Susie, 18+ (probably older than you think), Female from Brisbane Australia.
I used to mostly write Bucky Barnes, and I still do mostly, but I've branched out into other fandoms and, even a real person fic or two smattered in there - I'm sure you'll know if you scroll further down.
I haven't really written smut, the ones I have written I am too scared to post but that may change. My "Private Life" Masterlist has a couple of short fics I've written so maybe I can go a bit further.
Anyway, welcome and if you have any suggestions or requests, please let me know and I'll try my best for you.
Masterlist and Page headers by @wildflowersandvibranium and me
Angst = 💔; Fluff = 💖; Smut = 🔥
Bucky Barnes Masterlist - Mostly Bucky Barnes fics but may contain other Sebastian Stan characters
Steve Rogers Masterlist - Mostly Steve Rogers fics but may contain other Chris Evans characters
The Pitt Masterlist - Dr Robby & Jack Abbott
Spencer Reid Masterlist - Mostly Spencer Reid but may contain other Criminal Minds characters
QB Joe Burrow
Private Life Masterlist - 18+ only - This is separate so that people who don't want this kind of story won't "stumble" across them. MDNI
Meet Cute Masterlist - a list for some new shorter stories (mostly under 1k) based around meet cute ideas. Mostly will be Bucky but I'm open to suggestions for characters and situations..
Dad!Bucky Shorts Masterlist
Hoes for the Holidays - Snow Joke I love you (Steve Rogers x reader), Midnight made of magic (Andy Barber x reader)
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hey! i don’t know if you’ve seen this trend on tiktok where girls tell their bf’s they’ve found someone in tinder but i’d love to see how it would go with reader telling Jack she found Robby on tinder
it was a slow day at the pitt but the day was soon coming to an end. Robby had just given a handoff to Jack, your boyfriend of 2 years. You could’ve gone home but you decided to linger and take your time.
“Girl” Trinity slides up beside you at the hub “have you seen that trend on tiktok where you make a comment about seeing someone you know on tinder and wait to see how long it takes your significant other to notice?”
You furrow your eyebrows as you think and then your eyes widen.
“Oh my god yes, that shit is funny as hell” you giggle, leaning your head on Trinity’s shoulder .
She shoves your arm playfully.
“Imagine how Abbot would react if you did that.”
“You mean my silently possessive, military conditioned, volunteer SWAT member boyfriend? Yes I guarantee he won’t have a cow about it at allllll.” the sarcasm is obvious through your laugh.
“Pssh c’monnn girl, does he even know what Tinder is?” she questions shaking your arm.
Your smile grows bigger “Maybe? Robby’s probably talked about it with him at some point.”
Trinity claps her hands loudly making you jump.
“That’s it! Say you saw Robby’s profile. It’s perfect!”
You shake your head in amusement.
“Okay but if he gets upset, I'm not making lasagna this weekend.”
“WHAT? Okay okay trust me it wont even come to that. Don’t threaten my favorite meal!” she begs.
You roll your eyes as you both wait for Jack to seek you out.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Not even an hour later and Jack makes his way to the nurses station in search of you. You see him come around the hall corner and scan the room until his eyes land on you.
He smiles wide as he walks over.
“Hey honey,” he kisses the side of your head “thought I missed ya leaving.”
You smile up at him from where you’re sitting.
“As if I would leave without saying goodbye.”
He chuckles as he pulls a chart and leans on the front of the desk and starts writing.
You look up and see Trinity make eye contact with you from the other end of the hub. She throws two thumbs up at you.
You grin a little before pulling out your phone.
“Oh my god that’s crazy.”
“What is?” Trinity asks to aid in the joke.
You look to her
“It’s Robby”
The name causes Jack to look up from the chart and at you.
“What? What about Robby, baby?”
You shake your head and raise your eyebrows.
“He’s on tinder. Didn’t know he was serious when he said he was looking for someone to break the seven week thing he has going on.”
“Oh yeah,” Jack says and looks back at the chart “said he was ‘serious’ this time. Love him but I don’t think he’ll stick with it right now.”
You furrow your eyebrows and look at Trinity. She shrugs, just as surprised as you.
She stands up and walks over to your side.
“Have you seen Mateo’s account yet?”
You shake your head playing along.
“No but if I do, I'm swiping left so fast. He’s like a brother to me.”
Jack doesn’t join in, clearly engrossed in the current chart he has.
You let out a dramatic huff.
“Hmm?” He looks towards you.
“Nothing baby” you sigh as you lean your head back against the chair.
Prank: failed.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Jack leaves you and Trinity at the hub to find Robby for clarification on a chart.
He finds him in an exam room with Mateo as they clean up and restock.
Robby quickly helps him with the chart so it’s correct.
Jack leans against the doorway.
“My girl told me you’re finally on Tinder. Proud of you for putting yourself out there brother.”
Robby and Mateo look up.
“Thanks man, I'm hoping it goes well. Not sure what will happen.”
Mateo still looks at Jack with raised eyebrows.
Jack stares back with a confused expression.
“Spit it out Diaz, what’s wrong?”
“You said your girlfriend saw Robby on Tinder?”
“Yeah?” Jack nods slowly.
Mateo laughs a bit.
“So, your girlfriend saw Robby’s Tinder account. A dating app where you have to have an account to see anyone else’s account.”
Jack stares at him and they notice the moment it clicks for him.
“Oh fuck no.”
He then takes off at a jog in search of you.
“Some social media prank I’m assuming?” Robby asks with a smirk as he continues restocking.
“Oh you know it.” Mateo laughs.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You’re sitting in the break room getting ready to leave in a few minutes when quick footsteps grab your attention.
Looking up you see Jack walk in.
“Give me your phone.”
You scrunch your eyebrows.
“Uh why?”
He gets closer and tries grabbing it from you but you move it out of his reach.
“Nuh uh, what are you doing J?”
He huffs and leans all in your space to grab the phone.
“You have a tinder.”
Then it clicks.
He finally got it.
You try and hold back a smile.
“Now who said I did?”
He crowds you against the table, chest pressed to yours.
“Mateo said you can only see Tinder accounts if you have one.”
You try and hold in your laugh but fail as your body shakes from the giggles.
“Oh my g-god. I-I can’t” you laugh with a massive smile.
He looks at you confused.
“What’s funny?”
“It’s just a prank baby” you lay a hand on his bicep.
His hand goes to your hip.
“So, no Tinder account?”
You shake your head “No Tinder account baby. Pinky promise.”
He leans his forehead against yours and lets out a quiet laugh.
“Thank god. You can’t leave me sweetheart.”
You bring your other hand to his face and pull back to look him in the eyes.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He kisses you briefly.
“HA YOU FELL FOR THAT. PRANK WAS A SUCCESS” a voice yells from the hallway.
He looks towards the doorway and then back to you.
Thank you, Robby, for showing remarkable restraint
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Lizzie's first birthday goes perfectly right up until Peter opens his mouth.
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: Part 108: You were building a life somewhere that wasn't yours
--- --- ---
The garden looked like somebody had attempted to organize a family barbecue and accidentally created a small festival instead. Colorful bunting hung between trees. Folding tables groaned under the weight of food. Children raced through the grass while several adults shouted warnings that were being completely ignored. Somewhere near the grill a heated discussion between your uncles about charcoal was taking place.
The smell of grilled meat drifted through the warm summer air.
And in the middle of it all sat Lizzie, a tiny party hat on her head. She looked deeply confused by the whole situation – and mildly entertained. The same facial expression Jack always wore at gatherings.
„You know“ the very same Jack said, sitting beside you, holding a paper cup of lemonade. „I’m starting to think your mother might have gone a little overboard.“
You looked around. „I think we can scratch the ‚a little‘“ you replied dryly.
He laughed and leaned over, pressing a soft kiss onto Lizzie’s curls.
Nearby your mother appeared carrying another tray of food despite the fact that there was physically no room left on any of the tables. „She looks hungry“ she said, looking at her granddaughter, who shrieked delighted.
Jack blinked. „Um, she already had some fruit.“
Your mom shot him a look. „I guess she wants more.“ Her tone left no room for discussion. Then she shoved the tray towards you. „Find room to place this, okay honey?“
You accepted the tray automatically – and she immediately disappeared again, needing to attend some other urgent matter. Jack gulped and watched her go.
„She’s a terrifying woman.“
You nodded slowly.
„I understand where you get it from now.“
You gasped while Jack grinned. „Watch it, Abbot.“
Before he could reply something, one of your aunts appeared. „I’m going to steal the birthday girl“ she announced and lifted her out of the highchair, accepting no arguments whatsoever.
And with that she was carried across the garden, a balloon shoved into her tiny fist like she was leading an army into battle.
Jack smiled and shook his head. „I think she’s the worlds most spoiled child.“
„Definitely“ you replied.
„Are we doing something against that?“
„Absolutely not.“
You both smiled at each other. He took your hand and squeezed it lightly.
Robby walked into the yard, carrying three wrapped boxes. Your eyebrows shot up – the pile of presents beside the garden table had already reached absurd proportions. He put the boxes down there, then walked over to you.
„Robby.“
He looked at you, while you narrowed your eyes toward the presents on the table. „That’s already ridiculous. You don’t have to add to this, you know?“
„But I already brought them here.“
„Yeah, exactly. You could have saved the money and give her the presents when we’re back in Pittsburgh, you know?“
He looked offended. „But her birthday is today.“
„And she’s one year old. She won’t remember. And I bet she’ll be more interested in chewing on the wrapping paper.“
Robby shrugged. „All I hear is ‚Robby don’t do this‘ and ‚Robby don’t do that.‘ No one saying ‚Thank you, Robby, for showing remarkable restraint.“
You started laughing. „Restraint?“
Mara appeared beside him, carrying a plate. „Don’t listen to a word he’s saying. He bought her a bike.“
You stared at Robby. „A bike? Robby, she’s one.“
Jack closed his eyes, letting out a sigh but chose not to say anything.
„Eventually she’ll need one.“
„You can be glad I didn’t buy her a little motorcycle“ he said in a tone that was very close to sulking.
„If you’d buy my beautiful daughter a tiny motorcycle I have to kill you, Robinavitch.“ Jack smiled when he said it, but there was some seriousness underneath.
Robby narrowed his eyes. „You wouldn’t dare. You love me.“
„Try me.“
Mara darted you a look and you both started laughing.
Hours passed in the easy way happy days sometimes do. Relatives appeared from nowhere, congratulated Lizzie, cuddled her and disappeared again. Every time you looked up somebody new seemed to be holding Lizzie.
At one point your mom announced it was time for cake which was met by a cheer from the crowd. An enormous birthday cake was carried to the center table by a very proud looking Robby. Your mom followed directly behind it, clearly prepared to fight anybody who got too close. Candles flickered in the afternoon sunlight.
Everyone gathered around and Jack settled Lizzie on his hip. She shrieked delightedly. “DADA!”
Then the singing started, completely off-key. Half the family couldn’t find the melody, the other half couldn’t find the words, not agreeing on “Elizabeth” and “Lizzie”.
Lizzie stared at everyone like they had collectively lost their minds, clapping her hands together and shrieking.
You smiled so much it hurt a little. When you glanced over to Jack, he wasn’t looking at the cake. He was looking at Lizzie – at her soft curls with the party hat on, her delighted expression, the way she was putting her hands together.
Something in his face made your chest tighten.
The song ended and everyone was clapping and cheering. Lizzie did her best to add to the noise herself. Jack adjusted her on his hip, stepping a little closer to the cake.
“So, Bean, let’s see if we can blow these candles out, huh?” he said.
She looked at him, then tried to grab his nose. The crowd laughed hysterically. He leaned over, showing her what she should do and she stared at him fascinated. She blew her cheek but there was no air coming out.
So Jack blew the candles out – and everyone cheered again.
“Good job, Bean” he muttered against her soft hair, kissing her temple. You stepped closer, stroking her hair, also pressing a kiss on her face.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
You had to do your hardest not to start sobbing when you looked at her. The sheer fact that she was already a year old was too much for you.
Your mom did not show the same restraint. She was fully crying now, tears streaming down her face when she walked over, pulling you into a tight hug. Jack was her next victim and she hugged him so tightly you could practically hear his ribs crushing. Then she swooped Lizzie from his arms, peppering her with small kisses.
“Happy Birthday you beautiful girl” she mumbled between affections. “Happy Birthday, my girl. You’re the best and the sweetest and the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jack laughed, then put his arm around you, pulling you close. “You’re doing a good job holding yourself together, future Mrs. Abbot.”
You chuckled softly, quickly wiping away a tear that had somehow managed to escape your eye. “I’m trying my best.”
Your gaze drifted back to Lizzie in your moms arms. Robby stood next to her, obviously trying to take over Lizzie which your mom clearly didn’t appreciate. She glanced at Robby with an expression you knew very well. Poor guy, he had no clue what trap he was about to step into.
Then your gaze flickered to this yard full of people who already loved her more than she would probably ever understand.
For a moment you simply watched the chaos, then you smiled.
Jack pressed a very gentle kiss on your temple. “That was the single best year in my life” he admitted softly.
You swallowed hard, feeling your eyes filling with tears now. “Mine too.”
He pulled you a little closer. “I love you.”
“I love you too” you managed between sobs.
You couldn’t see his smile but you just knew it was there. “Oh, sweetheart. No crying.”
Hours later the party had finally started winding down. Not completely, just enough that people had migrated indoors for dessert while a handful of empty bottles, paper plates and abandoned cups still littered the backyard. You found yourself collecting trash mostly because you needed something to do with your hands.
The evening air was cooler now and you could hear the laughter from inside drifting through the open screen door. You could also hear your mom apparently trying to force some cake on Robby.
“You need to eat something, Michael.” Her voice left no room for further discussion. “You’re already too thin.”
You started laughing and bent down to pick up another crushed soda can.
“Still cleaning up everyone’s mess, huh?”
You froze mid-movement and turned your head. Peter stood a couple of feet away, beer in hand, slightly unsteady on his feet. And you knew that expression on his face. He wasn’t drunk enough to slur, but drunk enough to be honest.
You hadn’t even known he attended the party. You couldn’t remember seeing him there earlier.
For a moment neither of you spoke. Then you let out a sigh.
“Peter.”
“What?”
“You’re here to say something stupid again, right?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“You always look like that when you’re about to say something stupid that will piss me off.”
A laugh escaped him. “Shouldn’t you be inside?”
You tossed another cup into the trash bag. “Probably. I just needed a minute.”
He shrugged.
The silence stretched again. Then he tilted his head.
“You seem happy.”
His eyes were fixed on you.
You shrugged. “Yeah, I am.”
“I can tell.”
He nodded slowly. “Good.”
You swallowed hard. Something about his voice felt… wrong. Not angry, not bitter, just tired. But you didn’t want to know the reason behind that. You just wanted not to have any kind of conversation with him right now.
You straightened slightly. “Peter-“
“You know I would’ve married you.”
Everything stopped – the sounds from the house, the crickets, even your own breathing. For a second you genuinely thought you’d misheard him.
“What?”
Peter laughed once. “Yeah.”
You blinked. “Peter-“
“No, seriously.”
You stared at him. His eyes were glassy, a little unfocused – but he looked very determined. “You would’ve had a good life.”
Your stomach dropped. “Don’t-“
“I mean it.”
“Peter.”
“I would’ve taken care of you.”
The trash bag slipped out of your hand and fell onto the ground. You didn’t even notice. You stared at him like he was crazy. “Stop.”
“You would’ve been happy.”
And suddenly you were angry. Not sad or flattered – just plain angry. Because where the hell had this been ten years ago?! Where had this been when you were twenty, following him around like a lovesick idiot? Where had this been when Hunter was tearing your life apart?
You looked at him, your face flushed with the rage you felt inside. “You had years.”
Peter flinched like you had hit him.
“You had years, Peter. And you didn’t care back then. So don’t you dare stand there, telling me this now.”
You let out a small humorless laugh, shaking your head.
“I’m engaged to the best man I’ve ever known. And I love him. And he loves me. He doesn’t lead me on. He doesn’t leave me guessing about his feelings.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“You had your chance. You didn’t want me back then. And now you just want me because you can’t have me anymore. You don’t love me, Peter. You just hate the idea of losing the image of me pining after you.”
The words came out harsher than you intended and he looked away immediately. For the first time since you’d seen him again he looked completely defeated.
For a long moment neither of you spoke. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
You swallowed hard, fighting back tears you couldn’t quite understand. The anger had suddenly left you, leaving only sadness behind. “Peter…”
You stopped because you had no idea what to say anymore.
He laughed softly, a broken little sound. “Okay.” Then he dragged a hand over his face, suddenly looking slightly annoyed again. “You should probably go inside.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. And you should probably go home.”
“Yeah.”
You turned and walked toward the house, without looking back at him. But you knew he was watching you. Halfway there the screen door opened and Robby stepped out, followed by Jack. Both were carrying beer bottles and were laughing at something. Both stopping immediately when they saw your face – flushed, confused, watery eyes.
Jack frowned instantly. “Sweetheart? Everything okay?”
You looked away, swallowing hard. “Yeah, fine.”
“Wow, that was bullshit.”
You almost laughed. Jack tilted his head, while Robby looked between you and Peter, who was still standing on the yard.
“Hey.” The softness in his voice nearly undid you. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Even you could hear how hollow that sounded.
“Sweetheart. Please.”
You closed your eyes for a moment. Robby’s expression sharpened immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing” you repeated again, waving your hand. “It’s stupid.”
“What. Happened.” Robby’s voice was insistent.
Enough so that you faltered, rubbing a hand over your face. “Peter just said some things.”
“What things?” Jack asked, still frowning.
“I need details” Robby added, his arms crossed.
You hesitated, looking briefly over your shoulder. Peter had already started backing toward the driveway, like he knew exactly where this was going.
You let out a sigh. “He told me he would’ve married me.”
That was met with stunned silence.
Jack blinked. “Oh.”
Robby stared at you – at Peter – then back at you. “HE TOLD YOU WHAT?!”
“Oh boy” Jack muttered, shaking his head.
Robby was already moving, taking a couple of steps toward Peter. “OH ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT! YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHOLE, TRYING TO RUIN MY BEST FRIENDS RELATIONSHIP LIKE THAT. YOU FUCKING BASTARD.”
Jack caught the back of his shirt. “Michael, leave him alone.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I said – leave him alone” Jack repeated, voice steady, no room for discussion left. “He’s drunk.”
“DO I LOOK LIKE A MAN WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT THAT?”
“He’s miserable.”
“I CARE EVEN LESS.”
Jack rubbed a hand over his face. “Michael, I think life already kicked his ass harder tonight than you ever could.”
That stopped Robby a little.
Across the driveway Peter froze for half a second, then kept walking. A moment later a car door slammed. The engine started – and he was gone.
Robby still looked bewildered, like he was ready to commit several felonies. “You can’t let him get away with… with… with something like that” he said towards Jack, shaking his head in disbelief. “He was trying to stir shit up, you know that, right?”
Jack took a deep breath. “You done?”
“No, I’m not.”
Jack shrugged. “Then be done. We’re not doing this tonight.”
“So – tomorrow?”
Jack smiled despite himself, giving Robby a slap on his arm. “Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. Leave him alone.”
“BUT HE’S A TOTAL ASSHOLE.”
Jack shrugged, then slipped an arm around your shoulders, gently guiding you toward the house. Robby still stood there.
“I still think I should’ve hit him” he muttered, more to himself.
“Noted” Jack replied dryly.
“I mean it. Just one punch.”
“You’re a fucking doctor, Michael. Act like it.”
“So, you mean I should’ve used a scalpel?”
Jack started laughing, pulling you close, kissing your temple. “You okay?”
You nodded slowly, closing your eyes for a second. “Yeah.”
“You want to be alone?” He glanced at you.
After a moment you let out a long breath, shaking your head. “No.”
“But we’re definitely talking about this later.”
You nodded. “Later sounds good” you whispered.
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Next part is coming soon, I promise :)
I think that’s just because she likes me more than you
Dr. Jack Abbot x (female) reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x you
Summary: Finally Mara and Robby arrive - and somehow add an entirely new layer of chaos to an already chaotic pre-birthday celebration.
A/N: I'm no longer updating the taglist because Tumblr has been glitching way too much lately. If you don't want to miss any updates, feel free to turn on notifications for my posts! <3
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (1)
Link to "You stole my cart" master list (2)
Previous chapter: One day I'll die
--- --- ---
By June 30th the house had fully entered pre-birthday chaos.
The kind of chaos where folding chairs mysteriously multiplied in the backyard, your mother had already cried twice about her grandkid turning one and people kept appearing at the house carrying casseroles and salads nobody asked for.
Jack had been handling it surprisingly well. Much better than you had expected. Mostly thanks to your relatives. Your mom had started calling him “our Jack”. Your aunts fed him constantly. (Which led to nightly shots of Gaviscon because the heartburn was killing him.) Your uncles had already liked him before but loved him after yesterday, especially after the prosthetic-leg incident which had somehow turned into a family legend overnight.
He still smiled like an idiot when your mom introduced him as your fiance. And whenever someone called Lizzie his girl.
He was overwhelmed - but happy.
Shortly before noon Lizzie had finally gone down for a nap upstairs. Jack was somewhere outside helping your uncles move tables. You were halfway through your second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang.
You frowned because nobody rang the bell here. People usually just walked in.
Your mom looked up immediately. “Maybe Latter-day-Saints again” she said with a shrug. “Don’t let them come in, okay?”
You started to laugh. “Mom, you don’t have to tell me that” you said while walking into the hallway. When you opened the door - you froze.
Mara stood there holding an iced coffee, handbag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses pushed into her hair. Robby stood beside her, also holding a cup of coffee and looking slightly exhausted.
You tilted your head. Because yeah - you had known that Robby would come. And Mara. But you hadn’t known they were apparently arriving together.
“Hi!” Mara hugged you tightly, pressing a kiss onto your cheek. “You look good. The smalltown vibe is clearly suiting you.”
Robby snorted before giving a little wave. “Hey.”
You looked from one to the other, still deeply suspicious. “Why are you together?”
They glanced at each other for a moment like they had a full conversation just with one look.
Mara recovered first. “We had the same flight.”
“And the same rental car” Robby added.
“And before you freak out on me” Mara said, taking another sip of coffee. “It was his idea.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
“He also picked the hotel.”
“Traitor” Robby mumbled under his breath.
Now you turned fully toward him. “You picked her hotel?”
He looked entirely unashamed. “Yeah. There was only one reasonable option.”
“And you just let him do all… this?” you asked confused, looking back at Mara.
She snorted. “It’s not like I had a vote.”
You closed your eyes for a second. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t have a stroke” Mara said quickly. “We’re staying in separate rooms and we’re not - and I repeat NOT - sleeping together.”
Robby's mouth fell open.
Mara noticed immediately. “What now, Robert?”
“Robert?” you echoed, deeply confused.
“You don’t have to say it like that!” Robby said.
“I absolutely have to say it like that.”
Before you could say another word your mother appeared behind you.
“Oh, they’re here!” She clapped her hands together, looking absolutely delighted before turning toward Mara. “You must be Mara!”
She blinked. “Um, yes, hi, Mrs-”
“Oh honey, you are gorgeous!” your mother exclaimed, pulling her directly into a hug. “You look like someone straight out of a movie.”
“Um, thank you?” she replied, giving you a confused look over your mom’s shoulder.
You started grinning.
Your mother let go of her, then turned her attention toward Robby, who straightened immediately. “And you must be Michael!”
He nodded quickly. “That’s me. But everyone calls me-”
“You’re Lizzie’s godfather!” your mother went on without even listening to anything he just said.
He was caught off guard for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“So, you’re basically family!” Your mom hugged him with astonishing determination - which looked hilarious because she only reached his chest. Mara took the coffee out of his hand, so he could hug her back. Which he did.
“It feels like I already know you” your mom said, already teary eyed again. “My daughter told me so much about you.”
Robby shot you a look. “Only good things, I hope?”
You tilted your head. “Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?”
Your mother laughed. “Only good things of course. But she didn’t mention you being so handsome.”
You narrowed your eyes, making a throwing-up-gesture with your hand behind your mothers back. Mara stifled a laugh. Badly.
“You two must be starving” your mom carried on. “All this airport food is real rubbish, you know? You need some proper home cooked meals, huh? And probably some pie first? I’ve got apple pie and cherry pie - but if you want something else I can just make one.”
She paused for a moment, then looked back at Robby. “What’s your favorite pie, Michael?”
He was thrown off guard by that question. “Cherry pie sounds lovely” he said quickly, already smiling again.
“I like him” she cooed towards you.
Mara looked at you slightly horrified. Robby meanwhile looked deeply smug. He shot you a told-you-so-look and it cost you everything to not just flip him off.
“So, come on in you two!” your mother said, already ushering them inside.
“Why are so many people here?” Mara whispered to you, glancing at all the people standing in the kitchen and gathered outside in the garden.
“You’re kind of the main attraction now” you whispered back, grinning. “Everyone wants to have a look at you.”
She crossed herself, mock-seriously, then stood next to Robby, leaning against the counter.
“What can I bring you? Water, lemonade, iced tea, coffee - beer?” your mother asked toward Robby, giving him a wink.
You stared at her. If you wouldn’t know better you would suspect your mom was flirting with Robby.
He gave a perfect smile. “Iced tea is perfect” he replied. “If I drink before noon I get cranky.”
Your mom laughed as if that was the funniest thing she heard in her entire life. “I can’t believe you can get cranky, dear. Not with a handsome face like that.”
Mara cleared her throat. “I’d love one too. Thanks.”
“Sure, honey” your mom cooed, already on her way to the fridge.
From the backyard Jack’s voice drifted through the open screen door. “I’ll be damned - if that’s not the world’s tallest pain in my ass straight from Pittsburgh.”
Robby started laughing. “He’s here - what? Four days and already sounding like he grew up here.” He rolled his eyes, then added louder: “Couldn’t bear to be apart from you for so long, sweetheart.”
Your mother turned, half-confused, half-horrified. You clocked this immediately, waving your hands. “He’s just joking, mom.”
She blinked, then turned back to the fridge, not completely convinced.
Jack appeared in the kitchen doorway, sweating profusely from the heavy lifting he had just done, holding a drink. He stopped dead when he noticed Mara standing next to Robby.
He blinked.
Looked at Robby. Then back at Mara. Then at you.
“Did they arrive together?”
The backyard had finally settled into something softer. The loud part of the day had burned itself out a little. Dinner was still hours away and most of your remaining relatives had spread out into loose little groups across the yard with drinks in hand.
The air smelled like cut grass, barbecue smoke and sunscreen. The smell you had known - and loved - since your childhood. For the first time since you’d arrived things actually felt calm.
You sat curled sideways in one of the lawn chairs, drink balanced in your hand, watching your mom across the yard fuss over her grandchild.
Lizzie, naturally, was thriving under the attention, sitting happily on a picnic blanket with an adorable hat on her head while your mom narrated every movement she made to anyone willing to listen.
“She waved!” your mom announced dramatically.
Your aunt turned around, gasping. “She did! Perfectly!”
“She’s a natural” your mom claimed, looking like she just won first prize at the national waving championship.
You laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. But you also felt a gratitude you couldn’t quite name.
Jack sat beside you, stretched out lower in his chair, beer resting loosely in one hand. He looked tired in that soft, worn-down way he only ever let himself look around people he trusted. His hair was messier now, he had his glasses on and his sleeves were pushed up.
Every once in a while, without really seeming to notice he was doing it, his hand drifted over to touch your knee or brush your arm.
Across from you Robby had somehow made himself entirely at home. Which honestly shouldn’t have surprised you.
Your mom had already adopted him, fed him twice and told at least three relatives he was “Lizzie’s godfather and basically part of the family”.
She was also weirdly keen on touching him - if it was a soft pat on his back, when she walked by or just a gentle stroke across his cheek when she was talking to him.
You thought he would hate this. Instead he seemed perfectly comfortable with the arrangement.
One ankle crossed over the opposite knee, one arm slung lazily across the back of his chair, drink in hand, sunglasses hanging from his collar - he looked completely at peace with his surroundings.
Beside him sat Mara, looking infuriatingly polished. She wore loose linen pants, white sneakers - and looked casual and put-together in a way that you never could have pulled off.
She held a glass of wine between her fingers and watched your family with the expression of someone who still wasn’t entirely convinced any of this was real.
“You know your mom is deeply offended you didn’t ask us to stay here” she said eventually, taking a sip of wine.
You tilted your head. “What? Did she really say that?”
Mara nodded, already grinning now. “She said we could’ve had the guest bedroom.”
“But there’s only one bed inside” you said, your brows furrowed, before your eyes widened. “OH!”
Mara started laughing. “Yeah.”
Jack and Robby looked at each other.
“What’s so funny about that?” Jack asked.
You rolled your eyes. “Mom obviously thinks that these two are like a thing.”
Robby choked on his drink.
Mara was laughing harder now. “I had to explain to her that we’re only friends.”
“Since when are you two friends?” Jack asked, narrowing his eyes.
Robby flipped him off without really looking at him. Instead he looked at Mara with a hard-to-read expression on his face.
“She also asked if we wanted to stay longer.”
Jack looked over his beer. “She didn’t ask me that.”
Robby shrugged. “Don’t be jealous, Jack. I think that’s just because she likes me more than you.”
“Oh, fuck off, Michael.”
“No wonder she doesn’t like you if you’re using words like that.” Robby clicked his tongue disapprovingly.
“No worries. I’ve got plenty more where that came from” Jack shot back.
“Did you hear that?” Robby asked with a long suffering sigh. “So, so jealous.”
“Keep talking and I’ll Mara about the time you cried over that stupid lego movie.”
“I didn’t cry.”
“You cried for forty-five minutes straight.”
“You had teary eyes too!”
Before Jack could defend himself, a familiar voice drifted closer. “Who had teary eyes?”
Adam appeared carrying a beer. Peter followed a step behind, looking vaguely annoyed being here, which seemed to be his default state lately.
The smile on your face vanished instantly. Jack reached for you, took your hand in his and squeezed it once.
“Mind if we join?” Adam asked.
“You were going to anyway” you replied, not as sharp as you were aiming for.
“Well, that’s correct.”
He dragged over two empty lawn chairs and dropped into one. “I’m Adam” he said, giving a wave to Robby and Mara. “I’m her cousin.”
They said hello.
Peter grabbed the other chair, before his eyes moved across the group. First to Jack, whom he gave the tiniest nod. Then he looked at you - or rather, didn’t because his gaze slid right past you like you weren’t even there.
You rolled your eyes.
Message received, asshat.
Then his attention shifted toward Robby. There was the briefest pause, because Robby, to strangers, was intimidating. Tall. Broad shoulders. Beard. Quiet confidence. A little scruffy maybe, but with that kind of natural authority that made people instinctively straighten a little around him.
Robby stood and offered a hand. “Michael, but everyone calls me Robby.”
“Peter.”
They shook hands and made brief eye contact. A quick silent exchange of mutual assessment that men somehow completed without actually speaking. Or, as Mara called it: comparing their dicks.
You shot her an amused look and noticed she could barely hide her smile behind her wine glass. You looked away before you laughed out loud.
Then Peter turned toward Mara - and stopped. Entirely. Like he’d forgotten how to function for a second. Not dramatically but just enough that you noticed it. So did Jack.
“Well” he muttered, amused.
Mara smiled at him. “Hi.” She held out her hand. “I’m Mara. Her best friend.”
Peter shook it eventually, slightly slower than normal. “Peter.”
He also smiled, which was a rare sight these days. The kind of smile people accidentally gave when they liked what they saw.
But unfortunately for Peter - Robby noticed and immediately sat straighter. He broadened his shoulders. He was suddenly much more alert than before like some deeply hidden instant had quietly activated.
“Mind if I sit here?” Peter said, nodding to the chair Adam had put next to her.
“Nope” she replied.
“Perfect.” He dropped into the chair beside her. “So, you’re from Pittsburgh too?” he asked after the tiniest pause.
“Yeah.”
“We both are” Robby chimed in, taking a sip of his beer.
Peter gave him a brief nod, then turned his attention back to Mara. “What do you do there?”
Mara swirled her wine. “I’m a principal.”
Peter blinked. “Like a school principal?”
“That’s usually what people mean when they say principal."
That earned a little laugh out of him. “No seriously.”
“What?”
“You don’t look like a principal.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What exactly does a principal look like for you?”
Peter immediately realized he’d stepped into a trap. “Uh.”
“No, go on. I wanna hear that.”
“I don’t know” he said slowly. “Older?”
Mara seemed amused. “And?”
“Stricter?”
She laughed. “Wow.”
Robby raised an eyebrow. “She can be very strict, you know?” he mumbled under his breath.
Mara smacked his arm. “Shut up, Robert.”
“Robert?” Jack echoed, giving you a confused look.
You shook your head before shrugging. “No clue” you muttered.
Robby waved his hand. “Ignore her. She’s stupid and I hate her.”
Peter looked from him to Mara and back. He was obviously trying to figure out the dynamic between them - and failed tremendously.
Mara eventually took pity on him. “I’m a principal at an elementary school. And for the record - I’m very strict.”
“Good to know.” Peter smirked. “How many kids?”
“About two hundred fifty.”
He nearly choked on his beer. “That’s a lot of kids.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re in charge?”
“Yes.”
“God, you must be terrifying.”
She let out a genuine laugh. “Thank you.” Then she turned toward Robby. “See? That’s finally a guy who understands how to compliment me.”
Robby shifted slightly, waving his hand dismissively. “Whatever.”
“What grade?” Peter asked, trying to steer the conversation back.
“All of them.”
“Oh my God.”
“Exactly.” Again she looked at Robby with a knowing smile.
He let out a sigh. “Don’t encourage her please.”
Peter blinked.
Meanwhile Adam had turned toward Jack. “So, did she tell you about the horse she wanted to buy?”
Jack’s eyes lit up. “No.”
You groaned. “Adam.”
“No, seriously, that’s a good story.”
“I was fourteen.”
“I KNOW!” he exhaled excited. “She even had picked out names. For a horse she didn’t even have yet.”
“Oh my God” you muttered. “Seriously?”
“Mister Buttercup must have been my favorite” Adam added.
You groaned while Jack was already laughing, glancing at you affectionately. “That’s adorable.”
“And she wasn’t even looking at horses she could actually afford” he went on. “She was looking at expensive race horses. Horses with a bloodline.”
“I was fourteen” you repeated embarrassed. “I had no clue.”
Robby should have been listening because this was the kind of information he normally collected and weaponized for years.
Instead he sat next to Mara, fuming, beginning to hate Peter.
“So, what made you become a principal?” Peter asked.
She shrugged. “I was a teacher first. And then it was the next logical step.”
“That’s pretty cool” he said with a small smile.
Robby’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Yeah, I don’t know.” Mara shrugged. “You know I spend most of my time dealing with dictators.”
“You mean children?”
“I mean their parents.”
Peter barked a laugh. “Fair.”
Meanwhile Adam was still going. “And while she was doing shitty babysitter jobs for five dollars per hour so she could buy that stupid race horse one day she spent hours writing stories about her future horse.”
“You wrote fanfiction about Mister Buttercup?” Jack asked you, grinning.
You groaned into your hands. “I hate everything about this conversation.”
“You should” Adam said with a shrug. “And that’s not even the best part.”
“Please, tell me the best part” Jack said, reaching out and grabbing your hand. “Fuck I’m loving this” he muttered under his breath.
“Adam.” Your voice was a warning.
And yet your cousin decided that you weren’t actually threatening - and kept going. “She didn’t even know how to ride a damn horse. She never took riding lessons. She just wanted to buy a damn race horse to put it into her mothers yard.”
Jack burst out laughing.
You looked mildly offended. “I WAS FOURTEEN YOU DIPSHIT!”
“Language!” your mother yelled from the yawn, giving you a pointed look. “Your daughter is present.”
You rolled your eyes - deliberately not looking at your mom while doing so - then sighed. “Sorry mom!” you shouted back, then added more quietly toward Adam: “I’m going to end you, you little piece of trash. Wait until I tell them about the time you wanted to try frenchkissing and couldn’t find a girl to practise with you so you paid Peter five bucks and he went with it.”
For one glorious second complete silence followed.
Adam froze.
Peter froze.
Mara froze.
Just Robby looked like Christmas had come early.
Jack lowered his beer. “What?”
Adam looked horrified. “YOU PROMISED YOU’D NEVER TELL ANYONE.”
You shrugged. “You started this, you know?”
“I WAS FIFTEEN!”
“And? You paid another fifteen year old boy five dollars to make out with you.”
“I DID NOT MAKE OUT WITH HIM.”
Peter finally found his voice again. “We didn’t. It was one kiss.”
The entire group turned toward him - and he immediately regretted speaking.
“Oh my god, so this is true?” Mara wheezed.
Adam dropped his face into both hands.
Robby beamed and turned toward Peter. “So, you kissed Adam for five dollars?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Five dollars are five dollars, right?”
Mara was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. When she finally caught her breath again, she had to wipe tears from her face.
“So Peter” she said with a slightly shaky voice. “I didn’t ask you what you were working but I guess - sex worker?”
The whole group lost it again.
Even Peter gave a small smile. “Haha.”
She reached over and grabbed his forearm for a moment.
“Sorry” she said between laughs. “But this whole town is insane.”
“You have no idea” you replied, laughing too.
“No seriously.” She pointed between Adam and Peter, shoulders still shaking. “What kind of friendship is that?”
“Honestly?” Peter glanced at Adam. “A profitable one.”
Adam looked like he wanted to die.
Robby instead looked like he’d just been handed the greatest gift of his entire life. He leaned back into his chair.
“So let me get this straight” he began.
“I think that’s the only thing being straight in this story” Jack cut in, chuckling.
That got a couple of laughs.
“So Adam, you looked at Peter and thought - yes, this seems like a worthwhile investment.”
The group lost it again.
Adam groaned into his hands. “I miss five minutes ago when we were making fun of Mister Buttercup.”
“Who’s Mister Buttercup?” Mara asked, confused.
“No” Robby replied immediately. “Don’t distract him. We’re never moving forward from this.”
Adam sighed. “It was twenty years ago. It wasn’t a big deal. And it was pretty bad honestly.”
“Ouch!” Peter exhaled, suddenly looking offended.
Adam blinked. “It wasn’t a big thing, dude.”
“You just insulted my kissing technique.”
“YOU WERE FIFTEEN AND YOU KISSED AWFUL!”
“AND YOU STILL PAID FOR IT!” Peter gave back.
You were laughing so hard at this point your stomach hurt.
Even Peter looked amused now - and unfortunately for Robby, Mara’s hand landed on Peter’s forearm again while she tried to stop laughing. It lasted maybe two seconds but it was enough so Robby’s smile disappeared instantly.
Jack noticed it too. “Hey, Robby” he asked quietly, leaning over.
“Hm?”
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You seem tense.”
“I’m not.”
“Your eye is twitching.”
“Jack.”
“Hm?”
“Mind your fucking business.”
Jack barked out a laugh.
“So anyway” Adam said, recovering slightly, then pointing at you. “Thank you for revealing the most embarrassing story of my life.”
You smiled sweetly. “Oh, it’s not the most embarrassing story of your life, Adam.”
He looked genuinely horrified now. “What do you mean?”
You tilted your head and raised your drink. “Wait and see.”
Adam gulped, then turned toward Jack. “I’m afraid you’re marrying a psychopath.”
Jack grinned, then looked at you with a fond smile. He squeezed your hand. “Yeah, but she’s my psychopath, you know?”
The bonfire crackled softly in the gathering darkness. Somebody had brought out more chairs. Somebody else had produced another cooler full of beer. Children ran through the yard in chaotic packs while half the adults slowly settled into comfortable after-dinner conversations.
Jack sat beside Robby in a pair of lawn chairs, a beer balanced on his stomach.
Robby was not paying attention to the bonfire - or the beer - or the conversation. Not even to Lizzie, who was cradled against his chest, eyes already half-closed. Her tiny fist was clutched into his shirt and she sucked sleepily on her thumb.
Instead he stared into the yard with narrowed eyes. Jack followed his line of sight.
Mara stood near the grill with Peter - and she laughed. Which somehow made Robby’s jaw tighten.
Jack took a sip of his beer slowly. “You’re doing it again.”
“Hm?”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m NOT staring” Robby said, already sounding offended.
Jack rolled his eyes. “You know she’s allowed to talk to other men, right?”
Robby scoffed. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what’s the point, Michael?”
Robby pointed with his free hand. “Look at this asshole.”
Jack looked. Peter was currently laughing about something Mara said. “Okay…?”
“Look at him.”
“I am looking.”
“He’s hovering.”
Jack frowned - then started laughing. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”
Robby stared at him like he wanted to murder him on the spot. “What?”
Jack laughed harder, then wiped a hand over his face. “Michael.”
“What?”
“That man is not flirting with Mara.”
Robby stared. “Yes, he is.”
“No.”
“He is, Jack. I’ve got eyes in my head, you know?” Robby replied seriously.
You stepped out of the house onto the porch. For a moment you just stood there, looking around before walking over to your mom.
Peter was still listening to Mara. Mostly. Every now and then though his eyes found you across the yard before returning to the conversation.
“Who is he looking at, buddy?” Jack asked him.
Robby squinted, then paused. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh!”
Jack shrugged. “Exactly.” He nodded toward Peter. “That guy isn’t interested in Mara.”
“Wait a minute.” Robby's eyes widened. “Wait wait wait. Why aren’t you more jealous then?!”
Jack barked out a laugh. “Because.”
“Because what?”
“I’m just not.”
“But why?” Robby pressed, clearly still confused.
Jack shrugged again. “She’s marrying me, you know?”
Robby stared, then let out a long breath. “You changed, brother.”
“Thank you.”
“I hate it.”
Jack laughed out loud again, then flipped him off.
Robby stared mock-offended at him, briefly covering Lizzie's closed eyes with his hands. “You’re doing that in front of your daughter?”
Jack smiled into his beer.
Across the yard Peter was still staring at you while Mara told him something.
Robby glanced over. “You’re really not bothered?”
Jack thought about it for a moment. “No.”
“Not even a little?”
Jack took his time to answer.
He looked over at you. You were smiling, your arm draped around your moms shoulder. You seemed relaxed - and happy. His heart gave a small jump.
“No.” He paused for a brief moment, then added - “I think he’s the one with the problem here.”
Robby narrowed his eyes, then nodded slowly. “Yeah okay, I get it. But still.”
“What is it?”
“I still want to kill him.”
Jack blinked. “Excuse me, what now?”
Robby shrugged like this was answer enough.
Jack started laughing. “Feel free, but please wait until she’s in bed, okay? I want the arrest happening after bedtime.”
--- --- ---
You wanna keep reading? - Interlude: I'm old but I still have eyes
synopsisyou and Robby have always had an un-spoken understanding, that if you were two different people you'd fall in love. but he was a mess and refused to bring you down. so instead, fate threatens to take you away forever
warningsANGST. so much angst. stabbing. blood. near death. operations. typical hospital stuff but a happy ending
authornotethis is just completely ripped from that episode of ER when John Carter gets stabbed, like the medical talk is all from that. I also feel like this may be slight ooc robby cause I have struggle with how this man would be affectionate. i had a hell of a lot of fun writing this, angst is by far my favourite, i hope you like too
Pitt masterlist. Other Robby fic!
You weren't sure if it was the thumping in your head or the drum in your heart but you watched Robby closely. It could have been the injury to your head or the closeness of him that had your heart reacting in such a way.
You blamed it on the injury.
“Give it to me straight, Doc,” you joked. One of his gloved hands cupped your chin, nudging your gaze up. The other dabbed gently at the cut to your forehead. “Am I gonna make it?”
There was a line of displeasure in his lips. “Not funny,” he mumbled.
“Sure it is.”
“No, it's not.”
You rolled your eyes before going back to focusing on him.
It was rare you got to watch him in his concentration. Usually you were in the middle of a trauma when he pulled out the serious face and things were moving too fast for you to even catch a glimpse. Now- his focus was all on you. You could study the creases at his brows and the flecks of grey in his beard.
“You ever notice you have these deep lines between your eyebrows when you're concentrating?”
“It's called age,” he said but there was the smallest hint of a smile there.
“Aren't you twenty-seven?”
This time he couldn't stop the smirk of amusement and finally you won.
Robby dabbed away the blood at your cut, changing the gauze. “Don't think you're distracting me.”
You hummed as he tilted your head into the light. “Distracting you from what?”
“Reporting him.”
You grew silent and looked away.
It was Robby's turn to stare at you, eyes without warmth, stern in ways he was with patients that didn't want to listen to good advice. You may be sitting on a bed in exam room four and you may have a chart written up but you were not a patient. “He was scared and confused-”
“ - he pushed you.”
“And I was the one that tripped and bashed my head.”
“He threw you down!”
You winced at his snap and then winced at the pain your wincing brought you.
Robby sighed with some sort of regret. His fingertips brushed your skin as he finished cleaning the cut and you couldn't help but think it was a deliberate move. He'd been so careful not to touch or apply pressure but suddenly the callous of his fingers were there.. “If we don't take care of ourselves nobody else will do it.”
It was the same thing Dana had said to you when she saw the patient push you down and run out the room in distress, hospital gown slipping on his shoulders. She'd taken you under her arm, stirred you to a chair. She was firm in both checking you were okay and that you were going to report him for hurting you.
You look past Robby, trying to see through the glass door. The Pitt carried on it's usual bustle but Dana kept a close eye out on you in the room. “Where is he now?”
“None of your concern,” he said. “The cut's clean, looks like you won't need stitches.”
“You've restrained him haven't you?”
Robby frowned. His head shook slightly in disbelief- like he couldn't believe you. “He hurt you. Jesus- you think I was gonna just tuck him back in bed- you think Dana was!”
You were used to the rise in Robby's voice, as attending it was his job to command everyone. You just didn't like to hear it risen at you. “He woke up, confused and startled.”
The patient was brought in un-conscious at the side of the road, a gash in his arm. Nobody knew his name but you'd admitted him and ran some tests while he was semi-conscious. He'd woken up as you were checking his IV and the next thing you knew hard hands were pushing you away. You'd taken the tray down with you and smacked your head in the process. Then he'd ran and then Robby had you in his arms, willing to pick you up and carry you off if it weren't for your insistence to walk to an exam room.
Robby's body heaved in a sigh as he put his hands on his thighs. “He hurt you,” he repeated, looking up at you through his eyelashes.
You slowly met his gaze as he got closer on the stall in front of you. “I've had worse.”
It wasn't supposed to be a dig but as his eyes met yours in a haze of dark anxiety you figured it came off that way.
Really what happened between you and Robby was ancient history. A whole six months since you'd stopped seeing each other; if that's what it could be called. It was really only one stupid kiss and several flirts that created the thick tension between you two. Nothing had ever been done to encourage it further, yet nothing had also been done to squash it.
Whilst his gaze remained on you, Robby got out his penlight and checked your pupil reaction.
“Any pain?”
“Well, the light's a bit bright.”
He put it down and with his gloved hands he slowly pressed around the small cut on your forehead, hands cupping your face tenderly. “Any pain?”
“No, you've done all this twice now.”
“It's procedure for any patient.”
“It's special treatment,” you grumbled.
Robby grabbed a bandage from the tray. “You're a special patient.”
The heat crept up your cheeks before you stared at the bandage.
“Robby-”
In one hand he held a bandage, in the other a small spider-man plaster that he so obviously got from pedes.
You stared at him. “Really?”
His cheeks tilted in a small teasing grin. “All we have, I'm afraid.”
You seriously doubted it but tapped the spider-man plaster nonetheless. “I'm sure I could have done this myself, you know,” you said as he peeled away the plaster. “Or at least got one of the nurses to do it. I'm sure you're needed somewhere more important.”
He frowned again. “More important?”
“There's a guy that came in with a GSW to the chest ten minutes ago and you're saying you don't need to be there?”
Robby's hands fell to either side of your face, gently taking your cheeks. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek bone. He could feign he was checking your pupils but you both knew better. “There's nowhere else I need to be.”
Six months ago you'd kissed in a bar ten minutes away from the Pitt. Every day since- you'd been fighting the urge to kiss him again.
At that moment, with his gentle touch and soft gaze, you wondered if he'd been fighting to.
“Look up,” Robby said with a clear of his throat.
You weren't sure what he was trying to check for anymore. Maybe he was just looking for an easy way out.
“I still want you to get a CT scan.”
“Now that's dramatic, I didn't expect that from you.”
“Any nasuea?”
You shook your head as Robby steadied you, sliding the plaster in place.
“Have you been drinking enough today?”
“Two cups of coffee count?”
Robby gave you a plain look as he yanked off the latex gloves, throwing them into a corner of the room. “Ten minutes rest, I'll bring you some food and water.”
You sighed dramatically. “Robby!”
He pushed himself up from his stool. “As you're attending I'm not asking, I'm-”
“Telling?” you guessed.
Robby hovered as you pushed yourself up back on the bed. You wouldn't say it but your head was hurting from the fall. Nothing more than a headache that some painkillers couldn't stop. If you told Robby that yes, you were in pain, you were sure he'd pull the curtain, change you into a gown and play doctor all day.
You lied back on the pillow as Robby plumped it and smoothed out the sheets under you. He was lingering and for a moment you thought of asking him to stay.
Your mouth had opened to ask when the door was nudged open.
“Robby, we got a car crash coming in five,” said Dana. She looked at you then, eyes crinkled in worry. “How you feeling, hun?”
“I'm fine, thanks Dana.”
She nodded once, offering you a small smile before leaving.
You looked up at Robby as his body lingered over yours, one arm stretched high above your head, the other lower. Your gaze flickered up and you could feel the warmth of his breath fan over you. “Ten minutes?” you asked.
“On the clock.”
“Then I'm free to go?”
His head tilted, a sly smirk playing around his thin beard. “I'm not keeping you a prisoner.”
You folded your arms over your chest, glancing away. “Feels like it.”
He chuckled lightly. For a moment his breath lingered over your forehead, closer than before.
When you glanced up he froze, hands clenched on the bed, his jaw taunt. It was as if you'd caught him in the act.
Suddenly you wished you hadn't looked up. You wished you'd let him do whatever he was going to do. Because once he'd been caught he straightened up and threw you an awkward thumbs up. “Ten minutes.”
You trace your finger over the plaster as you slowly left your room, creeping out like you were a teenager sneaking out of your parents to meet a guy. Except you were trying to avoid the guy.
“That was eight minutes!”
You looked up and found Robby at the nurses station, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Were you timing me?”
Robby held up his phone, showing you the timer he had counting down as next to him, Dana snorted. “Have you had something to drink? Or eat?” he asked as you leant over the counter. He was still watching you eagerly, waiting for any sign you were in more pain then you let on so he could send you back to bed.
“Thought you were getting me a drink?”
He rolled his eyes before obliging, sliding away to get you a drink. He turned back only once. “Don't go near him!” he called, the both of you knowing who the he was.
You saluted him, watching him go before turning to Dana. “How is he?”
She peered at you over her glasses. “Terrible. He's been worried sick, was practically watching you through those windows. Didn't blink for a minute!”
“Not Robby, my patient. The John Doe.”
“Well that ain't your concern anymore," she said.
“I want to treat him.”
“He's awake now, we've restrained him in twelve but Robby wants you nowhere near him.”
“Robby is over-reacting,” you sighed.
Dana lifted her shoulders. “Of course he is, it's you. You think he's gonna react rationally?”
Nobody was supposed to know about you and Robby and the thing that lingered in the middle. But somehow, Dana always ended up knowing everything.
You backed away from the counter, assuring Robby was nowhere to be seen. “Twelve, you said right?”
Dana huffed but lucky for you there were a dozen more things she needed to do. “Fine! Go! But take security with you!”
You saluted and headed that way. Outside the door, Ahmed was already there.
“Hey, doc,” he greeted. “He's been asking about you, said he wants to apologise.”
You weren't scared like you thought you'd be, stepping into the room while Ahmed promised to stay outside, just a shout away of you needed him. Your heart wasn't pounding as you slowly moved the curtain, finding the patient lying on the bed, restraints around his wrists and tied down. He wasn't thrashing about. He was calm, clocking you as you walked in.
“You're the nurse?” he said.
“Doctor, actually,” you said, introducing yourself.
He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes or add colour to his face. There was nothing in his eyes anyhow. He was pale and the thin bandaging that had been done for his arm while he struggled was bleeding through. “I-I pushed you, I am so sorry.”
You were about to say it was fine, but it wasn't you shouldn't tell him it was. You could accept the apology but still acknowledge that whatever state he was in, you shouldn't have been hurt. “Do you know where you are?”
“The hospital?”
“That's right, PTMC. Can you tell me your name?”
He nodded, gulping. There was a thin layer of sweat over his skin. “David Brown.”
“And do you know what month it is?”
“M-March.”
“Okay, good,” you said, making a quick note of his name in his chart. You sat down on the stool, shuffling to the side of his bed. “Mr Brown-”
“David,” he corrected you.
“David,” you said. “You were brought in just under an hour ago with a pretty bad laceration to your lower right arm. You were found un-conscious. Do you remember anything?”
You watched the sweat bead at his forehead, his eyes scrunched as he tried to think. His breathing grew heavier, face morphed into pain as he tried to think. “It's okay if you don't.”
“I-I don't,” a stray tear fell down his cheek.
“That's okay,” you assured him. “I'm gonna order you a CT and a toxic screening just to rule out any drugs or alcohol in your system. Is that okay?”
David's head jerked in something like a nod before you door swung open, clattering on the other side of the wall.
Robby stood at the end of the bed, face red, hands at his hips. “What are you doing in here?” he snapped.
“Doctor Robby-”
He gave you no time to explain, jutting his head back. “Step outside please, doctor.”
You stood, slowly and walked out slower.
David called out after you. “I really am sorry!”
Robby looked back like he didn't believe him.
The two of you stepped out and you spoke before he could, beating him by a second. “I'm ordering him a CT and toxicity test. That gash on his arms needs to be cleaned and stitched up, it's bleeding out.”
Robby didn't care to hear it. He pulled the curtains over and closed the door as he followed you out. “What did you think you were doing in there?”
“Tending to my patient.”
“I told you to leave him.”
“He wanted to say sorry. Ahmed, didn't he want to apologise?” you said, looking to security for some help.
Ahmed held up his hands. “Oh- I want nothing in this!”
“If he wanted to apologise he could've wrote a letter. Told me to apologise to you,” he said, still holding onto his anger. “I told you to leave it, the guy attacked you!”
“Lightly shoved me from shock!”
“Have you seen what he did to your head?”
“Yeah, a small cut, doesn't even need stitches- that's what you said!”
“It's a wound! There was blood!” he yelled. “You are not to go anywhere near him from now on, do you understand?”
There was a new anger in Robby then, something you saw rarely in him. Dana had said he was worried about you but you saw none of that concern in him now, only anger. Anger because you hadn't listened to him not because of well fair.
“I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to be helping people,” you defended, your own anger not rising to his.
His hands balled into fists. “Help someone who's asking for it. I see you in with that guy again and you're on triage for a week, you understand?”
Where was that softness in his eyes? Where was that care he tended to you in the room all alone?
“You understand?” he snapped again when you didn't answer.
You knew if you turned there'd be several pairs of eyes on the pair of you. Watching, assessing, see how you reacted. Nobody had ever heard Robby speak to you like that because he'd never shouted at you before. “I understand, Doctor Robinavitch.”
“So you yelled at her.”
Robby thought he'd find solace on the roof, that with only him and the night sky he stood a chance at thinking things through logically, for once on the right side of the rail.
Then Jack's voice sounded behind him and the peace he was searching for fell further out of reach.
“Who told you?” he asked, head falling.
“Oh, you know,” he mumbled, shoes shuffling over the roof as he got closer to him. “Just everybody that was in attendance to your little show.”
Jack leant next to him on the rail, staring at him.
Robby could feel his eyes but looked out on the skyline that was more favourable to him. Jacks eyes felt like everybody else that watched him yell at you. He could call it worry- it didn't change the way your face dropped the louder his voice rose.
“You wanna talk about it?” asked Jack.
“No.”
“I heard she got attacked.”
“Or lightly pushed as she'd put it.”
“She's a soldier.”
Robby shook his head. “No, she's a doctor. Today she could have been neither if that man-” the words chocked in his throat. What if he had hurt you even more? Punched you? Strangled you? He'd seen it all in the ER and yes, you'd been hurt before but that didn't mean he needed to have you hurt again.
“I saw her when I was coming up, she seemed fine,” said Jack. “About to clock off, you sure you want to end the day on such a bad note.”
“She doesn't want to talk to me.”
“Come on, she always wants to talk to you,” said Jack. “And I only know that cause you always want to talk to her.”
Robby wished he could say that telling Jack about the kiss so many months ago was a mistake but he couldn't because that would mean kissing you was a mistake. The only mistake made with that kiss is that he hadn't pulled you back in, kissed you every day since. But he'd told Jack on one of those lonely nights when they'd each had one too many beers how much he missed you even if he saw you every day.
“I was so fucking scared, brother,” he admitted with a long exhale of breath. Robby slumped over the rail, catching himself. “Code hula-hoop was called and her name and I- I didn't know...”
Jack's hand was firm on his back. “I know.”
Robby nodded, head tucked down. He wouldn't cry, he wasn't sure how these days but he sure as hell felt like it. It had been a hell of day, worse when he couldn't join your side without you walking off.
“You were worried, you don't know what to do with that,” said Jack.
He could admit that much.
“You go home now, she goes home, you're carrying this weight to the next day and it'll continue,” he said, therapizing him. “You were scared you might have lost her?”
Robby glanced Jack's way. There was never any judgment, only a keen understanding he sometimes didn't like.
“You might lose her if you don't do something about it.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Jack shrugged. “Apologise.”
Robby hesitated, the words 'I'm sorry' foreign on his tongue.
Jack chuckled low in his throat. “Is that really so hard for you?”
He nodded and Jack carried on laughing. By the end, even Robby was chuckling through watery eyes.
“Okay, okay, let's try,” said Jack, straightening up, encouraging him to do the same. “Repeat after me, I'm sorry.”
“Jesus-”
“Jesus, you can't even say it-listen we'll go slow, I'm-”
Robby's phone rung in his pocket, thankfully saving him from the embarrassment. “Dana-” he answered as he spotted Jack's phone going too.
“Get down here, now!”
“What's going on?” he asked, though his feet were already moving.
He didn't see the way Jack looked at him, he hardly heard how Dana said your name because when she did Robby dropped his phone and ran.
“Robby!” Jack called but he was off the roof and furiously pressing the elevator button. He managed to slide past the doors before they closed on him. “What did Dana say?”
But Robby couldn't speak. He heard Dana's voice re-play in his head again and again. That you had been attacked, that they needed him. He couldn't think beyond that. Beyond you and attacked there was nothing.
Jack was watching him closely. “Okay-” he must've known it was bad too. “Okay, Robby, we don't know what's going on down there but you gotta stay cool, okay? You gotta stay cool or leave us to it.”
He should've kept a closer eye on you, should've sent you home.
“Robby if you get in our way I'm taking you out of there, understand?”
The doors slid open and Robby ran out, Jack quick on his heels.
“Where?” he barked out. There were no faces around him he could figure out, no Dana, no Langdon- so everyone must have been in with you-
“Trauma one!”
Robby burst through the doors.
The chaos was everywhere and he paused. There were more bodies in the trauma room then he'd ever seen. In between them all a body that he could vaguely re-call as yours. Your trainers- usually white- were seeping in blood.
“Can you open your eyes?”
“No respond to command!”
“Two stab wounds to the left flank! First one L-two, second L-five.”
“Is it the spinal chord?” asked Whitaker.
“Can't tell it depends on the angle!” said Langdon. “Jesus- there's too much blood, I can't see a thing!”
You lied on the bed, blood splattered around your clothes, un-responsive to everyone around you. You were letting them prod, push and pull when you'd hardly let him asses your cut just hours ago.
Hours when you were teasing him and he was thinking about kissing you again.
What had happened.
If it was a papercut you'd be feigning death.
This was the closest you'd ever looked to dying and Robby couldn't feel his legs.
"Doctor Robby?" someone called in the room but it wasn't you. You weren't responding to anyone. “Doctor Robby!”
Jack moved past him, body knocking his. “I'm here!”
“BP seventy over fifty, pulse one-twenty.”
Jack moved around you, pressing the chest piece of the stethoscope to your chest. “Push in two litres of O-neg. Good breath sounds bilaterally.”
Robby's ears were ringing but he could feel himself shake his head. “She's not-she's not O-neg, she's B-positive,” he heard himself mumble.
There was a sharp beeping through the room and Robby thought it was a strange sound for his heart breaking.
“Pulse ox ninety-three!”
“Do we intubate?” asked Mohan.
Your body jerked and as if you were the puppet master tugging on his strings, Robby found his feet and moved to your side.
He moved around until he was the closest to you, replacing anyone else at your side. Others watched, un-sure if they should've told him to wait outside like he was family.
Jack gave them the nod and the room moved again.
“Give me ten by mask, no intubation. Send a trauma panel!” ordered Robby.
“We need X-ray for a chest!” yelled Jack.
“X-ray can come to us! I am not moving her!” he shouted. “Help me roll, let me see!”
The blood on the front of your scrubs was splashed but as they turned you, leaning you on your side Robby's body slumped, something like a chocked sob wracking through his body.
He couldn't see the puncture wounds through the blood that soaked you. Just as Langdon had said it was a mess. “Jesus chr- oh god.”
“Pressure's up to ninety palp!”
“Who did this?” he yelled out as they gently set you back.
“The guy who came in un-conscious earlier!”
Jack looked over at Robby.
Robby felt the muscles in his jaws work and he grunted. “I'll kill him,” he grumbled.
“Robby!” lectured Jack.
But he wasn't going to take back his words. “He's fucking dead.”
“He fled the hospital,” Langdon told him. “Left his knife in the room though, they'll find him.”
It couldn't have been a scalpel, it couldn't have been scissors. The guy came in, found a knife- or brought one from home- to harm you. If Robby ever saw him again he'd kill the guy and deal with the consequences that came.
“Toes are down going, no spinal injury,” said someone else in the room but he was losing all focus that wasn't you.
Garcia walked through the doors, joining the crowd of people around you.
“Tell me you've got an OR booked!” said Jack.
“With her name on it! How we doing in here?”
Santos pushed her way ahead, a small and un-characteristic tremble to her hands. There was another unit of blood pushed into your bloodstream and Robby was seconds away from hooking himself up and giving you his very blood. “Pressure's up!” she reported, lingering over you with a light. “Right pupil five millimetres and reactive -”
Suddenly your body jerked at the light. Your head thrashed side to side as you slowly returned to consciousness.
“Huh... I-wha-”
“Hey! Hey!” Robby pushed his way to you, looming over you and catching your eyes.
They were wild, looking around before settling on him.
“Robby?” you uttered, lips dry, dried blood at your neck. Your eyes were looking around like you couldn't quite see.
“Yeah- yeah it's me.” His hand flew to your hair, brushing it back as your eyes were going from him to around you, panic rising in your eyes. “Look at me, focus on me.”
“What-what?”
“You were stabbed,” he uttered.
Your eyes widened and he brushed back your hair again, doctors moving around the two of you. They could've been right on his back or a thousand miles away. All he focused on was you. Your hands waved around, getting in the way of tubes and the doctors.
Robby grabbed your hand, squeezing.
You focused on him and he tried to smile, tried to make himself convinced everything would be alright. He knew it was a grimace.
He'd never hated his medical training more. Because he knew this amount of blood loss was bad, he knew stabbing so close to the spinal chords was dangerous. He knew you were strong and hated staying still for too long and now you'd be forced to recover.
“My pressure?”
“It's up.” He watched as your eyes teared up, looking away from him again. “Good, that's good.”
Your hair sprawled out as you shook your head. “Am I gonna.... will I walk again?”
Robby hesitated. “Yeah- yeah we think it missed your spinal chord.”
Robby knew that but he couldn't help the tears that fell, couldn't help the small sob that ripped through his throat. You'd been calm at the cut with your head, damn right comedic. Now- you were quiet, whimpering and crying in pain and there wasn't anything he could do.
He was a doctor, he could help and check vitals and squeeze the bag of blood slow.
But he couldn't move from your side.
You nod before your back arched in pain and you yelled out.
“BP eighty palp!”
Robby got up, ignoring the ache in his knees as he loomed over you, trying to calm the pain. “Do something!”
“Robby!”
He looked.
You'd drained the blood dry.
“What?” you uttered, voice trembled in terror.
“Okay she needs to go up, now!” Jack called out.
“Let's get her moving!” yelled Garcia.
You groaned in pain. “What's going on?”
Robby didn't know what to do. It wasn't a conversation of telling a patient what was going on or what wasn't. It was telling you. He stuttered lamely, lost as another tear slid down his cheek. You hadn't even cried yet and he was close to blubbering.
His head bowed to you. He was mumbling, he thinks he was praying.
“Robby-” your hand waved out in front of him and he grabbed it, squeezing. “It hurts.”
“Okay, okay, we're gonna-” what was he gonna do? He pressed your hand to his lips, holding it there.
“Hey, honey,” Jack appeared at your other side and your eyes moved to see him but Robby didn't let go. “Hell of a way to get into the night shift.”
“Jack-” you winced.
Jack looked from you to Robby, the same way he looked at the family of unfortunate patients. “We're taking her up to the OR now.”
Your fingers wiggled in Robby's grasp and he looked back to you. “It's bad huh?”
“No, no,” said Robby smoothing back your hair again.
“Your losing a lot of blood, and your foley output is bright red,” said Jack. “But we're gonna sort it and you'll be fine. You trust me?”
Your breathing was shallow, hard breaths hardly coming out. Still, you tried to smile. “Do I- do I have a choice?” your voice came out through seethes of breath.
Robby closed his eyes tight, as if he could feel the own stabbing in his heart.
“Robb-Robby?”
He glanced at you, your eyes fluttering shut. The little hold you had on his hand weakening. He fumbled up, hands holding your cheeks. “Woah-woah- open your eyes! Look at me- look at me!”
You mumbled, head lulling.
“Going up!”
“Look at me, open your eyes!” he all but shouted at you as your eyes were still rolling to the back of his head, wavering between waking and whatever else was on the other side.
“Robby!”
Robby held onto the side of your bed as the team around you wheeled you away and through. There was a stutter of shock waving through the crowd, fear chocking them, shock eating at them. There was police around, all trying to get a look.
“Talk to her, Robinavitch!” said Garcia.
He didn't talk to patients, he evaluated them, stitched them up when he could.
Robby looked up at Jack, hoping for help. He looked grave, watching Robby un-sure but people came back from worse. You'd come back. “Hey, hey look at me,” he uttered and squeezed your hand. When that didn't work he pulled at your eyelids and finally you responded with a grumble.
The elevator doors slid open and you were hauled in, Robby squeezed in too.
“Wh-what?”
He got a flash of your eyes before they closed again.
Your lips were dry and chapped but Robby kissed you anyway, pressing his lips to yours soft, not pushing afraid he'd hurt you but he wanted you to know he was there.
He smiled. He'd never seen you first thing in the morning, he imagined this is what it was. Groggy eyes, words hardly there but with less pain and blood. Robby pulled back and ignored the blood drying in splatters on your neck. “Are you with me, honey?”
You blinked and groaned in pain. “I don't-I don't know.”
“You're with me, yeah you are, you're with me,” Robby mumbled. “You look very pretty, even covered in blood, you know that?” he mumbled, trying to say it so only you could hear.
There was a huff of a smile followed by pain.
“You can't flirt with me while I'm dying, Robinavitch.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
Robby grabbed your face, smooching your cheek maybe a bit too harsh. “You're not going anywhere.”
“You've pushed four bags,” you whispered. “You're gonna push a five.”
There was a huff of laugh from Jack.
Robby sniffed. You were too good at your job sometimes, ignoring the ache in his back as he leant over you. “You shouldn't be counting.”
“What can I say I'm over-qualified,” your eyes shut again but your lips moved in mumbles.
“What is it? What are you saying?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “What? Tell me.... tell me.”
But you weren't really there anymore. You were incoherent, eyes not really there. None of you was really there. “Robby.... Rob.... please, Robby.”
“What? I'm here, I'm right here, okay? Okay, honey?” Robby felt his chest cave in. “What's taking this elevator so long?” he snapped.
“It's bad, I know,” you said, fingers drifting soft over his arm before it dropped. “I can't- I can't-”
The doors slid open, a team waited on the other side.
Garcia pushed you ahead into the team, spouting who she wanted to scrub in, telling them all who she wanted out front watching. Your condition was a perfect teaching sort.
You weren't for teaching. You were for saving!
Robby wanted to tell as much as the team wheeled you away and Jack's arm came out to stop him.
“You can't go in there man,” he said.
“Like hell I can't!”
“No, you can't!” said Jack.
Any other time Robby would have argued more but he had nothing to say. He needed to be there, he wanted to be there but as soon as they cut you open he'd break. As soon as he saw inside your body he'd tie himself to you.
He'd seen over a hundred bodies cut open in his time but yours might break him.
Robby nodded, hands going to the back of his head.
Someone in the room cried and it took him a moment to realise it was him.
“Hey-hey-” Jack embraced him and Robby couldn't reach to hug him back but he could let himself down. “I will go in, I will be there, you know I will do everything to save her. We will save her.”
To save your life, Robby let him go and stood alone. He looked down at his hand as if he could feel the ghost hold of you still there. When he looked down, all he saw was the hair on the back and the tremble of his fingers.
Robby- for the first time since he was a boy- learnt how to cry.
He tried- boy did he try- to get back into the swing of things. Robby walked into the Pitt with red, blotchy eyes and a waver in his voice. He looked at the board, picked up a sixty year old patient with migraines.
“Hello I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robby. What seems to be the problem today?”
That was as far as he got before Dana walked in.
“No, no, no, no!” she said, putting the chart down and dragging him out. “I am so sorry Mrs Klepton, we'll get Doctor Shen with you in just a moment. Come with me.”
He was dragged out like a scolded child and shoved into the lounge.
“What do you think you're doing?” she'd snapped.
Robby had put himself in the corner, crowding himself in, arms over his head. What was he doing? Trying to be useful. You'd be up in the OR lord knew how long. If he sat and waited he'd go mad.
Dana leant on the counter. “What'd you think you're doing here, Robinavitch? Get outta here, go home! Better yet go wait for her.”
“I-I can't.”
“Robby.”
He could feel the tears start again. Didn't the human run out of tears eventually? They didn't teach that in med school. “I- I can't. I'm useful in-in here, I'm not- I'm not-”
“Right now there's only one person you can be useful to, so go to her.”
That's how he ended up in the OR waiting room, alone, not flicking through the magazines provided, not even watching the fish in the tank. He was just sitting.
Waiting.
At some point he'd taken the clock down to not watch the hands turn but eventually the sun rose and he was terrified like no other day.
It was going on 05:00 am when the door slowly pushed open. It wasn't with a rattle of relief or with a cheer, it was a slow push.
Robby thought his heart was broken before.
He was hunched over himself, elbows balanced on his knees as he hid his face in his hands and slowly rocked himself. “No... no... no...”
“Robby,” Jack said quietly. His steps were slow but he felt his hand on his back.
Robby flinched, shrinking into himself.
Where was the knife so he could stab himself?
“Robby- she's okay.”
There was a crack in his neck from how quick he looked up. It wasn't enough to convince him, his clinical trained mind wondering all the what would comes? Had it got into your spine? How much blood had you lost.
But Jack listed it off like he knew what Robby needed to hear first. It hadn't hit an aorta, it got an artery hence the bleeding but they'd stabilised it with more blood than they would have liked. But you were alive, though sleeping and they had no worries for you at the moment.
Robby nodded when Jack finished. He must have come right from the OR to tell him because he was still in scrubs and covered in blood. Your blood. “Can I see her?”
You didn't look peaceful. Robby had never thought how uncomfortable the hospital gowns must have been until he saw you lying in one. There was oxygen tube in your nose and an IV in your hand. There was some bruising he hadn't noticed before on your arms from the fall you took.
“What do I do now?” Robby mumbled. He was good at the saving lives part, he just wasn't sure what to do when they hung in limbo.
Jack patted his back, leading the way in the room. “For a doctor you're pretty clueless. You sit with her.”
Robby followed in, un-sure what to do with himself so he held onto either end of his stethoscope.
There was a chair already pulled up to your side as Jack busied himself on the other, checking your IV and BP- all looked good.
Robby had caught you napping at your desk once, fallen asleep while charting. He'd admired you for a moment before slowly waking you with a pen poked in your head. You'd looked so peaceful then- nothing like it now.
“Is she cold?”
“No- I don't think so.”
Robby slowly sank down in the chair and picked up your hand again. It stopped the trembling in his at once.
“I gotta get off, I'll cover the day, do something about the nights. Stay with her, call me if there's any changes,” said Jack.
“Thank you, brother,” said Robby.
There was a dull drumming in your head. Your back was aching and even moving your eyes hurt. Beyond all of that there was something else, something heavier.
Your eyes opened slowly and you found the lights ahead. They burned brighter than the sun, like every morning when you walked into PCMT. You tried to hide, to shield yourself with your hand but you couldn't move it.
Panic coursed through you. Why couldn't you move it? Why could you hardly feel your hand? Dear god-
“Hey,” a gentle voice greeted and you searched for them.
Jack stood over you, leaning at you bed.
Your mouth was parched as you tried to speak.
“You're okay,” said Jack in a whisper. “You remember what happened?”
Step by step you thought back. You were leaving, only checking on David once more before sharp pain hit you in the back and you were shoved. When you came too again faces blurred together and pain blinded you to them all.
There was Robby. Somewhere in all of that.
“I was... stabbed?”
Jack nodded, a small trembled in his chin. “Yeah you were. But you're gonna be okay, there was no injury to your spine.”
“I'll walk?”
“Twelve hours time we'll get you up.”
When you focused you could feel the ache in your arm as if someone was pulling it. There was something heavy at the end like someone was holding it, tight.
Robby was at your other side, lying on your arm and holding you down. His body was curved over, head turned away as his back moved in soft breaths.
“Thought I'd let him sleep. He's been up watching you since you came out the OR,” said Jack.
Robby. He'd stayed.
Had you asked him to? You'd wanted him to. Maybe he understood that.
“Thank you, Jack.”
Jack shook his head. There was no need to thank him, you knew that, but you were thanking him for the life you'd put in his hands and that he'd let Robby be at your side. “You want some time?”
You nodded stiff, feeling the ache in your back more and more. You knew you had months ahead of you of pain but you didn't want to dull it with drugs just yet.
Jack petted down your hair once before taking his hoodie off the back of the chair and leaving, closing the door gently.
In the silence you watched Robby a moment longer, matching your new breaths with his. The weight of him on your hand made you tingle as you slowly worked your fingertips back to life.
You tried to move your hand out from his weight but he stirred.
Groggily he turned and looked around the room, waking up more confused then you were.
“Robby?”
His eyes widened.
Robby moved up at once, looming over your bed as you tried to push yourself up. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” he fretted, eyes raking over your body like he was checking all of you were there. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
“Robby-” you tried to protest.
“BP is hundred over eighty.”
You tried to entertain him, just as you had with the cut on your head. If you let him go through the motions just might just end up holding his hand again. So you let him try your nerves, let him ask if you were in pain. You let him ask you to wiggle your fingers and toes. You let him lift one leg and the other as high as he could before you winced in pain.
“Can you stop being my doctor for a second and sit back down?”
Robby seemed startled but hid it quickly. He realised Jack was out the room. “He should've woke me, checked you over.”
“You were resting, he said you'd stayed.”
He looked at you, astonished you'd think he'd go anywhere else.
You watched him sink into his chair, clasping his hands together and wedging them between his knees. Your fingers ached to hold him but your body was weak even talking. “You look tired.”
He chuckled low and smiled. His face was pale, eyes red, hair a mess. His entire body was slumped. “I look tired?”
“A nice tired, a handsome tired.”
You focused on your hand, lifting it enough. You watched as Robby looked down and took it without hesitation, he held it tight, grasping it between his big hands and bringing it to his lips.
You felt him kiss your palm.
“I was stabbed?”
Robby nodded, slowly. “Two puncture wounds, missed the spinal chords, nicked an aorta, bled out. That was our biggest worry but-”
“But I'm okay now?”
Slowly, he nodded.
You groaned, shifting your head aside. You'd have rolled over to show your protest but you had a feeling you'd be putting as little pressure on your back for a while. “Is Mr Brown?”
“The police are looking for him,” said Robby, without letting you even work out just what it is you were trying to ask about.
You nodded slowly, looking down to where your hand disappeared in his. “I'll report him this time, I promise.”
Robby stared at you, eyes wide with something you couldn't name. “I just want you to focus on getting better. On coming back... coming back to me.”
You didn't think, even coming out of an op and the haze of pain, that you could ever be where he wasn't. You think, no matter how terrible it seemed, that it was meant to happen this way. The stabbing and scarring that would no doubt end up on your back might have been the best thing to ever happen to you.
“Robby,” you whispered.
He must have heard something in your voice as he slowly stood and hunched over you, a hand lying on the top of your head.
His eyes were watering with tears.
You could remember faint images of this happening before, as you were slowly lulled to sleep by drugs. His hand combing back your hair felt like it had always been doing it. Like you'd always woken to him.
“Did you kiss me?” You didn't know where the memory came from, or even if it was a memory. It could've been a dream.
To his credit Robby didn't startle or flinch. He slowly nodded, leaving room for objection. He leaned over close to you, another hand cradling your cheek. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
Robby inhaled sharply. “I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you months before I did. I wanted to kiss you last week and two minutes ago when you woke. I wanted to kiss you covered in blood and... I want to kiss you now.”
You smiled and it brought you no pain. “If my back wasn't in pain I'd be kissing you right now,” you chuckled and then the pain came.
Robby leant down to you, his eyes searching yours. Close enough you could see what was in his eyes, what he'd been hiding. Warmth. Admiration.
His large nose brushed yours as he kissed you slow with no rush of need. His hand was soft as he angled you so he could explore every line and curve if your lip.
Your own hand slowly wound up, around his head, stroking the back of his hair and resting there. He didn't mind the oxygen tube or that she couldn't reach up to meet him. In fact he kissed her like he'd planned it like this a hundred times.
When there was an alarming beep from the machines Robby pulled away quick, studdying them.
“It's just my heartrate,” you said. “Might have been beating a little faster there.”
He agreed but seemed solemn to do so.
You watched the crease between his brows appear again. “You know, if I knew I just needed to be stabbed to have you kiss me again I'd have-”
“Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”
For the sake of his nerves, you didn't.
“You know if I'd have known that it was just gonna take me getting stabbed for you to sell that motorbike, I'd have got stabbed a lot sooner,” you said teasingly as Robby pulled into his new designated parking space outside the ED.
It had been a month since the incident but you were still reaping the small benefits that came with it. Like Robby insisting you stay with him to get the best care, like him getting rid of his motorbike to get a better car that was more comfortable on your back.
Like having so much time with him.
Mornings where he dedicated time in messaging the sore spots of your back and spreading an oil that was going to help the scaring. Like the dinner times when you read him a recipe that he never followed to the t. Like the kisses you stole in the night when he'd watch you and kiss you without straining to go forward.
Robby parked the car and turned off the engine. “If I had a dollar every time you said that,” he grumbled, picking up his bag and exiting.
You were still moving slower, still kept a crutch with you to keep weight off your back. You were coming back to work with a much lighter work load and you were sure Robby would be glued to your side all day like he practically had the month you'd took to recover.
Even before you could open the door Robby was there doing it for you, your own bag in his hand.
“You think anyone's gonna want to see the cool scars I've got, they kind of look like stars,” you said as Robby stayed close by your side, walking in with you.
“You sent them all pictures,” he said, mildly irritated. You and everyone around you seemed to try to crack jokes about the thing. He felt sometimes he was the only one who saw the near death wound for what it was.
“Excuse me- most of them asked for pictures.”
“Completely inappropriate.”
A few ambulance workers saw you, greeting you with smiles you returned while Robby waited next to you, holding up a polite hand in greeting.
It dropped, grazed yours and picked it up, holding on as the two of you walked in.
Usually Robby liked to walk in through triage, get a feel of what was happening but he wasn't risking that many foreign bodies next to you even though they caught David Brown and he was being charged.
Robby had something to live for, had something to protect. Nothing was happening to it. To you.
“It's good to have you back,” said Lupe as the two of you passed her at the door.
“Do you think that was a pun?” you uttered to him, rewarded with the smallest tint of his lips as he pushed open the door.
Loud clapping greeted you with some cheap, paper, party poppers when you walked in. Thee was cheering to and a large banner was hooked up, saying 'welcome home!'.
A place that could have held such terrible memories was brightened up as you jumped from one smiling face, to another.
Next to you, Robby stepped back, blending into the admiring crowd and started to clap too with something more than fondness in his smile. Love. A word that had woven its way into your vocab since moving in with him to get help for your wounds.
A word that summed up so much of what you had.
“You did this for me?” you asked.
“It was all Robby's idea,” said Jack, leading the cheering.
You didn't have to even move. Like he knew what you wanted Robby stepped over to you and kissed you. He always kept his lips irritatingly light, encouraging you to stretch out muscles in your back to join meet him.
You grinned against his lips. “I should be stabbed more often.”
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pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x graphic designer!afab!reader
w/c: 8.3K words
summary: Eight days after your breakup with Robby, a kitchen accident leaves you needing stitches. The only thing worse than the injury is running into him at the Pitt (and seeing him with his ex).
warnings/tags: age gap (I imagined r around 27, but I didn't specify. Robby was her first serious relationship, though), jealous!r, angst, longing, language, r hurt herself catching a knife, r does not imagine herself having kids.
A/N: I hope you'll enjoy it! This wasn't originally supposed to be a multi-part story, but it ended up getting a little longer than I planned, so part 1 it is. It’s been a while since I last wrote anything, so I’m just hoping I’m not too rusty. Also, I have no medical background, so I apologize if the ER scenes aren't completely accurate. I hope the next part will come fast🌼 (I found the Robby pics on pinterest, so credits to the owners)
You knew you should have come straight to the Pitt, the same way you should have seen that his fear of commitment would eventually outweigh the little fantasy world you'd built together over the last few months. Yet you put it off, pretended not to see it, and ignored how much it actually hurt.
“Can you move your fingers?”
You flexed them carefully, trying to look as unaffected as possible while the nurse unwrapped your improvised bandage. You weren't sure who she was. You'd heard about multiple doctors and nurses, but none of the descriptions seemed to fit her.
“Yeah.”
Unwrapping it hurts far more than the cut itself, anyway.
“Okay. Sit tight. We won't keep you waiting long.”
You nod, rewrapping your hand and pressing down again, just like he taught you. And when the door opens a moment later, you see him.
It's not cinematic. There's no slow motion, no dramatic swell of music, no sudden zoom-in. Your brain just takes half a second too long to catch up.
Robby is across the hall, near the nurses' station, hugging Noelle.
Not a quick hug, either. They're standing too close, fitting together in a way that's painfully familiar.
Your stomach drops and you look away immediately, as if you've touched a hot stove. As if looking any longer might make it real.
But you're not surprised.
Hurt? Absolutely. Surprised? Not really.
You knew about Noelle. Knew enough to pretend it didn't bother you when it probably should have.
Still. Eight days.
Only eight days -as far as you know- and he's already back with her. So much for the seven-week itch. Somehow he'd made it a few months with you. Looking at him now, you weren't sure whether that was supposed to make you feel better or worse.
You shake your head, determined not to have a breakdown in front of thirty strangers waiting to be treated.
So you step outside.
You spend a few minutes drafting a message to your boss, explaining that you might need half a day tomorrow -or at least a few hours- because you have no idea how long it'll take before a doctor finally sees you.
You hit send, and less than a minute later, you swear you hear your name.
When you look up, you try not to frown.
It's Jack.
Then again, this is the ambulance bay. Any doctor could be here.
Still, he's not wearing scrubs, and he's way too early for the handover.
“What the hell happened?”
“Hi to you too,” you say dryly, trying not to look affected.
You'd missed Jack. That was one of the less obvious downsides of the breakup. Somewhere along the way, he'd become one of your closest friends.
And seeing how worried he looks makes your throat tighten.
He steps closer, already reaching for your wrist.
“How long has it been bleeding?”
“Not that long.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“...Okay, like two hours,” you admit.
“Jesus Christ.”
“It wasn't that bad, I'm in triage. A really nice nurse already looked at it-”
“Not anymore.”
Or maybe that's what he says.
Before you can argue, he's steering you back toward the doors.
You barely register what happens next. As soon as you get past the triage, Jack says something to a nurse you vaguely recognize as Dana. She nods, glancing at a computer screen, and he asks her to page Langdon since he never clocked in for his shift.
You're not really listening. The image of Robby and Noelle is still haunting, replaying every time you blink. Their hug... the ease of it. The history in it. How easy it seemed to slip back into.
And for one awful second, you wonder if you've been looking at it all wrong.
Maybe you weren't the one who got replaced. Maybe, for a little while, you were the replacement. The pit stop. The distraction.
The room is too bright and everything is too loud. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting that harsh, clinical glow that always seems to make headaches worse. The exam table crackles beneath you when you shift, the thin paper sticking slightly to your skin. This is the last place you wanted to be.
Your hand is still wrapped, but the bandage is not doing much anymore. The gauze is damp, a dull red stain spreading through it while Jack stands nearby, arms crossed, glaring at it.
“You really waited?” he asks again, as if he still can't quite believe it.
“I didn't think it was-”
“That bad?” he cuts in.
You shrug.
“I handled it.”
“You were bleeding for two hours.”
“It sounds worse when you say it like that. It wasn't that dramatic.”
“You're in the ER.”
Before Jack can continue, Dr. Langdon steps in, already pulling on a pair of gloves. And honestly, you've never been more grateful for an interruption.
Because you know Jack... or at least, you think you do. He wouldn't let it go. He'd ask why you waited so long. Why you didn't call Robby. He'd keep pulling at the loose threads until he got to the truth, and right now you're not sure you can survive another person looking at you too closely. Or worse, with pity.
You know Jack never liked whatever was going on between Robby and Noelle. Maybe Robby kept the details to himself. Maybe Jack has no idea that the same girl who came before you apparently came after you, too.
Or maybe he knows.
“Alright,” Dr. Langdon says, flashing an easy smile.
Truth be told, he's even more charming than Robby described. There's something boyish about him, softened by confidence and experience. It's a dangerous combination.
And no wedding band. Interesting!
“Let's take a look at Abbot's VIP.”
So he knows who you are.
You immediately offer your hand, asking him to call you by your name.
You thank him, too. You know he must be busy. Hell, the whole department seems one bad shift away from complete chaos.
Langdon smiles and starts unwrapping the bandage, and as the cool air hits the cut, you hiss through your teeth.
Beside you, Jack leans forward despite himself, and Langdon shoots him a look.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
“Okay,” Langdon says as he studies the wound for another second. “Yeah. That's deep.”
“Oh, I love hearing that,” you mutter playfully.
Langdon doesn't react, though. He just adjusts the overhead light, angling it directly over your hand. It makes everything look far more detailed than you'd like.
“Can you move your fingers for me?”
You don't hesitate, so you slowly curl them inward.
The skin pulls tight around the cut. It's an uncomfortable stretching sensation that makes your jaw clench, but everything moves the way it should.
“Again.”
You repeat the motion.
“Good. Now straighten them.”
You do.
“Any numbness?” Langdon asks.
“No.”
He takes a piece of gauze and lightly brushes it across your fingertips, then along the edges of the wound.
“Tell me if this feels the same.”
You nod.
“It does.”
Langdon glances at Jack.
“Alright.” A small nod towards Jack. “No nerve involvement.”
“Your last tetanus vaccine?” Jack asks without looking up.
"Three years ago.”
Another nod.
“You're fine.”
You smile nervously as Langdon reaches for a syringe.
“This part's going to sting.”
“Define sting.”
Jack glances at you as you eye the needle. "It's the worst part.”
“Great.”
Langdon doesn't wait, and the next thing you feel is the needle sliding into the skin beside the cut.
And.
It.
Fúcking.
Burns.
“Jesus-fúck, that hurts.” You suck in a sharp breath. “Sorry.”
That makes Langdon smile and shake his head. “That's a healthy reaction. No need to apologize.”
“Breathe,” Jack adds, arms crossed.
To your surprise, he actually looks concerned.
“I am breathing,” you say through clenched teeth. "It's not my fault this feels like hell."
Then it fades quite fast. Your palm starts to feel so heavy like it’s been inflated from the inside, so you instinctively try to flex your fingers. It's such a weird sensation.
“Take a deep breath.”
Another injection and another flare of that same burning pressure.
“You'll feel some pressure,” Jack says as Langdon trades the syringe for a larger one.
It's a good thing needles don't bother you much, because that one looks ridiculous.
Quickly, he positions it over the wound and presses, and you assume it's saline what shoots into the cut. And you flinch.
It doesn't exactly hurt, it's worse.
The sensation is deep and wrong, as if something is moving where nothing should be moving. You have to fight the urge to yank your hand away.
But you are a big girl. Instead, you watch how the fluid runs out pink at first, then gradually clears. It spills onto the blue pad beneath your hand, soaking into it.
Langdon repeats the process several times and despite yourself, your thoughts drift back to Robby.
How many times has he done this?
How many cases just like yours has he seen? Distracted people catching a knife with their palm while making dinner... How many wounds has he cleaned and stitched over the years? How many patients had come before you were even born?
“Why does that feel worse than I expected?” you ask, mostly to distract yourself. You don't even expect an answer; you just need something to focus on besides him.
“Because it's inside the wound,” Jack answers, still watching carefully.
You just know he's a good teacher.
He seems so patient and pulled together. And you're jealous.
You wish you could inspire that kind of confidence in people... make them feel safe.
“I hate this shit.”
Langdon chuckles and makes a few jokes as he blots the area dry, inspecting it more closely while gently parting the edges of the cut.
But you refuse to watch.
Instead, you stare at the ceiling, counting tiles, then the lights.
Anything except your own hand.
“Alright,” he says finally. “We’re good to close it.”
Once Jack gives an approving nod, Langdon opens a sterile suture kit.
You glance down.
Thread, needle, forceps.
Jack shifts his weight but doesn't leave.
“You don't have to wait for me,” you absently tell Jack. You're more than grateful, but you know he's busy. And so is Langdon "I'm sure you have actual patients to see. And if something urgent comes up, just let some newbie practice their stitching skills on-"
And maybe Robby doesn't have to be the center of every conversation.
“Shut up,” Jack cuts in, but there’s no bite to it. He is worried... he actually cares.
Maybe you can keep Jack.
You can watch tennis together, meet for coffee. Be friends.
Maybe he doesn't have to know how much it still hurts.
The first stitch is… weird.
You don't feel the needle break the skin, but you feel the movement afterward: the tug, the pull.
Like someone's threading something through your hand from the inside.
Your fingers twitch instinctively.
“Try to keep it still,” Langdon says, flashing you a smile that could probably solve half the hospital's complaints.
“I'm trying.” You shake your head. “How many?”
You've never needed stitches before. Well, you’ve also never caught a falling knife mid-air, so there’s that.
“Six or seven, probably.”
“Great, I’ll name them all. I saw that in a film.”
“My son did that once, too.” Langdon says immediately, and Jack huffs a quiet laugh.
“First one’s Jack,” you say, lips quirking into a smirk. You already know exactly how he’ll take it, and you're happy that the mood has changed.
“Absolutely not.”
“Too late.”
“Of course it is,” he mutters, shaking his head, but there’s no real anger in it. He is used to you being a pain in the ass.
Langdon snorts, smiling again. “I’d like to be excluded from this.”
They continue to talk about the shift after that, careful not to wander into anything confidential with you sitting right there.
“You’re definitely number two.”
“Why am I involved in this at all?” Langdon asks dramatically, and you wink.
And somehow, it doesn't even hurt anymore.
Then the door opens.
You flinch so hard your hand nearly jerks.
You've always been easy to startle... too aware of everything around you.
Robby used to think it was funny. He'd appear out of nowhere and say “boo” when you were least expecting it, just to watch you jump. Back when things were easy, of course.
“Hey, what do we have here?” a voice asks. “Abbot, since when do you have a VIP?”
Your stomach drops before you even turn around.
You know that voice far too well. Especially when it slips into that teasing tone... even if he isn't talking to you.
Your body goes still. You don’t even register Langdon’s needle anymore.
Jack catches it immediately, his gaze flicking from your face to the doorway as Robby steps inside.
He looks once. Then again. And only then does it register.
You. Sitting on the exam table. Hand open. Stitches halfway done.
When you finally manage to change your expression into something polite and distant, you catch the shift in his face. But you really don’t know how to read him anymore.
“What the fúck happened?”
He’s already moving toward you before the question is even finished.
You swallow, keeping your voice steady. “Kitchen accident.”
No detail, no explanation.
He stops beside the bed, eyes immediately dropping to your hand. And you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is.
Langdon keeps working, unfazed, though the room feels tighter now, like it has less air in it than before.
Robby’s jaw tightens.
“When?” he asks.
“Earlier.”
“When?”
You hesitate.
“Two hours ago. Probably more.”
You close your eyes for a second. “Thank you, Jack.”
“You waited two hours?" Robby says, sharper now, like he can’t quite believe it.
“I was fine. I handled it. The nurse-”
“That’s not okay,” he cuts in.
“I assume you checked for nerve damage," he adds, already shifting his attention toward Langdon and Jack, trying to take control of the situation.
“Can we not-”
“You should’ve called,” he says, colder now and you can’t tell who it’s meant for anymore.
Langdon clears his throat without looking up. “Almost done.”
But Robby barely reacts.
“Jack found me in triage. And, as you can see, I'm in great hands.”
Robby’s expression shifts again, while Jack raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. He looks like he’s been pulled into a game he didn’t know had rules.
“Does it hurt?” Robby finally asks after a long moment of awkward silence, as if the question is an afterthought.
But it isn’t. You know it, so it lands differently. Dangerous in a quiet way.
You glance down at your hand as Langdon finishes the last stitch.
“No,” you say. “Not really.”
It isn’t entirely clear what you’re answering.
“Alright. That’s it,” Langdon says with a small, professional smile.
He cuts the thread cleanly, leaving a neat row of stitches across your palm. Langdon presses gently along the edges of the wound, checking the closure, and in your peripheral vision you catch Robby nodding once, like he’s confirming something to himself.
A final wipe of antiseptic follows, then a non-stick pad, then gauze wrapped carefully around your hand until it no longer looks like your hand at all.
“Move your fingers for me,” you hear Robby gently ask you. And even though every single bone in your body wants to disobey him, you listen.
The movement works, but it feels strange... slightly delayed, as if your hand belongs to someone else for a moment. You wonder if this is exactly what Mary Shelley meant when she wrote Frankenstein’s monster. You almost laugh at your own thoughts.
“Again.”
You flex them once more.
“Good. Make a fist.”
You do.
Just in time to catch the small exhale Robby lets out. Relief, subtle but unmistakable... the kind only someone who knows him well would notice.
Unfortunately for you, though, you've spent enough time loving him to notice it.
“No numbness or tingling?” Langdon asks.
You shake your head. “No.”
“Good. No obvious nerve involvement. Tendons intact, sensation normal.” He pauses, then adds lightly, “Sense of humor intact too.”
“Obviously,” Jack mutters from his spot against the wall.
“Keep it dry for forty-eight hours,” Langdon continues, peeling off his gloves. “No heavy lifting, no gripping if you can avoid it. Change the dressing as instructed. I’ll leave notes, but I’m sure Jack will fill you in.”
Jack glances at you briefly, and something in your stomach twists -guilt, or something close to it-but you don’t know where to put it.
“And before you ask, no, you’re not magically healed because the stitches are in,” Robby adds under his breath.
“I wasn't-”
“You were absolutely going to ask.”
Jack snorts, and you choose not to defend yourself.
“Tetanus shot is up to date,” Langdon says, recapping for Robby as well. He doesn’t know exactly how close you two are, but it’s obvious there’s history there. “So no booster. Stitches out in ten to fourteen days.”
Then he tosses the gloves into the bin, and just like that, the procedure is over.
No more reason for anyone to be hovering around your bed, no more reason for you to still be in his ER.
And somehow, that’s worse. Because now there’s nothing left to distract from the fact that Robby is still standing there.
The adrenaline drains out of you slowly, leaving behind exhaustion, and a small tremor runs through your fingers before you can stop it.
Jesus, you will never try to use a knife again.
Robby notices the change immediately.
Of course he does.
His eyes drop to your hand, then lift back to your face. The concern is brief, but enough to make your chest tighten anyway. Fúck him.
“Should’ve come in sooner,” he says.
Not angry this time, just tired.
You let out a breath. Well, you're tired too.
“Noted.”
“I'm serious.”
“I know.”
“Take ibuprofen or acetaminophen once the anesthetic wears off. Dana will bring your discharge paperwork,” Langdon says, but Robby doesn't take his eyes off you as you gently thank your doctor before watching him go.
“You should’ve told me.”
You finally meet his eyes, finding his tone almost unbearably clinical. Like a lecture... like something to be corrected.
“You don’t get to be worried like that,” you say firmly.
You're tired of this conversation, of him, of pretending this doesn't hurt more than your hand does... of this whole day.
You just want to go home, order takeout, and not think about any of it.
So you hope it lands harder than if you'd raised your voice.
He blinks. “What-”
“You have no right,” you continue, just as quietly, and the room goes very still.
Beside you, Jack wisely says nothing as you adjust the bandage around your hand. You really hope the pain meds are going to be effective. You know this is going to hurt like a motherfúcker.
“I’m fine,” you add, playing it cool. “See? All patched up.”
For a second, Robby just stares at you like he’s trying to decide whether to argue.
But you step past him, with Jack following without uttering a word. Neither of you looks back immediately.
And when you finally do, just before the door swings shut, Robby is still standing exactly where you left him, staring at the empty space on the bed, jaw tight, something unsettled and unresolved sitting heavy in his chest.
Because you’re right.
And that’s the problem.
*
After they discharge you, Jack insists on walking you out. It's not like his shift has started yet anyway.
So you slow your pace, careful not to make it obvious that you're adjusting it for him. You don't know how uncomfortable it is to walk quickly with a prosthetic, and you don't want him to think you're pitying him.
“You okay?” he asks, and you flex your fingers slightly inside the bandage in response, which you end up regretting immediately as a dull, pulling ache shoots through your palm and up your arm.
“Yeah. Just... feels weird.”
“It will,” he says, still looking at your hand. “That's why you shouldn't use it.”
“Noted.”
It's only half a lie, at least. You're gonna slow down. But you can't stop using it completely. How are you supposed to just stop working? Nobody can replace you for two weeks.
By the time you reach the ambulance bay, everything feels different. Quieter.
“You got someone to take you home?”
You can't help but snort.
“I'm not dying, Jack. It's just a cut.”
“Didn't say you were.”
“I can manage by myself. I'm a big girl.”
He studies you for a second longer than necessary, and you know that look.
He's thinking about saying something... probably about Robby, or the disaster that is whatever exists between the two of you. And you're grateful when he decides against it. It's already been a long day: the knife accident, the ER, seeing Noelle, seeing Robby, talking to him.
You just want to go home.
“Yeah. I know you can.”
There's something in the words... Acknowledgment, maybe. Or acceptance or even pride. You're not sure, so you just smile.
“Thanks. Really.”
“For what?”
“For helping me. For not letting me bleed out to death.”
You add the last part just to make him smile. You know he loves drama as much as you do. Maybe even more.
And it works: a quiet laugh escapes him.
“Next time, come sooner.”
“Next time? Hell, I'm never cooking again.”
“Good plan.”
You nod, trying not to look back at the entrance. What did you expect? For Robby to drop everything and come find you? The thought is embarrassing the second it appears. It's ridiculous.
“I really hope I'll see you around. You're a great guy, Abbot.”
That earns you a crooked grin.
“I hope so. You're pretty fun to be around, even when you're bleeding.”
A laugh slips out before you can stop it, and you lift your left hand in a wave.
“Have a good shift.”
“You too,” he says automatically. Then he shakes his head. “Actually, don't work at all.”
“Yeah. Don't.”
You freeze.
Of course.
Inhale, exhale.
Robby is standing a few steps behind Jack.
At some point, he'd come outside, and you hadn't heard the door open.
So for a second, all you can do is stare. He looks different out here.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the department make him look untouchable. Outside, beneath the natural sunlight, he looks less composed... less untouchable. Exhausted.
Like whatever walls he keeps so carefully in place inside didn't quite make it through the doors with him.
His scrubs are wrinkled and a bit dirty. His hair is slightly messed up from running his hands through it, you're sure. And there are shadows beneath his eyes you don't remember noticing earlier.
Or maybe you did, and you just weren't letting yourself look for real. You used to kiss this man every morning. You used to bite his arms, caress his cheeks, and touch his hair as many times as you could.
“You shouldn't be using it,” he adds, nodding toward the bandaged hand tucked against your chest.
You shift instinctively.
“I'm not. And I've already said I won't.”
The lie leaves your mouth before you can stop it. But he knows you better than that and he has more power over you than you'd like.
When Robby takes a step closer, the rest of the world seems to blur around the edges: the ambulance bay, the traffic... even Jack standing beside you. All of it fades into background noise.
And only later do you realize Jack is no longer there.
No goodbye, as if he'd taken one look at the two of you and quietly decided this conversation wasn't meant for him (once again).
He's not close enough to crowd you, but it's enough for you to smell the hospital soap and coffee.
Close enough to remember.
“You really waited two hours?” he asks again, quieter now as he brings his left hand to the back of his head, messing up his hair.
The disappointment in his voice catches you off guard, and you can't control the hollow feeling in your stomach. You've always wanted to be good for him. You never cared about what other people thought of you on the level that you cared about Robby's opinion. So your gaze slides past him toward the street.
“Yeah. I didn't feel like sitting in an ER.”
From the corner of your eye, you see his jaw tighten. His gaze lingers on your face, searching, questioning, but you don't give in. You keep your eyes forward. You won't let him know just how much power he still has over you.
“You should've called,” he says.
There it is. Again.
A laugh escapes you.
His audacity...
“Why?”
“Because I would've helped you.”
You almost laugh.
Of course he would've. He would've shown up and made sure you were okay.
And then he would've gone right back to not choosing you.
Because I have a hero complex and I'd help you even though I can't stand being with you.
“You don't get to help me anymore, Robby.”
His expression flickers, like something in your gaze cuts deeper than the words themselves.
“I know you can take care of yourself, but I-”
“I don't care,” you interrupt, keeping your voice as steady as possible despite the tightness in your throat and the pressure building behind your eyes. “You made it pretty clear you don't want me anymore. And I made it clear I'm not interested in being your friend. So no, I don't want your help.”
The sounds of the ambulance bay drift around you. Doors opening. Tires rolling over pavement. Life continuing.
But neither of you moves.
Robby exhales slowly and drags a hand through his hair while you keep your eyes fixed on the thick white bandage wrapped around your palm.
“Is it starting to hurt?” he asks, and the sudden change of subject is almost funny.
Almost.
The anesthetic is wearing off slowly, and so is the adrenaline, but you'll survive until you get home.
“Yeah.”
You see it immediately. The way his shoulders straighten... the way his attention narrows.
Like every part of him is wired to respond to that answer.
He takes a step closer before he seems to realize he's doing it.
“Alternate ibuprofen and Tylenol when it starts throbbing. You shouldn't need anything stronger.”
There he is. Not your Robby... Definitely not your Michael.
Dr. Robinavitch, the Chief of Emergency Medicine at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Safe territory.
“I'll take something when I get home.”
His gaze lingers.
Not quite staring, but long enough that you're suddenly aware of everything: your posture, your messy hair, your tired eyes. The fact that you've probably got dried tears on your face.
He looks at you like he's trying to remember something.
He looks at you like he's trying to remember something, or maybe fix something... fix you.
Or both.
You're being ridiculous.
“You should keep it dry,” he says eventually. "At least a day. Two if you can.”
“Wow.”
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“Didn't Dr. Langdon just tell me that? It's like you work here or something.”
Usually, that would've earned at least a smirk. He used to love your bratty tone.
This time, it doesn't. His expression barely changes, and the silence that follows settles heavily between you.
Suddenly the joke doesn't feel funny anymore.
Because maybe he doesn't miss this... Maybe this isn't hard for him.
And maybe -just maybe- you were never what he wanted at all.
“Just be careful.”
The words come out softer.
Not doctor-soft.
Dangerous-soft. Boyfriend-soft. The kind of soft that makes your chest hurt. That belongs to a life you don't have anymore.
You feel a fresh wave of frustration rise in your throat.
You can't do this.
“I will.”
You look at him again, and a weird feeling hits you. For one stupid second, you think he's actually going to reach for you.
His hand shifts slightly at his side, then stills.
He doesn't.
You sigh, trying not to be disappointed. You hate yourself for even thinking about it.
What is wrong with you?
“Text me when you get home.”
The words slip out before he can stop them. Like they're instinctive.
You blink a couple of times before you can find the strength to open your mouth.
You need to get the hell out of here.
“No.”
The answer isn't cruel. That's not your intention. It even sounds less firm than you'd like, but it gets the point across.
And for a moment, something in his face falters.
“Right,” he says quietly, as if he's just remembered the nature of your relationship.
Or the lack of it.
You adjust your bag on your shoulder, and the movement feels awkward with only one good hand.
“I'll be fine.”
He nods.
“I know.”
You turn away before he can say anything else. Before you can say something stupid, or even worse, tear up because he looks like he saw a ghost, yet somehow still has time to flirt with his casual ex-flings.
So as you walk, you don't look back.
But somehow you know he's still standing there watching you, just like he watched you leave the first time.
*
By the time you get home, your hand is throbbing in a steady rhythm.
You close the door with your elbow, careful not to put any pressure on the bandaged hand, and lean against it for a moment before making your way to the kitchen.
Everything suddenly feels like too much: the lights are too bright, the apartment is too quiet, and the mess. God, the mess!
The cutting board is still sitting on the counter. Half-chopped vegetables have started to dry at the edges, left exactly where you dropped everything and ran to wash your hand.
For a moment, you just stand there and stare. Then your gaze drops to the thick white bandage wrapped around your palm.
“Fúcking ridiculous,” you mutter.
Whether you're talking about the injury or yourself, you're not entirely sure. You needed seven stitches because you were trying to make yourself dinner.
You make your way to the couch and sink into it carefully. The cushions dip beneath your weight, and that's when the quiet finally catches up with you.
No Jack or Langdon. No monitors beeping in the background.
Just you and the image of Robby standing in the ambulance bay... the look on his face when you told him no. The way he'd watched you leave.
And, despite everything, the memory that hurts the most: Robby's arm around Noelle.
You shift uncomfortably, as though you can physically move the thought away. But of course, it doesn't work.
Because it’s not even about Noelle. It’s about being replaced so quickly while you're still trying to remember how to breathe around the empty space he left behind.
Your fingers curl slightly and the pain shoots through your palm and up your arm immediately.
You hiss through your teeth and force your hand open again. “God, I'm a fúcking idiot!”
Like you were still someone he was allowed to be responsible for.
You knew he was emotionally unavailable, that he was an avoidant, that there was an age gap big enough for everyone to have an opinion about it. But you stayed. You fell in love... you trusted him.
You shake your head.
The worst part is how calm he was, how concerned he still looked.
Your eyes sting before you can stop it.
“No,” you say quietly.
Like that helps.
You pull your phone from your pocket and place it face down on the coffee table before you can do something stupid.
You could text him and tell him exactly what you think of him aka call him a coward and a fúcking asshole. You could say all the things you refused to say eight days ago when he ended it.
You could do a lot of things.
Instead you just sit there, your bandaged hand still aching as something ugly and honest rises up in your chest.
Not sadness, something sharper. Something that needs somewhere to go.
Eventually, you force yourself off the couch in search of ibuprofen, and halfway to the kitchen, a laugh escapes you.
Humorless and pathetic, really.
Because despite everything you miss him.
His stupid, sad smile, his voice, his nose. The way he always stole your fries and pretended he wasn't doing it.
Ten days before you're free.
*
Two days later, it’s worse in a different way.
Not the pain, which you got used to by now. It even became more manageable.
It's the tight, itchy pull under the skin that makes you want to do exactly what you're not supposed to do. To disobey him and prove to yourself you got the power.
You want to use your hand... to test it.
But you don't (except for a few hours when a project deadline leaves you no choice and you're back at your desk, using your hand far more than Langdon, Jack or Robby would've approved of).
You tell yourself it's necessary.
You always tell yourself a lot of things.
*
The message comes on the third day.
Robby: Come in tomorrow morning. Quick check.
No hello. No how are you. No are you available.
Just an instruction. So you stare at it for nearly a minute, then type:
I was told 10 days.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Disappears.
Appears again.
You hate that your pulse picks up.
Then:
Robby: I know. Just come in when the morning shift starts.
You stare at the message... at the familiar bluntness of it and the complete lack of explanation.
Then you lock your phone and toss it onto the couch beside you as the podcast continues playing in the background.
You have absolutely no idea what they've been talking about for the last ten minutes.
*
You go anyway.
Partly because you're annoyed, and partly because refusing would mean admitting he's gotten under your skin.
The hospital smells exactly the same as it did three days ago: antiseptic and stale coffee.
Jack spots you before you've finished signing in.
“Back already?”
You glance up.
“Apparently I left such a strong impression the boss invited me back.”
His eyes drop to the bandage.
“Follow-up?”
“So I've been told.”
A smile flickers across his face, and you can't help but grin back. He has a kind of charm that disarms you.
“Try not to injure yourself on the way in. Or him. We can't run this hospital without the chief.”
“No promises.”
He walks with you toward the exam rooms, matching your pace without comment. The conversation stays comfortably superficial: the weather, his shift, and the last show you watched - which you're grateful for.
At the nurses' station, he slows. Dana is halfway through updating a chart when she looks up. You exchange a few pleasantries while Jack leans against the counter, listening with a half-smile.
Then Dana's gaze flicks past you toward one of the exam rooms.
Something passes silently between her and Jack, and he straightens immediately.
“Room six.”
“That's it? No dramatic goodbye?”
“I figured you'd had enough medical attention for one week.”
“Fair.”
“Good luck.”
Before you can ask what that's supposed to mean, he's already turning away.
The traitor!
The room is empty when you step inside, but you barely have time to feel relieved before the door opens again.
Robby walks in carrying a chart, and for a second neither of you says anything.
Without the chaos of the emergency department around him, he looks strangely out of place.
Or maybe that's you.
“You came.”
You set your bag down on the chair beside you, keeping your expression neutral as he pumps sanitizer into his palms.
You remember how many times you had to remind him to moisturize his hands, his skin always so dry it looked like it might split open.
“You summoned me via text.”
Something flickers across his face. Annoyance or maybe amusement. You can't tell anymore.
“Sit down.”
There's no point arguing, so you do.
The paper covering the exam table crackles beneath you as you climb up, the sound reminding you of the last time you were here.
Robby pulls on a pair of gloves.
“Let me see it.”
You offer your hand without comment, but for a moment, he doesn't take it.
His gaze drops to the bandage first, studying it like he's already looking for evidence of something worse.
Then his fingers close gently around your wrist as he starts unwrapping it.
The contact is professional, almost detached, but your stupid brain notices anyway.
Layer by layer, the dressing comes away, and he studies the wound in silence.
The stitches hold the edges together neatly now. The swelling has gone down, and the angry redness from the first day has faded into pink.
“Any increased pain?”
“No.”
“Drainage?”
“No.”
“Fever?”
You give him a look.
“No.”
His attention stays fixed on your palm, a crease forming between his eyebrows.
“You've been using it.”
You let out a short laugh.
“That's a bold accusation.”
When his gaze lifts to yours, you want to hit him. It's infuriating how quickly he sees through you.
“You've been working despite our medical advice.”
The certainty in his voice makes it clear it's not a guess.
You look away first.
“I had deadlines.”
“I know.”
Somehow those two words are more irritating than if he'd argued.
Because he does know.
He knows exactly how many hours you'll spend obsessing over a project. What a perfectionist you are. He knows you'll work through headaches, exhaustion, and apparently hand injuries if given the chance.
His thumb hovers near the base of your palm.
“The swelling's worse here.”
Damn it.
You say nothing, and Robby sighs softly- resigned, as though this outcome was entirely predictable.
“You need to leave it alone for a few more days.”
“You sound like a doctor.”
“I am your doctor.”
The silence that follows is familiar, and Robby looks down and resumes wrapping the fresh dressing around your hand, carefully. Methodically. Giving both of you something else to focus on.
When he's finished, he smooths the edge of the bandage into place and steps back.
“You're healing pretty well, despite the fact you haven't been listening.”
You nod, because it should feel reassuring.
Instead, it leaves a hollow ache somewhere beneath your ribs. Healing implies moving on, and you're not sure you've figured out that part yet.
“You'll come back in a week for removal.”
“Yes, doctor.”
His mouth almost curves.
Almost.
You stand quickly and reach for your bag, but neither of you moves for a couple of seconds.
Then, before you can do something stupid, you turn toward the door.
You don't look back.
Not because you don't want to. But because you already know he'll be watching.
*
You try to work.
You really do. The laptop is open on the coffee table, a half-finished design staring back at you from the screen.
But after several minutes of pretending you're accomplishing something, you let your head fall back against the couch and close the laptop.
“Great,” you mutter to the empty apartment. “I'm completely useless. Fantastic!”
Outside, a car passes. Somewhere upstairs, something heavy drops.
Life continues. Unfortunately, so does your brain.
The problem isn't that you keep replaying memories. It's that you keep replaying a sentence.
You can do better than me.
The same calm voice, the same careful expression. As though he'd handed you a gift instead of a goodbye.
Your jaw tightens.
“No, that's bullshit.”
You push yourself upright too quickly and immediately regret it when your injured hand protests. Pain flashes through your palm.
“Shit.”
You sink back into the cushions with a groan, but it's not your hand that's upsetting you.
It's the way he left, as though he was doing something responsible. Noble. As though loving you had been a mistake he was finally correcting.
Your phone lies face down beside you, and without thinking, you reach for it.
The screen lights up.
Nothing.
No messages except the family group chat.
No notifications, either.
You stare at it anyway, then open a message box.
I'm happy for you.
You stare at it for three seconds before deleting it.
I wish nothing-
Delete.
A frustrated laugh escapes you.
“God.”
The worst part is that neither statement is entirely false.
You do want him to be happy. You just wish you didn't have to witness it.
The music keeps playing in the background.
At some point, you stopped paying attention to the playlist.
Now it feels like the playlist is paying attention to you.
Alanis Morissette's voice fills the apartment: raw, messy, unapologetically angry.
An older version of me…
A bitter smile tugs at your mouth. Isn't that funny?
“Yeah.”
You rub your eyes.
“You really thought that sounded noble, didn't you?”
The memory of that conversation has somehow become more irritating with time.
Not less... because now you can hear everything he thought he was saying.
You are not a child, and he knows it. You could have handled him telling you he stopped loving you much better than what he actually said.
The song continues.
Did you forget about me, Mr. Duplicity?
That one almost makes you laugh.
“Fúcking hell.”
You shift forward, resting your elbows on your knees, careful of your hand.
Everything is careful now.
The music keeps going and your mind drifts somewhere you don't want it to.
Toward Noelle. Toward possibilities. Toward images you never invited into your head.
Maybe they want the same things... Maybe he wants a baby with her.
You never really considered having kids. You can't imagine yourself in that position, and Robby knows it. You were honest from the get-go.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Nope.”
Your finger points at nothing.
“We're not doing that.”
But your imagination ignores you completely.
Of course it does.
A familiar laugh, a familiar smile, a mini-version of Robby... life continuing without you.
Your stomach tightens.
Not jealousy exactly.
Something uglier.
Much uglier.
I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother.
You've heard these a hundred times before, but now they feel like they were always about you.
And every time you speak her name
Does she know how you told me
You'd hold me until you died?
Is this what grieving a relationship feels like?
Because it's so humiliating it almost hurts more than the loss itself.
You don't want revenge or to see him miserable. You don't even want him back if being with you made him unhappy. If he truly thinks you're too young, too immature, too much of whatever it was that finally convinced him to walk away with no regrets.
You just want proof that you mattered. That he didn't walk away and immediately become -again- someone else's person. That somewhere beneath all that careful self-control and rational decision-making, there's still a place where you exist. A scar. A memory.
The thought settles heavily in your chest. Now you understand why you've been listening to this stupid song on repeat.
Beneath all that anger is a woman desperately trying to convince herself she wasn't forgettable. That she was loved.
It feels really pathetic.
You drag a hand over your face.
“God, I sound insane.”
But you reach for your phone anyway and hit replay.
*
The removal is simple and fast: clip, lift, pull.
There’s no real pain, just a faint tugging beneath the skin, more memory than sensation.
So you watch him work. Not your hand. Him.
Because this version of him is always like this: controlled, in command, careful in a way that feels effortless.
And it’s unfair how good he looks like this. Glasses on, focused, entirely elsewhere while still being right in front of you.
“You’ve been using it,” he says without looking up.
There had been no real conversation before this, just the quiet logistics of being here. He was waiting at the nurses’ station while Jack finished the handover, you assume.
When the last stitch is out, he doesn’t move immediately. Just checks the skin, thumb hovering near the edge as if confirming something only he can see.
Then he wraps it anyway.
Habit, maybe.
“You’re healed,” he says finally.
“I’m free.”
You don’t know what kind of freedom you mean.
A quiet exhale slips out of him... almost a laugh, before the silence settles again.
You flex your fingers once. Strange how quickly something that was broken can feel like it belongs to you again.
Like it never left at all.
Then you look at him, suddenly making up your mind. It feels like the last real chance to say what’s been sitting in your chest for days. You deserve better closure than silence... and better than what he gave you. You need to do this for your own peace.
“I want you to know something,” you say.
His attention shifts fully now as he waits for you to continue.
“I’m happy for you.”
The words land exactly the way you expect them to. Something in his expression tightens... not surprise, not relief. Recognition.
“I wish you and Noelle nothing but the best,” you add. “I guess she really made an impression on you. You ended up all cozy in the hospital barely a week after we broke up.”
You hope this makes him feel like shit. Because it isn’t really about Noelle.
He exhales through his nose, controlled, and you can't read his expression. His shoulders tense, his expression being unreadable in a way that only makes you more certain you’ve hit something real.
“What are you doing?”
No denial. That alone tells you enough.
You were right.
“I’m not quite as well,” you say, your tone so even it almost sounds detached, like you’re commenting on the weather instead of opening your chest and handing him your heart once again.
And the moment it leaves your mouth, you regret it.
Because it’s too honest and real, and it gives him something he doesn’t deserve anymore.
His jaw tightens.
“Don’t,” he says.
He drags a hand through his hair, and you notice it now: the smallest crack in his control. Not panic exactly, just something closer to discomfort. Or guilt.
You almost smile as pick up your bag.
Then stop. Because if you leave now, it becomes clean.
And this isn’t clean, so you turn back.
“I thought you should know you were wrong,” you say.
A beat.
“I didn’t need better than you.”
Your voice stays steady, but something underneath it fractures anyway. You just needed your Michael.
“I just needed you to stay. Or if you were going to leave, you should’ve said it properly. You should’ve told me there was someone else. Or that you didn’t love me anymore. Not… that.”
The words leave you all at once, sharp and unfiltered, like there’s nothing left to protect anymore. You have nothing more to lose.
For a moment, he doesn’t respond at all. He continues to stare at the wall, then the floor, then your shoes before he finally meets your eyes.
Then, very quietly:
“You should go.”
And something in you almost laughs at how predictable it is. How final. How cleanly he can end things when it suits him.
Your throat tightens. It becomes hard to breathe in a way you can’t fully hide. Your eyes sting, that familiar pressure building behind them until your vision blurs at the edges.
You swallow hard, but it doesn’t go away. It just sits there: heavy, humiliating, like your body is betraying you for still caring.
A short, broken sound slips out of you before you give him what he asked for.
“Well then,” you say, voice lower now, steadier in a different way. “Every time I scratch my nails down someone else’s back.” You pause, holding his gaze. “I hope you feel it.”
The silence after that is immediate. But it's far from empty... it's charged as his expression shifts. Something in him stills completely.
He exhales slowly, tension pulling through his neck and jaw, a faint flush rising there.
When he speaks, his voice is lower now, colder.
“We’re done here.”
*
The next evening settles in too easily and that bothers you.
Like nothing important happened at all.
You tried to focus on work all day, but you can barely get anything done between meetings. Even music doesn’t fill the space properly anymore.
Eventually, you stop pretending it isn’t eating at you, and the phone is already in your hand before you realize you reached for it.
Your thumb rests over the screen as you tell yourself you don’t care what happens next.
But you do.
You think about yesterday, not the words exactly, but the tone.
We’re done here.
Clean. Practiced. Efficient. Like you were just another patient he needed out of the room.
Did your relationship really mean nothing? Did you mean nothing?
The thought of Noelle slips in again, uninvited.
What did he see in her that he can't see in you? What is so special about her? What kind of power does he have to make you still think about him after everything?
Something shifts inside you subtly, almost quietly.
Permission.
He always said you were too kind.
Maybe today you are petty. Maybe you always were, just quieter about it before.
And maybe he deserves to feel all of it.
Your grip tightens around the phone.
“Fúcking asshole.”
Your fingers move before you can think about his feelings and stop yourself.
Welcome to my next entry for #JuneJukeboxScribbles, hosted by the amazing @societynsoelsscribbles
Credit to @societyfolklore for the header. Divider by @saradika-graphics
WC: Approx. 313
Characters: Dr Jack Abbott x plus size!Reader (no use of Y/N)
Event Entry Masterlist
Turning a corner into the ED you overheard a group of what appeared to be nurses talking. What pricked your ears was hearing your name. They were discussing you and your boyfriend who was an attending in the department.
You stopped as you heard them talking about how he deserved better, how he was so hot he could get any woman he wanted and that there were so many that came through the ED or that he encountered out and about that would suit him so much more.
This was nothing new, you’d heard this all your life. From family, so-called friends, colleagues and even strangers who though they had the right to comment on your appearance. You’d always been a little chubbier than others, but you weren’t obese. You would usually grit your teeth, put on a brave face and ignore it but this time, it was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
You walked confidently into the room and the conversation stopped the second they saw you. “So, you have some thoughts on me and my relationship with Jack? Please, tell me to my face.”
Not one of them spoke. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Maybe think twice before gossiping about people who could very well be just around the corner. I’m proud of who I am and what I look like doesn’t make me any more or less important. Each and every one of you should be ashamed of yourselves.”
You heard clapping from behind you and turned to see Jack. He glared at the nurses in the room “Don’t you all have something better you should be doing? GO!”
“Well done darling” he said gently while caressing your cheek. “I didn’t hear what was said but I heard your response and it was perfect. I love you so much and I’m so proud of who you are.”
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Authors note: June Jukebox Scribbles event.
June 10th - Pink Pony Club - Chappell Roan / “Every night's another reason why I left it all”
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Warnings: fluffiest fluff
Word Count: 300
Summary: Sometimes love looks like cookies, cuddles, and no regrets. Just a sweet moment in the life of househusband Bucky Barnes.
EVENT MASTERLIST
You unlock the apartment door and step in. It’s quiet.
No, peaceful.
You lean against the frame and close your eyes. Just for a moment.
Home.
There is cinnamon in the air, and somewhere down the hall on the floor lies a forgotten book. You pick it up. SpongeBob grins back at you from the page, and you can't help but smile.
A pair of arms slides around your waist. You never hear Bucky coming. Once it startled you, now it simply feels familiar.
"You look exhausted," Bucky murmurs and kisses your neck.
You melt into him.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only to me," he grins.
He takes your bag from your shoulder and puts it down by the door. You let him guide you toward the sofa and pull you down next to him.
A glass of wine waits on the coffee table. You reach for it, but misjudge the distance and the glass slips.
You barely register what happened before Bucky catches it in the air.
“Force of habit,” he chuckles, handing it back to you.
You notice traces of flour on his forearm. Little Natty must have talked him into baking cookies again.
Bucky’s hand cups your cheek, and you nuzzle against it.
You love him so much it aches sometimes. The super soldier who can kill a man with one arm and assemble a bomb from your kitchen supplies. The man who folds tiny socks, kisses scraped knees, packs lunches, and makes every room feel warmer just by being in it.
He leans forward, lips almost touching yours.
"Do you ever regret it?" you ask quietly.
Bucky's smile appears slowly together with tiny creases around his beautiful eyes.
"Never," he says, his thumb brushing your cheek, "and every night's another reason why I left it all."
Welcome to my next entry for #JuneJukeboxScribbles, hosted by the amazing @societynsoelsscribbles
Credit to @societyfolklore for the header. Divider by @saradika-graphics
WC: Approx. 313
Characters: Dr Jack Abbott x plus size!Reader (no use of Y/N)
Event Entry Masterlist
Turning a corner into the ED you overheard a group of what appeared to be nurses talking. What pricked your ears was hearing your name. They were discussing you and your boyfriend who was an attending in the department.
You stopped as you heard them talking about how he deserved better, how he was so hot he could get any woman he wanted and that there were so many that came through the ED or that he encountered out and about that would suit him so much more.
This was nothing new, you’d heard this all your life. From family, so-called friends, colleagues and even strangers who though they had the right to comment on your appearance. You’d always been a little chubbier than others, but you weren’t obese. You would usually grit your teeth, put on a brave face and ignore it but this time, it was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
You walked confidently into the room and the conversation stopped the second they saw you. “So, you have some thoughts on me and my relationship with Jack? Please, tell me to my face.”
Not one of them spoke. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Maybe think twice before gossiping about people who could very well be just around the corner. I’m proud of who I am and what I look like doesn’t make me any more or less important. Each and every one of you should be ashamed of yourselves.”
You heard clapping from behind you and turned to see Jack. He glared at the nurses in the room “Don’t you all have something better you should be doing? GO!”
“Well done darling” he said gently while caressing your cheek. “I didn’t hear what was said but I heard your response and it was perfect. I love you so much and I’m so proud of who you are.”
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summary: you assume jack likes you until the pitt starts betting on how long it'll take him and samira to get together; jack assumes you like him until you get called into work while on a date with your coworker. turns out, all it takes is a bad bet and an even worse date for you and jack to realize how in love the two of you are. (7k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!loser!reader, trinity santos, samira mohan, nick barker, mcvadi crumbs
contents: friends to lovers, idiots in love, implied age gap, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, jealousy, humor, so much flirting, cw for medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, and probably several hr violations
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You make it halfway through your shift with a lighter wallet and a heavier heart than when you started it.
You can hear Princess shuffling through her stack of cash from the other side of the workstation, flaunting her winnings from a well-placed bet. You try and fail not to let it distract you as you scribble at the clipboard before you, with your heavy head propped on your clenched fist.
Charting was hard enough back when the computers were still running, back when it was easy — let alone when you have to make every single note by hand, and flit physically through a hundred different files just to cross-reference all the information.
“Is this what it was like back when you were a resident?” you’d asked Jack, when he dropped off an order slip by the filing cabinet, beside the bulky fax machine you were standing in front of and trying to tame.
He slid in beside you with a wide hand on your lower back, smelling like a dizzying mixture of sweat and musky cologne. He adjusted your labs in the tray without another word, turning it around and flipping it right-side up for you.
“Yeah, actually,” he’d nodded, dialing the proper number on the machine with his pointer finger, including the area code that you had forgotten to add. The corner of his lip flickered upward in a faint half-smirk as he joked with squinted eyes, “Back in the 1900s— when charting was done by candlelight.”
You felt your own mouth curling into a quiet smile despite yourself. “So this must feel really nostalgic for you then, huh?”
“Extremely,” he deadpanned.
“Well…” you sighed. “Got any tips for me then, old man?”
Jack exhaled a heavy breath and turned to face you while the heavy machine beeped and buzzed beside you. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his camo pants and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, look at it this way— Today is gonna suck, but… That means every shift from now can’t possibly get worse than this one, right?”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “That, or we just… keep descending into another circle of hell every day.”
Jack smiled wider at your cynicism, patting you softly on the shoulder before sauntering off the way he came. “That’s the spirit, kid.”
You still feel his hand on you even now, wide and warm over your thick black scrubs, while you trudge through the rest of your charting. You hate the effect he has on you; you hate how often he plagues your every thought. It takes a great amount of muscle memory, you find, not to accidentally jot his name down as your hand moves the pen on autopilot.
You don’t think it’d feel quite as pathetic if you thought that there might be an inkling he felt the same way about you. But now, all you are is an R4 with a stupid schoolgirl crush on her boss, and half a mental breakdown away from scribbling little hearts in her notes with his initials scrawled inside.
“You plan on getting in on this?” Santos asks in place of a greeting as she slides her swivel chair next to yours. She wears a faint smirk on her lips and a mischievous glint in her light eyes that gives you great pause.
Ink smudges on the inside of your wrist as you halt your scribbling to flash her a dubious look. “…On what?”
“Ahmad got bored after Princess won the last bet,” she tells you, reaching behind her to tighten the half-ponytail at the crown of her head. “Said the grid was too good to take down so soon, so… He started a new one.”
You scoff a dry laugh and turn away again.
“Yeah? What is it this time— Which one of us is gonna be the first to have a breakdown and quit? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d win that one…”
“Close…” Trinity croons, leaning in like she’s about to tell you some sort of secret. Her eyes flit somewhere over your shoulder, in the vague direction of where Mohan stands with Jack across the room, before she confesses. “It’s about Abbot and Samira. I have it on good authority that they were getting pret-ty close in Central 4 together…”
“C-Close?” you echo on bated breath.
Your head whips over your shoulder to the other side of the workstation, where Jack and Samira exchange information about one of her patients. You hadn’t given their closeness a second thought before now. It’s like you blinked, and now the sight of them together makes you feel sick.
You hope Santos doesn’t see the hurt weighing down your features when you turn back to her. “What— What do you mean close?”
“I mean, Dr. Abbot was half naked while Samira was tending to his shoulder,” Trinity explains with a scoff and turns back to her own clipboard. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it until I heard her say, ‘It’s our little secret—’”
She mocks in a high-pitched voice, which sounds nothing like Samira’s, before laughing to herself.
“—Like, c’mon. You guys could at least try to be subtle about it.”
You know she expects you to start laughing with her, but you struggle to find the energy to do so now.
“Yeah…” you sigh instead, hardly audible as you struggle to speak through the sudden tightening in your chest. “Right…”
“You should go place a bet,” she tells you, half-distracted by the files before her. “You could win back the money you lost and then some.”
“With what?” you joke with a sad scoff. “The three dollars I have left to my name?”
She flashes you a deadpanned look. “If that’s all you have to lose, I think I’d take those odds.”
You figure Trinity’s right. You have nothing more to lose, in truth — not after the shit day you’ve already had, and the money you’ve already lost, and the teenage heart inside of you that’s already broken.
You finish up your charting, return the clipboard to the patient rack, and retrieve your wallet from the locker room. Because, as you see it, you’ll either leave this shift about a hundred dollars richer or with nothing at all; either totally vindicated or with a bank account just as empty as you feel on the inside.
You find Ahmad in the security room, and he flashes you a toothy grin as you slink through the doorway like a shy little storm cloud. He motions with the notepad he holds in a sun-kissed hand. “I knew you’d wanna get on the books, kid— What’d it take to convince you this time?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug with a mournful sigh. “I just… realized that I have nothing else to lose, I guess…”
Dr. Barker laughs from beside you.
“Well, that’s always the best reason to make a bet, in my experience,” he jokes with a pearly white smile, pushing the sleeves of his navy button-down up to his elbows to reveal the expanse of his tanned, scruffy forearms.
Nick Barker stands quite a few inches taller than you — which you hadn’t expected before now, since he’d spent most of his time in the E.R. sitting behind the portable radiology machine. He has to look down at you from the bridge of his broad nose from this angle, with eyes so dark they’re almost black.
He’s almost effortlessly handsome. Like, Disney prince sort of handsome. The kind of handsome that makes it impossible to look into his eyes without blushing like a schoolgirl.
“I’m normally a lot more responsible than this, but… I figured all things considered…” you trail off with a sheepish shrug.
“Yeah, you’re talkin’ to the girl who hasn’t taken a day off since I started here— Two years ago,” Ahmad scoffs. “I think you deserve to let loose every once in a while, Doc, all things considered.”
He taps you gently on the head with his notepad. You roll your eyes and reach into the pocket of your scrubs, cheeks burning under the weight of the sudden attention you’re getting.
“Just put me down for $10—” you say, but cut yourself off when Ahmad hisses through his teeth. “…What is it?”
“Minimum this time twenty,” he grimaces.
Your shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Seriously?”
“We had to up the ante this time, kid— Rules of the game.”
“Then I guess put me down for twenty…” you huff and pluck your wallet from your scrub pockets. “For… unrequited…”
“Unrequited by who?” Ahmad presses with his brows raised to his hairline.
“I don’t know. Samira, I guess,” you shrug, half-timid, ‘cause it’s not like you totally believe it either. You’re just trying to take a page out of Trinity’s book, really, and manifest something good for yourself for a change — pretending that Abbot isn’t into her in the hopes that it’ll make it somehow real.
“What?” Ahmad laughs like it’s funny. “You’re telling me you don’t believe in love?”
You flash him a solemn look in return. “I’ll start believing in something again when the systems come back up,” you answer in a monotone.
“Touche…” he nods slowly while Dr. Barker exhales a quiet laugh through his nose.
A familiar voice comes suddenly from the entrance:
“I think that is the single sanest answer I’ve heard all day,” Jack Abbot himself hums in a gritty deadpan.
You nearly break your neck with how fast your head whips over your shoulder, finding the man leaning against the doorway with his toned arms crossed over his chest and a smug smirk dancing on his lips.
Your skin prickles with a red-hot heat while your pounding heart drops to your stomach. If he wasn’t into you before, he certainly won’t be now — not with you making bets on his love life like a crazy person with nothing better to do. (Though, in many ways, that is exactly what you are.)
“Dr. Abbot…” Ahmad croons, trying to play casual despite knowing his secretive betting ring’s finally been found out. “That’s funny— We were just talking about you.”
“Robby may or may not have told me,” Jack confesses as he saunters slowly into the security room, boots heavy on the white linoleum. “Wanted me to tell him if there was something going on with Mohan and me, so he could recoup the money he lost in the last bet.”
“…Well, is there?” Nick wonders lowly.
“C’mon, Barker. Where’s the fun in that?” Jack scoffs a dry laugh, then goes strangely solemn again in a flicker. “Even though, as an attending, I think I have to say that I am very against this— I feel like this has H.R. violation written all over it.”
“Well, what Gloria doesn’t know, won’t hurt us, right?” Ahmad quips.
“I’ve been livin’ by those exact words for years, brother.”
Your hands are clammy and trembling for a reason you can’t name as you pull two crumpled bills from your wallet — a dingy, pastel Polly Pocket billfold you’ve had since you were twelve — as if you needed another reason to look any less cool in front of Jack. The pale pink interior is left glaringly empty, save for a few folded receipts and miscellaneous fortune-cookie slips.
“Wow…” you huff as you pass Ahmad the twenty. “That is all the cash I have to my name. I’m officially more broke than I was in med school— I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“I can take you out to dinner with my winnings, if you want,” Nick offers suddenly.
Your head snaps in his direction, and his eyes widen, as though surprised by his own forwardness. He swallows hard, pronounced adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, scruffy with a five o’clock shadow.
“You know, if you— if you wanna… let loose or whatever.”
Your lip flickers upward in a shy smile when Dr. Barker sighs and shakes his head to himself. A few rogue strands of dark hair fall from their gelled quaff and hang over his forehead until he pushes them back in place again.
“Sorry, that, uh…” He chuckles awkwardly at himself. “That came out weird.”
“I might be stuck in charting jail for the rest of the night, actually,” you say with an apologetic grimace, wringing your clammy fingers into knots. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“Yeah!” he blurts, a little quicker than he means to. He clears his throat and, in an octave lower, repeats himself. “Yeah. Totally. No worries.”
You dismiss yourself with a quiet smile and lack the courage to look Jack in the eye when you pass him on the way to the door. He watches you leave and waits for you to glance back at him with his heart in his throat. You never do.
Still, though, he can’t help but feel a little proud of himself; after watching you turn down the handsome radiologist every woman on this floor has been fawning over all day. He turns back around and hisses through his teeth, trying not to look as smug as he feels.
“Damn,” Jack deadpans. “That was cold, man…”
Nick’s dark eyes widen and flit wildly between the two men on either side of him. “Wait— Really?”
“Ice cold…” Ahmad affirms with a slow nod. “Girl said she’s broke, and you think she’s gonna say ‘no thanks’ to some free food? In this economy? Yeah… She’s not into you, man.”
Jack claps the solemn boy hard on the shoulder. “You win some, you lose some, kid… Don’t take it too hard.”
You forget all about the stupid bet and Nick’s offer some hours later, when Robby sticks you with Ogilvie and tells you to walk the MS4 through your canthotomy patient.
You talk aloud as you slice your scalpel through the young girl’s eye, where the socket is raging red and bulging from the pressure behind it. The boy doesn’t say a word the whole time, just holds the plastic cup where the bright crimson blood drains from the eye, and doesn’t move a muscle until it stops.
“I think that’s the closest I’ve come to puking since I started med school,” the boy confesses when it’s done, standing just over your shoulder while you fill out the patient’s med slip. “I didn’t even get that close during cadaver lab, when all of us started craving meat from the formaldehyde— I’m pretty sure five people dropped out that day alone…”
His voice trails off when Samira catches your eye, rushing by the desk with her wild curls falling from her claw clip. She wears the hard shift all over as she makes a beeline directly for Jack, planting herself ahead of the older man; so close she has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze.
Your hand freezes around the pen as you keep your eyes on the two of them, staring harder than you probably realize as you struggle to make out their conversation. Their words are drowned out by Ogilvie’s rambling, and the surrounding beep and chatter of the crowded E.R.
Mohan talks wildly with her hands and says something about “a letter,” while Jack nods along sympathetically and says something along the lines of “give me your number.”
Your chest flares with a white-hot feeling when you watch the man pass Samira his phone to plug her number into. It’s like the world has fallen out from under you and swallowed you whole, like you’re drowning in the fire of your own envy.
You’re barely seven hours on the job, and you’ve already lost all your cash — you’ll be doomed to the three-day-old leftovers in the fridge, if the newfound heartache hasn’t already snatched your appetite for the evening. That means you’ll be running on fumes tomorrow morning — still broke, still hungry, still heartbroken.
Then you remember Dr. Barker — Disney prince Dr. Barker — and his offer of dinner from earlier in the security room.
You make the terribly impulsive decision to take fate into your own hands and forget to properly dismiss yourself before dropping the finished order slip off across the room. Ogilivie is quick to follow close behind, lacking any real sense of personal space. He nearly trips over himself to keep from running into you when you freeze suddenly in place.
“You don’t have to follow me anymore,” you tell him.
“Oh… Well, then… What am I supposed to do?” the blonde boy shrugs.
“I don’t know. Do whatever you want…” you trail off and glance around the bustling work station. You spot Trinity standing at the chart rack and motion over to her. “Go help Dr. Santos with her next patient.”
The dark-haired girl turns at the sound of her name.
“Oh, please don’t—” She cuts herself off with a sigh when Ogilvie makes his way towards her anyway. “Fuck. Fine…”
You continue your trek to the other side of the crowded work station, where the portable radiology machine takes up the majority of the room. You can smell the man’s expensive, musky cologne before he ever comes into view.
“Hey, Nick…” you greet, then wince at how weird it sounds a second later. “I mean, Dr. Barker— Sorry—”
He glances up from his work at the sound of your voice. “Nick is fine,” he assures with a kind grin and a pair of chocolate-colored eyes.
You try to smile back, but your nervousness makes it look more like a grimace. “It’s not, like, totally too late for me to take you up on that offer for dinner, is it?”
“No!” he blurts with a shake of his head. “Of course not!”
“Great…” you say with a relieved sigh.
“Yeah, I’ll— I’ll text you the details later.”
“Oh. Well, you don’t…” You scrunch the bridge of your nose in a sheepish look. “You don’t have my number…”
His mouth falls softly agape with the realization. “Oh. Right. Duh.”
You smile wider despite yourself, ‘cause he’s almost as awkward as you are, which you didn’t think was possible before now — especially not for someone as pretty as he is.
You turn away and grab the nearest pen, clicking it on with your thumb before reaching for his arm. You scribble your number over the dark blue veins on his wrist with a newfound confidence — one that you never had before now, one spurred on by the man’s obvious shyness.
You feel Nick’s eyes on you when you look away, flitting wildly across your profile.
“This isn’t… This isn’t just because of the bet, is it?” he wonders with a waver in his voice.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You know, the whole thing you said about… losing all your money or whatever,” Dr. Barker explains with a sheepish laugh. “You’re not just going out with me for a free meal, are you?”
“Well, isn’t that kinda the point of going on dates? The free food?” you joke with a dry laugh, which fades instantly at the confused look Nick gives you in response. Your face floods with horror a second later. “I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding— Of course not.”
“Okay,…” Dr. Barker says with an awkward chuckle. “Good.”
“Good,” you echo with a sigh and rise to full height again.
“I’ll, uh— I’ll text you.”
“I’ll be waiting,” you chirp with a polite nod and a giddy grin, which ebbs the second you turn away from him. You shake your head as you slink back through the bustling emergency department, squeezing your eyes shut and murmuring under your breath in disgust, “I’ll be waiting—?”
You nearly trip over yourself when you ram suddenly into a firm body. Two calloused hands grasp gently at your elbows as you stumble backwards. You almost lose your breath when you find Jack Abbot towering over you.
“Shit… you huff. “Sorry, I— I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Where’ve you been hiding?” Jack squints. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Your shy smile fades into a disbelieving squint almost instantly; at the bitter reminder of Jack and Samira — of the seemingly intimate conversation they’d shared just minutes ago, and of the bet you know you’re bound to lose now.
“No, you weren’t,” you deadpan.
“I was,” he insists. “I feel like I always am, some way or another.”
Your chest warms at his words. You choke on the funny feeling when you force yourself to swallow it down. “I was just— walking one of the interns through a lateral canthotomy,” you stammer as you step back out of his hold.
“Gnarly,” Jack hums with a slow nod.
“Did you, uh… Did you need me for something?”
“Yeah, I have a patient over in Trauma 2— Sliced through his left hand with a circular saw,” Jack explains, staring down at you from the bridge of his nose as he crosses his strong arms over his chest. “But the crazy part is, he used his right hand to take the nail gun and—”
“Oh, my god,” you blurt before you mean to. “He tried to put his hand back on with the nail gun, didn’t he?”
“Close…” he hums with a knowing glint in his eyes. “He used the gun to fire two nails into his temple— Said he thought it would distract him from the pain in his hand. And the weird thing is, he’s walking and talking just fine.”
“Holy shit…” you mumble, wide-eyed. “Why do you always get the cool cases?”
“You can have it,” he assures you, with something soft swimming in his eyes. “That’s why I wanted to find you— so you could do it with me.”
Something about it feels way more intimate than being asked out for dinner.
You finish the rest of your shift as normal — feeling like a shell of your former self after hours of running on fumes; both excruciatingly tired and buzzing with white-hot adrenaline all at once.
The only real difference between today and every other day before this one is that, for the first time in a long, long time, you actually have plans outside of work — almost like a real human person with a social life would.
You return home after the long day, only for an hour or so, to shower and change out of your scrubs. You wash away the scent of blood, sweat, and antiseptic from your skin, and only cut your knee once when you shave your legs for the first time in weeks. You pull out a nice top, a short skirt, and a real bra from the depths of your closet. You go as far as to break out the expensive perfume that you’ve had for years, ‘cause you only use it on extra special occasions, which tend to be few and far between for you.
You feel like an entirely different person when you meet Dr. Barker at the address he’d sent you a few hours ago — a nice bar, just a few blocks down from your apartment building, that you’d been meaning to visit for years but found every excuse in the book to stay home instead. You find the man sitting alone in a far booth in the dimly lit room, sipping slowly at the beer he nurses in his hand, and feel a little like a fraud when you slide into the vinyl seat across from him.
Nick has only known you for the better part of a work shift, to be fair, not counting the handful of times you’d smiled politely in passing when you clocked out for the day. You know he’s got some version of you in his head already, like all men do — someone much cooler than you really are, someone much better at separating their work life from their personal life than you are.
You prove him wrong in record time, sharing a plate of loaded nachos between you and forgetting to eat any of it as you get too easily lost in your ramblings. You tell him of the long shift, and of the man you met with two nails in his skull, and fail to remember that not everyone can talk of blood and gore over a meal as easily as you can.
“—Honestly, I’m still surprised it didn’t hemorrhage! The X-Ray showed one of the nails was, like, half an inch away from nicking an artery,” you ramble with a giddy grin. “I pulled them out with some local anesthetic, and he was totally fine— Well, except for the hand, obviously. ‘Cause he did lose a few fingers, but… Dr. Abbot took care of that, so…”
“Did he?” Nick hums, hiding his smile behind the pint he brings to his mouth.
He thinks this must be the fifth or so time you’ve brought up the man’s name tonight alone — not that you seem to notice. He doesn’t know whether that’s supposed to make him feel better or worse.
“Yeah— I always tell him he would’ve been an amazing surgeon if he didn’t have the hand-eye coordination of, like… A half-blind sloth,” you say, then swallow hard at the playful look Nick gives you in response. “‘Cause, you know, sloths are really clumsy, and they… Sometimes mistake their own limbs for branches, so… They fall a lot…”
You trail off and reach for the glass of water at your side, becoming very suddenly self-aware of your inability to stop rambling.
“You talk about him a lot,” Nick observes with a kind smile, licking the sheen of alcohol from his lips.
“…Who?” you wonder with furrowed brows.
“Dr. Abbot.”
Your features flood with terror. “Do I?”
His broad nose scrunches with a breathy laugh. “A little bit, yeah.”
“Oh, god…” you groan and hide your face behind your hand. Nick’s laugh gets lost in the rock music playing overhead. “That’s so annoying. I’m sorry—”
Your phone glows to life as it buzzes against the wooden table it sits on. You reach over to flip it face down before you can read the message on the screen.
“I didn’t… I didn’t even notice… I’m so sorry.”
It vibrates again, twice more in quick succession.
Your stomach twists with the anticipation of what it might say.
“It’s whatever,” Dr. Barker shrugs, pushing the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. “I get it. He’s your boss and everything, so…”
Your phone buzzes on the table once more, for longer this time, now with a phone call.
You tense, but make no move to answer it, for fear of making this more awkward than you already have — though your pretending not to hear it doesn’t make it any better.
The corner of Nick’s lip twitches into a sympathetic smile, ‘cause he can tell that you’re trying to be polite, even though you’re fidgeting at the thought of answering it. Because your friends usually only ever text you, so if someone’s calling, it’s bound to be important.
“You can get that if you need to—”
“Thank you,” you sigh before he’s properly gotten the words out, scrambling for your phone with anxious hands. “I’m so sorry. It’ll be quick, I swear. I’m sure it’s just… Fuck.”
The call ends before you can answer it.
Nick’s eyes widen at your reaction. “Everything okay?”
“It’s Parker…” you answer with your eyes trained on the blue-white screen. Your chest deflates with a heavy sigh beneath your skin-tight top. “And I know it’s serious because she despises double-texting and she just sent me four back to back, so…”
Your eyes are wet and preemptively apologetic when they dart to the man across the table, who meets the disaster of you with a tender grin.
“You gotta go back in, huh?” he squints.
“I do…” you sigh. “I’m so sorry—”
“Just make it up to me next time,” Nick shrugs, watching with kind eyes as you scramble for your phone and purse. “When I win that bet, I mean. I’ll take you out somewhere nice— We can do this for real. If you want.”
You slide out of the cracking vinyl booth with a grimace — equal parts unnerved at the idea of doing this a second time and half-surprised that Nick would even want to, after you did nothing but anxiously ramble before bailing on him out of nowhere.
“Yeah…” you waver anyway as you stand to full height again. “Yeah. Sure. Maybe.”
“Thank you again— I’d kiss you right now if I could,” Dr. Ellis tells you when you pass her in the ambulance bay, where she hurries out of the E.D. on long limbs. She calls over her shoulder, moments before she’s out of earshot. “You look hot, by the way!”
The passing reminder of what you’re showing up to work in hits you like a punch to the stomach.
The double doors of the PTMC part for you, and the air-conditioned emergency room wraps its cold fingers around every inch of your exposed skin — your shaven legs, arms, and collarbones; all of which are normally concealed by your dark scrubs and undershirts.
You can’t help but feel a bit like you’re doing the walk of shame as you race past the work station with your head bowed, barely noticing that the systems are up and running again as you go. You’re too busy trying to make yourself as small as possible on your way to the scrub dispenser down the hall.
Jack smells you before he sees you.
He gets a sudden whiff of something sweet and creamy, like whipped vanilla and fresh raspberries, something candied enough to eat. Then he looks over his shoulder, from where he’s stood at the front desk, and finds you rushing past him in a hurry. His neck nearly cracks with the strength of the double take he gives at the back of you — short skirt swishing around your thighs, tight shirt showing a sliver of your lower back. He feels a little like he’s in middle school again, going wild at the mere sight of a girl’s bare shoulder.
By the time his brain starts working again to greet you, you’ve already turned the corner.
“Whoa, gotta hot date tonight?” he hears Shen ask as you walk by.
“Just left one, more like,” you scoff.
“Damn. Poor guy,” the man quips, then laughs when you flip him off.
“…What the hell?” Jack mutters under his breath, with his eyes still trained on the empty hall you’d just disappeared down.
“What? You didn’t hear?” McKay wonders aloud, from where she’s hunched over the monitor across from him, still closing down for the day now that the ED isn’t in analog hell anymore. She peers up at him with tired blue eyes, half-hidden beneath her wild fringe. “Don’t tell Princess, but apparently, she went out with that Dr. Barker guy from radiology.”
“Oh, really?” Jack hums, nodding slowly to feign interest. He hopes the hurt flaring in his chest doesn’t show all over his face as he turns back to his computer. “Sounds fun…”
Javadi eyes him from behind McKay’s shoulder. Her dark, observant stare traces the edges of his face as she twirls the string of her lavender jacket with her pointer finger.
“Well, don’t look so upset about it, Dr. Abbot,” she jokes with a quiet laugh, half-dazed from the long day. “I have a lot riding on this bet about you and Mohan, you know—?”
Cassie flashes the younger girl a wordless look.
Victoria’s eyes go wide when they flit back to Jack’s.
“—Which I wasn’t supposed to mention in front of you…” she blurts and fakes an awkward laugh. “There is no bet, actually. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
Jack doesn’t ease the tension by telling her that he already knows; that he has known all day. He just flashes her a half-smile and a pair of squinted eyes as he steps back from the monitor.
“Real smooth, kid…” he jokes before he walks away.
He leaves the work station and turns the corner to find you cradling a pair of black scrubs to your chest and making a beeline for the restroom nearest to the break room. He rushes on long legs to catch up with you, limping slightly from his prosthetic. You freeze at the sound of your name from his lips, echoing from down the long hall. Your skirt swishes around your thighs as you spin in place to face him.
“Hey…” Jack greets, only slightly out of breath when he towers finally over you.
Your brows lower in confusion at the sight of his flustered state, but you smile nonetheless. “Hey…?”
“How was the, uh… The date?”
“Date?” you scoff. “What date?”
“The one you had with Dr. Barker.”
His biceps strain against his scrubs when he crosses his arms over his chest, peering down at you from the bridge of his nose. Your cheeks flare instantly. You can’t help but feel like you’ve been caught, like he’s just found out you’ve been cheating on him or something — even though the two of you aren’t even together, even though it’s abundantly clear that he wants someone else.
“Well, it wasn’t— it wasn’t really a— a date,” you stammer and turn away. “It was just… dinner.”
“Right,” Jack scoffs and follows behind you the short distance to the bathroom. “Because the two of you weren’t flirting in the security room or anything.”
You huff an emotionless laugh and roll your eyes at him, even though you know he cannot see you. “Yeah, because you and Samira weren’t flirting in Central 4 this morning or anything…” you echo in a gritty monotone.
Jack catches the bathroom door before it can shut behind you. You glance over your shoulder when you hear it hit his palm. You find the man looming in the doorway with something mischievous glittering in his narrowed eyes.
“I’m trying to get changed,” you deadpan, despite the distant fluttering in your chest.
Jack passes through the threshold and lets the door shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the empty bathroom, where the white-blue fluorescent lights buzz overhead.
“Am I hearing things, or do you sound a little jealous?” the older man quips, glittering eyes trained on the back of you as you duck into the singular stall across the room.
It clicks shut behind you.
“Aren’t you the one who came chasing after me, Dr. Abbot?”
“Aren’t you the one who ran off from your date just to come back in?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” you laugh.
“C’mon,” Jack scoffs. “You know what.”
Your short skirt pools around your feet with a quiet thud. You step out of it and toe off your right shoe, sliding on the adjoining pant leg before slipping the sneaker back on again. You do the same for the left side, and Jack has to shake the visual of your half-naked body from his head.
“I thought we had… You know, I thought we had a thing going on…”
“A thing?” you repeat, half-muffled, as you slide your shirt over your head. You hang it over the stall before reaching for your scrub top. “I wouldn’t exactly consider flirty comments and lingering eye contact a thing.”
Jack catches a glimpse of your bare spine through the sliver in the door frame. He swallows hard and forces himself to look down at his feet.
“You say that like I don’t wish I could do more,” he tells you. “I’m an attending— I can’t just go around making moves on my residents. It’s not a good look.”
The stall door squeaks open again. You come into view, now dressed in your scrubs, and wearing a hardened scowl on your dolled-up face. “Well, that didn’t stop you from getting Samira’s number, did it?” you argue. “Or letting her patch you up this morning?”
“I gave her my number because she asked for a recommendation letter, and I told her I’d give her one,” Jack confesses, watching you with a glittering gaze as you storm past him with your clothes cradled to your chest. He makes room for you by the sink and fights back a grin while you scrub angrily at your hands. “And I was patching myself up, actually, until she walked in looking for her patient.”
“Well, how convenient…” you grumble.
Jack smiles wider. “You are jealous,” he croons.
“I am, actually,” you deadpan, with your eyes trained on the soap you suds between your fingers. Even still, you can see the man in your peripheral vision, standing in the mirror just behind you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and smell the cologne lingering on his clothes.
“So that’s why you went out with the Barker guy, huh?” Jack lilts. “You just wanted to make me jealous…”
“No, actually,” you tell him. “I went out with Nick because I figured I should probably stop chasing after a guy that obviously doesn’t want me.”
You turn off the faucet with your fist and reach for the paper towel dispenser at your side.
Jack follows your every move.
“Yeah?” he hums lowly. “And who said I didn’t want you?”
You turn around to glare at him despite the newfound heat swimming in the pit of your stomach.
“Well, I think you’ve made it pretty clear, Dr. Abbot,” you deadpan. “I don’t think the entire floor would be betting on you and Samira otherwise.”
Jack takes a daring step closer, until you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze when he towers suddenly over you. With his hands crossed over his chest, he bows his head and tells you, “Well, I don’t want Mohan. And I don’t care about that stupid bet. Is that clear enough for you?”
Your chest warms with a familiar feeling. Your features crumple under the weight of it as you murmur sheepishly, “Okay. I’m not even trying to be funny right now, but if you’re trying to tell me that you do like me, you’re going to have to say that outright, or else my brain won’t—”
You feel his hands on you, wide and warm around the outsides of your elbows. You feel your feet stumbling on the tile, and your chest colliding with his, and then his mouth pressing against yours. You feel his chapped lips, his coarse scruff, and his exhaled breath from his nose as it fans warm over your skin.
You freeze against him, too stunned that he’s kissing you at all to remember to kiss him back.
Jack pulls away from you a dizzying second or more later. He peers down at you with a heavy gaze and smiles when he realizes you haven’t yet taken your eyes off him.
“I like you…” he tells you slowly, as though to make sure you’re really hearing him. “Are we clear now?”
You swallow hard and nod your head, licking at your kissed lips in a feeble attempt to taste him again.
“Crystal,” you quip drily.
You rise to the tips of your toes and wrench your free hand in his scrub top, with every intention of kissing him again — for real this time. You flinch in a fleeting panic when the bathroom door squeaks open a second later.
Samira slips inside, too distracted by the phone in her hand to see what she’s walking in on. You and Jack freeze against one another accordingly, as if being so still will somehow make you invisible.
The door closes behind her and muffles the never-ending chaos outside. Only when it clicks shut again does Samira look up from her phone, dark eyes wide as they flit wildly between the two of you.
“Holy shit…” she mumbles under her breath, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all.
You push the man away from you on instinct.
“We weren’t doing anything!” you blurt, hardly convincing in the matter.
Jack’s soft eyes cut over to you. “Real smooth,” he mumbles.
Samira’s look of shock ebbs into a giddy smile.
“I knew it!” she exclaims, voice ringing through the tiled restroom. “Ahmad looked at me like I was crazy when I put forty dollars on the two of you, but I knew I was right!”
Your brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The bet,” she shrugs with a smile. “I put mine on the two of you. Which means I just got a couple hundred dollars richer, at least.”
The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach.
“Which means I just lost all of my money…”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I can spare some of my winnings. I mean, it’s only right, right?” Samira says with a pretty laugh. “You guys can go out for drinks or something special. My treat.”
It becomes suddenly very difficult to imagine yourself from five minutes ago — back when you were overcome with jealousy just by the sight of her alone — knowing now that she had been rooting for you this whole time. Jack seems to know this, too, based on the smug smile he gives you.
“This real nice of you, Mohan,” he says. “But if I’m taking my girl out for drinks on a first date, I’m gonna be the one payin’ for ‘em— No offense.”
“None taken,” she shakes her head. “Means more money for me.”
You’re still catching your breath in the meanwhile, ‘cause the newfound title has all but punched the breath from your lungs. My girl, he’d said, and god, you wanted nothing more than to be his girl.
“We should, uh—” You clear your throat when the words get stuck there. “We should probably get out of here before the others think something weird is going on…”
“Something weird is happening— The entire E.D. is betting on my love life,” Jack scoffs as he follows you out of the bathroom, where the chaos of the E.R. finds you almost instantly. “Sorry you lost, by the way. The bet, I mean…”
He catches himself nearly reaching out for your hand. He balls his own into a fist instead to fight the urge. You can see the longing to glittering in his eyes, anyway, when you turn to flash him a sheepish look in response.
“Well, I didn’t lose completely,” you lilt with a lazy shrug.
“No?” Jack hums.
“No…” you grin. “I think I won where it mattered.”
You hadn't planned for the night to go like this... a continuation of the other Nick fics in the Jukebox.
Warnings: continued allusion to a threesome
Words: 297
June Jukebox Masterlist | Main Masterlist
You thought you were being discreet.
After you’d uttered the words I want to be bad, your darling husband had taken them very much on board. Torturing you at events, always leaving you wanting.
It had been no surprise that he’d noticed you noticing her.
She had a body that made your mouth go dry and a smile just as wicked.
And then Nick had joined you both and turned the evening on it’s head.
Not jealousy, not humour.
"I know you like what you see," he murmured against your ear, “you’re staring.” His voice was low enough that only you could hear, his eyes, though, were on her.
You turned away, just a little, just enough to give her your attention and him exactly what he wanted.
His lips were at your ear once again, before you'd even finished your drink.
"Tell me what you want." Not a question. Never a question with Nick. “Her? In our bed?”
Her eyes met yours, flitting between your eyes and your mouth, then she turned to Nick.
She'd heard every word. The slight curve of her smile told you so before she'd even opened her mouth.
"I thought you'd never ask," she said, curling her fingertips around your wrist.
Her hand was warm, brushing lightly over your pulse.
Had you? Asked?
Did it even matter? She and Nick had both seized the moment.
As if they'd both seen the wishful thoughts that had crossed your mind.
You hadn't planned for the evening to go this way, but Nick was an opportunistic man, and the woman's touch was electric on your skin.
His hand found the small of your back, warm and certain. He always knew you. Better than you knew yourself.
Nick watches you toy with some decisions about your relationship.
a little late, apologies! I'm trying to get caught up after a busy weekend. please don't be surprised if I end up writing a Hadestown AU, saw the musical and cried like a baby 😭
Warnings: alluding to a blossoming threesome
Words: 297
June Jukebox Masterlist | Main Masterlist
"I don't think I caught your name?" Nick heard the woman ask. He turned to look.
She had you cornered, one hand on her hip, her leg elongated to draw your attention to her hourglass figure. Her other hand toyed with the pendant on her necklace, making sure you were also looking down the front of her dress.
He watched you. Trying to maintain eye contact, trying to remain neutral.
Then he caught it, the flick of your tongue across your lower lip, the way you stole the briefest glance at her neckline as you blinked.
Almost hidden by your lashes. Almost.
Nick blinked slowly, noting how you fidgeted, moving your bag from one hand to the other.
The woman took a small step closer to you.
He could feel you holding your breath.
Debating whether to stay or flee.
He made the decision for you and strolled across the room, unhurried, taking two glasses from a passing waiter as he did so. With an enticing smile, he handed you one glass, and your companion the other.
“I don’t think we’ve met.”
He snaked a possessive arm around your waist, the woman looked down at the narrowed space between you and smiled coolly.
You studied the glass in your hand so she switched her attention to Nick.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr Fowler.”
She eyed him closely, her eyes twinkling with amusement, before looking him up and down.
The woman glanced back to you, assessing, then to Nick again.
“Good things only, I hope,” he said smoothly. “And you are?”
“Interested,” she said with a tempting smirk.
He felt you shift beside him and his fingers pressed warm against your hip.
His wolfish gaze landed on you again. “I'll get us all another drink then.”
Watching Nick work a room is something else. Includes lyrics from Mack the Knife.
Warnings: nothing too much, thinking thoughts about Nick as usual!
Words: 274
June Jukebox Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Watching him work a room was almost as torturous as his foreplay.
His dangerous charm, his sly smile, they usually meant trouble.
When you were the one under scrutiny it was worse, much worse. Bad enough - good enough? - that he could take you to the edge of all reasonable sanity with only his words.
When he sneered as you squirmed, pressing your thighs together as he spoke of the things he could do, would do, should do…
Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear.
Always circling, anticipating the next drop of blood.
Where it would land, who his next victim would be.
And it shows them pearly white.
You couldn’t help but want it to be you.
Nick Fowler always had a way of making you feel like the only one in the room. The only one he had eyes for.
Before you could look away, he looked up and caught you watching him.
Piercing blue eyes held yours.
He didn’t smile. He dismissed the person he was speaking to, and stalked across the room toward you.
You locked your knees.
His walk, the confident swagger of a man who knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.
Or maybe not quite. Not yet, at least.
But he knew he would.
Your body agreed, a rush of heat flooding your body.
“There's my girl,” he grinned wolfishly, drawing closer. “Having fun?”
“Watching you decide who's next? Of course.”
His grin sharpened. He liked that. He always liked that.
He leaned in close enough so that only you could hear. “Careful, sweetheart. Could be you.”
Nick needs some encouragement to get off his phone. Featuring lines from the song I wanna be bad.
Warnings: nudity, veering towards smutty
Words: 343
June Jukebox Masterlist | Main Masterlist
“I wanna be bad,” you declared firmly.
Nick barely looked up from his phone. “Uhuh, sure. You wanna - what?”
“I. Want. To. Be. Bad.”
Nothing but the sound of tiny clicks as his fingers flew across the front of his handset.
It wasn’t where you wanted his fingers to be.
“Nick?”
“Hmm?”
Enough, you were going to surgically remove the phone from his hands if you had to. You were sure there was another trick or two up your sleeve first though.
Off came your top. It sailed through the air and dropped into the gap between his face and the phone, landing in his lap.
“Nick?”
“One minute, this is importa-”
“- I’m important.”
“I know you are, I just…” he trailed off, still typing.
“I've got things on my mind.”
He didn’t look up. “You’ve got what? Oh. Yeah, me too.”
With a sigh, you pulled down the lace underwear. One more chance. He had one more chance.
“Nick,” you snapped sharply.
He looked up at last to find you with your hands on your hips, fingers tapping impatiently.
Naked.
“Fuck…”
“Lost for words for once?”
“What did I miss?”
“Everything, I’m done already. You missed the whole show. I even did this thing where I put my leg all the way around -”
“Get here now,” he insisted, reaching out to take your hand and pull you towards him.
You slipped into his lap, your knees falling either side of his thick thighs.
“What else?” he asked, watching your face closely as his hands tickled up your sides and his thumbs brushed over your nipples.
Your knees spread, the hard ridge in the front of his jeans rough against your sensitive core.
“I think you should put the damn phone away,” you told him.
Without a word he leaned forward, deliberately pressing himself harder against you, and tossed the phone onto the table.
As he sat back again, he pulled you down, guiding your hips to rock on the ridge of denim.
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Nick needs some encouragement to get off his phone. Featuring lines from the song I wanna be bad.
Warnings: nudity, veering towards smutty
Words: 343
June Jukebox Masterlist | Main Masterlist
“I wanna be bad,” you declared firmly.
Nick barely looked up from his phone. “Uhuh, sure. You wanna - what?”
“I. Want. To. Be. Bad.”
Nothing but the sound of tiny clicks as his fingers flew across the front of his handset.
It wasn’t where you wanted his fingers to be.
“Nick?”
“Hmm?”
Enough, you were going to surgically remove the phone from his hands if you had to. You were sure there was another trick or two up your sleeve first though.
Off came your top. It sailed through the air and dropped into the gap between his face and the phone, landing in his lap.
“Nick?”
“One minute, this is importa-”
“- I’m important.”
“I know you are, I just…” he trailed off, still typing.
“I've got things on my mind.”
He didn’t look up. “You’ve got what? Oh. Yeah, me too.”
With a sigh, you pulled down the lace underwear. One more chance. He had one more chance.
“Nick,” you snapped sharply.
He looked up at last to find you with your hands on your hips, fingers tapping impatiently.
Naked.
“Fuck…”
“Lost for words for once?”
“What did I miss?”
“Everything, I’m done already. You missed the whole show. I even did this thing where I put my leg all the way around -”
“Get here now,” he insisted, reaching out to take your hand and pull you towards him.
You slipped into his lap, your knees falling either side of his thick thighs.
“What else?” he asked, watching your face closely as his hands tickled up your sides and his thumbs brushed over your nipples.
Your knees spread, the hard ridge in the front of his jeans rough against your sensitive core.
“I think you should put the damn phone away,” you told him.
Without a word he leaned forward, deliberately pressing himself harder against you, and tossed the phone onto the table.
As he sat back again, he pulled you down, guiding your hips to rock on the ridge of denim.
Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever.
Word Count: 3,238
Tags/Warnings: Family life, slice of life, college classes, children
A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!
Any and all mistakes are mine.
Note: I'm back! I'm back! Thank you all for your immense patience for my absence. But life seems to have calmed down so I'm hoping to return to writing all the stories again!
Dividers: by @sweetmelodygraphics
Chapter Fifty-Six: Discovery
The restlessness left gradually.
Not all at once. Not in some dramatic revelation that changed everything overnight.
Instead, it eased like winter giving way to spring—slowly, almost imperceptibly, until one day Y/N realized she wasn't carrying that weight in her chest anymore.
Knowing the source of it had helped. More than that, knowing she wasn't trapped by it.
For weeks she had unconsciously treated her future like a closed door. Motherhood had consumed her life in the most beautiful ways possible, but somewhere along the way she'd stopped seeing beyond it. Not because Beau demanded it. Not because anyone else did. Simply because life had happened so quickly. Pregnancy. Marriage. Children. A home. A family.
Now she understood something important.
Being a mother wasn't the end of her story.
It was one chapter.
A beloved chapter.
But not the last one.
The knowledge settled deep inside her and transformed something fundamental. She no longer felt caught between gratitude and longing. She could love her life exactly as it was and still wonder what came next.
The two things weren't opposites.
They were companions.
As a result, she began to glow again.
Beau noticed first.
One morning she caught him watching her across the kitchen while she packed Eliza's lunch and bounced Ella on her hip simultaneously. The look on his face was warm and knowing.
"What?" she asked.
His smile widened. "Nothin'."
She narrowed her eyes. "Beau."
"I just like seein' you smile again, darlin'."
The simple honesty of it made her laugh.
And she was smiling more these days.
Not because life had suddenly become easier.
God knew it hadn't.
Life with a kindergartener, a toddler, and a seven-month-old baby could hardly be described as peaceful.
Eliza remained a force of nature.
Every afternoon brought new reports from kindergarten, elaborate wolf-and-duck diplomatic incidents, and increasingly complicated imaginary adventures that somehow required the participation of every family member. Beau had recently been appointed Wolf General. Emily had been named Ambassador to the Ducks. Caleb had been promoted to "Tiny Chaos Monster," though Eliza insisted that was a respected title.
Caleb, for his part, seemed determined to experience every moment of existence at maximum speed.
The boy ran instead of walked. Climbed instead of sat. Explored instead of rested. He approached life with the absolute confidence of someone who had never once considered the possibility of consequences.
Y/N spent a shocking amount of her day preventing him from launching himself off furniture.
Then there was Ella.
Sweet, observant, increasingly mobile Ella.
The baby who had once remained happily wherever she was placed had developed opinions.
Strong opinions.
She wanted to be where the people were.
Wanted to watch her siblings.
Wanted to investigate absolutely everything.
She wasn't quite crawling yet, but she was trying with impressive determination, which meant Y/N spent much of her time discovering that Ella had somehow migrated across rooms through sheer stubbornness.
Thankfully, she wasn't alone.
Emily remained a blessing.
Between college classes and her growing relationship with Peter, she still found time to help whenever she could. She picked up Caleb from daycare on days Beau ran late. She entertained Eliza with movie discussions that inevitably devolved into wolf politics. She cuddled Ella while Y/N showered or folded laundry or simply sat down for ten uninterrupted minutes.
Watching Emily with her younger siblings filled Y/N with quiet affection.
The young woman was thriving.
College suited her. Peter suited her. Confidence suited her.
And she carried all of it with a grace that made Y/N proud.
Then there was Beau.
Always Beau.
The steady center of everything.
The sheriff's department kept him busy. There were storms and budgets and mayors and emergencies. There were long days and occasional late nights and enough paperwork to make any reasonable man question his life choices.
Yet somehow he still came home and immediately threw himself into family life.
He helped with homework.
Read bedtime stories.
Built blanket forts.
Changed diapers.
Made dinner when Y/N was exhausted.
Loved all of them with a wholehearted devotion that never seemed performative or forced.
One evening, Y/N stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room and simply watched.
Beau sat on the floor with Caleb climbing over him like a mountain. Eliza was explaining some critical wolf legislation. Emily was laughing at something Peter had texted her. Ella sat in Beau's lap, fascinated by his watch.
The room glowed with lamplight and laughter.
It wasn't perfect.
There were toys everywhere.
Someone had spilled juice.
The dishwasher needed unloading.
But standing there, Y/N felt something settle peacefully inside her.
The future no longer frightened her.
Work.
School.
Something entirely different.
Whatever came next would come.
And when it did, she wouldn't face it alone.
Because that was the true gift Beau had given her.
Not permission.
Freedom.
The freedom to imagine a future while knowing she already had a home.
Eight months brought changes to Ella almost weekly.
Not dramatic changes. Not the sort that announced themselves with fanfare.
Instead, Beau and Y/N kept finding themselves stopping mid-conversation and saying, "When did she start doing that?"
At eight months old, Ella had become mobile—or at least determinedly mobile.
She wasn't quite crawling properly yet, but she had mastered a highly effective combination of scooting, rolling, and dragging herself forward that allowed her to appear in places no one expected. She could sit independently now, reaching for toys without toppling over, and she had developed a fascination with dropping things from her highchair solely to observe whether adults would retrieve them.
The answer, unfortunately, was yes.
Every time.
Her babbling had become more elaborate too.
"Mama."
"Dada."
"Baba."
Whether she understood the words was debatable.
Whether she enjoyed the reaction they produced was not.
This morning she sat proudly in her highchair wearing approximately half her breakfast.
The other half was distributed across her tray, bib, cheeks, hair, and somehow one eyebrow.
Ella seemed pleased with this arrangement.
Across the table, Emily was eating toast while simultaneously helping Y/N manage the morning chaos.
Eliza was explaining why wolves absolutely required library cards.
And from upstairs came Beau's voice. "Buddy!"
Y/N closed her eyes briefly.
"What happened?" she called.
"Your son committed a crime."
"Our son."
There was a pause.
"Our son committed a crime."
Emily laughed into her coffee.
A moment later Beau appeared at the top of the stairs holding a juice-stained shirt.
Apparently Caleb had decided that drinking juice was less entertaining than launching it directly onto his father.
Beau disappeared again to change.
Meanwhile, Y/N wiped applesauce off Ella's chin.
Ella immediately smeared more onto her own face.
"Helpful," Y/N murmured.
Ella grinned.
The baby had recently discovered that smiling could get her out of almost anything.
It was proving alarmingly effective.
Emily reached over to rescue a banana slice before it hit the floor. "She's getting sneakier."
"She's learning from Eliza," Y/N said.
"I heard that!" Eliza announced.
"Good."
Eliza nodded, satisfied.
Y/N laughed softly and turned back to Ella, who was now enthusiastically squishing scrambled eggs between her fingers.
Then a thought struck her. Not sudden exactly. More like a seed finally breaking the surface. She looked over at Emily. "Hey."
Emily glanced up. "Yeah?"
Y/N hesitated for just a second. Then asked, "Could you get me a copy of the college catalog?"
Emily blinked. "The catalog?"
"Yeah."
Y/N reached for a napkin, wiping Ella's hands before the baby could decorate herself further. "I thought maybe I'd like to look through it. See what classes they offer."
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
Not uncomfortable.
Just surprised.
Emily lowered her toast. "You mean... for you?"
A faint smile tugged at Y/N's lips. "Maybe."
The answer was simple, but it sent a spark through the room.
Emily's eyes widened. Then slowly, beautifully, she smiled. The kind of smile that came from witnessing someone open a door they hadn't realized was still there.
"Yeah," Emily said warmly. "I can do that."
Across the room, Eliza looked up. "Is Mama going to kindergarten too?"
Y/N laughed. "Something like that."
At that exact moment, Beau returned in a fresh shirt, Caleb on his hip. "What'd I miss?"
Emily looked positively delighted. "Mom might be thinking about college."
Beau stopped.
Then smiled.
A slow, proud smile.
The kind Y/N had come to recognize.
The kind that said there she is.
And for the first time in a long time, thinking about the future felt exciting.
Lunch was quieter than breakfast.
Not silent—there was still an eight-month-old involved—but quieter.
The house had settled into its midday rhythm. Eliza was at kindergarten, undoubtedly negotiating treaties and organizing wolf affairs. Caleb was spending his half-day at daycare, likely charming teachers while simultaneously testing every boundary available to him.
For the first time all morning, the house belonged mostly to Y/N and Ella.
Ella sat on the living room floor surrounded by toys, happily entertaining herself by repeatedly dropping a stacking ring and then looking offended that gravity continued to exist.
Y/N had just settled onto the couch with a sandwich when the front door opened.
Emily stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," Y/N replied.
Emily grinned and held up a thick book. The college catalog. "I come bearing knowledge."
Y/N laughed. "That was fast."
"I had an hour between classes."
Emily kicked off her boots and crossed the room before dropping onto the couch beside her.
The catalog landed heavily in Y/N's lap. For a moment, neither of them opened it. The weight of it felt oddly significant. Not because it was a catalog. Because of what it represented. Possibility.
Emily glanced over. "So."
Y/N looked up. "So?"
"What are you thinking of studying?"
Y/N laughed softly. "That's the problem. I have absolutely no idea."
Emily smiled. "That's fair."
She reached over and opened the catalog between them. Page after page of possibilities greeted them.
Business.
Education.
Communications.
Psychology.
Accounting.
History.
English.
Criminal Justice.
Social Work.
Healthcare.
Art.
Y/N stared. The sheer number of options was overwhelming.
"How does anyone pick?" she asked.
Emily laughed. "They panic first."
"Good. Glad to know that's normal."
"It is."
Ella chose that moment to successfully move herself three feet across the floor through determination alone.
Both women stared.
"Was she over there?" Emily asked.
"I thought she was."
Ella looked delighted with herself.
Y/N shook her head and got up to retrieve her before she reached the coffee table.
When she sat back down, Emily was still flipping through the catalog.
"You know," Emily said thoughtfully, "you're really good with people."
Y/N adjusted Ella on her lap. "So are a lot of people."
"Yeah, but you genuinely like helping them."
The observation made Y/N pause. She thought about the years before Beau. The jobs she'd held. The people she'd met.
The satisfaction she'd always found in helping someone solve a problem. "I don't know," she admitted.
Emily nudged the catalog toward her. "You don't have to know today."
Y/N looked down at the pages. That was true. Nobody was demanding a decision. Not Beau. Not Emily. Not herself. This wasn't about having answers. It was about allowing herself to ask questions.
Her finger traced over a few program descriptions. She paused over one. Then another. Emily watched quietly, wisely resisting the urge to push.
Outside, snow drifted lazily past the windows.
Inside, Ella babbled happily from Y/N's lap. And for the first time, Y/N wasn't looking at a future she feared. She was looking at one she might actually get to choose.
The front door opened a little after five-thirty.
Immediately, Beau knew two things.
First, he was home.
Second, absolute chaos was underway.
"Caleb, we do not climb the furniture!"
That was Y/N.
"Ducks don't follow rules!"
That was Eliza.
A crash followed.
Then Emily's voice. "Nobody move. I think we're still okay."
Beau grinned before he even got his jacket off.
The Arlen household.
Never boring.
He stepped into the living room to find Caleb halfway up the couch cushions, Eliza sprawled on the floor conducting what appeared to be an emergency wolf council, and Emily attempting to save a tower of blocks from imminent destruction.
The only calm person in the room was Ella.
And that was because she was sitting in the middle of the carpet happily chewing on a toy giraffe.
"Daddy!"
Eliza launched herself at him.
Beau caught her automatically. "Status report."
"The ducks are causing problems."
"Again?"
"They never learn."
"Understandable."
Caleb immediately abandoned his climbing expedition and attached himself to Beau's leg. "Da!"
"Hey there, tornado."
Y/N emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of vegetables and a look that said she had survived another day.
Barely.
Beau crossed the room and kissed her. "How was your day?"
"Productive."
"That sounds suspicious."
"It probably is."
He laughed. Then his eyes landed on the coffee table. A thick book sat there. His gaze narrowed. Recognition dawned.
And suddenly his entire face lit up. "The catalog."
Y/N smiled despite herself. "The catalog."
Beau carefully extracted himself from Eliza and Caleb and picked up the book. The excitement that crossed his face was immediate and genuine. Not polite support. Not forced enthusiasm. Actual excitement.
He flipped it over in his hands. "You got it."
Emily looked up from where she was helping Ella investigate a stuffed rabbit. "I brought it home after class."
Beau sat down on the couch, catalog in hand, looking absurdly pleased. "Have you found anything interesting?"
Y/N laughed softly. "I've barely started."
"That's okay."
He patted the couch beside him.
"Come here."
She rolled her eyes but sat anyway.
Beau wrapped an arm around her shoulders and opened the catalog between them.
Eliza immediately climbed onto the opposite side. "What're we reading?"
"College classes."
Eliza gasped.
"Mama's going to kindergarten."
Emily burst out laughing. "Basically."
Beau's shoulders shook with amusement.
Y/N covered her face. "Oh Lord."
"I think Mama should take wolf classes," Eliza informed them.
"Do they offer those?" Beau asked solemnly.
"Probably."
The conversation dissolved from there.
Eliza insisted on reviewing the catalog despite being unable to read most of it.
Caleb attempted to turn pages at random.
Ella eventually managed to grab one corner and tried to eat higher education.
Through it all, Beau remained impossibly enthusiastic.
Every few minutes he'd point something out.
"What's this one?"
"That sounds interestin'."
"Didn't you always like that kinda thing?"
There was no pressure behind it.
Just curiosity.
Support.
Excitement at seeing Y/N excited.
At one point she caught him watching her instead of the catalog. "What?"
His smile softened. "Nothin'."
She narrowed her eyes. "Beau."
His hand found hers beneath the catalog. "I just like seein' you dream again, darlin'."
The words hit her harder than they should have.
Around them, the children continued their usual brand of cheerful mayhem.
Emily laughed at something Eliza said.
Caleb climbed into Beau's lap.
Ella squealed triumphantly after successfully stealing a page corner.
The house was loud.
Crowded.
Alive.
And sitting there in the middle of it all, surrounded by the family she'd built and the future she was beginning to imagine, Y/N found herself smiling.
Not because she had a plan.
Not because she had answers.
But because she finally believed she was allowed to have both a present she loved and a future she could still shape.
And judging by the look on Beau's face, her husband was ready to cheer her on every step of the way.
The house settled slowly that night.
Eliza required one final discussion about wolf patrol routes before agreeing to sleep. Caleb fought bedtime with the determined stubbornness of a child convinced he was missing something important. Ella, exhausted from a day of scooting across floors and terrorizing educational materials, finally surrendered after a bottle and a lengthy cuddle.
By the time the last bedroom door clicked shut, silence felt almost startling.
Not complete silence.
The familiar kind.
The hum of the refrigerator. The distant rush of the heater. The small sounds of a house breathing around them.
Beau found Y/N in the living room.
The college catalog still rested on the coffee table, now adorned with a few bent page corners courtesy of Ella and several sticky notes courtesy of Eliza, who had apparently marked programs she believed involved wolves.
Beau smiled when he saw it.
He sat beside Y/N on the couch and immediately reached for her, pulling her into his side until she fit comfortably against him. His arm settled around her shoulders, his hand rubbing absent circles along her arm.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The catalog sat open on her lap.
Pages dog-eared.
Possibilities highlighted.
Dreams still unnamed.
Eventually Beau tilted his head toward it. "So."
Y/N smiled. "So."
He chuckled. "You got any idea what you wanna do?"
She looked down at the pages.
There were so many options.
So many lives she could imagine herself living. "I don't know yet."
The answer surprised her with how much peace it contained.
A few weeks ago that uncertainty would have frightened her.
Now it felt exciting.
"I really don't know," she admitted. "Part of me thinks about going back to work. Part of me wonders about school. Sometimes I look at these programs and think, maybe. Then I turn the page and think maybe something else."
Beau listened quietly. No judgment. No expectations. Just listening.
Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder. "I know that probably sounds ridiculous."
"It sounds normal."
She laughed softly. "I just..." She searched for the right words. "I feel excited."
The confession made her smile. Because it was true. Not anxious. Not trapped.
Excited.
The future no longer felt like something happening to her. It felt like something she could help shape. Beau's entire face softened. God, he loved hearing that.
He bent his head and pressed a kiss into her hair. "I'm happy for you, darlin'."
The sincerity in his voice wrapped around her like a blanket. "I mean it," he continued. "You spent years puttin' everybody else first. If you're excited about somethin', I wanna hear about it."
Y/N looked up at him. "Even if I don't know what it is yet?"
He laughed. "Especially then."
His hand found hers, threading their fingers together. "You know what I see?"
She shook her head. "What?"
"I see a woman who finally realized she's allowed to dream again."
The words hit harder than he intended.
Her throat tightened.
Because that was exactly it.
Not that she hadn't been happy.
She had.
Not that she regretted a single choice.
She didn't.
But somewhere between pregnancies and diapers and school pickups and sleepless nights, she'd quietly stopped imagining anything beyond the next day.
Now she was imagining again.
And Beau looked positively delighted by it.
"I love you," she whispered.
His smile deepened. "I know."
She rolled her eyes. "That wasn't an invitation to quote Star Wars."
"It wasn't?"
"No."
"Missed opportunity."
Y/N laughed despite herself.
Beau grinned and pulled her closer until she was practically curled against him. "Whatever you decide," he murmured, kissing her temple, "we'll figure it out."
We.
Not you.
Not me.
We.
The word settled warmly between them.
Y/N closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat.
The catalog remained open.
The future remained unwritten.
And for the first time in a very long time, that felt wonderful.
Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2
