If Only

You supposed that was why you loved it. You were a part of something bigger than yourself. Making a difference in a way that was different from your old life. 

The Pitt was similar to home in many ways. Chaotic, unpredictable, and loud.

But it was different in all the ways that mattered. 

One of the most important differences being that no one knew who you were. 

Or at least, no one knew who the tabloids had painted you out to be. 

Here you were just you. 

A skilled and respected doctor, 

Calm and collected under pressure, 

Reassuring and clear with patients, 

Swift and light on your feet. 

Dr Y/N Wayne Austen

Here you were the doctor you had worked so hard to be. 

Here you aren’t known as the person those media outlets had tried so hard to paint you to be.

You were not automatically assumed to be an entitled heiress, or a socialite of leisure, or an aloof young woman. 

While not all articles about you over the years were bad. Many of them sought you out as an easy target. Someone who represented all that was wrong with wealth. 

Never looking further than the facade they viewed. Than the shallow perspective they perceived of you. 

That was why you had moved. At least, it was part of the reason….

Trading in your sparkly diamonds and silk satin gowns for scrubs and stethoscopes. 

Now you were just another face in the crowd. A clog in the machine, helping it tick along. 

Well. 

Maybe you were a little more than just that. 

As part of the Emergency Department during just over the past 2 years you had developed strong friendships with your colleagues. 

Always ready to be a guiding hand or provide a helpful piece of advice to new residents and interns. 

Bringing in fresh cookies at least once a week for the staff to enjoy. Something in which the nurses greatly appreciated. 

You were vital with your quick thinking during the Pittfest mass casualty, moving between patients rapidly and concisely. You wish it wasn’t the case, but your life back home had prepared you for times like these. 

Your home city was no stranger to mass casualty events. So you were well equipped with improvising and working within your means in times of stress. 

Making yourself an integral part of the Pitt. 

It may or may not have been a perk of the job being able to work with Dr Michael Robinavitch, better known as Dr Robby. Your eyes never failed to drift towards him, unknowingly searching for him. 

There was something captivating about him. 

Your attraction to him built slowly over the years, never tipping beyond the point of unprofessionalism. 

Just teetering by the line. 

A line you so wanted to cross, but didn’t dare to. 

Afraid to be hurt once again. 

To let someone into your life. 

To be vulnerable and let them have the ability to have power over your heart. It was something you were afraid of giving up. 

Afraid of being exposed. At the risk of allowing him to see all the worst parts of you that you worked so hard to bury beneath your steely veneer. 

Afraid that you might love him.  

…Maybe one day...

But for now that was something that would have to wait.

“Dr Austen, thank you again.” The young woman before you, Sierra, gently held your hands, eyes full of gratitude. 

“Of course, I’m just doing my job. Remember what we spoke about, take it easy for the next week, and come back in so we can reevaluate your labs just as a follow up,” You say, with a slight nod of your head. 

Sometimes there were patients that made the job just a bit easier to deal with. 

In a thankless job, it was nice to be acknowledged every now and again. 

But there were other times, many times, where patients seemed to go out of their way to antagonise. Intentional or not. Fighting at every choice or decision. Consulting with articles they found online. Contesting your advice at every turn.

It came with the territory. 

And you couldn’t blame most of them for feeling anxious and angered by long wait times. While you appreciated informed patients, it became problematic when it was backed by baseless arguments. 

It certainly never made it easier to work with. 

“Fuck you bitch! I’d like another opinion and would like a doctor. A real one!” the overbearing man, Zach, yelled. Spit practically flying through the air. Face swelling with anger. Sexism was definitely not something new in your field. “I just googled my symptoms and it said it could be bowel cancer!” 

Great, three for three for enraged patients today. Was the thought that passed through your mind. It was barely halfway through your shift. And you’ve been called a bitch twice just for trying to do your job. 

You straightened your shoulders, expression calm but stern. 

Stepping in between the patient and Santos who was assisting you in the assessment. Allowing distance between you and the patient. 

While you lift an arm just slightly, holding off on the other nurses and security who had rushed to you from the outburst. 

“Sir, while I can allow another doctor to provide you with a second opinion. I can assure you that their diagnosis will result in the same conclusion as mine, which will not be bowel cancer. And as I have mentioned. I am a real doctor. Who has practiced medicine for a number of years, decades even. So, what are you wanting to do?” 

Your calm demeanor and firm tone. A sense of control rolled off of you. Making the patient deflate, his shoulders drop. Lips pulled in a tight line.  

His resigned stature, and lack of response led you to believe he was more than willing to trust your judgement now, at least partly. 

The pause stretched out for a beat longer before you added. 

“If you’re willing, we can proceed with your treatment. Unless you’d like another opinion, still?” 

“We can proceed…doc” he says with a defeated reluctance to his tone. 

You nod, as a polite smile forms upon your lips. Dropping your arms and stepping aside slightly to allow Santos to be in view of the patient again. 

“Great, good call. Santos, let's get moving” you acknowledge, as Santos nods to your instructions.

It was only a few minutes later that Robby checked in on you, 

“Hey, are you doing okay?” eyes furrowed in a way that made you know he cared, and truly listened, while he didn’t explicitly mention your previous patient, you knew what he meant. 

You place a hand on his arm giving a slight squeeze in reassurance, “Robby, trust me. I’m all good, thanks for checking in.” 

He gives you a small nod, not sure whether he fully trusts your words or not, but choosing to believe them regardless. 

Holding on for just a beat longer than necessary, you let go of his arm before stepping away. 

Watching as you walk away from him, giving a small shrug of your shoulders with a light laugh, “besides, I’ve told you that back home it was practically a daily occurrence to get yelled at by someone in the street. It takes a little more than that to scare me.” 

He smiles at your joke, waving his hand at you, “get back to work. I’m sure there’s another 10 patients waiting for your expertise at this moment”

“20 actually,” you give a little wink before slipping away, off to treat another patient. Santos breaks off from you to assist another patient for a chance at a chest tube she comments as Whitaker takes her place with you. 

“Hello, I’m Doctor Austen and this is Dr Whitaker, he’ll be assisting me today on your treatment,” you greet the woman, Sophie, as you and Whitaker step beside her. 

On the other side of the bed, stands her sister, Marcia. Eyes panicked, holding her hand. “Is she going to be ok?” 

“That’s what we’re here to do, and we’ll do everything we can to help” you reassure. Noting how Sophie seemed to be in a much calmer state. 

You tilt your head prompting Whitaker to lead consultation, “So what are we here for today?” 

“I honestly feel fine, Marcia here is just overly concerned,” Sophie says words steady,

“You were so not fine, you were practically shaking like a fish,” Marcia exclaimed. You grin at her remark, but note the concern laced within her tone.  

Sophie shakes her head slightly, “I just slipped going down stairs and was a little out of it, but I feel fine now.” 

“Give us a little time, just so we can make sure you’re definitely fine and then you’ll be on your way” you state. You and Whitaker begin going through the required tests, blood pressure, EKG, blood test, checking all the boxes to make sure she is clear. 

“So you mentioned that you had hit your head when you fell, your notes also mentioned a black out lasting approximately a minute before you came to.” You list off, “is there anything else we should know about, perhaps a history of drinking or drugs? Anything of that nature?” 

“No, none of that, well occasionally a drink when going out but nothing much more than that. Too expensive these days,” Sophie jokes. 

“Ok well, what we’ll do is send you for a CT scan just to make sure there’s nothing more serious. Better to be safe than sorry.” You finalise. 

“Hey I take it you’re not a Pittsburgh local? Where’s that accent from?” Marcia asks curiously, 

“Really, Marcia? Let the doctors go do their work. They’ve got plenty of other people to see, beside answering your inane questions,” Sophie tries to sway her sister. 

You give a little shake of your head letting Sophie know you were ok with her sister’s questions, “you’re very perceptive, I’m actually from Gotham” 

It wasn’t really something you shared often. Only answered if asked. 

This new information caused all three of the people before you to snap their heads to you. Eyes widening slightly from your words. 

“The Gotham City?”

“The city with all the crazies?” 

“Have you ever met Batman?”

A flood of questions get thrown at you, “yes believe it or not I’m from Gotham, and statistically yes it could be described as a city full of crazies, and yes I have met Batman, and before you ask yes he is that broody in person. Is that all?”

“How’d you meet him?”

“Now that is a very long story, which we unfortunately don’t have time for. Just rest easy, flag us down if anything changes, if there's any nausea, headaches, anything like that at all. But after the CT results we should have a better understanding on the severity of the bump on your head.” You state politely, not wanting to talk any further about your home city. 

As you and Whitaker continue to walk away from the two, Santos and Javadi fall into step with you, as they look at you with curiosity. 

Santos had one of those cheshire grins she often wore when about to tease someone, whilst Javadi had a little nervous energy around her, much like Whitaker’s sheepishness. 

You had a feeling that the other two had overheard your little conversation. 

Whitaker hesitates for a moment as if a little wary asking you, “is it true that you met Batman?”

You glance at him briefly, “really Whitaker? Do you take me for a liar?” you allow your Gotham accent to seep in and become a little stronger for effect, before slipping back to your typical speech. They weren’t familiar enough to realise that her tone, her inflections were just a bit too polished to be a standard Gotham accent. 

“No, no, no, no, I would never accuse you of that. I just –” he waves his arms, panicked, While Santos laughs at his antics. 

“It’s alright Whitaker, no need to become jittery. And yes, I have actually met Batman,” you say with a kind smile bearing no illwill, emphasizing ‘actually’. 

It always amused you how much non-Gothamites were fascinated by Batman. Maybe you’d just gotten used to the bizarre nightlife of Gotham. More so than others…

All their eyes widen, a little in awe of you, as Santos comments “woah, that’s so cool” 

“I suppose” you watch as it seems they begin to connect the dots, “hard to call yourself a Gothamite without meeting at least one bat vigilante, especially for how long I lived there”

“So does that mean you did your medical training in Gotham?” Javadi probed. 

“Yeah. Most of my younger years were there, before I moved to Central City, then Metropolis and now Pittsburgh. It all feels like a lifetime ago now though” your mind briefly glosses back over your younger days running around hospitals following the orders of your seniors, learning all that you could, endless hours, difficult patients and grateful families. 

Not much different from now. 

Except for the fact that now, you were the teacher. 

“You must’ve seen some crazy stuff?” Santos asks, trying to learn more, you couldn’t quite blame their curiosity. It wasn’t exactly something you talked about often. 

Gotham always was a bit of a hot topic among those who didn’t live there. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you say with an air of confidence before slipping to one of slight sadness, ”Things I certainly hope that you all don’t ever have to witness.” 

“Was living there what made you go into medicine?” Whitaker asked.  

“Partly...My dad was a doctor. So it felt right. And my parents died when I was young, so maybe I just wanted to prevent that from happening to anyone else." you explained vaguely. Watching as they nodded along to your story, eyes a little downcast at your news.

“Sorr–” Javadi began to say, stopping as you placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Ah. No sorry necessary. It was a long time ago,” You state, you had come to grips with your parent’s death many years ago. Pity was not something you searched for.  

“Austen, I’ve got the ultrasound machine that you asked for,” Princess calls out to you, cutting your conversation short.

“You are a godsend Princess, thank you!”

“Just keep bringing in those cookies and we’ll call it even”

“Ok Whitaker, let’s move to our patient, Miss Wallace. And I’m sure you two have other patients to attend to” you direct, whilst rubbing your hands together with a splash of disinfectant, its scent familiar and comforting.

You send the other two a pointed look. Before they wave a brief see you later as they head off.

That was just the way it worked around the Pitt.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the beginning of my series, let me know what you think or if you'd like to be tagged. Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated. More parts to come!... Feel free to find the Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here Or check out my overall Masterlist here

as he waded through the sea of waiting patients, robby could just make out you telling miri to go sit, to leave the adults to talk, directing her to an empty chair in the corner,.

“but mamma–”

“go,” you chided, hand gently nudging her to move. miri threw her head back with a dramatic groan, trudging away just before robby could reach you both.

turning back to him, your arms folded across your chest defensively, eyes darting around the waiting room before finally landing on robby’s. “hi, michael.”

“hi,” robby breathed, taking in your features, a face he hadn’t seen in a decade–changed, older, maybe a bit tired, but still the same face he had once loved, still as beautiful as last he saw you. he must have been staring longer than he realized, not noticing until you shifted your weight, head dropping toward your feet.

clearing his throat, robby continued, “how…have you been?”

“fine,” you answered curtly, gnawing at your lower lip, the hold around yourself tightening.

robby could small talk with the best of ‘em, a solid third of his day was spent doing just that, but suddenly a skill 30 years in the making was failing him–too many questions swirling in his brain, yet none making their way out. glancing down, he noted the emblem on your jacket–allegheny county medical examiner–a job, an in. “you workin’ at acome? deputy m.e.?”

shifting again, your hand came to wrap around your purse strap, effectively hiding the logo from sight. sighing, you answered, “autopsy tech.” though he wasn’t certain, robby was fairly sure, unlike medical examiners, you didn’t need a md to be a tech. was it a just stepping stone? or…

“listen, we really need to go.” your words were sudden, or so they seemed to robby, snapping him out of his head.

…had you not finished medical school?

robby’s had awkward encounters before, uncomfortable conversations, but it was inching past that now, at least in his mind–this was creeping into panic, like he was taking sandpaper to his skin, a syringe of epi straight to the heart, face flushing hot but hands flashing cold.

…because of him?

before he could stop it, that long-abscent nagging voice in robby’s head decided to make an appearance. he’d already fucked up as a partner, it hissed, and apparently also as a teacher and a father. it couldn’t get much worse, his brain provided, so in all his genius, he figured, what was the harm asking–

“she…she’s mine, right?”

finally, your eyes flittered to his, filling with what he’d call remorse if he was a wiser man. “yeah,” all you murmured, lips screwing into a frown.

the sweaty palms of robby’s hands dug into his eyes, running down his beard, moving to grip at the back of his neck–hot to the touch, surely near-maroon in color. 

“fuck. why didn’– how–” how did he not know this? how did he not see this? how could he give up trying to contact you? “how could you–”

one slip of a pathetic tongue and your expression was flipped on its head. “how could i? how could i?” you scoffed, eyes hardening, all trace of guilt gone. “how’s your wife, michael?”

robby blinked.  “what? i’m not–“ 

but you just exhaled heavily, thumb and forefinger digging into the corners of your eyes, “y’know what? it’s none of my business. c’mon on, miri.” the girl looked up from where she was digging in her backpack when you called, glancing between the two of you–between her parents. fuck. 

miri bounced over, taking your outstretched hand, following as you walked away without a spared glance or parting word. turning over her shoulder, miri, however, threw robby a small wave but a big smile. it’s all he could do, shoot her a crinkle-eyed smile and wave back, to reel in the stinging pressure that was pulling behind his eyes. 

he couldn’t reckon how long he stood there in chairs, lost in his own thoughts, hands buried deep in his pockets, staring at the corner you rounded before disappearing out of his sight. i have a kid, robby’s mind raced, i have a kid and you’re back and i have a kid with you and you didn’t tell me and i gave up on finding you and i have a kid and you didn’t finish medical school and i have a kid and–

a tap at his shoulder jerked robby out of his tailspin. 

the teen standing next to him had bloody packing in nose, a nice shiner under his eye, and an apathetic look on his face. “uh, that kid asked me to give this to you? i dunno,” he mumbled, handing robby a piece of folded hot pink paper, covered in stickers with dr robinavitch written on the front in glittery ink.

robby mumbled a thanks, taking the card before entering back into the ed floor. the pitt was calm enough at the moment, another attending also on shift for a change, and he didn’t think he could wait until end of shift to read the letter, slipping into the breakroom before it burned a hole straight through his pocket. 

dear dad dr robinavitch,

i don’t think you know about me but my name is miriam but you can call me miri and your my dad. mamma said you live in pittsburg and your last name is robinavitch and that’s my middle name to. i found this picture in mamma’s stuff when we were moving and i found out your first name. i wanted to meet you but mamma said you were busy at work so i desided to go there. 

taped to the letter with colorful patterned tape was a worn polaroid of a younger robby, lean and floppy-haired and stubble-cheeked, michael written at the bottom. robby didn’t remember where the picture was taken, when exactly, but he looked happy, light. blowing out a breath, he continued the letter.

i want to get to know you if you want to get to know me. i’m 5th grade and i like math and art but i’m not really good at spelling. i do jazz and tap dance and have a recitle next month if you want to go. my favorite color is pink and purple and my favorite animals are whale sharks and cappybaras. i’m only sposed to use my phone for emergencys but you can text or facetime me xxx-xxx-xxxx if you want. have a good day dad dr robinavitch.

🩷 miri

robby didn’t realize he was tearing up until a droplet fell onto the paper below. under the fluorescent lights of the breakroom, the indentation of the word dad was visible, even through the heavy purple marker scribbled over it. he wanted to be mad at you for keeping this a secret period, let alone for 10 years. keeping his child a secret. but he couldn’t bring himself to blame you. 

you were his student then, two decades his junior. he was fresh out of a long-term relationship–an engagement–looking for nothing but distractions, rebounds. then-robby wasn’t his rockbottom, wasn’t even close to the lowest he’d ever get, but he wasn’t perfect, wasn’t an easy partner, wasn’t good enough to be a dad. maybe it was for the best that you’d left, miri seeming to have grown up into a great kid, sprightly, precocious, not unlike how he remembered you.

in all actuality, you shouldn’t have met at all, you and robby. your ms1 introduction to being a physician class was meant to be taught by dr. singh, robby not yet given the displeasure of teaching outside of clinicals and clerkships within the pitt. but when a set of twins demand their mother remain on bedrest for the last two months of her pregnancy, it made lecturing difficult. monty decided then that robby was the perfect substitute. 

a four week class, essentially just a how-to on taking h&ps, how to doctor 101, was robby’s introduction to you. an introduction turned to veiled flirting. veiled flirting turned overt once those four weeks were up. flirting turned to fooling around in the classroom’s adjoined office. trysts in the office turned to his house turned to weekends away turned to proper dates and feelings and more than robby had ever intended, more than he was probably emotionally available for. more–

the breakroom door opening pulled robby’s attention away from the letter in his lap, away from the memories looping in his mind.

“you good, doc?” perlah asked, eyeing robby as she refilled her water bottle, the bright pink paper in his hands may as well have been a blinking neon sign. 

removing his glasses and wiping a hand over his face, robby gave a rumbled yeah with a tight smile. the look on perlah’s face told him she absolutely did not believe him–ever since he returned from his sabbatical last year, his staff became all-to-comfortable calling him out (clocking his tea, or whatever the hell santos had called it). robby knew they meant well deep down, his nosy and incessant staff, but it didn’t mean he liked it, especially while head first in his shit-storm of a psyche. 

he gave it an hour before someone bothered him about it.

“you need to talk to someone?” caleb asked, casual, appearing next to robby where he sat charting. 

thirty-seven minutes, quicker than anticipated.

without looking away from the monitor, equally casual, robby replied lightly, “i got my scheduled appointment next week, don’t you worry,” his voice muffled slightly from where his chin rested on this palm.

“emergency session?”

“nooot needed,” robby trilled. he must have looked worse than he’d thought in the breakroom, if the shrink was sent in instead of dana (or just whispering about it behind his back like normal people).

when robby refused to budge, refused to look away from the computer screen, caleb just rolled away with only a sigh, no doubt shooting robby a disbelieving look. 

well that was easier than expected.

robby hadn’t sought solace on the roof in a long while, trips for a breath of fresh air or to hunt down jack too becoming more and more rare these days. 

the door to the roof creaked open, jack himself landing next to where robby was leaned against the rail, mirroring his posture. robby wasn’t going to be the first to crack, to look, to speak, even if jack was now staring holes through his skull.

“dana and jefferson suggested i talk to you,” jack eventually started. 

“ohho, did they now?” robby chuckled, albeit, humorlessly.

but jack didn’t say more, didn’t fill the void with chatter as he was one to do, just waited.

exhaling heavily out his nose, robby finally continued, “you remember the girl i was seeing when you first came on?” 

“the one that gave me a front row seat to my first showing of emotionally constipated robby?” jack quipped, “nah, doesn’t ring a bell.”

“fuck you, jack,” robby glared.

smirking, jack answered, “yes, vaguely. why?”

it took robby a moment to find not the words, but the will to say them. “she had my kid.”

that threw jack into another prolonged silence. pushing himself upright from the railing, he turned, finally saying, “i’m sorry, i think i just stroked out. what was that?”

“you heard me,” robby mumbled, hands rubbing over his neck. “when she disappeared, she was pregnant. kid showed up in the pitt to hunt me down.” he couldn’t help blow out a strained laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

another beat passed, jack’s brows raising to his hairline, him bobbing his head back and forth, like he was debating whether or not to stick his foot in his mouth. “i’m sorry in advance, brother, but are you sure it’s your ki–” 

“fuck you, abbot!”

“i said sorry in advance!”

robby sighed, once again leaning on elbows against the railing, head dropping between his shoulders. “yeah, man. the timing, her name, their certainty would have been enough but…brother she’s got my eyes.” robby looked over at jack, puppy dog eyes wide and watery and wistful.

jack only moved to once again mirror robby’s posture, looking out to the pittsburgh sunset, breathing out a gravely, “shit, rob.”

it took two days before robby dared open miri’s chart to get your number from the emergency contact section–technically, yeah, that was breaking more than a few rules, but he figured hippocrates himself would let it slide, all things considered.

it took another two days–plus three park beers and five drafted then deleted messages–for robby to finally send the text.

hey it’s robby. can we talk? please.

dividers by @/uzmacchiato

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

Part 21

Part 22

Part 23

Part 24

Part 25

Part 26

Part 27

Part 28

Part 29

Part 30

Part 31

Part 32

Part 33

Part 34

Part 35

Part 36

Part 37

Part 38

Part 39

Part 40

Part 41

"Shit", "you are injured, yes ?", " the fall broke my knee brace", "should you be working out while injured?", " its not a new injury, some idiot doctor messed up and destroyed my acl so I don't have one anymore, the brace is for that".

She hates explaining the whole thing, hate this incurable weakness of her but can see this guy wants answers and probably wont stop till he gets them so she gives in. "I'll help you to your apartment" . She doesn't see another way out of this other then hopping so she'll have to agree and spent even more time trying not blush. "Thank you, I'm sorry to be a bother", "your no bother". "I'll pick you up now". The the way he says it, that rumble of his deep accented voice sends a flutter in her core and all she can do is nod.

She feel so tense, awkward and flustered and just hopes he cant see her face and if he can hopefully he thinks her blush is from working out. Carrying someone a few steps is impressive and shes expected to be put down while they waited for the elevator but he didn't. Shes seen him workout, his physique is but a display of strength like this, with her, its awe inspiring and not helping tone down her crush.

The elevator ride feels so awkward. She fins elevator rides an awkward thing already when she's just standing next to a stanger so this is not good for her heart rate at all. On top her general social awkwardness shes never been this close to a guy before, this is too much physical contact.

Finally they reach her door. "You can put me down now I can manage". He sets her down so gently, hovering next to her ready to step in if she stumbles. "Thank you colonel", "How'dyou know that?", "ive heard them call you that, is it incorrect? ", "no thats my title but you can call me König". Quietly shes test out saying his name trying to replicate his pronunciation temporarily forgetting he was behind her.

"Will you be alright?", "oh yes I have extra its not that big of a deal, plus my elbow took the brunt of my fall", "elbows are the hardest smart place to take impact", "yeah it took a while to learn to fall properly ". She huffs a laugh remembering those early days and embarrassing falls. "Thank you for helping me König", "No problem miss". She heads in and ices her eblow and puts in a new brace while he makes his way back down to the gym and his mind keeps thinking about her and how shes had a good attitude in a shitty situation.

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ᵗᵃᵍᵍᵉᵈ ⁱⁿ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᵗʷᵒ

Being the nervous type lends itself to also being self conscious and a knee brace doesn't help with that. But still shes getting dressed up and gathering her confidence to go out, and she does good getting herself in the perfect mindset for a fun night out. Some guys oggel and whistle at her as shes walking out but she takes it as a good thing and walks with her head held high.

She has a good time, going out is something she does rarely so she really lives it up when she makes the effort. Being able to hold her liquor just makes the night more expensive, sometimes she wishes she was a lightweight who only needed 1-2 drinks.

Feeling a nice buzz she causally enjoys the edge if the dance floor, she cant dance like she used to but she can sway to the music. Guys come up to her all night but she just cant stand them, all she sees are childish boys in comparison to König. Tonight was supposed to cleanse her mind of him but its having the opposite effect, a very strong opposite effect.

She heads back home, tired, disappointed and with her feet hurting. The lobby is surprisingly full for being so late, shes just trying to get to the elevator when some guy with a crew cut approaches her wanting the same thing ever other guy tonight did. That thought makes her nauseous and when she smells his cloud of cologne she really might.

Shes trying to think of something to say, some excuse other then throwing up on him. Then she spots König coming out of the gym looking better then ever, she pushes threw the guys and saunters right up to him.

König had spotted the crowd but didn't pay them mind until something eles catches his eye, its her, shes all dressed up but its her. This gives me a rare spike of jealousy thats replaced witu confusion as she walks right over to him.

Hes caught like a deer in headlights as she comes over, grabs his collar and pulls him down for a kiss. She taste like alcohol and smells like cake, he wants this to last forever but its over so quickly. Her hold on him gone, their lips parted and shes shooting a glare back at the crowd then turning on her heels and walks off into an elevator.

König is left dazed and confused with the taste of vodka lingering on his tongue and a dark maroon stain on his lips. The crowd of men are no longer cocky and brave, they feel afraid, very afraid, hitting on the colonel girl is close enough to being a punishable crime. But König doesn't even see them as he absentmindedly makes his way outside to go on his run.

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ᵗᵃᵍᵍᵉᵈ

ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵐʸ ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳ ˡⁱˢᵗ ʰᵉʳᵉ

@alli-xsq @anonymouse1807

“There will be a new member of our task force-for a few months. They’ll be working with us for operation Beta.”

John stood in front of his boys in the debrief room with his arms crossed and eyes sharp, Laswell stood by his side holding a tablet.

Kyle leaned forward, “Who? Does he work on the base?”

“Not to stick ma nose into this but- we don’t really need anyone with us for this. Adding someone else might make it more complicated than it has te be, Cap.” Johnny spoke up, running a hand thru his mohawke.

Price sighed, “You don’t know them, but you may have heard of them, they serve in the SBS- have been for a few years. And this was Laswell’s suggestion, we need an extra pair of capable hands for this op, Johnny.”

“The temporary addition to your team is Y/N ‘Tigress’ L/N. She has been-”

Simon, sitting in silence behind his mask finally spoke up, “Tigress?”

Laswell nods, “Yes. You may have heard of her, has quite the legacy for such a young age- 27. She is more than capable, specialising in close contact force, something you will need during this op.”

Johnny sits up, like an eager dog, “Tigress as in the woman who supposedly beat up a shark? That one?”

“-What?!” Kyle sits up, staring bewilderedly between Laswell and Johnny.

Laswell sighs closing her eyes, “Supposedly yes, but let’s not digress from the main point. She’ll be here for a few months, close quarters, training, eating- everything you guys do, she’ll be there. This won’t be a problem?”

The boys shake their head.

John claps his hands together, “Good. Well, she’ll be here tomorrow. I want you boys on your best behaviour, especially you Johnny.”

Soap grins cheekily, “When am i not, Cap?”

They file out the room, kyle whispering to Johnny,

“Did she really fight a shark?”

“Where d’ya think she got ‘er callsign from?”

They make their way to the cantine, nods of respect greeting them round every corner; Ghost trailing behind like a shadow.

“Yeah but- i mean c’mon. A shark?”

Johnny continues sauntering through the cantine doors, straight towards the half arsed excuses of food.

“Well, she’s in the SBS, ship got a hole in the bottom. She had to swim down there to pull the emergency lever- apparently she can hold her breath for twenty minutes- and then a shark came in and started swimming towards her, ‘er bleeding attracted it. Anyway-“ He begins grabbing the food on his plate, piling mashed potatoes over the sausages, drowning them in gravy, “It swam right towards ‘er, she ripped its gills of, killed it, and cut one of its teeth out before swimming back up.”

Kyle crossed his brows, “like a souvenir?”

“Yeah, or proof she did it.”

Ghost stays silent, like usual, doubting any of this story to be true. He trails behind the two boys, piling his plate more than Johnny as usual.

“Oi, Lt. What d’you think?”

He looks to Johnny, his face immersed in that annoying grin Ghost can’t seem to ever dull, no matter how many times he tries.

“I think it’s a load of bollocks.”

Kyle slaps his shoulder, snickering under his breath as they make their way to their table.

“How ‘bout we make a bet?” Johnny mumbles between mouthfuls of potato’s.

Kyle nods, “Go on then”

“If it’s true, you both owe me drinks- all of ‘em when we go to the pub. If it’s not, i’ll pay for yours. Deal?”

Kyle shakes his hand smirking, “Looks like we’re gonna have a treat, innit Lt?”

“Looks like it Gaz.”

————

Part 1

🐾Summary: Arriving at the safe house on a stormy night is too close to a horror movie plot for your liking. But when a four-legged friend calls for help - you can't ignore the call.

🐾Word count: 1.9k

Part 2

🐾Summary: Feeling a sense of obligation after his rescue, Jake sticks around.

🐾Word count: 1.7k

Part 3

🐾Summary: Jake's first day with you goes well until he gains access to your email.

🐾Word count: 1.6k

Coming soon...

Part 4

🐾Summary: After two weeks together you and your dog are inseparable. Until after you wake up from a nightmare to step into a new one.

🐾Word count: 2.1k

If you only knew the truth.

“I’d love to take you on a date.”

Andy Barber’s voice settled over you. The man was admittedly handsome with his perfectly trimmed beard and soft smile. His blue eyes reminded you of Steve Rogers, the man who still held your heart. Which was exactly why you couldn’t accept his offer.

You couldn’t give a piece of yourself to a man when you still longed for another.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not quite ready.”

It was pathetic. Steve broke up with you months ago, telling you it was for the best as he wiped your tears away. Why couldn’t you move on?

Why couldn’t you let him go?

A prickling feeling crawled up your spine when Andy’s eyes darkened, but they softened immediately. “I understand,” he said, briefly putting his hand over yours. “And I’ll wait.”

You tried to smile, but it fell flat. You didn’t want to give him false hope. It wouldn’t be fair.

What you didn’t know was that Andy had no intention of waiting. He was going to take you whether you agreed or not. And no one was going to stop him.

No one except for Steve.

He thought breaking your heart would keep you safe from his enemies. All it did was put a target on your back. But he’d save you and apologize, even if you hated him for ending things instead of giving you a choice.

Where worlds collide and days are dark, that was where he would find you.

My original intent with the prompt was going to be supernatural and the muse refused. 😂 Love and thanks for reading. ❤️