Classic, with a twist

"They're three, Jack!" you said. "It's the perfect age. They need to socialize, they need routine, and I need to go back to work!"

Jack stood on the other side of the island, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in that stubborn line you knew too well.

His nerves were shot but his stance was unshakeable.

"They just turned three!" Jack countered, rising his voice to match your energy. "They don't need to be shoved into some crowded room with twenty other germ ridden toddlers all day. I work enough for this family. I pull the shifts, I make the money so you don't have to go back to work yet. Why are you in such a rush to hand our kids over to strangers?"

"This isn't just about money," you snapped back, tears of frustration prickling your eyes as your voice elevated. "It's about me wanting to work! It's about me wanting to use my brain for something other than cartoons and baby cups! You get to leave the house, you get to have an adult identity, and I am just here every single day!"

"So I don't get a say in how my kids are raised?" Jack roared back, leaning over the counter. "I'm trying to protect them. I work myself to the bone so they can stay safe at home with their mother."

In the twin's room, toys were scattered everywhere, but neither of them were playing.

Lily was huddled in the corner, her knees pulled into her chest. Her bottom lip trembled violently. When Jack’s voice boomed, louder than she had ever heard it, Lily snapped. She pressed her hands over her ears, tears erupting from her eyes, sobbing, completely overwhelmed by the conflict outside.

Luca, sitting a few feet away with a toy truck, froze. He looked at the bedroom door, then turned his eyes to his twin sister. He was only three minutes older, but the protective instinct hit him instantly.

Dropping his truck, Luca shuffled over on his hands and knees to the corner.

"Lily, s okay," Luca whispered, his own voice wobbling, though he tried to act big. He wrapped his arms awkwardly around her, pulling her against his chest the way he had seen you do a hundred times. "Lily, okay."

"They mad!" Lily cried out.

"N-no," Luca lied softly, patting her back with his hand.

Out in the kitchen, the argument was reaching a boiling point.

"You're not listening to me!" you shouted, throwing your hands in the air. "You never listen when it comes to-"

A small figure in the doorway interrupted you.

Your fighting mode stopped instantly.

It was Luca.

His face was set in a dead serious, completely overwhelmed scowl that looked like a miniature version of Jack. His bottom lip was pinched tight, his eyes wide with unshed tears, and his fingers were twining nervously into the front of his shirt.

"Luca..." Jack breathed out, his anger vanishing from his voice as if it had never been there at all.

Luca stopped right in the middle of the kitchen, looking up at the two adults who had just been yelling. He swallowed hard with worry.

"Lily cry- crying," Luca stated, his voice trembling. He pointed a finger back down the hallway, his chest heaving. "She... Lily cry a lot. I don't know what to do."

The guilt hit you. You dropped to your knees right there, your hands shaking as you opened your arms to him.

"Oh, baby... Come here" you choked out, your throat tight.

Luca hurried into your arms, burying his face right into the crook of your neck. You squeezed him tight, pressing your cheek to his hair, tears spilling over your eyes; not out of anger at Jack but out of absolute heartbreak.

Jack looked at the two of you before quietly turning and striding down the hall to the twins' room.

"Lily-bug?" Jack called softly, pushing the bedroom door open.

Lily was still curled in the corner, her small frame shuddering with hiccuping sobs. The moment she saw Jack, she flinched slightly, her eyes wide with fear.

"Princess... come here..." Jack’s voice broke.

Lily hesitated for a second before launching herself into him. Jack lifted her up, wrapping her tight against him as he sat on the floor.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry Daddy was loud," Jack whispered into her curls, rubbing her back in slow circles.

Lily pulled back, her small voice choking out through her hiccups.

"Are... 'kay?" she whimpered, her little hand reaching up to touch his cheek. "You, Mama 'kay?"

"Yes, my sweet girl, Mama and Daddy are okay," Jack murmured, his thumb gently smoothing away the tears from her cheek. "We were just having a noisy talk about adult stuff. But we're okay."

Lily let out a shaky breath, nodding, like what Jack's said made sense.

You walked into the bedroom, Luca resting securely on your hip. His arms were wrapped tightly around your neck, sniffling.

The moment Lily saw you, her chin wobbled again. "Mama..."

You dropped down to sit on the carpet right beside Jack, pulling Luca into your lap. Tears shone in your eyes, but you gave Lily the softest smile you could muster.

"Hey, my baby girl," you whispered, reaching out to stroke her soft hair. "Don't be sad, everything is okay."

Jack looked over at you and shifted slightly, sliding one arm around you so the four of you were pulled into one grounded knot on the floor.

Luca reached out his little hand, patting Lily's leg gently. "See? Okay."

A wet giggle escaped Lily's lips through her remaining hiccups, breaking the tension in the room for good.

-

But the air in the house over the next few days was heavy.

The core of the argument hadn't magically disappeared.

You were still trying to figure out how to bring up the work life you wanted back. Jack was still stressed, overprotective, and stubborn.

You were both walking on eggshells, speaking in polite tones, avoiding the topic of kindergarten entirely.

The twins, however, were tiny emotional barometers.

They picked up on the quiet distance immediately.

And they decided to take matters into their own hands.

— Operation 1: the forced hand hold

It started on Monday afternoon during park time.

Usually, you and Jack walked side by side, bickering playfully or holding hands.

Today, you were walking a few steps ahead, while Jack walked behind with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Luca stopped dead in his tracks on the sidewalk. He looked back at Jack, then ran forward to catch up with you, grabbing your wrist.

"Mama, stop," Luca commanded.

You paused, turning around. "Mh? What is it, sweetie?"

Luca didn't answer. He dragged your hand backward until you were standing right in front of Jack. Then, Luca grabbed Jack’s hand, pulled it out of his pocket, and forcefully smashed your palm against Jack's. He squeezed your fingers together, holding them in place.

"Like this," Luca declared, glaring up at both of you until Jack’s fingers naturally laced through yours. "Together."

Jack swallowed hard, his thumb lightly brushing the back of your hand. He looked at you with a soft look. You bit your lip, and you didn't pull away.

Luca nodded, satisfied, and scampered off to chase his twin.

— Operation 2: the snack emergency

On Thursday evening, Jack was sitting on the living room couch, staring blankly at his phone. You were folding laundry, keeping a polite distance.

Suddenly, Lily marched into the room, a baggie of goldfish crackers clutched in her hand. She grabbed you by the hem of your shirt, tugging with all her three year old might.

"Mama, come! Snack problem!"

Panicked that someone was choking or spilling something, you dropped the towels and hurried behind her.

Instead of a mess, Lily led you straight to the couch where Jack was sitting. She pointed a cracker dusted finger at the empty place next to him and demanded, "Sit! We need help!"

You looked over at Luca, who was sitting on the rug holding an open pouch of fruit snacks. "Lily, Mama’s folding laundry-"

"SIT!" she insisted, stomping her foot so hard her light up shoes flashed.

The moment you lowered yourself onto the cushion, Lily scrambled right up onto Jack's lap, while Luca climbed onto yours.

Then came the real reason for the snack emergency: Luca was holding the fruit snacks, while Lily was holding the goldfish-shaped cookies. Lily wanted fruit while Luca wanted cookies, so both toddlers bent down at exactly the same time to grab what the other had.

By leaning forward, they force you two to move, pressing you against each other until your shoulders and thighs are pressed together.

Lily reached out, taking Jack’s hand and placed it firmly over yours on your lap, all while casually popping a fruit into her mouth.

"Help hold," Luca ordered, his mouth full as he leaned his heavy head against your chest and you held his fruits. "Snacks and cuddle. 'tay still."

Jack let out a low laugh, his arm naturally sliding around your waist to keep you close as the twins babbled and munched away between you. He pulled you just a little bit closer.

"Guess the snack rules are non-negotiable," Jack whispered softly to you over the twins' heads, his thumb gently stroking your side.

"Guess so," you murmured with a soft smile, resting your hand over his, feeling a little relief after days.

— Operation 3: the royal coronation

By Saturday morning, the twins decided it was time for you two to kiss.

You walked into the kitchen to find Jack already making coffee. The silence was still a little thick, both of you bracing for the necessary conversation you knew you needed to have.

Suddenly, Luca and Lily trotted into the room wearing their plastic dress up crowns sideways on their heads.

"Mama! Daddy! Come!" Lily shouted, waving her wand frantically toward the living room rug. "Royal game! Now!"

Jack raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a smirk as he set his coffee mug down. "We can't ignore a royal summons, don't we?"

You followed the twins into the living room. Luca grabbed Jack by the hand, dragging him over, while Lily forcefully pushed you by the back of your leg.

"Daddy sit here," Luca commanded, patting the couch. "You're King."

"Mama sit right next to King," Lily instructed. "You're Queen."

You and Jack plopped down on the sofa. Luca climbed onto the couch and placed a king's crown on Jack's head, while Lily, also on the couch, carefully placed a tilted plastic crown on your head.

"Now," Luca said, both stepping down with seriousness. He tapped Jack's shoulder with a toy sword. "King Daddy protect Queen Mama."

"Always, bud," Jack murmured softly, his eyes flicking over to you with genuine warmth.

Lily stepped forward next, holding her glittery wand high in the air over both of your heads. She puffed out her tiny chest, her voice echoing with grand authority.

"I pronounce you King and Queen!" Lily declared cheerfully. Then, she pointed the wand right between your faces. "King kiss Queen! To make the kingdom happy!"

Jack chuckled. He looked at you, his eyes softening as he reached up to gently adjust the plastic crown slipping off your hair.

"You heard our royal high priestess," Jack whispered with affection. "It's for the good of the kingdom."

You smiled softly, tears of relief pricking the corners of your eyes.

Jack reached out, his hand cupping the side of your neck as he leaned in. He pressed a warm kiss to your lips, slow and filled with a quiet apology. You leaned into his touch, resting your hand against his neck crook.

When Jack finally pulled back, Luca let out a gasp.

"Yeah! Kingdom happy!" Luca cheered, throwing his arms in the air.

Lily giggled, waving her wand in wild circles before hugging Luca, pushing him to the floor.

As the twins babbled happily, Jack caught your eyes, his hand never leaving your neck.

"We're okay," Jack whispered gently over the noise. "We'll figure it out. I promise, my queen."

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

Robby rushes in with Dr. Al-Hashimi just behind him a second later, shattering the playful tension between the two of you with a thousand different questions. You’re left as the only resident in a sea of attendings and nurses; Dr. Al passes you the reins accordingly. “This is a learning hospital, right? Time for you to learn how to be the boss, R4.”

“Hear that, Abbot?” you joke as the older man migrates inevitably to your side, smelling of blood and sweat and the cologne he always leaves on your pillow. “I’m the boss here.”

“Well, you could try to be a little more humble about it, sweetheart,” he squints and tugs on a disposable PPE gown, which Perlah helps him tie in the back. “Let’s do some skin hooks— 4 Shiley. Sound good?”

You hiss through your teeth and drag the clear blue sleeves of your own gown over your shoulders, while Robby stands behind you to knot the garment in place. “I don’t really like the curve of a Shiley… Especially not if we’re about to rush him up to the O.R.”

“I didn’t know you were so picky.”

“Well, you should know better than anyone, Dr. Abbot,” you grin. “Cut me an ET tube, will you? 6-0?”

“Yes, ma’am…” the older man nods and holds back his giddy grin until he turns away from you.

Robby grumbles a noise of disgust in the back of his throat in the meanwhile — quickly realizing that the two of you were much easier to stomach when you were working night shifts together, and he only had to see you for half an hour in passing, at most. 

“Jesus Christ— Get a room, you two.”

“Well, technically, this is a room,” Jack quips distantly as he returns to your side with the endotracheal tube in tow. You make room for him at the head of the gurney on instinct, and drape a thin blue cloth over the patient’s neck, centering the aperture over the gushing wound. 

Robby moves to the opposite side of the bed and pulls the haphazardly placed intubation bag from the man’s mouth with careful hands. “One without me in it, preferably,” he argues.

“Ooh…” you lilt. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Dr. Robby.”

“Just focus,” he scolds in a gritty tone of voice.

“You need to find the second and third tracheal rings,” Dr. Al instructs, sliding between the crowd and motioning to his neck with her gloved pinky. “You’ll be able to feel them with your fingers— just make the incision through the cricoid cartilage and be careful to avoid hitting the vocal cords, yeah?”

She flashes you a dark, doe-eyed, and distantly unamused look, seemingly immune to the playful banter surrounding her. 

You nod once, scalpel in hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

You make the incision while Jack preps the tube. You work together with deft hands and a relative silence, aside from a few procedural directions. For the most part, the two of you communicate without words — you locate the man’s ruptured trachea in a sea of bright red blood while Jack slides the thin tubing to make an airway.

“I’m in,” he blurts after a few tense minutes. “Balloon up.”

The rapid beeping of his dropping SATs begins to even out almost instantly. 

“I’ll sew the tracheal to the skin,” you announce within a sigh of relief. “2-0 silk, please.”

Jack passes you the round of sutures with a proud nod and a quiet smile. “Not too shabby, Doc… We make a pretty good team.”

“Or maybe I’m just really good at telling you what to do, Abbot,” you quip.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “That, too.”

Robby and Dr. Al take their leave when the chaos dissipates, and Garcia comes down from the O.R. for a consultation. They trade the crowded trauma room for an equally crowded emergency department — slowly filling to the brim, like a pot bound to boil over. But, even still, it’s not nearly as tense as whatever you and Abbot have going on.

“Are they always like that?” the woman wonders aloud, nodding her tied-back curls towards the room behind them.

“Yep…” Robby nods with a heavy sigh, rubbing hand sanitizer between his calloused palms. “But they’re not usually dayshift, so… My philosophy is— let the night crew deal with it.”

You and Jack decide to follow Robby’s advice and find a room of your own — on the half-abandoned wing of the eighth floor, where everything smells like dust and time gone by, and the dying overhead lights only work a quarter of the time. It’s a good enough place to be alone with him, though; it gives you ample time to patch up the wound on his shoulder, and saves Jack the trouble of getting caught with the injury and being forced to fill out a mountain of paperwork accordingly.

He sits on the edge of the hospital bed with his shirt off and his broad arms crossed over his chest. The tendons in his freckled back twitch despite himself when you smooth a fresh bandage over his freshly cleaned scrape.

“Does it feel okay?” you ask him.

“Yep…” he nods once, trying and failing to get a peek of the gauze from over his shoulder. “Fine.”

Your concern doesn’t waver. Your brows lower with it, in a palpable look of worry that etches across your face. “You’d tell me if you were, like, in pain, though, right?”

Jack ponders for a moment, lips jutting faintly. “No, probably not,” he answers, too blunt for his own good.

“Well. At least you’re honest…”

You sigh and turn on the heel of your sneaker to chuck the dirtied napkins and crumpled wrappers into the bin across the room. Jack watches you go with something mischievous glimmering in his gaze.

“But I am fine, though— If you’re really all that worried about me,” he assures you with a quiet smile. “I’m a little banged up, but… I’ll survive.”

“So I can still come over tonight?” you wonder, half-shy.

Jack nods slowly and tilts his scruffy chin to keep your gaze when you walk the short distance back over to him. “Yes, sweetheart— I still plan on buying you dinner tonight,” he answers in a dry, sarcastic lilt.

Because that’s usually how it goes nowadays. You keep him company for a night, and he gets you food, pays off your grocery bill, or covers your rent — and then you go to work the next day like none of it ever happened. 

It didn’t always used to be that way, though, this quid pro quo thing that the two of you had struck up over time. Jack bought things for you because he cared about you, because he didn’t want you to go hungry or homeless when he knew he had the money to help. It was all a part of his job, he figured, to help his residents out whenever he could. But, somewhere down the line, he became more than just your attending, and a whole lot less than your boyfriend. It was more like a secret, third thing that the two of you never bothered to put a label on.

You frown. “That’s not why I was asking, smartass.”

“Well, that’s the arrangement, though, right?”

“Calling it an arrangement makes it sound like I’m your— mail-order bride or something,” you scoff and cross your arms over his chest, following his form with a squinted gaze as he reaches for his discarded shirt. “You don’t have to make it sound so formal, Jack. I know this is fun for you, too.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t…” he quips with a faint wince as he slides the thin black t-shirt over his head, grimacing at the burn that blooms beneath the bandage as he does so.

“And no pressure or anything, obviously, but, uh…” You trail off and swallow hard, struggling to find the courage to continue as your eyes flit everywhere but at the man before you. “My student loans are about to hit for this month, and I—”

“I know,” Jack interjects with a polite nod. “I already took care of it.”

You lose your breath almost instantly, for a reason you can’t quite name.

“…Seriously?”

He scoffs like it’s obvious and rises from the bed, towering several inches over you. “Well, yeah. I told you, sweetheart— You don’t have to worry about that stuff anymore. As per the arrangement...” he croons lowly, with a playful half-smile, before bending softly at the waist to press a fleeting kiss to your lips.

You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe to respond.

You struggle to finish the rest of your charting through the thoughts of Jack still plaguing your mind. You don’t think you’ve been so taken care of before; so seen, so held. You’re not entirely sure what to do with all of it now — these feelings that you’re harboring for your boss, of which you’re almost certain there is no room for in such an arrangement, as he so lovingly calls it. 

Because he doesn’t take care of you because he loves you. He takes care of you so you’ll come over at the end of every night, and remind him what it feels like to be a little less lonely. And even still, you run hopelessly to his side anyway — half-ashamed because you don’t even care that he’s using you; half-ashamed because you like it.

“Have you seen Dr. Abbot?” Samira wonders through panted breaths, disrupting your distracted train of thought. She enters your tunnel vision from the opposite side of the desk, and all of a sudden, you’re back in the E.R. The distant droning of constant noise fills your ears when you’re shoved back to reality again. “I’ve been trying to find him for, like, ten minutes at this point.”

“Uh… No— Not recently, no,” you stammer.

Her chest deflates with an exhaled breath. “Shit…”

Your eyes narrow as they scan over her form, frazzled and sweaty, with dark curls falling out of her claw clip to frame either side of her face. “You okay? What happened?”

She sighs and leans her elbows on the desk in front of her.

“Nothing, I just… I should’ve planned this better,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. She talks with her hands as she rambles, “My patient doesn’t have any insurance. And he’s already in a mountain of medical debt as it is, so I was gonna send him home with some supplies, right? But then I lost him, and I was gonna Uber the stuff to his house, but then Dr. Abbot said he’d pay for it, and… Now I can’t find either of them, so…”

She trails off with a deep huff.

You forget that it’s your turn to respond, too hung up on the fact that Jack had offered to help her pay. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but it hits you like a punch to the stomach all the same. Because you weren’t special, Jack was just kind; and you’re only realizing now that this arrangement of yours was never exactly exclusive.

“Sorry,” Samira shakes her head. “I know I’m rambling. It’s just… been a long day.”

You blink rapidly, clearing the haze of hurt from your eyes. “No, I— I totally get it. You should check upstairs. He might be with Hiro in the O.R.”

“Thanks,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, that disappears the second she heads back for the elevator across the room.

You return to your charting when she’s gone, but forget to do any of it. You lose yourself in the void of the stark white computer screen, instead, while your hurt and distant jealousy scratches at your chest from the inside out.

Robby watches from afar, giving you a few minutes alone, before dismissing himself from the interns and shattering your cynical stream of consciousness. “How’s the charting coming along?” he asks in lieu of a greeting as he walks to stand at your side.

“Great,” you deadpan, muffled into the hands holding up your heavy head.

He scoffs out a quiet laugh. “Not to say I told you so, but… I did kinda tell you so…”

You turn slowly, peeking at him with one glaring eye as he leans against the desk beside you with his arm crossed over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you question in a gritty monotone.

“I told you not to get involved with Abbot,” Robby shrugs. “Not until you were done with your residency— ‘cause you already repeated one year, and if you want that neuro fellowship, you can’t have Jack screwing with your head.”

“Oh, yeah?” you squint, feigning interest as you slouch back in your chair. “The same way you screwed with Heather’s? When you got her pregnant when she was your resident?”

You say it to hurt him, and you can tell that it does, though it doesn’t feel as rewarding as you thought it would.

“Yeah, actually…” Robby nods and scratches at the greying patch in his beard. There’s a hurt look swimming in his dark eyes that almost makes you cower when he peers down at you. “Look, kid. I don’t care what you and Abbot get up to in your free time. That’s not what this is. But I’ve known you since you were an MS3— and I know you’re gonna go off to do great things, because I’m the one that taught you, right?”

Your frown deepens.

He smiles wider. “I just don’t want some relationship getting in your head, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s not, so…” you trail off with a less than convincing waver in your voice. 

“Really?” he hums, eyes narrowing in a challenging squint. “Have you checked in with that fellowship you wanted?”

You smack your lips against your teeth. “Not yet…”

“And why’s that?”

“When did you become my mom, exactly, Dr. Robby?” you joke and spin in your chair to face him. “‘Cause it feels a little like you’re reprimanding me here—”

“I am reprimanding you,” he tells you, only partially joking, before turning at the distant call of his name. He stands to full height again and flashes you a playfully stern look as he walks away. “Take care of it, alright? Or else I’m grounding you.”

“For how long?” you call after him.

“However long it takes to get your head out of your ass—”

You’re left reeling for the rest of the day, trapped in a merciless cycle of want and unwavering doubt. 

Jack is not yet close enough, even when he’s all but smothering you in the center of his bed, pressing you into the mussed sheets below with his broad body propped on top of yours. He smells distinctly of sweat, stale cologne, and the steak dinner he took you to after your shift ended. 

You wrap your arms around his freckled shoulders in a feeble attempt to pull him impossibly closer, careful to avoid the bandage still stuck on his left shoulder blade. You bury your nose in his greying curls while he sprinkles warm, wet kisses along the tendons of your neck, relishing in the salty tang of sweat staining your skin.

But even as he slots himself between your spread thighs, even as he marks his territory in the lovebites he litters on your collarbone, you can’t shake the feeling that he’d rather be somewhere else — that there’s someone else he’s thinking of, someone else he’ll call after you’ve left for home, someone else he’ll take care of when you’re gone.

The train of thought leads you inevitably back to the root of your cynicism, which you struggle to shake out of your mind once the visual has entered it.

“Did you ever find Samira?” you hear yourself ask, shattering the honeyed quiet of his lamplit bedroom. 

Jack’s head is far too cloudy to hear you properly the first time. 

He pulls away from you with a quiet smack and sits back on his haunches. Your hands fall to your stomach, clad only in a thin white tank top, while his rest over your bare thighs, propped on either side of his waist. Your cotton panties are the only thing keeping you hidden from him now, and his form-fitting boxers cradle a hardening length that threatens to make your mouth water.

He wears a swirled look of confusion across his scruffy face, along with his spit on his swollen, kissbitten mouth, as he asks, “Did I ever find what?”

“Samira,” you echo, brows raised to your hairline. “She was looking for you a little bit before we left— Said she needed your help paying for something.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Jack hums, pale shoulders bouncing in a lazy shrug. “Her patient needed some supplies Ubered to his house, so… I took care of it. No big deal.”

He bends down to kiss you again, but freezes with his nose pressed against the bridge of yours when he feels you tense below him. His heavy sigh fans warm across your jaw before he sits back again, features screwed in a faint grimace.

“And I’m realizing now that that’s probably not the best phrase to use, but… I was just helping out a friend— a patient, actually,” he rambles. “That’s it.”

Your eyes narrow in a playful squint. 

“That’s it?” you echo.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Jack scoffs and shifts between your thighs, lifting your hips with his wide hands cradling your ass and bending at the waist to press his mouth over the bow in the center of your underwear. “The only girl getting her student loans paid off by me, is you.”

He leaves another chaste kiss on the cotton of your panties, right over the place where you throb like a heartbeat for him. Your stomach blooms with warmth.

“Because I’m special or because you don’t have the money to afford anyone else?” you ask.

Jack squints, light eyes glimmering with mischief in the low light. “Because you’re special and because I don’t have the money to afford anyone else. How about that?”

You roll your eyes despite the soft smile hinting at the corners of your mouth. “Just get to work, Dr. Abbot,” you scold in a distant monotone.

“With pleasure,” he mumbles, right before sliding his fingers through the hem of your underwear, pulling them to the side, and kissing your glittering pussy the way he would your mouth.

The lamplit bedroom swells with panted breaths and the heavy scent of sex. 

Jack slouches against the headboard, heavy-eyed and wearing a mixture of your cum and spit down to his scruffy chin. His toned chest is coated in a thin layer of hair and glittering sweat. You watch a rogue bead trail down his sternum from where you’re perched on top of him — with the sheets bunched around your hips, and your thighs straddling his waist. Your pussy still clenches with the aftershocks of your orgasm while his spent cock softens slowly inside of you. 

His calloused hands trail slowly up and down the length of your torso — from your shoulder blades, down to your ribs, over the bend of your waist, and up again. His touch is softer than summer rain, warmer than the cum leaking slowly out of you now.

“Do you think you could write me a letter of recommendation?” you ask, tracing the freckles on his chest with your pointer finger. “You know, for the neuro fellowship we talked about?”

“Wow…” Jack croons drily, brows raised to his hairline. His words slur slightly together as he comes down from the remnants of his high. “No aftercare, huh? Not even a little pillow talk? Just… straight to the point?”

You flash him a playfully stern look from beneath your lashes, lips quirking in a shy smile. “‘M just asking a question…”

“Yeah, while I’m still inside you,” he scoffs a tired laugh. “You know you don’t have to sex with me to get what you want—”

You frown. “That’s not what I was—”

“—You can just ask.”

“I’m having sex with you because I like it, Jack,” you blurt, very foreignly stern with him, as your eyes harden in a glare. “And I’m asking you for a letter of rec because I respect your opinion—”

“And because you don’t trust Robby to give you a good one, I’m assuming?” he quips with an arched brow.

“Exactly,” you nod.

Jack laughs. You can feel it rumbling in his chest beneath your palms. “I’ll e-mail it to you later. How about that?”

“There’s no rush,” you assure him. “Seriously. I haven’t even applied for it yet—”

“Don’t worry about it. I already wrote it.”

He steals the breath from your lungs for the second, third, or hundredth time that day.

“You already wrote it?” you echo, brows furrowed. “When?”

“When you told me about it the first time,” he confesses, bouncing a bare shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I knew you’d need a letter of rec eventually, so... I wrote while I had some free time and just… waited for you to ask, I guess.”

Your face screws with skepticism. It burns somewhere in your chest, too. 

Even with him softening inside of you, leaking out of you, you can’t help but feel slightly suspicious of his sincerity. You still can’t quite believe that he cares about you this much.

“…Really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs and squeezes gently at your sides. “Why do you look so shocked? I do care about you outside of… all this. You know that, right?”

“I didn’t…” you confess, painfully shy, and lacking the courage to meet his gaze for several long moments. You focus instead on your hands, and the shapes you trace along his chest. “Not until now…”

“Well, what do I gotta do to prove it to you, huh?” Jack asks within a huff as he rises from his slouched position against the headboard. 

The mattress creaks softly as his weight shifts. His warm chest presses firmly to yours, smothering your breasts against his heartbeat, as he cradles you to his chest. His glittering eyes dart back and forth between the two of yours as he says, “I’ve already given you everything, sweetheart…”

“I don’t want everything,” you murmur with a shake of your head, unable to tear your gaze from his attentive one. “I just want you.” 

"helloo?" you questioned into the phone, sat on your balcony as you painted your nails. you always were one to answer unrecognized numbers. it excited you. "y/n?" sammy hesitated to speak, loosening his tie a little bit. you couldn't help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the sound of his voice. "is this sammy?' you cooed, setting your nail polish down to fan at your toenails. you could hear the hard swallow he did through the phone, a wide grin spreading across your lips. "got so scared, sammy. was worried you weren't going to call me back," your voice came out as a whine, the sound having sammy chubbed up immediately in his slacks. "i-uhh.. i got busy with work. sorry," he spoke, hand immediately going to just his half hard dick in his pants.

it was quiet for a moment, before a small giggle left your lips. "so you called. does that mean you want to come over? yknow for the report," you hummed, chewing on your bottom lip as you immediately stood. you had zero plan to tell him what happened. you just wanted to see how far he'd let you go. it was like you could hear him fighting with himself in his mind over whether or not he was actually going to come. you felt a slight bit of guilt trying to coax the freshly divorced officer to your help. you only wanted to take his mind off of things. "i'm going to take your silence as a yes. i'll text you my address. see you soon sammy," you spoke quickly, a little giggle leaving your lips. "wait i-," he started but was immediately cut off to the sound of the phone call dropping, his head immediately throwing back against the couch.

poor oblivious man thought he really was coming over to take a report from you. he didn't even change out of his work clothes, his tie laying loose around his neck as he drove to the address you sent him. his head was spilling with hundreds of thoughts. why was he doing this? why didn't you just make the report at the station? what color panties were you wearing? he hadn't realized he was already there, parked outside of the apartment. what he didn't see was you peeking out of the curtain, a slick smile on your lips as you moved back at the sight of him walking up to the door. you did a once over of yourself in the mirror, a satisfied smirk on your face as the doorbell rang.

The bedroom is nearly pitch-black when your eyes pop open, the silence of the house heavy, only broken by the faint sound of the air conditioning lightly blowing. For a moment, you take in your surroundings, staring at the shadowy ceiling, slightly confused. The room smells like crisp linen and cedar, and the familiar scent brings to mind the memory of lying on Brendon’s couch. He must’ve carried you to bed after you fell asleep tucked against his side while watching a movie last night.

Suddenly, you feel a sticky sensation between your legs. An involuntary whimper escapes from your lips, panic surging hot and sharp in your body, snapping you immediately from the haze of sleep. You scramble off the edge of the mattress, your legs feeling a bit wobbly as you stumble blindly across the hardwood floors into the ensuite bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind you. 

You flick on the light, squinting at the brightness. Your predictions are confirmed when you sit on the toilet. Your stomach plummets as you stare at the dark red patch that stands stark against the light pink fabric of your pajama shorts. Your period wasn’t supposed to start for five days, and you can’t help but feel a little betrayed by your own body when you take in the blood staining your clothes, damp between your legs as you hurry to clean yourself up.

Desperate to contain the mess, not wanting to cause a scene, you finish your business and start silently opening drawers and cabinets. Your fingers graze against stacks of clean hand towels, extra bottles of shampoo, face wash, searching every corner for a stray pad or tampon. When your hand hits a bottle of mouthwash, nearly knocking it over with a thud, you draw back, resigned to the fact that Brendon has nothing. To be expected, you suppose, but the panic of being trapped in your boyfriend’s bathroom in the middle of the night with zero supplies to keep you from bleeding everywhere makes your eyes sting.

You tiptoe back out into the darkness of the bedroom, hoping you might be able to find a pair of clean underwear that you can wrap some toilet paper around to quell the possibility of a further mess. But as you reach your side of the bed, your heart drops down into your stomach. Right in the center of Brendon’s crisp cream sheets sits a dark crimson stain. 

You stare at it, your chest tightening. It’s so obvious against the pristine fabric that you feel like it has grown a pair of eyes to glare right back at you. You’d been looking forward to this for a week, daydreaming about a perfect cozy morning, tucked against Brendon in bed. Instead, you’ve ruined his bedding the very first night sleeping over.

Your eyes stay locked on the stain, willing it to go away with your mind, and you internally curse yourself for not having magical cleaning powers that can make it float off of the cream fabric and evaporate into the air like it never existed.

“Brendon?” Your voice cracks, tiny and trembling, just as sheepish as you feel.

You reach out, fingers trembling as you tap his shoulder lightly. He stirs a moment later, blinking sleepily up at you, but the second he notes your teary eyes and your meek stance, he sits up, entirely focused.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened, baby?” He asks softly, his voice thick with concern, chest bare when the duvet falls to his waist.

“I am so, so sorry,” you sniffle, gesturing to your side of the bed with a shaking hand. “I go-got my period. It’s on the bed, and the sh-sheets are ruined. I didn’t mean to, Bren, I swear to you, I didn’t know-”

He doesn’t even spare a glance at the sheets, his focus entirely trained on you. He stands up, taking your hands into his own to gently stop them from anxiously fiddling with the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s completely okay. I’m not mad at you, baby.” He takes your face in both of his big hands, his thumbs brushing just underneath your eyes where tears have begun to pool, threatening to slip down your cheeks.

“But the sheets-” You repeat, bottom lip wobbling at the sight over his shoulder.

“The sheets can be cleaned. It’s just fabric. I’m not upset.” He steps back, leaning over to strip the fitted sheet off the corner of the bed for emphasis, and rolls it up so the blood is hidden from your eyes. “Go get in the shower and warm up. I’ll order whatever supplies you need, and I’ll get you some clothes to change into. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

You fiddle with the temperature gauge on the overly fancy shower when the water cascades down your shoulders, nearly burning you. Once it reaches a comfortable temperature, you step underneath the stream, letting the warmth soothe the tension knotting in your muscles. The heat quickly fills the glass shower, creating a steamy cocoon away from the rest of the apartment, and you tilt your head back, letting the water fall over your face as you try to rinse away the lingering shame from your chest, the sight of the stained sheets burned into your brain. 

Tonight was the first planned night you were going to spend at Brendon’s place, and you had been anticipating it with much excitement, giddy at the prospect of getting to wake up next to him before spending a lazy morning in his bed, wrapped in his arms. Instead, you’d caused a bloody mess.

You reach for the body wash, squeezing it out, the familiar scent of Brendon’s soap filling the air, wrapping around you like a balm to your anxiety. You scrub thoroughly, focusing intently on the space between your legs, desperate to get completely clean as you let the hot water and steam push away the dull ache in your lower abdomen. Brendon handled the situation with the same calm he does everything, but even still, you can’t help but sigh, your forehead falling against the cool wall for a moment as the quiet of the bathroom settles over you.

After several minutes underneath the steady stream of the rainfall shower head, the tight embarrassment slowly begins to fade from your chest, and you let out slow breaths, grateful that your lungs are filling easier than before.

A soft knock on the glass shower door startles you from your thoughts, but you instantly relax when you see Brendon’s familiar face. He slides the door open just enough to be able to talk to you over the sound of the water, the steam pouring out into the cool air of the large bathroom. Behind him, a stack of clothes sits neatly folded on the bathroom counter: an oversized shirt branded with the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine logo, a clean pair of boxers, and sweatpants. All of them are deep colors, and you immediately know he did that intentionally so you didn’t have to spend the rest of the day worrying about accidentally staining more of his things. 

“The boxers are the only underwear I have,” he says, noticing your gaze. “I ordered a pack of pads and tampons, and there should be some underwear coming too.” He confirms quietly, his arms bracing the shower door above him, making the muscles in his biceps all the more obvious. “They will be here in twenty minutes, so you don’t need to worry.”

You let out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Bren.”

“Can I come in with you?” He asks softly, his voice tentative as he gives you room to decide. The gentleness in his tone makes your heart ache, and you wonder momentarily if you’ll ever get used to the tenderness he treats you with, especially when you don’t exactly feel deserving of it.

You nod, keeping your hands clasped together near your thighs. He makes quick work of his pajama pants before stepping into the large shower. He sits down on the built-in marble bench, and you realize instantly that he’s purposely lowering himself so he isn’t looming intimidatingly over you. You’re told to do it at work on a daily basis, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your chest tighten.

“I should’ve known,” you murmur, your voice muffled by the sound of the water cascading around you. You fix your gaze on the edge of the marble bench, unable to find the confidence needed to meet his own. “I had some cramping last night, but my period wasn’t due for another five days, so I thought it would be okay. The app is usually pretty accurate, and I just assumed.”

Brendon doesn’t respond, doesn’t fall into a clinical explanation of premenstrual symptoms or a lecture about how you’ve ruined his expensive sheets. He just reaches out wordlessly, his hands gentle as he tugs you closer to him. He guides you down onto his lap, helping you settle comfortably against him, your thighs slotted on the sides of his own. 

“You couldn’t have predicted it,” he says softly, his thumb rubbing circles along your hip as he presses a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek. “I see blood every day at work. I promise you, I don’t care about a little bit of it here. A little period blood is like a drop in the sea compared to some of the surgeries I perform.” 

He kisses along your jawbone before adding, “I already changed the sheets. The old ones will wash out just fine, so I don’t want you to feel guilty about that, okay?”

You nod, hollowing out your cheeks as you stare firmly at his chest, still struggling with the embarrassment that lingers in your own.

“Are you still cramping?” He asks softly, running his fingers along your back in a soothing pattern. When you tell him yes, he presses a big hand flat against your abdomen. The warmth settles right over your aching uterus as he softly massages the area, the heat from his palm immediately beginning to take the edge off of the cramps. The combination of his steady touch and the warm shower relieves the pain, and you let out a long breath, finally feeling the tension start to drain from your body.

Still, the voices in the back of your head are too stubborn to let you off easy, and you mutter an apology again, “I’m still really sorry. I wanted tonight to be fun and romantic, and I’ve ruined it all. You’re probably grossed out.”

Brendon tuts, his breath fanning out across your damp skin, as he leans in close to catch your gaze. “Baby, tonight has been fun. I’ve enjoyed every moment with you.” He presses his lips to your forehead, your jaw, leaving featherlight kisses all over your face before he leaves a lingering, but gentle one to your lips. “And trust me, looking at you right now, in my shower, on my lap, wrapped in my arms, I could not be further from grossed out.” He squeezes your hip for emphasis, and your cheeks heat.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of him as the warm water continues to flow down your back. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and melt into his touch, your mind feeling clearer as the fog of anxiety dissipates with each affectionate kiss he presses to your skin. “I’m probably getting blood on you,” you whisper softly against his skin, your voice muffled by the sound of the cascading water.

He chuckles, a low and grounding sound that vibrates through his chest and into your own, as his arms tighten around you, tugging you flush against him as he speaks. “I’ll worry about the blood on me later, okay? You just relax.”

Brendon’s hand leaves your belly, moving around you, before it slides down and squeezes at the plush flesh of your ass, the other gripping your waist to keep you in place. His mouth falls onto your collarbone, pressing heated kisses on the skin, and you sigh breathily, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He nips at the skin of your shoulder, and you hum knowingly as his tongue flicks out to soothe the pain right after. “Bren, it’s messy.”

Your cheeks heat as he pulls away to look at you, gaze heavy, his strong hands holding onto your body tightly as he confidently replies, “Good thing we’re in the shower,” before diving back onto you, teeth grazing your skin like a shark that’s caught the scent of blood in the water.

Robby grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. You're not used to seeing him like this; a white t-shirt that fits him annoyingly well, jeans covering his legs, the chain that he always wears around his neck just an enticingly bit more visible than it usually is when he's in scrubs.

Your expression turns serious for a moment, eyes searching his face when you ask, "Seriously, though. Wanna tell me what happened?"

His eyes flit to yours, a familiar expression covering his face. You know this one - it's the one he always puts on when he contemplates his next move. Usually, you'd look away, perhaps occupy yourself while you wait for him to decide, but that's when he's your boss.

Today, he's your patient.

So instead, you hold his gaze, patiently waiting for an answer.

He clears his throat, and his eyes dart away before he murmurs, "Was putting up a shelf. Something fell on me."

You hum, turning away to prepare everything before you grab the lidocaine to numb the area. When you bring the needle forward, Robby follows the motion, not even flinching as you inject it, "Shelf wasn't hung properly? Or what dropped on you?"

You're not even asking out of curiosity but rather out of habit. Your time in the ER has taught you that small talk with patients help both you and them, and at this point it's second nature to keep conversation flowing. Your brain doesn't fully register that the person you're talking to is your chief attending, it merely registers that you're treating a patient.

But you remember who exactly you're treating when Robby responds, "No, uh.. Dropped the hammer."

Your brows raise, your movements pausing for just a second when your brows knit together to look at him, "You dropped a hammer into your own face?"

Robby immediately groans, rolling his eyes, but you instantly tut at him, lightly tapping at his arm, "Sit still, Robinavitch. Unless you wanna end up looking like Frankenstein."

You being carefully stiching his wounds, your focus returning to the task at hand, albeit still curious for his answer.

"I'm not very handy, okay?" He grunts, allowing you to do your job, the deep brown of his eyes watching your face while you work, "I've been wanting to put up this shelf for a while, figured my day off was the perfect time. Guess I was wrong."

You snort in amusement, nodding while you continue gently stitching, "Yeah, I guess so. Although, I'd argue the thing you were most wrong about was trying to put up a shelf with a hammer."

Robby's eyes search your face, his brows would surely knit together if he could move that area right now, "What? Why?"

Your eyes flit to his, an amused smile painting your lips, "Well, unless you were planning to only put pictures or cd's on that shelf, that shit should be drilled into your wall. With screws. Nailing up a shelf is basically a guarantee that thing will fall sooner rather than later."

"Great," Robby deadpans, looking away from you, "I got fucking stitches for nothing."

"Ah, come on now," you interject, smirking at him, "It's not for nothing. At least they'll look cool. Girls love scars, don't you know that?"

Robby snorts, finding your eyes at your words, "Sure they do."

"Hey," you retort, holding the needle steady but keeping your friendly tone, "Some of us like that stuff. A bit of ruggedness never hurt anybody."

"You like scars?"

"Depends," you shrug.

"On what?"

"On how attractive I find someone."

"And if you find them attractive?" Robby asks curiously.

"Then I guess scars would make me want to take care of them."

Robby lets out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement, "Oh, I see. It all makes sense now."

Your lips quirk up at his tone, eyes flitting to his for a moment, "Oh yeah? And what do you see, then?"

"You became a Doctor because you like taking care of attractive men," Robby muses, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You snort out a laugh, your hands pausing their movement as you look at him incredulously, "Dr. Robinavitch, that is an extremely offensive thing to say."

Robby laughs, matching the amused expression on your face as you get back to work, "Apologies, Doctor. That was out of line."

"Nah, you're good," you respond with a smile, finishing up his stitches, "I'm used to your sense of humor, by now. I've spent a lot of time around it."

Robby hums as your chair pulls back once you've set down your tools, your gloves snapping off before you toss them in the bin. You inspect your stitches, Robby's brown eyes watching your face when you murmur, "In fact, I think I've spent almost my entire medical career around it, at this point. You were my attending when I started out, too."

Robby smiles fondly, folding his hands over his lap, "Ah, yes, I remember. Although I do seem to recall you leaving for a while."

"I came back though," you reply quietly, eyes flicking to his with a smile, "I guess I preferred the humor here."

Robby hums, his eyes darting away from yours when you hold eye contact for a few seconds longer than what seems appropriate. A moment passes, and then Robby clears his throat before he looks at you, "So, uh, how was your date last night?"

Your brows immediately furrow. Your eyes meet his again, head tilting in question, "Date? What date?"

Robby blinks, clearing his throat again before he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, "Uh, I overhead you yesterday, at the nurses station. You mentioned you were going on a date.."

You keep the same confused expression on your face for a moment longer before realization hits, a chuckle leaving your lips. "Oh, that. No, I didn't say date. I said dinner."

You smile at him, and he reciprocates, although it seems a little guarded to you when he asks, "That's not the same thing?"

You chuckle again, vehemently shaking your head, "No, they're not. At least not when the person you're having dinner with is your gay best friend. It kinda removes all romantic aspects, if you ask me."

Robby's eyes widen, but he lets out a hoarse chuckle, watching your face while you start to clean up, "Yeah, uh, guess it does. So your dinner, then. How was it?"

"Good," you respond with a smile, "It was nice getting to catch up. It's been a while since I'd last seen him."

Your eyes hold his to convey your point, and it feels charged again, just like it had a moment ago. Those brown eyes feel never ending, and it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, which ultimately forces you to look away to avoid embarrassing yourself somehow.

You clear your throat, pulling back as your face returns to friendly professionalism, "Alright, so, all good here. Although I do think it'd be wise to have a CT done, given the hammer of it all."

Robby nods along, clearly agreeing with your assessment, "Figured as much."

"Any dizziness?" You ask, your head tilting while you watch him, "Nausea, headache?"

"Not yet," Robby responds, "But that-"

"Could still happen within the next 12 hours, so we'll take a look anyway. I know, boss."

"Just checking," Robby replies with a smirk, "Gotta keep you on your toes."

You chuckle as you get up, pulling up his chart on your tablet, "Okay, let me go get Dana so we can set you up quick. There's no need for you to be here unecessarily long, it is your day off after all."

"Appreciate that," Robby murmurs, watching you as you turn around with a smile, his eyes lingering on you when you leave his room.

"Robby needs a CT," you announce at the nurses station when Dana approaches you, "He hit his head. Doesn't have any symptoms, but I just want to make sure we're all good before sending him home."

"Another home project?" Dana asks, leaning on the table.

You look up at her, your head tilting, "Another? Has this sort of thing happened before?"

"Mhm," Dana responds, a knowing smile on her lips, "Usually means he's going through something, when he starts up with all that DIY crap."

"Ah," you nod, glancing down at your tablet, "I see. He did mention he's not very handy."

"I think he could be if he wanted to," Dana shrugs, "But usually he does it as an outlet, and it doesn't tend to end well."

You pause, brows furrowing slightly when you look up at her, "Is everything alright with him?"

Dana nods, a small smile on her lips as she reaches out to give your arm a friendly squeeze, "'Course it is. Just having some girl troubles. I'll get him set up for CT."

Dana walks off, and her words resonate with you for a moment. You didn't know Robby was dating, let alone had trouble in that department. He's always been pretty private, never one to let on too much about himself. But it seems crazy to you that he of all people would ever have trouble in that particular department.

You glance back toward his room, thinking of your conversation about the scars. With this new information, you wonder whether that was appropriate, now.

There's also an anxious knot that has formed in your stomach just at the thought of him dating, which you try to ignore. Robby has been your attending since you started at PTMC, and he has been an excellent teacher.

But he is also charismatic, smart, competent, caring and surprisingly funny. Not to mention handsome, in that delicious way where he doesn't even know it himself. He exudes confidence.

It wasn't surprising when you developed a crush on him shortly after you started working at the Pitt. Honestly, you knew it would happen eventually, since the very first day you met him.

What had been surprising, however, was that it hadn't faded, even in the several years you've known him since. They had stuck, the feelings you harbored for him, and grown into something even more fond than merely a school girl crush.

You cared about him, deeply, in more ways than one, but you also knew that Robby was older, wiser, and had plenty of options. The idea that he would ever be interested in you had honestly never sprung to mind. He was your attending, the chief of the ED, and he was too professional to ever cross that line, you knew that.

But a girl could dream.

An hour later, you're moving down the hallway towards the nurses station when Dana shouts your name.

She catches you just before you're about to greet a new patient in one of the rooms, her hand touching your elbow, "Robby's CT's back. Have a look."

You find the scans, nodding with a hum, "Alright, looks good. I'll send him home."

Dana nods before she walks off, and you change your direction, instead heading for Robby's room rather than your other patients'.

When you step inside, the first person you notice is Dr. Abbott, standing beside Robby who's sitting on the bed, the two of them murmuring quietly about something you can't quite hear. It goes quiet once you enter the room.

"Doc," Jack greets, a broad smile on his face, "Just the girl we've been waiting for."

You chuckle, walking up next to Jack as you look between him and Robby, "Is that so? I hope I can live up to your expectations, then."

"Always," Jack responds, glancing over at Robby who sends you a warm smile. Then Jack turns back to you, "How's he looking?"

"All good!" You announce, pulling up the scans to let Jack inspect them, "Nothing concerning, so you're good to go home, Robby. But if you get nauseaus or dizzy-"

"I'll come back," Robby finishes, smiling at you before he takes the tablet from Dr. Abbott, putting on his reading glasses to look over his own scans, "I appreciate you taking such good care of me."

You grin, your eyes meeting his when he looks at you over the rim of his glasses, "Does that mean you'll leave me a five star review?"

Robby chuckles, nodding when he hands you back your tablet, "Absolutely. Gold star."

You beam, preening at the praise as you hold your tablet to your chest, "I appreciate that, boss. Happy to help."

You find him at the nurses station about an hour after discharging him.

"Dr. Robby," you muse, walking up to where he's in deep conversation with Dana, "What are you still doing here?"

Robby's head turns to face you at the sound of your voice, his brown eyes meeting yours while he leans on the counter, "Just checking in before I head off."

"Mhm," you respond, checking your watch before you look back up at him, "Must be a hell of a check in. Did you forget this is your day off?"

Dana snorts at your words, sending you a knowing smile before she looks pointededly at Robby and says, "Told you I like this one."

You chuckle at Dana's words, your amusement only reinforced by the look on Robby's face when he reponds, "Ganging up on me, now? Since when is it a bad thing to care about your job?"

"If it entails you to not take time off, since always," you counter, swiftly moving to his side to lock your arm with his, "Let's go, Robinavitch."

Dana chuckles when you march off with Robby at your side, but you only make it a few steps before he murmurs, "Call me Robby. Or Michael."

You glance up at him, brows raising in surprise, "I call you Robby most of the time."

"I know," he responds, not looking at you, "But you never call me Michael."

You lead him towards the staff exit, but Robby stops you a few feet away from the exit. It's just the two of you in the locker room, the noise of the ED fading into the background.

"Wait," he says, making you turn to face him, "What if.. What if I'm not ready to go yet?"

You smile up at him in amusement, your head tilting, "Why wouldn't you be? If you need something done, let me know, and I'll finish up for you. You don't need to worry on your day off."

"I'm not-.." Robby says, cutting himself off before he shakes his head, his deep brown eyes finding yours, "I'm not worried. I'm just.. Wondering."

Your head tilts further in question, looking up to meet his eyes, "Wondering what?"

Before you can even think, Robby leans in, his lips landing on yours.

The kiss is sweet, his lips molding to yours gently, carefully even. You kiss him back, leaning into him for just a moment, but then he ends the kiss much too soon for your liking.

Robby leans back slightly, letting out a deep breath as his eyes search yours, a shy smile on his lips, "I'm sorry.. I just really wanted to find out what that'd feel like."

"And?" You ask breathlessly, your eyes searching his, "What's the verdict?"

His lips raise in a relieved smile, "Better than I could've ever fucking imagined."

"You really hit your head, huh? Maybe you do have a concussion."

Robby barks out a laugh, shaking his head bashfully at your comment. His eyes crinkle the way they always do when he breaks out a genuine smile, and he lets out a rough breath, "Maybe I do. Or maybe I just finally gathered the courage to do something I've been wanting to do for years."

You reach up, your hands finding his biceps as his find your waist, eyes searching his, "What made you decide today was the day?"

"That thing you said," he murmurs, smiling as you look up at him, "About coming back here for the humor, that you preferred it here.. I don't know, I just.. Felt something. A moment. I've been wondering for a while whether you felt something, the way I do, and in that moment I got the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you do."

"I do," you smile in response, reaching up to cup his cheek. His face tilts into your caress, his beard scratching your palm, "Although, I may need to do a bit more research. You know, just to be sure."

"Oh-ho-ho, you're trouble, aren't you?" Robby chuckles, leaning closer when you do, your head tilting up until your lips can press to his. He hums softly at the motion, his lips slotting over yours perfectly as you move in sync.

You let out a small whine at the feeling rushing through you, your fingers gripping onto him more firmly. His hold on you gets tighter, more eager, his body molding into yours until you're pushed up against the row of lockers. The kiss turns heated, more possessive in nature, and your toes curl when he lets out a deep groan that vibrates through you.

Your hand trails up to curl in his hair, head tilting to allow him better access to your mouth, and just as you're about to lose your mind completely, you hear a door opening further down the hall.

Both of you break the kiss simultaneously, your cheeks flushed, breath panting as you step back and away from Robby. His expression matches yours, eyes wild, fingers itching to grab you again, but he doesn't get the chance to before Dana walks into view.

"Doc," she says, addressing you as she turns the corner, "You're needed in Trauma 2."

"On it," you breathe out, making eye contact with Dana. She stops when she spots Robby across from you, her eyes jumping between the two of you, but she doesn't get a chance to address whatever it is she just walked in on.

You look back at Robby, murmuring out a "see you tomorrow, Michael," before you rush past Dana and back into the ED.

Dana's eyes lock onto Robby, a hand on her hip while her eyes narrow, "I guess you're no longer having girl trouble, huh?"

Robby lets out a scoff, shaking his head, his hand running through his hair before he looks back at Dana, "Figured it was time I did something about it. Rather than build shitty furniture and causing myself more injuries."