When you came too again faces blurred together and pain blinded you to them all.

There was Robby. Somewhere in all of that.

“I was... stabbed?”

Jack nodded, a small trembled in his chin. “Yeah you were. But you're gonna be okay, there was no injury to your spine.”

“I'll walk?”

“Twelve hours time we'll get you up.”

When you focused you could feel the ache in your arm as if someone was pulling it. There was something heavy at the end like someone was holding it, tight.

Robby was at your other side, lying on your arm and holding you down. His body was curved over, head turned away as his back moved in soft breaths.

“Thought I'd let him sleep. He's been up watching you since you came out the OR,” said Jack.

Robby. He'd stayed.

Had you asked him to? You'd wanted him to. Maybe he understood that.

“Thank you, Jack.”

Jack shook his head. There was no need to thank him, you knew that, but you were thanking him for the life you'd put in his hands and that he'd let Robby be at your side. “You want some time?”

You nodded stiff, feeling the ache in your back more and more. You knew you had months ahead of you of pain but you didn't want to dull it with drugs just yet.

Jack petted down your hair once before taking his hoodie off the back of the chair and leaving, closing the door gently.

In the silence you watched Robby a moment longer, matching your new breaths with his. The weight of him on your hand made you tingle as you slowly worked your fingertips back to life.

You tried to move your hand out from his weight but he stirred.

Groggily he turned and looked around the room, waking up more confused then you were.

“Robby?”

His eyes widened.

Robby moved up at once, looming over your bed as you tried to push yourself up. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” he fretted, eyes raking over your body like he was checking all of you were there. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“Robby-” you tried to protest.

“BP is hundred over eighty.”

You tried to entertain him, just as you had with the cut on your head. If you let him go through the motions just might just end up holding his hand again. So you let him try your nerves, let him ask if you were in pain. You let him ask you to wiggle your fingers and toes. You let him lift one leg and the other as high as he could before you winced in pain.

“Can you stop being my doctor for a second and sit back down?”

Robby seemed startled but hid it quickly. He realised Jack was out the room. “He should've woke me, checked you over.”

“You were resting, he said you'd stayed.”

He looked at you, astonished you'd think he'd go anywhere else.

You watched him sink into his chair, clasping his hands together and wedging them between his knees. Your fingers ached to hold him but your body was weak even talking. “You look tired.”

He chuckled low and smiled. His face was pale, eyes red, hair a mess. His entire body was slumped. “I look tired?”

“A nice tired, a handsome tired.”

You focused on your hand, lifting it enough. You watched as Robby looked down and took it without hesitation, he held it tight, grasping it between his big hands and bringing it to his lips.

You felt him kiss your palm.

“I was stabbed?”

Robby nodded, slowly. “Two puncture wounds, missed the spinal chords, nicked an aorta, bled out. That was our biggest worry but-”

“But I'm okay now?”

Slowly, he nodded.

You groaned, shifting your head aside. You'd have rolled over to show your protest but you had a feeling you'd be putting as little pressure on your back for a while. “Is Mr Brown?”

“The police are looking for him,” said Robby, without letting you even work out just what it is you were trying to ask about.

You nodded slowly, looking down to where your hand disappeared in his. “I'll report him this time, I promise.”

Robby stared at you, eyes wide with something you couldn't name. “I just want you to focus on getting better. On coming back... coming back to me.”

You didn't think, even coming out of an op and the haze of pain, that you could ever be where he wasn't. You think, no matter how terrible it seemed, that it was meant to happen this way. The stabbing and scarring that would no doubt end up on your back might have been the best thing to ever happen to you.

“Robby,” you whispered.

He must have heard something in your voice as he slowly stood and hunched over you, a hand lying on the top of your head.

His eyes were watering with tears.

You could remember faint images of this happening before, as you were slowly lulled to sleep by drugs. His hand combing back your hair felt like it had always been doing it. Like you'd always woken to him.

“Did you kiss me?” You didn't know where the memory came from, or even if it was a memory. It could've been a dream.

To his credit Robby didn't startle or flinch. He slowly nodded, leaving room for objection. He leaned over close to you, another hand cradling your cheek. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Robby inhaled sharply. “I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you months before I did. I wanted to kiss you last week and two minutes ago when you woke. I wanted to kiss you covered in blood and... I want to kiss you now.”

You smiled and it brought you no pain. “If my back wasn't in pain I'd be kissing you right now,” you chuckled and then the pain came.

Robby leant down to you, his eyes searching yours. Close enough you could see what was in his eyes, what he'd been hiding. Warmth. Admiration.

His large nose brushed yours as he kissed you slow with no rush of need. His hand was soft as he angled you so he could explore every line and curve if your lip.

Your own hand slowly wound up, around his head, stroking the back of his hair and resting there. He didn't mind the oxygen tube or that she couldn't reach up to meet him. In fact he kissed her like he'd planned it like this a hundred times.

When there was an alarming beep from the machines Robby pulled away quick, studdying them.

“It's just my heartrate,” you said. “Might have been beating a little faster there.”

He agreed but seemed solemn to do so.

You watched the crease between his brows appear again. “You know, if I knew I just needed to be stabbed to have you kiss me again I'd have-”

“Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

For the sake of his nerves, you didn't.

“You know if I'd have known that it was just gonna take me getting stabbed for you to sell that motorbike, I'd have got stabbed a lot sooner,” you said teasingly as Robby pulled into his new designated parking space outside the ED.

It had been a month since the incident but you were still reaping the small benefits that came with it. Like Robby insisting you stay with him to get the best care, like him getting rid of his motorbike to get a better car that was more comfortable on your back.

Like having so much time with him.

Mornings where he dedicated time in messaging the sore spots of your back and spreading an oil that was going to help the scaring. Like the dinner times when you read him a recipe that he never followed to the t. Like the kisses you stole in the night when he'd watch you and kiss you without straining to go forward.

Robby parked the car and turned off the engine. “If I had a dollar every time you said that,” he grumbled, picking up his bag and exiting.

You were still moving slower, still kept a crutch with you to keep weight off your back. You were coming back to work with a much lighter work load and you were sure Robby would be glued to your side all day like he practically had the month you'd took to recover.

Even before you could open the door Robby was there doing it for you, your own bag in his hand.

“You think anyone's gonna want to see the cool scars I've got, they kind of look like stars,” you said as Robby stayed close by your side, walking in with you.

“You sent them all pictures,” he said, mildly irritated. You and everyone around you seemed to try to crack jokes about the thing. He felt sometimes he was the only one who saw the near death wound for what it was.

“Excuse me- most of them asked for pictures.”

“Completely inappropriate.”

A few ambulance workers saw you, greeting you with smiles you returned while Robby waited next to you, holding up a polite hand in greeting.

It dropped, grazed yours and picked it up, holding on as the two of you walked in.

Usually Robby liked to walk in through triage, get a feel of what was happening but he wasn't risking that many foreign bodies next to you even though they caught David Brown and he was being charged.

Robby had something to live for, had something to protect. Nothing was happening to it. To you.

“It's good to have you back,” said Lupe as the two of you passed her at the door.

“Do you think that was a pun?” you uttered to him, rewarded with the smallest tint of his lips as he pushed open the door.

Loud clapping greeted you with some cheap, paper, party poppers when you walked in. Thee was cheering to and a large banner was hooked up, saying 'welcome home!'.

A place that could have held such terrible memories was brightened up as you jumped from one smiling face, to another.

Next to you, Robby stepped back, blending into the admiring crowd and started to clap too with something more than fondness in his smile. Love. A word that had woven its way into your vocab since moving in with him to get help for your wounds.

A word that summed up so much of what you had.

“You did this for me?” you asked.

“It was all Robby's idea,” said Jack, leading the cheering.

You didn't have to even move. Like he knew what you wanted Robby stepped over to you and kissed you. He always kept his lips irritatingly light, encouraging you to stretch out muscles in your back to join meet him.

You grinned against his lips. “I should be stabbed more often.”

Your dad’s best friend. Your dad’s best friend—the one who’s been around your whole life. The one who used to ruffle your hair and call you “kid.” The one who now has his arm wrapped around you like it belongs there. Like you belong there.

“…You okay?” Steve’s voice is low, careful, like he doesn’t want to break whatever this is.

You hum softly, cheek pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat—steady, strong… except it stutters every time you shift closer. “I should go,” you whisper, even as your fingers curl tighter into his t-shirt.

He doesn’t let go. “Yeah,” he murmurs, but his hand drifts up your back anyway, slow, absent-minded, like he’s memorizing you. “You probably should.”

Neither of you move.

The silence stretches… heavy, full of everything neither of you have said out loud yet.

You tilt your head just enough to look at him. His face is softer like this—no armor, no shield, just Steve. Just a man who looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” you ask quietly.

His jaw tightens. “Because I didn’t want to,” he admits. Honest. Always honest. That’s what makes this worse. Or better.

You don’t even know anymore. Your hand drifts up without thinking, brushing along his collarbone, tracing the line of it. He inhales sharply, like even that tiny touch does something to him. “Stevie…”

“Don’t,” he breathes, eyes closing for a second. “If you say my name like that, I’m not gonna be able to pretend this isn’t happening.”

Your heart stumbles. “Then don’t pretend.”

That does it. His eyes snap open, searching your face like he’s looking for hesitation—an out, an excuse, something to stop this before it goes too far.

But you don’t give him one.

“I’ve tried,” he says, voice rougher now. “God, you don’t think I’ve tried? You’re—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You’re off-limits. You always have been.”

“And you’ve always looked at me like I’m not,” you whisper. That hits. You can see it in the way his expression cracks, just a little.

Because it’s true. It’s been building—quiet glances, lingering touches, the way he started looking at you like you weren’t a kid anymore… like you were something he had to fight not to want.

“I shouldn’t love you,” he says finally, the words like they cost him something.

Your breath catches. “…But you do.”

His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek so gently it almost hurts. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

The world kind of… stops. No hesitation. No taking it back. Just truth. Raw and terrifying and yours. Your eyes sting, and you laugh softly—because of course it had to be him. Of course the one person you weren’t supposed to fall for is the one who feels like home.

“Good,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Because I don’t think I know how to stop.”

Something in him finally gives.

He pulls you closer, like he’s done fighting it—like he’s been waiting for permission he was never going to give himself. Your head tucks under his chin, his arms wrapping around you fully now, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. “You’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble,” he murmurs into your hair.

You smile against his chest. “Yeah,” you mumble. “But you’re not letting go.”

“You know you could have taken off these stuncuffs before we escaped,” Djarin huffs. “It would makes things easier.”  

He’s crouched down beside you, blaster shots whizzing by your heads as you try to get back to Zeb and the waiting ship.

“Maybe I like you restrained like this,” you murmur.

He lets out a low grunt and you grin, grabbing his bound wrists and dragging him to his feet as you fire a few more shots and make a run for the gangway.

Once you’re safely in the ship, Zeb asks no questions and prepares for takeoff. Djarin leans against the wall, breathing heavily.

“Can you take these off now?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice.

You shake your head no and step closer, pushing on his chest until his back hits the wall. Light fingers dance up his chest until they find the edge of his helmet. You lift, the pull deliberate until his lips are revealed.

You kiss them once, softly, before removing his helmet completely and leaning in, letting the distance collapse as your breath skims his cheek, then the line of his jaw.

“I missed you.” It’s a whisper into his throat, just hovering and you hear his rasp of breath.

Your hand slides to the back of his neck, fingers threading into dark curls, holding him steady as his lips curve upwards. You taste the spot, slow and teasing, and then claim his mouth, swallowing his satisfied moan.