evie

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evie .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦢˚. ᵎᵎ 21. she/her. minors dni !

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

## ukyt lover ## fanfic fanatic ## girly girl ## writer ## nerd

## the pitt ## er

## looking for new friends !

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YOU KNOW JUST HOW TO GET TO ME !

in which dr robby is the medic in your camp during the zombie apocalypse…. and you want to help.

The med tent smelled like iodine, old blood, and damp canvas. Outside, the fence rattled faintly in the wind—always that low threat of the dead pressing closer. You stood just inside, arms crossed, notebook clutched tight enough that the spiral bit into your palm.

Robby was finishing with a woman who’d taken a bad fall during a supply run. Her ankle was swollen, purple blooming under the skin. He wrapped it with the same precise, economical movements you’d memorized over the past weeks: two layers of gauze, tension just right, no wasted motion.

“You’re lucky it’s a sprain,” he told her, voice low and steady like always. “Stay off it. Ice if we can spare any.”

She hobbled out. You stepped forward before the flap even settled.

“I’ve been thinking about the antibiotics,” you said, keeping your tone even. “The batch from the pharmacy run two weeks ago—some of the cephalexin looks degraded. We could test efficacy on cultures from that infected bite yesterday. I sketched a quick diagram using the petri dishes we found. It’s not perfect, but if we dilute—”

Robby straightened, peeling off his gloves. He didn’t look impressed. Tired, mostly. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper in the lantern light. “We’re not running a lab, kid. We use what works until it doesn’t. Save the science project for when we’ve got power that lasts more than four hours.”

The dismissal landed like a slap. You weren’t some wide-eyed teenager playing doctor. You’d had a full ride to a microbiology program before the world ended. You’d read every medical text in the camp twice, cross-referenced survival manuals with actual pathophysiology, tracked infection patterns like it was your old thesis. But to him you were still just… young. Earnest. A liability waiting to happen.

“I’m not playing,” you said, quieter. “That guard yesterday? The one with the forearm laceration. I saw the streaking before you did. If we’d started targeted dosing instead of broad-spectrum, we might not have burned through the last of the clindamycin.”

He paused, rag in hand, and finally met your eyes. There was no cruelty there—just that flat, battle-weary pragmatism. The kind forged in ERs where residents talked big and patients still coded. “You’ve got a sharp eye. I’ll give you that. But seeing one red line doesn’t make you ready to call shots on limited meds. People die when the wrong person gets confident.”

Your jaw tightened. Heat rose in your chest—not the dramatic kind, just raw frustration that made your voice shake slightly. “So I keep hauling water and counting pills while you decide what I’m ready for? I’m not asking to lead rounds. I’m asking you to stop treating me like I’m going to faint at the first debridement.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant groan of something dead beyond the treeline.

“Listen,” he said eventually, gentler but still firm. “I’ve buried more smart kids who thought they could outthink the collapse than I care to count. You’re sharp. Cool as hell with that notebook full of diagrams and theories. But this isn’t a classroom. One wrong call out here and it’s not a failed exam—it’s someone’s kid bleeding out while we watch.”

You wanted to argue. Tell him about the viral load models you’d adapted from memory, the way you’d already predicted the last two resistant infections based on patterns no one else bothered tracking. Instead you just nodded once, tight and controlled.

“Got it. I’ll stick to hauling.”

You turned to leave, shoulders rigid.

“Kid—” he started.

“Don’t,” you cut in without looking back. The flap fell shut behind you.

The night air felt colder. You walked the perimeter path, notebook heavy in your jacket. Part of you understood—he was protecting the camp, protecting you, in that gruff, older-doctor way of his. But the rest of you burned with the knowledge that you were right more often than he gave credit for, and he still saw the age gap and the inexperience label first.