i love men

“Shit.”

It’s worked its way into the map of the soles. The blood doesn’t look old yet. It looks too wet, too fresh to your exhausted eyes. You gather its in your car now, up your porch steps and outside your front door, into your welcome home mat. It repulses you, but, more importantly, it breaks you down.

The tears fall shortly after you put the trainers in your downstairs bathroom’s sink. You use the running tap as a cover for them. As sobs wreck your body, what you’ve gone through tonight becomes more clear. It’s not a hazy rush you had to get through. Blinkers on, don’t think about, just do your job. That doesn’t exist here. You’ve brought it home with you like the blood you’re washing out of your trainers. How can you not? It was a horror show. It was just like Robby said it was: the worst of humanity. It’s not often you, in the ED, get to see people on their best days, or even good ones, but, today, that you’ll count as one of the worst days of your life. You’re sure it’s the same for others, too.

You wash at your face before you go upstairs. You tell yourself to get a grip and force the tears back. If you’re going to kiss Romi, like you promised, you don’t want her to see you upset. You don’t even want her to be close to your body right now; these scrubs that have seen death and carnage. But you have to check on her. Hers in the first face you want to see. And yet, when you reach her door, you can’t bring yourself to enter while covered in tonight.

Instead, you watch her.

Just watch her.

For a while, you stay in the doorway and admire her sleeping figure. It looks like she’s tossed around and has been thrown into bed with how she lies there, arms thrown up above her head and face smushing into the pillow. It manages to bring a smile to your face, a soft one. You know you can’t kiss her right now. You feel too dirty and she’s too pure. You don’t want to risk rubbing whatever’s on you onto her innocence, tainting the moment with Romi you’ve been building all day from the time of death was called on a child, but, for now, you can watch her breathe and knows she’s safe.

Eventually, you pull yourself away to go shower. Once you’re clean, only then, do you go in; past the door with your daughter’s name on it. You sneak across her pink, carpeted floor and settle down on a patch of it at her bedside. You kiss her head, soft, just enough pressure for Romi to smile in her sleep. There, on her floor, you sit and admire her over. You’re watching Romi like you’re amazed she’s real. In awe, you monitor her breathing carefully. How many parents heard their child’s stop today, in the span of your shift? How many were close to losing them? The thought of it terrifies you. It cuts at your heart, although, you’re certain it’s out of your chest and sleeping soundly now. All your goodness is wrapped up in her, bundled under a mermaid duvet and strangling her beloved, floppy bunny under her arm. The most devastating thing that can happen to her is if the morning she wakes up and ‘Bun-Bun’ is on the floor. She won’t comprehend the demons crawling around in your head as you look at her now.

It’s well past ten when you hear keys in the door. You’ve been away from Romi’s bedside for less than thirty minutes and your scrubs are in the washing machine — tablet and detergent in, just waiting for Robby’s to join. You’re right to wait. You’re right to leave the porch-light on. You’re right that he’ll stop by.

There’s a couple steps before the turn in your staircase, following the corner of your house. You sit on there with a glass of wine in your hand. You’re not really drinking it. It’s wine, so you can excuse it by saying you’re just nursing it, but you both know it’s not true. Robby knows because he barely finished the beer he shared with Jack and a few others in the park before he was walking home, then driving to yours.

“I needed to see her.”

Your eyes meet the sorrow in his. You’re a matching pair. You save your, ‘I know’ for another time. You tuck it away safely the same as you tuck Robby into your home. “Shoes off, give me your bag.”

He does exactly what you say. Robby doesn’t speak while he obeys. He’s too broken. His tiredness is bone-deep, and he can surely argue that he can do it himself. But here you are offering, caring for him the way you do the patients in The Pitt. Robby wonders if you think he’s ill like they are. He wonders it himself after tonight, after he choked.

When you have his belongings, you tell him, “Go on up.”

Robby does as you say again. He leaves his boots by the door and his bag in your lap. Your glass of wine is forgotten about. You leave it in the windowsill by the stairs while you go into the downstairs toilet. In there, your now-clean trainers are resting on the radiator to dry, and you start to clean Robby’s boots. Like yours, there’s blood on his soles; over the cuff of his shoes. You’re lucky they’re leather. If they were suede, they’d be ruined. You wouldn’t even bother cleaning; they’d be going straight in the trash.

You don’t cry again when you’re watching the blood wash away. It swirls in the running water and circles your drain. You make sure to clean it with a piece of tissue and flush it afterwards. You’re not having the risk of Romi finding blood in the room she washes her hands before breakfast, lunch and dinner. Things like that scare a young child. Hell, they scare you. But Romi knows what your job is — what Robby’s is — and she knows it’s not always safe. She understands it can be dangerous. You remember the fear in her brown eyes that time you came home with violently burst capillaries in the white of your eyes after an aggressive patient strangled you. You’ve got the feeling Romi’s expecting something vile like that after you didn’t make it home for bedtime. It doesn’t sit well with you.

It doesn’t with Robby either. None of it does. What happened tonight, he can’t ever explain. He doubts he’ll be able to tell Romi years later. It’ll just be a story he never tells, that he’ll keep locked up until it kills him. Like Nick Bradley. Like Amber Phillips. Like Mr Spencer. Like with Dr Adamson. Working the anniversary is a mistake, Robby knows now. He’s captivated by the anguish. He can’t outrun it. It’s in him. It’s part of this day forever now.

“I did that, too.”

The sound of your voice breaks him from his sombre trance. “Huh?”

“When I came in to be with her, first thing I did was watch her breathe,” you confess. “Watch her chest rise and fall. I had to make sure it wouldn’t stop on me.”

Out of Robby comes a fragile, small, “Sometimes, I don’t think she’s real. Sometimes, I think she’s a dream of mine, that I’m going to wake up and she won’t have existed.” His gaze stays on her as he tells you, “The worst part is when it happens and I’m all alone. I’m at mine and she’s here, and I can’t watch her breathe. I don’t know she’s real.”

An ache knots at your chest. You can’t deny the separation has you thinking all sorts of depressing things too. The first night Robby had Romi alone, and the house was quiet, you slept with the television on; you were just grateful Robby took your call, in the middle of the night, to talk about Romi. He never calls you crazy when every so often you get the urge to phone him when Romi's at his to check in. He calls you sweetheart and tells you something funny or smart or brilliant Romi did that night.

“Come on,” you say, “you can use my shower.”

He’s shaking his head at you. Again, his eyes are on Romi, but they travel to you while he speaks. “No, I don’t want to put you out,” Robby justifies. “I’ll just stay here for another minute and then I’ll head out. You need sleep anyway.”

“Robby,” you say. “Shower here, please. I want to hug you, but I don’t want to do it when you’re still in those.”

It’s enough to shake him loose from the idea he has to leave. You’re giving him reasons to stay longer. God, he wants to hug you too. He wants to grip you tight, bury his face in your neck and never let go. After today, he wants to hold onto you — and Romi —forever.

You take his hand. “Come on, I wanna wash my scrubs,” you excuse. “I’ll do yours while I’m at it.”

Right now, despite it being where his mind goes, Robby doesn’t bring up the implication of your words. How he can easily be swept up by this meaning you’re allowing him to stay — stay longer, anyway. First, he’ll shower; then, he’ll wait for his scrubs to be washed and dried. He ignores the sensible part of his brain that tells him he has plenty of scrubs at home, that he doesn’t actually have to wait for them to dry before he leaves, and you doing this doesn’t mean he stays. Robby switches his reasoning off because he doesn’t want that right now. He wants you. This. Him being able to shower in the bathroom attached to his old bedroom. You nearby. Just you in general.

Neither of you seems to mind there’s no privacy between you. What is privacy to two people who’ve known each other as intimately as you have? Robby doesn’t flinch when you enter the bathroom behind him. You’ve got a t-shirt and sweats in your arms, placing them down on the closed toilet seat. They’re his, but Robby considers them yours. You stole his clothes so much that he recalls choosing to leave some behind for you; he doesn’t tell you how he took the last of your perfume with him when he moved out, calling it a fair trade. He keeps it in his master bathroom; has done since the split, but you never have a reason to go into it, so you’ll never know. He knows about these, however, and you know he knows.

You gather out a fresh towel from the linen closet while Robby starts to strip down. Every move of his is tired. It tells you exactly of his exhaustion. You feel it, too, especially tonight and you will again tomorrow. Because what sleep are you getting tonight? How will you close your eyes and not see red stain behind your lids?

As the shower starts to run, and Robby steps in, you whisper, “Take your time.” After you scoop up his scrubs, you leave. The bathroom door is left agar by you, but you make sure to shut the bedroom one when you go downstairs. You don’t want to wake your mother, who currently sleeps in the guest room, or, worse, Romi. It’s the excuse you give yourself to why you invited Robby to shower in your bathroom and not the family one across the hall. People are sleeping in your house; if you close Robby in your room, it serves as a separate space. Another world. A parallel plain. Somewhere safe for the pair of you to exist in loneliness, misery and tragedy together.

Half of you wonders how much of it is true when you return to the bedroom, after putting on yours and Robby’s washing, and find yourself at the foot of the bed. You just sit there. The door is shut again. You’ve brought up two glasses of water; your wine in still on the windowsill at the bottom of the stairs. It’s not long until the shower stops, maybe twenty minutes, and Robby is joining you in the clothes you had laid out for him. The collar of the t-shirt is damp, so is his hair, which he then rubs the towel over, sadly thinking it’s dry enough for whatever abhorrent thoughts are tucked inside his head.

And, awfully, your own mind slips too. For a second, you’re not thinking about the mass-casualty and all the blood anymore. You’re wondering if Robby thinks you’re weird to have collected up his underwear with his scrubs to wash as well, that you now know not just from the outline through his sweats but because you choose to do it to him, that Robby’s not wearing anything under the sweatpants he wears. Still, there are some boundaries between the two of you that remain.

Robby stays on that side of the room, a couple metres away from where you are. He sits down on the stool to your vanity. “I had to talk to Leah’s parents before I left,” Robby tells you, and you think you can hear his shattered pieces rattle together. The survivor’s guilt spikes in him. “She had my ticket. I gave her my pass, and I knew that as I had to tell her parents that we weren’t able to keep up with the blood loss, that a bullet had tore through her heart.” His voice becomes thinner. He squeaks while tears consume his eyes. All Robby has his guilt eating away at him. “Jake hates me. He blames me for Leah dying. For not saving her. And you know what,” he sniffles and wipes under his nose, “I’d blame me, too, if I was him.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” you say it confidently. Robby’s not looking at you. He’s keeping his drenched eyes from you, shielding himself from the humiliation of breaking down. He’s mortified it’s happening again, and you can see him fight the inner-turmoil. You rise from where you’re sat. “You’re not responsible for Leah dying, the person who shot her is.”

Robby can’t hear the logic. He grows too weary with his self-flagellation. “I couldn’t save her, he’s right.”

You won’t listen to it anymore. It’s not just an entirely hopeless feat that he’s given himself, but it was absolutely unfair. Robby is tearing himself apart with a responsibility nobody should have to carry, least all all him. You’re in front of him to stop his self-harm. “It wasn’t possible to save her. You’re a doctor, Robby, not god.” Your fingers lift his chin so you can look at him; pin your eyes to his tearful ones. “You can’t save everyone.”

“I was supposed to save her,” Robby sobs, and it wrecks you. “I was supposed to save her for Jake. He trusted me to do my job and—”

“And you did,” you cut in. “Robby…” Both your hands come up to cup his face. “Please,” you say. “You did your job. You did more for Leah than you did anyone else on that hospital floor, okay? I saw it. Everyone saw it. Even Jake.”

Robby hisses at the mention of his step-son. He’s in pain, rolling around in it, reeling from how he thinks he failed.

“Jake learnt tonight that, yeah, you aren’t a hero, but you don’t pretend to be,” you say to him. It sounds harsh, but, right now, you think what Robby needs is brutal honesty from you. “None of us are heroes. We’re definitely not treated like we are, anyway. And Jake’s just a boy. He’s a scared, frightened, hurt boy, who thinks the worlds of you.” You grip Robby’s face harder when he goes to face away. You force him back to you. “Who will still think the world of you when he isn’t so scared or frightened or hurt,” you assert and it almost sounds like a promise.

Your ex-husband can very nearly trick himself into believing it if it isn’t for the haunting words of Jake’s that toy in Robby’s head currently. The thing that sets him off again. The too real, too close to home reminder that makes Robby go cold. “He told me to fuck off. To fuck off because I’m not his dad.”

Inside, your heart clenches. Fatherhood has always been a sensitive topic for Robby. You know this better than anyone. You’re the one with his kid. You’ve had too many deep conversations, long and late into the night, where Robby’s opened up about how he once envisioned his life. It wasn’t ever the way it was with you, especially not how it ended. You weren’t what he saw for himself. Robby wasn’t what you pictured for yourself either. But it’s what you both have and it’s not a regret to either of you.

Maybe how you ended is.

“Oh, Michael, lovey,” you softly say, your fingers scratching at his skin through his beard. “Well, that’s anger for you. That’s a teenager. That’s a hurt, angry teenager, who has just gone through the scariest night of his life, who’s had his first, most devastating heartbreak.”

You’re easily giving Jake the benefit of the doubt —because it’s what he deserves. It’s what Jake needs: someone to defend him privately, in rooms he’s not in. Most importantly, where it lands on Robby’s ears. It serves nobody to be cruel, dismissive and utterly destructive to an already pierced relationship. The broken man in front of you is someone who deserves the same treatment also.

You do promise Robby this time, “It won’t last.”

His tears are starting to both dry and well up again the longer Robby looks up at you. You’re not distant. You’re not something out of reach to him. In fact, you’re in perfect reach to him. When Robby realises that, his hands begin to twitch. He flexes his fingers down the length of his thighs, aware of how you’re between his parted legs. Even without touching you, your own hands just on his face, it feels intimate to Robby. In the sanctuary of what used to be a room you both shared together, Robby reacts to how he craves more. To savour this, with you. And his large hands find their way home to your hips.

First, they rub at your sides through your loose shirt, then, his roaming causes the material to lift. Bare skin peaks out, just a slither, and Robby is ravenous for it. His thumbs circle the exposed flesh until, gradually, his warm palms are pressed to your skin. Now Robby’s hands are under your shirt. They hold you closer. They're splayed over as much of you as you're giving him in this moment. that you're allowing him to have. He pinches the left side of your shirt between his thumb and lifting a little. Robby leans his head forward in your own hands. His rests his forehead to your front. just below the valley of your breasts. And Robby buries himself there.

A kiss is planted to your stomach. and your eyes flutter shut. All of it feels too raw. too sore. As Robby lays another kiss to your clothed stomach, lower now, you wonder if you should let this continue. It'll complicate things. It'll throw a wrench into the co-parenting you have down. Romi is at the centre of this and you have to think of her first. This is the biggest, most head-fuckery of a mixed signal you can be giving your ex-husband.

Lord, he’s not even your ex-husband yet. Neither of you have gone to a lawyer; have petitioned a court for legal separation. In your head, you know that’s probably actually the biggest, most head-fuckery signal you’re giving Robby. By not really divorcing him, by keeping Robinavitch as your last name, you tell Robby every day there’s a chance he can be back here, in this bedroom, being held by you, holding you back, as your husband.

You should stop it. When Robby places a third kiss, you should stop it. You don’t. You let Robby carry on peppering kisses down your stomach until he reaches where he’s lifting up your shirt. His hand holds it up and his mouth is on your naked skin next. There’s no longer a barrier between you and him in that one spot. His kisses are open-mouthed, slow, sensual. His teeth nip at you slightly, and you’re whining at the sensation.

“Robby,” you say, and you hate the fact it sounds like a moan. It’s weak. You’re too pathetically pliant at just a few kisses. Your head starts to shake. There is still some resolve left in you and it begins with your daughter’s name. “We can’t… Romi… It’ll be too confusing for her. It’s confusing to me. Robby,” you say. “Robby.” He doesn’t stop. In his defence, you haven’t told him to. You have to find strength first, against the delicate kisses your ex is working up your bare side and stomach. “Robby, no. No.” You’re shaking your head again and pushing him away on top of it. “No, no, we can’t. We can’t.”

As he glances up at you, your ex-husband looks wrecked. Robby’s eyes are hazy, full of a hunger that only you can feed. His pupils are blown wide. The black of them swells when on you, making those sad, pretty browns appear darker. You’re certain they are. You can’t say yours aren’t the same. You can see them reflected back you and you spot how you’re wavering. This can take the pain away. A handful of kisses and you’re sure you feel less broken than you did when you first came home.

The same passes over Robby also. His brain is swimming in grief. He feels it’s drowning him and his head keeps bobbing under the water. You’re the only thing keeping him afloat. For you, Robby is coming up for air. He’s trying to tread water. Robby can think of several moments like that he’s had only today, where water had gotten into his mouth and his legs stopped kicking. It was triggered most in that room. In pedes. Among the cartoon animals painted on the walls. Where Mr Spencer passed away with his adult children at his bedside and where Robby had to make the choice to let Dr Adamson die.

After the latter, the Robby you’d come to know, then, love changed. He got dark after the first anniversary; broken after the second. Robby was lost in it, and he lost you after. Lost this. You in his grasp; you in this bedroom, this house you bought together; calling you his wife and hearing you call him your husband; raising Romi together under the same roof. Robby has lost it all, and he’s realised now he is in mourning because of it. To help him cope, Robby speaks the first thing that allows him to stay above the surface. Earlier he told people it helps in the first stages of loss; now he’s aware you’re his loss.

“I love you.”

You feel your mouth part. Your lips slip open and your eyes well up. When is the last time Robby told you that? When is the last time you felt it?

“Thank you,” he says next. “Thank you for today. For being a great nurse and hearing me when I said I needed you. For making me take the time to talk to Romi on the phone right before we got slammed, because you knew I needed to hear her voice. Thank you for putting that photo of her by my desk, above my computer, after we lost that nine-year-old drowning victim today. Thank you for telling me that Jake’s hurt and scared, because, honestly, I feel the same right about now. For… For…” Robby’s voice catches painfully, “Thank you not taking her away from me.”

That’s the part that makes you react, but it’s not what Robby wants. “I would never take Romi from you…”

“I know, I know,” says Robby gently. He’s tender with his tone. He’s tender with you. His mind goes over the next step. I forgive you is what’s next. Robby has to think carefully about what he says for this because the last thing he wants is for it to sound like he’s accusing you of something. Or his thoughts have before. But Robby wants to finish this. There are things he wants to forgive you for — things he has already forgiven you of. “Let me… I forgive you for…” Robby takes a very real, very nervous swallow. “For wanting better than me. For not sticking this out with me, for giving up. Because…”

Robby closes his eyes and takes a breath. “Because it’s what you had to do. I forgive you for everything you had to do, even if it hurt me, even if you said things, did things, ripped my heart out of my chest and it felt like you were chewing on it every time you walked into work. I forgive you for switching to the night-shift when we first split, I forgive you for switching back to the day-shift, then flip-flopping back-and-forth, back-and-forth, all while it drives me fucking insane because I have to wait until I get the schedule to see if your face is something I’ll be seeing all throughout my day or just for ten minutes.” His voice is charged, fully warped with exasperation. He’s frustrated and hot-headed and stubborn to a fault because he knows he won’t have admitted this if it isn’t for today, for the practice of reconciliation his mentor taught him chipping away at him. “And I forgive you for not knowing which is worst.”

He uses this time to catch his breath. The next stage is the hardest. Robby clenches his jaw and bites his tongue. “Please forgive me, too, for shutting down, for clamming up. For not letting you in even though you begged. You begged me, sweetheart, and I let you,” he recalls cruelly for the both of you, tears blurring you from him, “and I— I caused you to let us go because I wouldn’t let myself be broken with you. I was too broken for you. Please forgive me for thinking that and for being angry at you. For all the comments I make about how Romi could have both her mom and dad back if you just let me come home, that I make you feel guilty for that and I play on it because, yeah, I want you back. Forgive me for that, too,” he pleaded helplessly. “Please forgive me for breaking your heart. For being the one to make the first crack in our marriage and then blaming you because you were brave enough not to wait around for the whole thing to shatter.” Robby takes a pause, holds your gaze and says, “Please forgive me for not working through it with you when that’s all you wanted. If I had, things would be different. We would be different. I,” he finally puts, “would be different.”

Silence has you gripped. His words have you fixed to the spot. Robby paralyses you and you’re wavering. There isn’t a shift between you and him, but a slip happens either way. You don’t need things to change tonight. You’re not even sure they ever will change, but hope flares in your chest that it will, that Robby will. It sounds like he will. He feels like he’ll continue to lay down on his sword for you, to stay here with you.

His hands are still on you, on your skin. Robby stares up at you. What you see is honesty shining in his eyes; devastation in his soul and it oozes out of him in pools. It runs out of him straight into you. Robby’s touch moves with it, travelling slowly over your sides and around your back. He’s reeling you in and you’re caught in whatever web or trap this might feel like tomorrow. Robby’s trapped in your snare too. He has been for years, hooked on the drips of affection you give him; whether it be a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a smile over his charts at work, a hug hello sometimes during drop-off and pick-ups. Now, it’s this. His chin nuzzles against the top of your ribcage, staring up at you from the bottom of your covered breasts with brown eyes you can sink into. His hand puts mild pressure onto the small of your back and causes you to arch into him. Robby is so close.

You’re breathing slow. Your breathing hitches. It’s too late now, you’ve softened perfectly for him. The body that’s yours no longer feels like it’s holding you up —that’s Robby’s job. You’re without bones. You’re just flesh and blood and it aches for him. Every inch of you belongs to Robby in this moment, just as you’re certain he belongs to you. Anything you want, he’ll give you. But there’s only one thing you want now and that resolve you have left, that pushed him away before, is fading fast.

You love him. You’re thankful for everything he’s just said. You forgive him for what he’s done to you, across you and mistakenly for you. You’re just hoping he’ll forgive you for what you’re about to do to him, to each other… Please.

“Please,” tumbles out of you as well. It’s vocalised. You hear it come out and he hears it land on his ears. Your hands pet at his head, at his still slightly damp hair. You cradle him to you and find the weak strength to lean down. Before you know it, you’re kissing Robby.

It’s not his mouth on yours, it’s yours on his. You’re controlling this. He’s at the direction of your will, and you’re just willing this to happen.

The grip you have on him slips into his hair and you tug. It’s causes Robby’s mouth to part with a breathy, “Ah,” and a tsk when he realises your tongue licks into his mouth deliciously. It’s fun, playful; a jarring difference to what brings you together, what has happened tonight. There’s an extreme hunger to Robby. He’s finding his way to devour you. His kisses are harder, much needier than yours. Robby has wanted it longer. He wants revenge for that feeling that’s been tormenting for fifteen months since your split.

His hands are up your shirt now. They’ve made their way up and around the blades of your shoulders as you lean down into him. The two of you haven’t stopped kissing. You’re too scared to let your lips leave him — stop moving with his — in case rare sensibility hits you and you have to say ‘we can’t’ again. That thought terrifies you now when Robby’s touching you again after so long and you’re folding into him.

You step backward, stretched to keep up with the open-mouthed kisses, and you knock his legs together. Robby’s confused by the action, but when you slink down into his lap, he’s not. Robby is on you once more. His steady hands come down from your shoulders, after his fingers traced the expanse of your skin, and he pulls at the length of your shirt. You know what he wants. You want it to. That fear you have goes from your eagerness to keep going. Plus, if Robby gets you topless, you can work on doing the same to him.

It’s a sharply inhale as you part. You let Robby quickly yank your shirt up over your head while your fingers grasp at his own, the shirt you gave him less than ten minutes ago. The speed of which you do is shocks you because, before you know it, your flush to Robby’s bare, hair-speckled chest and your lips are hot on his again.

You’re messier now. His hot breath pants over your face and in your ear. Robby starts to track his kisses on your jaw and neck, down the column of your throat. Those kisses get wetter, louder, more heated. His saliva sticks to your skin and, god, do you want more of it. You want everything. Tangling your arms around the back of his head is easily done. You crave Robby closer now. You’ll stitch yourself to him if you can find a way. And you want to. As your head tips back and your mouth parts with the first moan of many you’ll have tonight, all rational is lost. You’re in this now. You’re in this moment. All you can think, breathe and kiss is Robby.

His mouth meets your naked breast, causing your pulse to jump. This is the wettest kiss yet. All of the slick of Robby’s tongue is curling around your nipple. It’s warm, loving; you can just feel the top of his teeth skim over where you crave roughness. Robby teases your nipple into his mouth while a hand holds the swell of your opposite breast. The thumb of his hand traces over the the other nipple. It pebbles under his touch, and Robby rolls your peak between his thumb and index finger. He flicks it twice, and you let out this drawn out moan.

“Oh.” You’re a hushed whisper in your own bedroom, upon his lap, where the bludge of his cock stirs. You can feel the heavy shape of it through his sweats and through your thin sleep-shorts. They’re too thin. You’re starting to feel your dampness create a wet spot in the centre. You’re leaking too much already, and all he’s done is kiss you and play with your nipples.

It’s all you need.

There’s a string of saliva that spread across your chest when he moves to pay attention to your left nipple now. Your right is soaked. It’s covered in Robby. You gasp at the sensation of his fingers toying with the slippery nipple that’s been in his mouth before, for longer. It breaks down your resolve further. Impatience is leaving you while the horniness fogs your brain; while Robby whispers out, “Good girl,” against your chest.

It has you going. You’re drenched below, and you need Robby to know. You need him as helpless as he’s currently making you. Your grind down on him. He grunts around your nipple, the nipple he’s got his lips around and is sucking into his mouth, that his tongue is soothing over and his teeth tease. Your centre is pressed down on him. There’s two layers between your pussy and his cock, and you can feel the stiffness of it as your roll your hips and drag yourself down over him. Your mouth fills. Warmth pools in your belly, spreading lower, exactly where you need him.

All you’re doing it panting and whining while Robby makes you a mess. “Robby,” you whimper. “Robby, please.”

“'Please'?” Robby likes the sound of that. His voice is dark, husky as it vibrates over your increasingly sensitive skin. His mouth is working its way up again, up the length of your tipped back throat. You coo at the feeling of both the tip of his nose dragging against it and his beard scratching at you. The friction is a good burn, and it’s eased by how you can feel him smile against your skin just before he nips at your neck. “You begging me now?”

You are.

You actually are.

Part of you should be disgusted at yourself for falling well and truly down this hill with Robby, but you don’t mind it so long as he's just as desperate as you are. You have to make it even.

“You’re loving this,” you say, as you return your head to its normal position. It’s not falling back anymore. You’re not giving up access to all of your neck and chest while you hold onto Robby’s shoulders for support. Not anymore. Your hand slips between you. “You’re loving having me… in the palm… of your… hand.”

Trailing out, building up the anticipation, your words are whispered against his ear and make the moment your hand lands on Robby’s crotch more perfect. You palm at Robby — at his dick. You feel how achingly hard it is under your touch and you smirk when it’s his turn to feel powerless to you. When Robby grunts then whimpers, you think heavens have opened. You feel like a god.

The freedom is grants you is enough for you to take control of him. You feel the thick, bulbous head to his throbbing penis through his sweats and you rub until you’re smiling wickedly. There’s a subtle wet spot forming at Robby’s own crotch, under your hand, where you’re touching. The damp sensation melts into your hand. You suck his earlobe into your mouth and bite down. Robby winces when it happens and his immediate reaction is to jerk up. You feel yourself squirm on top of him. But you can’t lose by Robby’s accidental thrust up into you. Your hand adds more pressure, the heels of your palm rubbing at Robby while he hisses your name as some of warning prayer.

“Come on, sweetheart, no need to play dirty here,” Robby tells you. “I want you too badly to tease you. I want you so fucking much. Want to be inside you already.”

As you attach your mouth to that sweet spot beneath his ear, you know it’s to cover an embarrassingly loud moan at what he says. But it’s works. You’re satisfied to know Robby’s patience is fast waning like yours already has. Robby doesn’t like not being in control either, so it’s worse for him than you. He wants equal turf. He knows exactly where that is. He peers at it over your shoulder right before you palm him firmer again and his teeth fix to that same shoulder of yours he just glimpsed over.

His large, gifted hands track around your thighs. You think he going to grab at the plush flesh of your ass, to dig his fingertips into it until he leaves either a dent or impression. Robby always likes it when your bruise a little and he can see where he’s been. Yet, that’s not what he does. Robby locks his arms around your thighs, and you die to feel the constraint of his muscles flush to your legs. Before you can let out another moan, you’re up.

Robby’s up. He’s kissing you again. You’re carried several strides away from your vanity and dropped to the bed. Your bed. His bed. Once, your bed together. All of it is pressed out of you when Robby is. Those hands that held you up are yanking at your sleep-shorts. Shoving them down to find you bare and drenched for him. Robby inhales, slow. He engulfs your scent, the aroma of your heat. You’re burning up for him as he puts tiny, little pecks up the inside of your legs, not yet parted them. He’s taking his sweet time with you, and you’re close to thrashing about to get a slither more attention.

“Michael…” slips out of you. If he’s toying with you, then you’ll toy with him back. You know the power you possess when you first-name him. You’re one of the few people who use it. You’re the only one to use to against him, especially like this. “Michael, please. Do something. Anything. Touch me. Eat me. Fuck me stupid. I don’t care, just do something before I lose it.” You’re lifting yourself up and grabbing his face away from giving your thighs those torturous kisses. “I’m losing it.”

You glimpse that greedy, cocksure half-grin he gets when he’s entirely too confident. Robby even gives a breathy chuckle at your neediness, an action that some spiteful part of you wants to shove him away for and make that vanity chair of yours a new voyeur seat so he can watch and not touch, but his mouth descends on yours next. His hand has cupped the back of your head and Robby pulls you in for a passionate kiss. His tongue dominates yours. The force behind it has you weak, and that part of you, that might have put him in a chair across from the bed, knows it would’ve ended with you inviting him back when your fingers don’t feel like his; when your vibrator isn’t hitting the spots that Robby hasn’t in fifteen long months since your split.

His lips are still on yours. They slant to the right of your mouth, then, your jaw, then your neck again. Lowly, rumbling against your skin, Robby whispers, “Lie back. Let me care of you.”

Your brain spins. You’re dizzy from him, shaking in anticipation of what’s about to happen. You’re dripping. Soaked. You feel your own slick smush between your legs, at the top of your thighs. It doesn’t disgust you, and the last person who will be disgusted is Robby. He loves this stuff. He loves seeing the flooding reaction he gets out of you. He drinks it up like a sponge. This is the stuff that always got him going more. It is now because you can feel the angry shape of his erect cock up against your calf as he sinks down.

Eyes holds yours while he kisses your body. It’s like Robby refuses to miss a favourite spot. When one is delivered to your engorged breast, just skimming your glossy, hardened nipple, you moan and arch your back. You shiver when he reaches you hipbone and the soft pouch above where your pussy is furiously begging for attention. His kisses stop for a beat. Robby runs his palms down, past the tops of your legs and find their way under. He grips just beneath the back of your knees, kissing the other side of it before he parts your legs.

Glistening, your hole leaks for him already. Your vulva is covered in your own arousal, having built up in your make-out session and his expert way to peak your nipples; you grinding down into him to speed up the moments that lead to this. A growl is stuck deep in Robby’s throat. He feels it travel from the base and get trapped in the back of his mouth. “Oh, she’s still so pretty,” Robby says of your drenched, slickened pussy. He keeps getting closer, inch by inch, tortuously slow much to your impatience. He puts another kiss to the inside of your upper thigh, licking softly when he realises it’s damp too, but his eyes — they remain on you, on her.

He drags a finger down her. He started at the top of your vulva, above your clit, and gradually swipes his finger through your folds. A broken, “Uhh,” moans out of you, and you buck your hips to feel more, to have more, to get it.

“Looks just as needy for me as she always did,” he observes, as his hand that’s not teasing your wetness snakes under where your leg is lifts. Robby winds it around and curls his palm over the back of your thigh, spreading your legs further, digging in. “Bet she missed me. I missed her, so much,” Robby shares, just as he circled his index around your weeping hole and dips in with his final remark.

“Oh, yes,” you hiss, feeling the tip of finger poke through. He slips it in deeper, curling towards the front. “Oh, my god, Robby.”

His smirks knowing he’s melted you. He’s got proof of your puddle leaking down his finger that angles in and out of you. More strangled moans are elicited out of you, and Robby soon follows it up to get louder ones, ones from deeper parts of you, when he adds a second finger.

“Fuck, shit, yes, yes.”

You’re purring even before Robby sets a pace. Two fingers plunge in and out of you, over and over and over again. The best part is when he adds his tongue. The pleasure you feel electrifies you. As you bite down into your bottom lip, Robby sucks at your clit. Your hand grabs at the sheets either side of you. You hold it tightly, squeezing as your walls do his fingers. Your pussy is so wet, it squelches. It cries for Robby as it clenches. The sound is obscene and gratefully contained to your bedroom. It’ll be mortifying if it isn’t so hot. Robby worships the sounds, too. It’s his favourite one, especially when you’re moaning for him; his name just keeps falling out of your mouth, over your lips.

You cum hard and fast, and Robby doesn’t stop. It’s not over for him. Even when your thighs clench around his head and you try to scooch away, retreat up the bed to get away from him, Robby’s arms are looping under and around your thighs again. He uses that leverage to yank you back. His broad tongue swipes at your folds more furiously, down towards your beating hole. It whirls around it, sinks inside, and Robby laps at you like he’s starving. You cry out in pleasure. It catches in your throat.

Somehow you find the strength in your shaking, tingling arms to lift one. Your hand lands on his head after you reach down between your legs. You tap at his him. You tug at his hair. “Rob—Robby, stop. I can’t. Enough. Enough, I— Oh, my fucking god! — Yes!” Your grip tightens on the short length of his hair. You tug harder as you grind down on his face. The tip of his nose catches your clit and you bite harder on your lip to stifle a scream. Your head thrashes to the side, mouth parting when Robby continues to work his skilled tongue in you now with his two fingers stretching your hole wider for him. “Yes! Shit, you’re so good at that.”

He hums against you. You feel it echo up into you. Robby is so close to being fully inside of you that you’re crooning while his tongue does the work. He swirls it around as his fingers curls upwards, harshly hitting that sweet spot inside of that that makes you loose any sense of things that aren’t pleasure. You’re sparking alone with it. And when Robby persists with an urgency to get you there, to climb higher, you’re soon mewling before a second orgasm heads your way.

“Fuck, I’m— I’m cumming,” you say with a moan so loud that you have to let go of Robby’s hair to slap a hand across your mouth. You feel yourself let go. Complete bliss envelops you up and your legs go weak. They buckle and you lose the ability to keep your head up. It falls back against the pillows and your throat is so damn dry compared to his.

When Robby is satisfied — him, satisfied, despite that being all about you — he releases that hold. His grip slackens; it loosens around the plump meat of your thighs, and Robby, as he lifts his own head, meets your foggy, love-drunk gaze and wipes one palm over his mouth. He swipes your arousal into his beard. It dampens the coarser hair. If it’s softer tomorrow, that’s the magic of you. He proves it after he shoves down his sweats immediately, faster than ever has before because he’s afraid you can stop this at anytime. There’s a slap when his dick stands fiercely erect, hitting his stomach, and Robby crashes his lips back on yours. His hand is at the back of your head, holding you in place while he kicks the sweats down to his ankles and off. Robby is over you again; you can feel what’s between you.

“Pr—Protection,” you muster, because, honestly, you've not too far gone to remember that safe sex is paramount.

But it had Robby hesitating. He blinks at you, down at your face that under his; your naked body trapped under his own now. “I didn’t bring any with me.” He shoots you a tired smile and a rough laugh as he honestly tells you, “I didn’t think I was getting lucky.”

“Shit.” The condoms in your drawer, they’re his. Yours. They’ve been there for over fifteen months. Longer perhaps. You don’t know if they’ve expired. What you do know is the pining in your system is making you lose responsibility. “Fuck it. Go raw.”

Your desperation has never been clearer to Robby. His eyes widen briefly, stunned at the risk. After Romi, you took every precaution not to have a second accidental pregnancy. Now, you are one step away from begging, dripping, if it means Robby is not in you in the next ten seconds. He kisses you again. Robby makes sure his lips are moving with yours, in perfect sync, when he reaches down between you both and finds the base of his cock.

It’s instinct to him. An action he’s done countless times before. Robby never stops kissing you while he guides his dick into you. Even as both your mouths part with soft, needy moans, Robby still classes it as kissing you. His breaths go right into your open mouth. He pants into it as he sheathes himself in your wet warmth.

“Fuck,” he says, and he’s slowly sliding his dick all the way in.

The stretch is delicious. You let out a moan so pornographic that you’re convinced in another life this is what you and him are meant to do forever, all the time, for a job — over making seriously ill and injured people feel better.

“Oh, my god, Michael.”

“That’s it. Say my name. Say it, sweetheart.” He withdraws his length, almost pulling fully out. The tip is still in you, toying with your pulsing hole, then, Robby pushes back in. He sinks firmly into you, and you both grunt into each other’s mouths as your walls flutter.

“Michael.” He does it again. He rocks in and out, and you’re gripping at shoulders to attach yourself to him. “Oh, Michael.”

Something about this being one of the few times you call him 'Michael' has him thrusting harder. His best is the only acceptable response. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.” Robby’s head burrows into the crook of your neck. His forehead presses against it, half-shut eyes on the sweat that glistens across your stomach. “It’s me.” From this angle, Robby peeks at where your two bodies connect. He can see himself enter you. In and out, in and out; and at a pace that has you rising your hips from the bed. He can see it, but he feels it more. How warm and wet and responsive you are. “God, you feel so good,” he groans. “I’ve missed this, baby. Missed you. You’re perfect. Perfect. Nobody better.”

He starts to pick up the pace. His hips snap forward and you cry out at the impact. Your back arches up off the bed to feel him be so rough with you. Robby thinks that position of you is an advantage to him. An arm of his slithers under your back. He holds you up and to him with it. The pair of you are flush again. You’ll be forgiven for thinking this makes you one. From it, Robby is back to a rhythm he recognises with you. He rocks into you. The curve of his dick is delectable, you swear you’re drooling out the corner of your mouth. Then, Robby hits two spots inside of you: dragging the head of his dick against a spongy one when he pulls back and then bullies back in deep, driven into extra sensitive one next your cervix like he’s on a mission to bruise it.

“Oh, my— Fuck.” You let a series of strangled mewls. “Shit, Robby, right there. Right there.”

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” His nose tracks down your sternum, between the valley of your breasts. He nips at the side of your left one. “I got you, I got you.” Robby peppers kisses on your chest and collar as he grunts. “I know, baby. Fuck, those pretty, little sounds you make drive me crazy,” he pants at you, while he makes his way back up to your face. He smiles at you, drunk on lust for you. “Thought I was never gonna hear ‘em again. I’m so lucky.” Robby sucks at your jaw. “I’m so lucky.”

His repetition has you in a haze. Your hands cup at his waist, then, his ass. You dig into his cheeks as you force him to make those thrusts hurt. You want to hasten his actions. “Go faster,” you whisper.

Robby starts to plough into you. It’s not just faster, it’s deeper. It’s perfect and exactly what you need. You’re moaning wildly now. “Fuck, Rob— Michael! Michael! Michael!” Panic hits you. It’s frantic as it pounds through your blood. Your clammy hands work their way home to his face. You lift his head out from where he’s pinned to your neck. You grab at his bearded chin, eyes blown wide in sopping hunger. “Kiss me. Kiss me.”

He obeys. Of course he does. Robby won’t risk messing this up. He’s got you now, he’s not letting you go. Part of Robby wonders if he’s dreaming; if this all just a big, extremely vivid dream he’s had after knocking out after a couple beers on a truly abhorrent day. After today — Jake, the mass-causality, the teen with a fentanyl overdose, an accidental drowning of a kid, too many deaths — Robby’s convinced he can hallucinate that his hands are touching yours. That his fingers are threaded with yours while drills into you. It’s akin to dreams he’s had before, filling his head while he sleeps. The only reason he knows it’s not is because your nails claw at his shoulders like you want to draw blood and the heels of your feet dig into the small of back to dive him down further. A broken cry comes out of you when he reaches and thrusts at that spot that makes your eyes roll in the back of your head.

Skin pressing into skin, Robby is on fire. His body has never worked better than when he's fucking you. He’s alight with insatiable need. Roasting as he pants into your mouth and his teeth clash with yours. The bed that you once shared holds the weight and the force of how hard he’s fucking you. Robby’s only doing that to make it feel more real. Every time his hips thrust, yours chase that thrust. He’s sharing your bed again. He remembers going shopping for the frame and mattress prior. Your joke about which was better to have sex on messes with him now. Robby uses it to distract himself for blowing too early. He goes over the day in his mind. You both went on about how noisy the headboard would sound as it furiously knocks into the wall — that’s why you chose the upholstered, thick headboard. You tested every mattress for its firmness and its ability to muffle the sounds of him fucking you into it, meanwhile, your daughter sleeps down the hall. This one has always been good to you both on that front — because you and Robby were never quiet.

And that upholstered headboard, the one you specifically wanted in that plum velour fabric so he paid extra for and got made-to-measure, Robby now uses as leverage. His grip snaps to it and Robby has it tightly in his grasp as he uses it to fuck you harder. He crashes his hips into you, it’s super charged. And cruel. It allows him to roughly drill at that spot again.

Over and over.

In and out, at a brutal pace.

You clench around him again, and Robby beams. “That’s it, you’re almost there,” he says like is a huge victory for him. “I can feel it. Let me feel you. Let go, sweetheart.” His face brushes up to your temple, pressing an open-mouth kiss to your cheek. His breath is hot on your face. It fans over you while he whispered out his instruction, “Let… go.”

You listen. Your body listens. It never stops when it comes to Robby. His instruction is gold. For the third time, you contract around something belonging to Robby. This time, it’s his dick and it’s the most perfect thing to ever be inside of you, making you feel things you’ve only ever felt with him. He’s made for you. You’re made for him, and you’re a vice wanting to milk him dry.

“Ahhh-eghhh, fuck! Oh, my fuck.”

Robby feels you pulse around him. Your warmth draws him in tighter. When you clench and lock and flutter; a thick, creamy rim around the girth of his cock, and Robby touches the edge as well. “Fuck!”

It happens together. An explosion. You’re sparking alive. Your body shakes and your vision spots white. Robby’s hips jerk forward with his orgasm. His pace stumbles, and he thrashes out of the routine that got you both there. He comes undone the same as you do. While you cum around him, trembling, Robby spills inside of you. You feel it fill you up and you don’t care because this is the greatest you’ve felt in months. In a year. In fifteen lonely months. You shake and shudder and you swear you can’t feel your face until Robby is kissing you again.

Your lips are numb. Tingling. And both you and Robby are breathless as your bodies give out like everything else. He collapses on top of you. You wonder how his back is holding up as he finally lets go of yours. Your legs loosen from around him as well. You can’t keep your heels digging into him forever. Robby can’t stay inside of you for the rest of the night, but you won’t put it past him if he tries.

You’re willing to try also.

The breaths you share are erratic. Your chest rises and falls fast, laboured. In the moments after, post-pleasure, you’re not totally sure you’ll ever catch your breath again. It happens. It will eventually happen, because you’ve come down from these kind of amazing highs with Robby before, but you’re savouring it while it lasts. You don’t care that your skin is sticky — that Robby’s is too — as it draws you both closer. It makes you the same. You’re just two people, connected by your parts, and that makes you one. One being. One entity. One collection of atoms that have collided with each other.

“Fuck,” Robby says again and, then, he’s laughing in awe. His eyes shine with disbelief. He wonders if some part of him did imagine this; he’s not completely convinced this isn’t a dream. The only way he knows it’s real is when he tried to un-bury himself from between your legs and your pussy acts as a vice once more. It locks him in, and Robby can’t deny it where he wants to stay too. He’ll die here if you’ll let him. It’s a good place to die. To Robby, who denied he was religious earlier today to one of his med students, this is heaven. You’re a god-given gift and that sex was the best of his life. “Jesus Christ,” he utters, thready, physically exerted from what you’ve just done. “That was… Amazing. Just like I remember. Better than I remember,” he corrects after a small, barely there beat.

“Uh-huh,” is you’re only agreement. You're not sure you can add more; your voice is too ran-through and used up currently.

A groan leaves Robby while he eventually slips out of you, and you whimper at the emptiness. But you’re not empty. The remnants of Robby are dripping out of your pussy. You feel it gush like Robby has taken away the plug; and beneath you now, rolling down between your cheeks is both ropes of Robby’s cum and your flooding wetness. The slick sensation of stickiness blends with wet spot on your sheets. If you aren’t still so turned on, you’ll be repulsed. You’re not. You gag for the feeling.

You’ve missed it.

You’re missed Robby.

Tears brims your eyes. They sting and swirl, and you’re wanting to cry after such a massive wave of too many overwhelming feelings. The bed rocks on the side you’re not on and you’re reminded you’re not alone, so you can’t cry. You see Robby’s completely bare frame track over to your bathroom. It’s a sight you’ve seen many times before, but rarely through tears. You feel one slip from your eyes and roll horizontally down the side of your cheek to the pillow. The tap’s running, you can hear it, and you swiftly wipe the fallen tear away. You push back any sign you’ve upset yourself by reminding yourself that you miss Robby, that you miss this with him and having amazing sex with him.

He returns with a wet rag. He’s cleaned himself up, he’s coming to do the same for you now. It’s sweet, thoughtful. It’s Robby. Your Robby. It’s something he just does and that sensitive pull, that’s made you cry once, returns. You can cover it better, however, when he cleans you and you whine at the touch. Especially when Robby murmurs to you, “I think I was too rough with her.”

It brings a laugh out of you. It’s cosy and wraps your ribs up in a blanket rather than a cage. “I don’t know, I think I can safely say she enjoyed it,” you express teasingly. A coy smile dances on your lips. “Oh, sh—shit,” hisses out when Robby does another thorough wipe of your most sore area. Then, you’re laughing again. Your palms cover your face, the heat of your inflamed face burns brilliantly. “My god, I can’t believe we did that.”

“I, for one, are very happy we did that,” he claims, and you’re made acutely aware this is triumph for your ex-husband. You’re not stupid to pretend he hasn’t wanted this since your split. There’s been 'almosts' before. None this big. None that come close to ending like this. The closest Robby has gotten before is his hand cupping your clothed mound and his hardened groin pressed into you. Today’s loss and tragedies served as the perfect catalyst — bouncing off a point — to be end up with Robby crawling up next to you in your post-sex bliss. “We’ve still got it,” Robby tells you, a tender kiss place to your bare shoulder.

The least surprising part of what’s happened is how you find comfort in the moments after. In that sweat, musky heat is perfectly hazy over you. There’s a barrier between you and reality. It befalls the pair of you. You and Robby. Together, once more. So long as you’re in this bed, lying in the wet spot, sticky sweat blending with his, limbs tangling while he holds you, you can stay. Robby can stay.

But it doesn’t last long.

You and Robby exist for ten minutes outside of what happened. Until you can no longer smell sex in the air. Until your breathing recollects. Until the barrier is broken and that wet spot doesn’t feel so wet anymore. Your sweat isn’t pricking at your skin and his isn’t dampening more of you. Robby still holds you, but you know he can’t stay the night like he’s planning to.

There’s an excuse already playing in your mind, circling around, getting the wheels turning. You’ve both had sex to be able to say you’re human together, that you’re alive. It’s only now a problem come morning and Robby’s still next to you. His side is pressed up against yours, one arm snug around your shoulders, folded over your bare chest with delicate fingers just skimming over your breast still. The weight of what’s been done starts to crush you. This is going to mess up your arrangement. The co-parenting plan you’ve nailed for your daughter.

Romi.

Her name starts to chant in your head. You feel like a monster. A well fed, thoroughly pleased and excellently fucked monster. Your hands drag down you face as she shame washes over you. There’s a pit in your stomach at what you’ve done. The thing you silently begged for Robby to forgive you for is right on the tip of your tongue, the tongue you’ve had in your ex-husband’s mouth not ten minutes ago.

“You have to go.” It leaves you and you hate yourself for it. “I don’t want to risk Romi waking up and finding you here, in my bed.”

A real, genuine laugh rumbles out of Robby. He cranes his neck down to be able to see you properly. “You’re joking. You’re kicking me out?” His eyebrows lift. “After that? After all that?”

The corners of your mouth quirk up along with his. You find the same humour in it as he does. “Don’t do that,” you say while you shove at his chest. “You know why I said it. We can’t risk confusing her. She’s a creature of habit on the nights she doesn’t see me come home.” It’s routine, and you recount the cycle for him, “Romi gets up and she comes in here to check I’m home and awake, and she snuggles with me until her stomach growls and she demands breakfast. If she comes in here and sees you—” you poke at his hairy chest, “what do you think she’s going to think?”

The smug smirk on his face annoys you. Robby’s glinting with mischief when he replies, “That daddy came home, too.”

You want to laugh. You have to really fight it back. “Robby, please. No joking.” Rolling onto your side, you face your ex. You stare up at him and meet his eyes and that very real smile on his face, that, soon, you’ll wipe off. “You know I’m right about this.” You remind him, “We have rules in place. Boundaries.”

“And we broke all the rules and crossed every one of our boundaries last night,” Robby counters back at you. For now, he’s smiling still. The skin by his eyes is crinkled. He’s happy with himself until he isn’t happy with you. His expression falters. The victory he won might be lost in ten minutes. “Jesus Christ, you can’t just kick me out. This is my house too, sweetheart, my name is still on the lease. In fact, my name is still on you as well,” Robby chooses to recount in this moment.

The laugh you’ve been holding back chokes out of you incredulously. “You know why that—”

You don’t finish. You don’t get to finish. The strong argument you have is swallowed up by Robby with a kiss. His arm around your shoulders locks; it brings you in closer to him. Your hand falls to his chest as Robby continues to press his mouth to yours. He kisses you harder. He forces all his hopes into these, trying desperately to sway you around to him like he has done earlier.

When his lips finally leave yours, a “Fuck,” whispers past yours.

That smirk of his is back. His grin is bearing down at you like he’s proud his point is proven. “Exactly.”

“Fuck…” Your head is angled up at him and you grind your jaw mildly, “you, Robby.”

He takes your thin threat, that’s wavering by the second, and pulls you to be completely flush to him. “Moan it next time, I might believe you,” he says into your ear. “Because the only thing I believe right now is how if I slip my fingers between your legs, I’ll find just how much you want to keep me in our bed.”

“It hasn’t been our bed in over a y—year…” While you speak, Robby manages to cut you off. His free hand, the one not trapping your body to his, cups your centre. His middle finger parts your folds and he finds that pretty, little bud of yours with extreme ease. “Oh, my god.”

“There? Right there, yeah.” Robby plays with you. The tip of his finger rubs circles around your clit. He doesn’t even need any lubrication to make those fantastic, electrifying circles feel smooth; you’ve gotten wet between the clean-up because of how turned on you still are. “I can feel you wanna go again, baby. This perfect pussy of yours is soaked and that’s not the sign you want me gone…” he says confidently. “Not yet.”

It’s a yelp that causes you to struggle to get his name out. It splits on your tongue. It catches in your throat, the only dry part of you. “Rob—by.”

The circles change. It’s not his finger toying it your clit now. His finger has slipped down and, along with his index, enters you. What’s circling your beating clit is the pad of his thumb and it’s wonderful. It’s got just enough pressure, just enough coarseness, to make you mewl again.

Again, Robby’s mouth hovers over yours, which parts with a silent moan. “I promise you, I’ll help you get off now. Then, I’m going to fuck you again,” Robby asserts to you, and you know he’s not lying. “And I’m going to remember to wake up an hour before our kid does, because I know she’s a creature of habit too and that girl of ours hasn’t woken up before six since she was a toddler or unless she’s ill— Is she ill?” asks Robby, and you shake your head. You pant into his mouth while those fingers move in and out, in and out. He curls them up against the front wall of your vagina, and Robby says, “And she hasn’t been a toddler in a while, so.” Robby’s fingers work harder. They thrust into you slower, more forceful, and Robby delights when you moan directly into his mouth. It drives him on. He gets a resurgence of authority over you. “So, I’m going to make sure I wake up an hour before six and I’m going to fuck my wife again. Because if I’m walking out of my house, then, you best believe I’m doing it after I’ve had you twice more and I’ve slept tonight in the bed that we bought.”

A raw whisper wrecks you, “Okay.”

Robby’s brown, lust-fuelled eyes land on yours. He holds you glazed stare while he checks, “Okay?”

You become too eager. You’re nodding fast as your walls flutter around his fingers and he adds speed to how he swipes your clit. “Okay.”

“Good. Now cum,” Robby orders, and you obey with a long whine that he captures up with his lips again.

It’s a problem for you. True to his word, Robby does precisely what he tells you he will. Unlike last night, this morning feels riskier, too dangerous. What happened before, the twice he had you in the dark, that’s kindling compared when daylight arrives. This is playing with fire. And Robby encourages it. He stokes it. He tends to the flames like he wants to be caught, like he wants to traumatise your child when she discovers years later that her daddy wasn’t ‘play-fighting’ with mommy at all and ends up in therapy because the sight of his naked ass while he drills into you isn’t one she can push back into a box once it’s out.

The clean-up after is swift. You shower again. Less than eight hours ago it was to get rid of the stench of death and blood that clung to you. Now, it’s because you covered in Robby. He offers to shower with you, but you turn him down because you’re cutting it too closely after he spent twenty minutes teasingly eating you out when you both woke up.

You think if you go in the shower, Robby will take it as your invite out of here. Your quiet way of pushing him out and along. However, Robby either doesn’t get your hints or is actively choosing to ignore them. The latter seems more like the Robby you know, but any ire you hold for him when you see he hasn’t left yet disappears when you spy his helpfulness. You exit the bathroom to find a now-dressed, in the same clothes you gave him last night, Robby has stripped the bed and remade the bed for you.

Shaking your head, you mention, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“We’re less than fifteen minutes from six,” Robby tells you, “I saved you a job.” He shrugs off his good deed like it’s nothing. He’s stripped and changed this exact bed hundred of times before. Robby thinks he’s missed the chore so long as it’s this bed he’s making. So long as it’s you he’s making it for. Committing himself to that, silently in his head, Robby travels over to your freshly showered and now dressed figure. His arms snake around you, hands settling on your lower back as he hugs you to him, acting like what you have between you is romantic. “Because I’m guessing you don’t want our daughter to be snuggling in the same sheets we ruined last night.”

“I want no association between last night and our daughter,” you inform him, bordering on serious. There’s still, however, a playful lilt to your words. But it doesn’t linger long. “Unless,” you start, “it’s to rehash our boundaries.”

Something about the mix of the three times you’ve had sex in the recent hours, how you’re allowing his hands to venture lower even now and how Robby never quite takes you wholly serious in moments paired with the first two anyway, causes him to find humour. He jokes with you, “Ah, the boundaries. And rules. Let’s not forget the rules. I seem to remember you said something about rules, that we broke,” Robby points out, reminding your exactly of how it all went down.

Still, you don’t waver even if your head spins with all the lewd memories of what you two did in the bed behind you. You accuse him right back, “You broke.”

At it, Robby guffaws. “Me, alone? By myself?” He’ll be laughing at you if it doesn’t seem so mean in this moment. “I broke the rules without any help from you?” His brows lift above enlarging eyes and his head bobbles side to side as he considers what memories he has of his own flashing in his head as he looks at you. It makes him double-down on his teasing. “Well, I have a different recollection, but I do remember doing most of the work," he says, ducking down to conclude the last part as a husky whisper in your ear.

You shove at his chest. It lands with a hard thud. “Ugh, you pig,” you curse him out, disgust clipping at your tongue, as you go to shove him again.

Yet, Robby’s quicker. He predicts you’ll go in for a second hit and Robby grabs your wrist first. His hold burns. It fiercely winds around your wrist and Robby yanks you back to him, forcing you to collide with his large chest. “I liked doing most of the work.” His eyes pin you to the spot, unflinching. “I will do most of the work every time in the future if we talk about this, properly.”

The last part clenches at your heart. This is the part you dreaded when you let your body silence your mind and take control. That you prayed Robby would forgive you for. At the way this is going, you know there’s plenty of forgiveness he won’t give you.

“Robby, there is nothing to talk about,” you say, as you try to let your ex-husband down gently. “Last night, while it was great—”

“Amazing,” he cuts in. That smile of his is back and he’s nodding far too much, the way he does when he’s hiding just how upset or frustrated he is. “I remember amazing was used.”

It’s making you exasperated. He’s making you feel crazy for defending yourself — for arguing against this. You hate the feeling so you throw back at him, “By you, yes.”

Craning his neck back, Robby bears down at you. He questions what you’ve said, your words, your slightly wavering responses. “You don’t think it was amazing? Because we can run this back right now if you…”

“Stop.” Your eyes are clenched shut. What happens is a yelp, halfway to scream. Your palms are laid flat to his chest and your push, just a little, just enough to have him pause. “Stop. Robby, please.” You shake your head and fight how your tiredness makes you want to drop your head right in the place where your hands rest. But that doesn’t happen. You don’t do what your body tells you to do now because you can’t quieten your mind anymore. “I don’t want to have to do this with you now. Not when Romi’s about to wake up. Not when we’ve had this same conversation before.”

“But we haven’t—”

“Yes, Robby, we have,” you interrupt, arguing once again. “And—”

“Last night was different,” Robby defends, harsher. "It was different than the times before. What I said." He’s like a whippet with it. He’s too quick and what he’s bringing up shuts whatever you want to say down. “You’ve heard that from me? Because I promise you, you didn’t up until last night,” Robby avows to most definitely. “What I said to you—Jesus fucking Christ, I opened up to you,” he now accuses. “I said I love you and I apologised for all those things I did.”

Hotly, mainly because you feel targeted, you retort, “Did you?” It stills him for a moment. The shock pierces Robby, and he drops his stake on you. His touch, too. “Did you apologise, or did you ask me to forgive you? Because there’s a really big difference.”

Robby shaking his head at you, mouth pressed in a thin line. “That’s not fair. Last night—”

“—Last night was hell,” you intercept. It paralyses Robby. He stumbles back, stunned despite how well last night went in his head. But that’s not what you’re referring to. You’re putting everything else together — the things before the two of you. Your hands clasp together in a prayer and you say, “We had both gone through so much, seen too much, and we found comfort in each other, Robby. That is what happened.” You think you come on too strongly. You’ve been too harsh with him. You can see it now as his eyes start to fill and your guilt spreads. You reach for him. “Robby, I love you. Listen to me, I love you,” you tell him sincerely, as you grab at his face, fingers scratching through his beard. “I care about you. I care about you so much. I don’t regret, I—I just can’t…” You trail off, weakening, as tears brim your own gaze. Your defeated hands fall from him. “I can’t go there with you again. We have Romi to think about.”

There’s reluctance in him; it’s easy to find. Robby wears it all over his features, threaded through every line. His eyes have only looked this sad and broken twice before: the day Adamson died and the night you told him your marriage was over — and he didn't fight it. It’s probably the same as what Robby thinks about now because he looks off to compose himself, to not give too much of himself away just like he did that night. Although, you’ve already seen it. He made himself vulnerable to you last night, you saw the worst of it leak out of him, and now Robby has to pretend he had plug it again. It feels a lot like drowning to him.

So, he nods and, in distress, Robby runs his hand over his beard. “Right,” he sighs.

“She comes first, Robby,” you tell him, not that it feels good, not that you want this.

But Robby repeats it for you so you know he’s heard you, so you know he’s respecting your choice. “She comes first.”

Your throat tightens. Your eyes swim with tears, and you whisper, “Thank you.”

The two of you go quiet. Your bedroom doesn’t feel as loved anymore. Its space feels as though it is sucking you through a vacuum-pack and you can’t breathe. Robby must share your feelings because he sucks in a sharp breath and struggles to release it.

When he looks at you again, finally looks at you, he looks resigned. He knows he’s lost that victory, the one he celebrated too early. “I should go,” he says. “Romi will be up soon.”

“I’ll… make sure I get those scrubs back to you,” you reply, unsure if you have anything else you can say to him. Nothing you have will make this better for Robby. You’ve just snipped his last rope to the life-raft.

After a beat, Robby says, “Thanks,” and then, he breaks for the door.

You don’t know why you can’t stop yourself from following him down. In your arms, you have the proof of last night. You hold the laundry basket with sheets, covered in both you and Robby, completely aware that you can’t leave them in that room. Your room. You can’t go back to bed and pretend Robby wasn’t lying with you in it forty minutes ago. You can’t wait to hear the front door shut from that spot either.

Robby finds his boots where you left them in the downstairs toilet. They’re clean. He thanks you for it again. The wine you didn’t finish still sits in the windowsill where you left it. It makes you feel sick. You hate the remind of unfinished things. It feels like poking a stick at your marriage, at your love for Robby. But he’s never loved you without Romi being here. He didn’t love you enough to do what he did last night when you begged him for it before, where you screamed at him to open up and Robby firmly padlocked the door on whatever ate him up. It’s the reason you’re here. It’s the reason he’s not here. It’s why he’s leaving the house you once shared together.

“Mommy?”

Behind you, your head goes back up the stairs. You hear Romi’s little voice, all tired and sweet. In the middle of the staircase, Romi slumps down in her rainbow-striped pyjamas, rubbing the sleep from her eyes while holding on tight to Bun-Bun’s leg. Her confused, tiny face looks so innocent as her stare drags from you to the front door, which is open, and Robby stands beside.

“Daddy?” Romi blinks twice, checking, too much like Robby. She realises he’s real and she’s not dreaming him up. “Daddy, what you doin’ here?”

You’re caught. Busted by a four-year-old. Your panicked lips part with an answer you’re ill-equipped to give and she’s far too young to understand.

Yet, you’re not alone. You don’t have to flounder and search for a convincing lie to tell your daughter because Robby’s already thought one up. “I’m here for breakfast, lovebug,” Robby claims, and your eyes snap to him. “Yeah, breakfast. You want pancakes and bacon, right? Plenty of maple syrup.”

He speaks it like this has always been the plan. He says it so naturally, so believably, you wonder if this is just something that’s slipped your brain. And worse, it works. Romi’s getting excited. She warms up into it, steadily losing the rest of her just woken up state to see that her daddy’s come over for breakfast.

“Really?” Romi comes down a couple more steps, a grin slowly pulling at her face. “Why you early?”

“Gotta be early to have breakfast, don’t I?” Robby returns, and it’s the most perfect reply.

Romi slips in by you first. Your hand worms around her head, stroking her frazzled curls out of her face, and you use the gentle hold you have on her head to bring it in. You lean down and kiss her forehead. “Good morning, lovebug," you greet, using the same affectionate nickname you and Robby long settled on for her.

“Good mornin’, Mommy,” Romi says to you, still half-asleep but very happy. To her, this is the single, most greatest surprise. It’s the type of thing you and Robby have done for her before, just never this early and never after three rounds of sex with your ex. Romi gives a big yawn, telling you that she needed those extra ten or so minutes you and Robby stole from her when she no doubt heard the pair of you either bicker or go downstairs. Her eyes squeeze shut with it and she holds her small hand to her mouth.

“Oh, that is a sleepy girl,” Robby comments. He crouches low and Robby holds out his arms for her. “Come here, my sleepy girl, come give me a cuddle. I miss your cuddles,” he says, as he beckons your daughter to him. It doesn’t take much for Romi to step off and into her father’s arms. There’s practically nowhere she’ll rather rest her head. And with the way she drops it straight to his shoulder, you have a sneak suspicion that Romi will drop off back to sleep for those stolen minutes really soon.

You accept that this is the next turn in your morning. You’re not getting rid of Robby so easily today, which, honestly, ease your guilt for both rejecting him and sending him to spend the day alone after a mass-casualty. He’s planted himself in your home and, because of it, you shut the door. “Guess you’re staying for breakfast,” you mutter, as you pick up the laundry basket again. “Funny how that all works out for you, huh.”

They’re behind you again. They’re following you through to the kitchen where you dump the laundry basket on the counter, a touch more peeved than you’ll like Romi to see you. Not that she sees anything past the fabric of her father’s t-shirt. You hope, as you pour the detergent into the drawer of the washing machine, Romi won’t notice he smells like you. Like this house. Like her. Like you.

“Daddy?” Romi’s tired voice pipes up, curiosity laced within.

Robby acknowledges her while he watches you fondly from the doorway. He sways with Romi in his arms, her bottom resting against his strong arms and his little arms stretching around his neck. “Hmm?”

“Shoes off,” Romi says.

“Yeah, that’s the rule. No shoes on in the house,” Robby returns softly.

With a tiny shake of her head, Romi says, “Nuh—oh, Daddy. Shoes already off,” she states, puzzled as her smaller brain tries to make sense of what her eyes previously soaked in. “Off when I come down. Off when I say mornin’,” yawns Romi, and afters she does, her eyes flutter close. She taps her father’s chest twice and sleep peacefully takes her again.

From it, you look over to Robby. Your eyes lock with his. His are already pinned to you, knowing too well that your smart daughter has noted something you both never think she will, that you think you can get away with. As Robby holds your shared child, half of you and half of him so beautifully blended, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. You scoff a laugh and exchange the washed scrubs from yesterday for the spent sheets you both ruined last night and this morning. It doesn’t matter if you draw the new line, course-correct those boundaries and create a few more rules, what’s done is done, and Robby knows that you know that.

And Romi might know it, too.

(because i heard Garcia say, “you’re gonna make a great ex-husband one day, robinavitch” and i took that personally)

Robby lifted his head, blinking slowly, trying to make sense of where he was. Duke sat a few feet away on an overturned bucket, working on his Bonneville. They were in Duke's shop. Robby had been here plenty of times before, but he couldn't for the life of him remember how he'd gotten here this time.

He forced himself upright. "What—" Robby didn't recognize his own voice. It came out groggy, yes, but also a higher register. It sounded like it belonged to someone else entirely. "When did I get here? How? I don't remember anything except—"

He trailed off. Hadn't he been on his motorcycle, last he remembered?

Duke sighed without looking up. "You know, it's a damn shame you went into medicine. You had a face cut out for TV and you wore it out at the hospital instead."

Robby's face twisted. "What?"

"Take a look in the mirror." Duke said, nodding toward one that was hanging crooked over the workbench, stained and spotted from age. 

Robby pushed himself up. He felt dizzy, and his whole body was aching, but he made himself walk the few feet anyway.

When his eyes found his own reflection, a scream tore out of him.

Duke laughed. "Never gets old."

Robby's hands flew to his face. It was his face. Except it wasn't. The jaw under his fingers wasn't the one he'd washed at the bathroom sink a few hours ago. This was a different face entirely. His own, devoid of the wrinkles and fine lines he'd grown accustomed to.

He fell back down too fast. "W-what did you do to me?"

"Wasn't me that did it." Duke kept working on the motorcycle. "I just handle what comes after."

"What is going on?" Robby panicked. 

It had to be a dream. He didn't remember getting home at all. The last thing he remembered was riding on the way home, and then a blinding white light. White light. Was this death? Was he dead? He was young again, and wasn't there some scripture about that, about turning back into your younger self when you died? If that was true, why was the afterlife Duke’s garage? Was Duke God?

None of this made sense.

While he kept stretching the skin of his own face between his fingers, looking at his youthful hands, using them to pat his body all over, trying to force sense into the senseless, Duke spoke again. "You might want to check that folder you brought with you."

Robby’s eyes went to the manila folder being slid across the workbench toward him. So this was still real life… He doubted he'd have brought his goddamn divorce papers with him to the afterlife.

"This is the craziest dream I've ever had," Robby muttered, and opened it with shaking fingers. 

There were no divorce papers inside.

There were transcripts. A USMLE score report. A diploma from Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine. A residency transfer file. PGY-1, mid-year, stamped and countersigned by Dr. Gloria Underwood and Dr. Michael Robinavitch. A driver's license with his new face on it, smiling, fifty pounds lighter and twenty years younger.

All of it under a name he'd never spoken aloud in his life.

"Who the hell is John Carter?"

Duke set down the wrench and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's you."

"Where did you get these?"

"Same place I got you a new face. Don't ask questions you're not ready to know the answers to. Now come on, let's go. I have to get you up to speed, you don't want to be late for your first day."

By the time morning came around, Duke had walked him through his new life over a cup of black coffee.

"So, what, exactly? I'm going to be at PTMC, and nobody's going to know who I am?"

"They will not."

"That won't work. They'll recognize me from pictures, from—"

"You overestimate people's retention for your face."

"My wife works there! She'll see me, she'll recognize me. This is the face I had when we met!"

"Ex-wife."

"Hey, I never signed those divorce papers." It was as touchy a subject for young Robby as it was for the older one. "We're still married."

Duke shrugged.

Robby—no, John, now—exhaled hard. "The whole point of the sabbatical was three months away from PTMC. Why would I go back?"

"You said so yourself, you were tired of the job. The responsibility. Figured you deserved one more chance to feel what it was like to be a doctor, before it started weighing you down. Away from being the decision-maker. And away from the old ball-and-chain."

"No, no. She was never the problem. I didn't need to be away from her."

Duke's eyebrows went up. "Well, I don't know that she's clear on that."

Robby went quiet and his breathing turned heavy.

"What is this?" he asked. "Is this some kind of end-of-life thing? Is this my second chance?"

"Wouldn't call it an end-of-life thing. You're quite literally back at the start." Duke finally looked at him. "Second chance? Well. That's up to what you make of it."

──

Duke dropped him off at the hospital. He had new clothes and one bag. He spent the whole drive pouring over the documents. Whoever this John Carter was, he'd clearly been a spoiled little prick. Penn undergrad, Northwestern med school. He had to be loaded. His clothes was all designer labels, and Robby scoffed as he strapped on the Cartier Tank watch he could only imagine had been passed down across generations of men in the Carter family. Was this guy even real or just a made-up identity? 

Robby’s cover was that he was a transfer resident coming in from an out-of-state program. He wondered what this would be like. He still had all his memories and all his training as Robby. He figured he could get away with claiming EMS work before med school, if  it got away from him and anyone picked up on the fact that a PGY-1 responded to traumas like he'd been doing it for the past thirty years. 

Because he had. 

When Duke finally dropped him off, he wished him lucky and all but kicked him out of his truck.

"So... were you my... spiritual guide all along?" Robby asked him, gripping the strap of the bag now slung over his shoulder. 

Duke laughed. "Do you feel spiritually guided?' With that, he rolled up the window, and left him there. 

Robby walked into PTMC without a clue who to talk to first.

"Patient or family?" a familiar voice asked, and he turned to find Dana walking toward him.

He tightened his grip on his backpack."Neither.” He extended his hand. “My name's John Carter, ma’am. It's my first day as an intern here."

“Ma’am? Call me that again and we’ll have problems, Carter.” Dana nodded, bypassing his extended hand, and started walking, expecting him to follow. "Welcome, Doctor. I was told we'd have a new intern joining us. Someone from admin will be by later to finish your onboarding, but for now, I'll introduce you around. Come on. You got a pair of scrubs?"

Robby came out of the bathroom a few minutes later in a pair that fit like a glove. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this size. In the mirror, the resemblance of John Carter to his younger self was uncanny.

Dana ran through the tour, rattling off names and locations, important information he needed to know. “You’re not asking questions, you sure you're following?” Dana asked.

“Yes, ma-”

Dana’s eyebrow arched.

He closed his mouth. “Yes, I got everything. You’re a great teacher.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Dana then tilted her head, studying him. "You know, you look like somebody I know… I can't quite place it."

He shrugged. Told her he got that a lot.

She gathered everyone at the Central for introductions. "Alright, gather up. We'll make introductions quick. We've got patients to see."

Dana went down the line, pointing and naming. He followed her introductions by nodding his head in the person’s direction, catching a few lingering stares, trying to come off as friendly and approachable as he could.

He was introduced to Mohan, Langdon, King, Javadi, Whitaker, Santos...

"Jesus, Dana," Langdon cut her off. "He's not going to remmeber anyone's names if you rattle them off like that." 

"Sure he will." Dana turned to look at Robby expectantly.

He didn't let her down, and shyly listed everyone's names in order of where they stood.

Dana smiled smugly, and then shrugged at Langdon, "See?"

Robby's chest began loosening as rapport was established. He was called “new guy” by everyone. He already felt like he could get along with this crew a lot better now, without the title of Chief Attending tarnishing the dynamic. He could be Michael Robinavitch, the intern from twenty years ago, with them. 

"You're good with names," Cassie McKay commented. "That'll help you. Come on, you're with me today."

He trailed after her through a run of easy cases, nothing too bad. 

He'd forgotten what it was like to be an intern. It was even more fun this time around, where he didn’t have the weight of having to prove himself. This time, he had no pressure to get the answer exactly right in front of an attending, because he already knew it, and nobody here expected him to. He also didn't feel the pressure a typical intern was faced with, to perform for the sake of leaving a good impression in the hopes of getting a letter of recommendation for eventual residency applications. 

McKay was thoroughly impressed with him, and Robby felt he had to fumble on purpose once she asked if he had eidetic memory.

It was also a struggle to pretend to not know where things were. He made a point to ask where certain supplies were, or get lost as he navigated the Pitt, pretending he arrived late because he couldn't locate South 10. 

But when it came to the medicine, his muscle memory started selling him out. And he was all too gleeful to let it. He reached for a chest tube kit before anyone mentioned they needed it. It led people to start to notice. And talk. 

But he hadn't picked up on that yet, on the murmurs surrounding John Carter, star intern. He was practicing medicine again for the pure love of it. He'd forgotten how it felt from the other side, being able to practice without calling the shots, and having to carry the weight of that responsibility after. 

However, he was also just an intern. And scut work was a natural part of it. He was starting to suspect he might've gotten on someone's bad side, perhaps by being too cocky, knowing too much too soon, and he was being humbled.

At least that's what he thought as he poured two inches of lube into his fingers.

Robby hadn’t performed a rectal exam in years. 

It earned him a straight-faced "It’s a great learning experience, Carter," from Frank Langdon. A phrase Robby had used on him way to many times as his attending. 

He followed around Langdon or McKay most of the time. He stood at the foot of rounds, fielding questions lobbed his way like distracted target practice. He had to bite back a laugh more than once, because he knew exactly whose teaching philosophy this was. His own.

But he couldn't complain. It was a good life, being an intern. He was having fun. He'd nearly forgotten there was something else he was supposed to be doing here, as the magically rejuvenated John Carter... Whatever that turned out to be, he was trusting he would eventually figure it out.

For now, he’d focus on rounds.

The first patient he lost as John Carter was an 81-year-old man with a ruptured aneurysm. Nobody could've reached it in time. Robby had known that the second the man came through the doors, it didn't matter.

He was in the room with Langdon amd Al-Hashimi when it happened. After Al-Hashimi- who now that Robby was distanced enough from the situation, he could admit had incredible control of a trauma room- called a time of death, they explained to him the practice of taking a minute of silence to honor the patient's life. 

Robby stood in the circle, hands clasped in front of him, the exact way he'd taught two decades of interns trained by him to stand. 

But it was bad timing. 

Because when he turned his head, through the glass, he caught sight of you. 

This might be his only shot for a while to see you up close, to catch your reaction, to see if anything in you recognized him.

The moment of silence turned into the longest minute of his life. His knee started bouncing. Then his whole leg. He caught sight of the door, of you, passing by the nuses station and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to bolt out of it. 

Langdon, across the circle, shot him a glare. 

He didn't say anything until the moment ended, but he leaned in and intercepted Robby before he made a run for the door. "Bouncing around like you've got somewhere better to be kind of defeats the whole point. Keep it in check."

Robby’s first thought was the irony of Langdon being the one to chastise him. What came out was, "Sorry. Nerves," as he moved past him. Langdon looked at him the way you'd look at something faintly pathetic, which, to be fair, coming out of his mouth, it was.

He didn't catch McKay's smirk at Langdon. "Remind you of somebody?"

Robby hadn't gotten to you in time. He let out a frustrated sigh when he realized you had already left.

"Admin dropped this off for you," Dana said. "Now that I have you here-" She proceeded to rattle off a series of patient details that had been assigned on him. He followed, as she talked with her hands, and sprinkled in details she felt would help him when he presented to residents or attendings.

“Make sure you highlight your typical current vital signs and lab trends, yes, but some doctors, like Doctor Mohan, for example, like it when you add in a little insight into the patient’s emotional state. Take note of that. Others like McKay, you'll have picked up by now, are expecting an action list, so make sure you—”

Robby hadn't realized that he was smiling at her. He couldn't help it. Dana was the heart of this ED. That hadn't changed in the past thirty years. It all ran smoothly thanks to her. It was nice to see she was the one constant in this place. Robby changed for the worse, while she never did. 

Dana stopped mid-sentence. "Why are you smiling, Carter?"

"No reason," he said, still smiling.

"Get outta here. McKay's waiting for you." She looked at him with a glare, shaking her head.

He was assigned next to South 10 and walked in to find Langdon and McKay already there. Langdon didn't look thrilled watching him glove up.

McKay rattled off the patient's vitals and intake. Then she asked Robby what they should do.

"Him?""Me?"

Robby and Langdon's voice clashed.

"We have to respond quickly. Patient is crashing." McKay nodded, "Carter, what should we do?"

Robby swallowed. It wasn't that he didn't know the answer, it was that he couldn't expect any good to come from passing off instructions as an intern. Still, he began to speak, "We need reliable access now. He's going to need vasopressors if fluids don't turn him around. I'd place an intraosseous line so we can start treating him immediately."

"We'll go with that. Langdon, could you please?"

Langdon's jaw tightened. "Sure."

He grabbed the IO driver and knelt beside the bed while the nurses continued hanging fluids and respiratory adjusted the patient's oxygen. The cardiac monitor shrieked another alarm as the blood pressure drifted lower.

Robby watched from the foot of the bed.

Langdon lined up the needle over the proximal tibia.

"You need to change your angle," Robby said before he could stop himself.

Langdon didn't look up. "I've got it."

"Your elbow's too high. Bring it down about eighty degrees. You're pushing across instead of straight into the bone."

"I am."

The driver whined.

Nothing.

Langdon frowned and tried again.

Still nothing.

"Stop." McKay stepped in immediately, taking the driver from his hand. S

he repositioned, and made one clean attempt. The needle seated with a distinct give.

"Flush."

The saline went in smoothly.

"Good flow," Mateo Diaz confirmed.

Langdon peeled off his gloves with more force than necessary.

Robby couldn't let it go. He followed him out the room."I was trying to tell you—"

"Hey," Langdon rounded on him, “I know it feels like you graduated med school and you know everything now, but we did what you said and it didn't work. Now, back off and let the residents handle it."

"Hey!" McKay barked out, "Why don't you both catch a break and come back when you're ready to get along."

Langdon bumped his shoulder against his as he passed by. Robby headed for the ambulance bay to cool off.

And here he was thinking they might finally get to do some bonding. 

"Hey," a voice called. Robby’s gaze moved to find Dennis Whitaker, sitting on the curb, working through a granola bar.

"New guy, right? Dennis Whitaker. First-year resident."

"John Carter. First-year intern."

"First-year? Huh. You seem to know a lot for a first-year. Where're you from?"

Robby recalled his documents. "Chicago."

"Nice. Nebraska, myself." Whitaker took another bite. "How's the first day going?"

"Was good, up until about ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, I heard Langdon rip you a new one. Don't take it personal. He used to be Dr. Robby's golden boy, and now he's got a lot going on."

Robby had to play dumb. "Dr. Robby?"

"Our chief attending. He's on a three-month sabbatical, but you'll meet him when he's back."

Right on cue, Robby's stomach let out an embarrassing growl.

Whitaker laughed and pulled a second granola bar out of his pocket, holding it out. "Good for when you're on the go. Recommend you start stockpiling, you'll need it."

"Thanks."

"Sure thing. And if you need anything, let me know." Whitaker dusted off his scrubs and headed back inside. Robby watched as he did.

He really had no idea how long this was going to last. Or what exactly he was supposed to be doing here. 

But he figured the smart move was to lean into whatever part of his personality he'd gotten back by not being his usual self. 

When he was an intern, he would come across problematic residents and attendings all the time. It was a talent he lost throughout the years, but it never hurt to turn on the charm. With everyone. 

So he would give that a try. He figured it wouldn't hurt to practice with Dana first. 

He already knew, without thinking about it, that Dana took her coffee with two sugars and a splash of oat milk. Which was exactly what he placed in front of her after a quick stop by the hospital's lobby coffee shop. 

"Kissing ass already, Carter?" she said when he set the cup down in front of her. "Hate to break it to you, bud I'm not the one who makes decisions around here."

"Figured I'd thank you for showing me around this morning. And for your extra tips. They really helped. Now," he leaned in conspriatorily. “Any tips on how to get into Frank Langdon’s good graces?

The irony of him being the one to ask that didn't go unnoticed.

She just shook her head, and then in that moment, he heard a familiar voice speak behind him.

“Hey Dana," you sighed, "Have you heard from Robby?” 

You'd come down to the ED for one reason. You needed to know if Robby had actually left for his sabbatical yet, because it meant there was a chance that the bastard left for a three-month vacation in which you had no idea where he would be or with who, doing god knows what, and you much rathered he didn't do it while still being legally married to you. 

Robby turned too abruptly at the sound of your voice, he realized. It was the only explanation for having collided with him hard enough that your hand shot out on instinct to steady yourself against his chest.

“Oh! I'm so-” Your eyes found his. 

He watched the apology die on your lips, letting out a gasp in its place, eyes widening as you came face to face. 

"Oh my god." He wasn't sure you were in control of your actions, as both your hands flew up to his face. The face that had no business being this familiar. "Michael?" 

Your mind blanked completely at the sight before you, because it couldn't be. He was identical. The same lean, and softly angular countenance you knew from years ago. Strong jaw tempered by gentle features. Warm brown eyes that peered down on you with an attentive, thoughtful expression beneath straight, dark brows. Short, tousled chestnut hair. Narrow nose, and lips resting in the hint of an easy smile. They looked like the same lips that had pressed against yours countless times over the past years. Only they couldn't be. He hadn't looked like this in years. 

From behind the counter, Dana had her eyebrow raised at you over her glasses. She realized then, who it was John Carter reminded her of. It was the Robby she met when she started working at the PTMC, thirty years prior. 

In that moment, you weren't thinking. That was the only way to explain your hands cradling this stranger's jaw, like you had some claim to it. Your thumbs were at his cheekbones, searching a face that had no right to belong to a man this young and still look exactly, unmistakably, like the one you'd woken up next to for the past ten years.

He let you. God help him, he stood there frozen and let you because it had been a long time since your hands had been on him, and he missed you. 

"It's, um— John, actually. Carter." He barely got it out.

Your mouth fell even more, and you retreated your hands immediately, having come to the realization of what you had been doing. 

"Sweetie—no —" Robby recognized Noelle Hastings’ hand closed around your wrist, gently prying you away. "We can't do that. We do not touch the baby doctors. What has gotten into you, are you trying to get sent to HR?"

She pulled you back by degrees, and you let yourself be pulled, but you couldn't stop looking at him. "Doesn't he look so much like Michael?" you asked her, like it was the most reasonable question in the world.

"Michael, your ex-husband Michael?" Noelle shot him a second glance. "God, he wishes." She checked her watch, "Okay. I've got fifty minutes of lunch left, because you made me take a detour to follow up on your divorce, and your ex already left for his motocruise trip through God-knows-where. And now I'm starting to worry you might actually be losing it a little. C'mon, honey. I want sushi." She looped her arm through yours and towed you toward the exit before you could look back a second time.

You did anyway.

Robby stood there grinning after you like an idiot. His grin was big, dumb, and puppyish. It cost him nothing to produce, because for the second you'd had your hands on his face, it felt like he was still yours. Because God, he was. 

Maybe this second chance could mean a second chance with you.

Dana's voice cut in. "Nuh-uh. Don't even think about it, pretty boy."

He looked at her. "What'd I do?"

She just shook her head and walked away, leaving him there, still smiling, watching the doors you'd disappeared through.

──

Robby tried to steer clear of Langdon's service for the duration of the shift. Not out of intimidation, just a preference for fewer problems while he still had no idea how long he'd be at the Pitt as John Carter.

Trinity Santos was tasked with showing him their charting system. Robby caught it incredibly quick, which pleased her. He was completing the chart for the patient that passed away earlier, when Santos commented, "Heard we’re both on Langdon’s bad side. Don't worry, happened to me on my first day too." She shrugged. "You'll learn who's worth listening to and who isn't. Stick close to Huckleberry, though, he's one of the good ones."

He appreciated the insight.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. The one real close call came when Jack Abbot walked in for his shift. Robby got paired with him on a case. They moved well together, as they always had. It went great, right up until Robby called him "Jack" to his face, in front of everyone, on his first day.

The silence that followed lasted a second and a half. 

"Sorry, Dr. Abbot. Heard one of the other interns call you that earlier. Figured it was a... vibe." He coughed up the word he'd heard Victoria Javadi say a handful of times before. 

Jack gave him a long look. Then, mercifully, let it go with nothing but a raised eyebrow. "Go give Dr. McKay a hand."

By the end of the shift, Robby grabbed his bag and fell in with the pack of day shift heading out. He hesitated at the ambulance bay, long enough that Whitaker noticed.

He paused. “Where you headed?” 

“I—” Robby hadn’t really established this with Duke. Was he supposed to crash with him? Or did he have access to John Carter’s place? Or Robby’s own? Well, those keys were in Whitaker’s custody right now. 

At Robby’s hesitancy, Dennis asked,"You don't have anywhere to go?"

"Not exactly. My, uh— landlord mixed up my start date."

Whitaker chewed his lip, weighing something. Robby watched when the decision landed on his face. "Okay, look— I really shouldn't do this. But somebody helped me out when I really needed it, and I figure that's the kind of thing you're supposed to pay forward. I'm staying at Dr. Robby’s place right now. He gave me the key before he left, since he's on sabbatical. I’m between that place, my girlfriend's, and my own, because I like to check in with my roommate every once in a while. You can crash at Robby's until you get your spot."

Technically, Robby could stay at his own place.

For the sake of decency, Robby asked, "You sure that's okay?"

"Yeah, man. Just—" Whitaker held up a finger. "You gotta swear you're not a party animal. Pretty sure I'd get kicked out of the program if Dr. Robby ever found out."

"I swear," Robby said, feeling lucked out by the opportunity to stay in his own apartment.

Trailing your eyes along the generous swell of his stretch mark-laden belly—which you painted a slick trail along just a couple of hours ago with your fluttering cunt—you lick your lips at the sight and consider the prospect of sacrificing a few extra hours of sleep in exchange for another mind-bending orgasm.

Then again, Robby's been wanting to take things a bit slower the last few times you've been in bed together. A fact which is beginning to make you feel the least bit antsy for the favor of being fucked deep and hard into the mattress like he used to only a month ago.

Maybe it's too much on his back.

"And we agreed nothing long-term," he states.

Lifting your head, his brown eyes flit between yours.

"We did," you respond in agreement. Not that two months is really that to you, but you suppose everyone has their own metric by which they measure time by.

"Maybe tonight we, uh..." he sighs and scrubs a hand down his face; over the coarse brown and silver trimmings of his beard. "We quit while we're ahead."

You deflate. So much for another orgasm...

You're pretty sure you have fresh batteries in the junk drawer at home, though. A vibrator and Twitter porn will have to do just as well for tonight, you suppose.

"Alright!" you chirp with a gentle smile. "See you at work tomorrow, Robby."

Turning back to the door, you press the handle down with a swift click, leaving him standing alone at the threshold.

Watching as you toss your things into the passenger seat of your vehicle before climbing into the driver's side and peeling out of his driveway—some unfamiliar pop tune blaring from your radio as you rumble away—Robby finds himself at a loss for words.

When he pushes the front door closed, an unsatisfied feeling settles deep into his chest at just how well you took things. "Alright!"

That's it? That's all he gets?

No "Oh, are you sure?" Or "Did I do something wrong?" Not even a single tear shimmered in your fiery eyes in disappointment. Nope, just "Alright!"

Quietly grumbling to himself in discontentment, Robby pads back to the bedroom and slams the door shut before wrenching soiled sheets from the bed with a curse.

Where Robby would typically keep you close to his side like you're glued to it, he's instead kept you at arm's-length all day. Including when you were treating a case of anaphylactic shock together somewhere in the afternoon, during which he hardly glanced twice in your direction. It wasn't for a lack of wanting to, though—like a damn itch he needs to scratch—but Robby knows that if he does, it'll only lead to an open wound he won't have the first clue as to how to get closed again.

So as a distraction, he buries himself in work—as per his usual unhealthily avoidant coping mechanism—while the hours flit by and the sun begins to wane outside before finally dipping behind towering buildings, much like the hand of a clock, signaling that it's time to head home.

Your mouth waters at the scent of something meaty and delicious. "C'mon, Abbot," you whine. Hefting your backpack onto your shoulders, you turn to face him. "At least take it into the employee lounge so I'm not subjected to it."

Lips lined with silver stubble curve into a grin. "Maybe psychological torture was the point, kiddo."

Rolling your eyes sarcastically, you press your locker shut and study the logo on the side of the bag he's about to set inside his own. "Really? Applebee's? You know it's one of my favorites."

Swinging his head in your direction, he reaches into the oversized brown paper bag and produces a tempting container of Bavarian-style soft pretzels.

You take a step forward—your eyes now the size of saucers—and half think to reach greedily for it while chanting the mantra of gimme, gimme, gimme, but refrain.

Extending it toward you, Jack presses the to-go box to your chest. "Go on."

You keep your hands at your sides and swallow down pooling saliva. "No, I can't take your—"

"Got 'em for you," he explains. "Those," he grunts before diving deeper. "And this."

When a cheeseburger appears, you smile and squeal excitedly. "You're sure?"

He chuckles. "I am. Got myself a steak and a side of green beans. Figured you'd be starving by the time I got here."

Gently taking both containers, you clutch them to your chest with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Jack. You really didn't need to..." You throw a look over your shoulder—to your backpack which your wallet lies inside a zipped compartment of. "How much do I owe you?"

He blows a raspberry. "You know better than that. Just eat and enjoy."

Bounding onto your tiptoes, you press a quick kiss to his cheek before turning to head out. Sooner you get home, the sooner you can dig in.

Only once you're well out of sight does Robby round the corner of the wall he was previously hiding behind. "Dinner, huh?"

Closing his go bag securely away, Jack turns to Robby. "Just something quick and easy for her. It's only food, Mike."

Tucking his hands away into the soft pockets of his hoody, Robby shrugs. "No, it's fine. We're, uh..." he huffs a humorless laugh. "It's done. As of last night. Called things quits."

Jack raises a brow of surprise. Though, he can't really say he's shocked. He's been counting down the days, and this one came right on time.

He doesn't need to ask whose decision it was.

"She seemed okay to me. Didn't take it too hard, then?" he questions, folding his arms behind him—the paper bag knocking against his calves when he does so.

Robby nods with raised brows. "Yeah. No, she's been good today. Hasn't brought it up at all."

Somewhat to his chagrin...

Jack purses his lips and nods. "Good to hear."

And even better to know.

Slapping a hand over Robby's shoulder, Jack heads in the direction of the employee lounge so he can get to work on downing his own dinner before nightshift starts. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah," is Robby's simple one-word reply.

He frowns at the seemingly renewed pep in Abbot's step that's been missing since Robby took you into his bed.

He knew the vet was displeased when Robby made you his next person of interest—in terms of sexual partners—just two months ago, but he backed off and kept his distance out of respect, which the daytime attending appreciated. Now, however... It's dinner tonight and probably breakfast with a damn Tiffany necklace to accompany tomorrow.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, Robby considers venturing upstairs to see if Noelle is still around, but ultimately opts against it—refusing to acknowledge that it's because there's only one woman he wants coming home with him right now so he can get a straightforward physical release.

Whatever.

Time will do its thing like always, and he'll be onto the next one before long with you left far in the rearview.

Not that he's ever been much of a fan of the genre, but as Robby listens to the obnoxious sound of bombastic pop music drifting through your rolled-up car window, he grits his teeth.

Whatever happened to Heart, Pat Benatar, or Bonnie Tyler? Not this modern shit that sounds like a damn car accident. And first thing in the morning? Clearly no consideration for others and the prospect of giving them a damn splitting headache all before 7 o'clock. And of course you're singing along with a radiant smile.

Rolling his eyes toward the bruised purple sky, Robby groans a guttural growl of irritation before turning in the direction of the hospital on a booted heel.

"Morning, honey," Jack greets quietly, with a pleasant smile that causes his crow's feet to wrinkle charmingly around his eyes.

Gripping either end of your stethoscope, you turn to meet him. "Hey there."

When something crinkles behind him, your lips tilt into a smirk. "What might that be?"

He shrugs playfully. "Have no idea what you're talking about."

Leaning all your weight onto one foot, you attempt to glimpse whatever he's hiding by leaning heavily to the side, but your plans are foiled when he turns to shield it from your view.

"Oh, I definitely smell food again," you mumble before jumping in an attempt to round on him, but Jack's reflexes are faster when he presses his back to the lockers.

Throwing your head back in frustration, you moan and he chuckles in response. "You really want it?"

Dropping your chin, you bob your head. "Pleeease," you drawl while batting your lashes.

Jack removes one of his arms from behind his back and taps his cheek with an index finger, indicating the required payment. You sigh, but with a cheeky grin to accompany before you step forward and press a lingering kiss to weathered skin that smells sharply of minty aftershave.

A paper bag is then pressed to your belly which you don't waste a moment in tearing into.

"Breakfast burrito," Jack states as your hand wraps around the warm wrapper it's encased in.

Pulling it free, you get to work on peeling damp paper away from the provided meal. "Thank you," you say with quiet appreciation. "You really don't need to do things like this for me, though. I don't want you going out of your way, okay?"

He raises a shoulder. "I Doordashed something for myself a little bit ago. Thought why not, since I knew you were coming in."

Biting into scrambled egg and cheese, you chew thoughtfully for a moment. "This was sweet of you, Jack."

Reaching forward, he runs a calloused palm down your arm. "Don't mention it, kiddo." Clearing his throat, he slips his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. "So, I heard that you and Ro—"

"Bring anything for your best friend?"

Jack clenches his jaw when Robby starts down the hall the two of you did have all to yourselves only a moment ago. "No. Sorry, brother. Tomorrow?"

Robby slides his arms around your shoulders, then tugs you back against his chest as you stare at Jack with wide eyes of confusion. "Gimme a bite, baby," Robby mutters.

"I got it for her," Jack deadpans displeasingly.

Robby snorts. "It's alright. We've shared way more than saliva."

Were Jack not already leaned against something solid, he'd be stumbling back in shocked response to his friend's distasteful candor. He's garnered quite the reputation around the hospital over the years, but has always remained anything but forthcoming when it comes to discussions of his female companions, even with him. So this is an unexpected change in character, to say the least.

Holding the burrito up above your shoulder while keeping your eyes on Jack with a regretful look painted across their irises, Robby dips his head and takes a hearty bite before leaning back and chewing. "'S good," he grunts before swallowing. "Thank you, sweetheart," he finishes with a peck atop your head. "Once you finish up, come find me. I want your help on this first case."

You nod. "Okay."

Robby's palm lingers against your hip momentarily before he reluctantly steps away, leaving you and Jack in each other's sole company again.

Stepping forward, Abbot crosses his arms defensively. "Did the two of you—"

You fervently shake your head before he can even finish that question. "No. Night before last he ended things. You're as taken aback as I am."

A frown tugs at his lips. "I thought it was just..." he swipes the heel of his palm awkwardly across his cheek. "Sex."

"It was," you confirm with a nod. "Just... Physical, carnal release." Your cheeks heat. "We both understood at the beginning and all the way through that it would never be anything more. I was happy with that arrangement."

"So you don't think he's having second thoughts? That that wasn't plain as day jealousy just now?"

You take another bite of your burrito, wanting to finish it before it gets cold. "I think he can have boundary issues... At times."

Jack bites back a laugh. "Oh, you think?"

You keep the story of him attempting to go through your locked phone one night when you accidentally fell asleep—instead of going straight home after the two of you got done fucking like you usually did—to yourself. Lucky for him, you'd been far too groggy and out of it to chew him out properly like you otherwise would've, had you been wide awake when it happened.

Or the night maybe a week and a half ago when he got all whiney when you demanded he either run out and pick up a box of condoms or have them delivered to the front door, otherwise you were going home.

He really tried his hand at making you out to be the one who was overreacting while you sat on the edge of the bed, repeatedly telling him go get them, go get them, go get them before he finally threw his hands up in a fit of curse words and stomped out of the bedroom and into the bathroom where—big surprise!—he just so happened to find a spare one in the medicine cabinet.

Whatever. It's in the past. The time for friends with benefits is over and you're onto other things. Or... Will be, anyway, when you have the time to figure something out.

Tinder is a rather unappetizing idea, but something about beggars and choosing...

You sigh. "I gotta get to work. But thank you for the food again. I really do appreciate it, Jack."

Cupping the back of your head, he presses an affectionate kiss to the bridge of your nose, earning him a bubbly giggle in response. "You're welcome, honey."

One night I was bored in bed

And stalked you on the internet

Stirring a crumbled granola bar into a cup of creamy yogurt, you swing your hips from side-to-side before licking the tip of the spoon clean.

It's feminine intuition

Park is just headed for the elevators when an attractive feminine form catches his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning back around, he plants himself in the threshold of the ED's employee lounge with crossed arms while an amused smirk crawls across thin lips.

'Cause I always had a vision of us standing like this

All pressed up in the bathroom line

Swallowing a bite of your stirred snack, you turn to the sink where a roll of paper towels rest, then promptly stumble back with a hand planted over your pounding heart when you see that you're being watched by a pair of unfamiliar eyes.

Yanking your headphones down to your neck, you set your food on the countertop and exhale a ragged breath. "God, you scared me."

A plucked brow merely twitches in response.

"Were you just... Standing there watching me?"

Leaning a muscular shoulder against the doorframe, Park trails his eyes from your tennis shoes that're adorned with floral blooms sprouting from the stitching to your pretty young face. "You always spend your breaks putting on performances like that?"

You blink dumbly. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

He snorts derisively, followed by extending a hand. "Dr. Brendon Park. Orthopedic surgeon," he states with emphasis.

"Uh huh," is your less than enthusiastic reply. "Y/N. Fourth year resident."

His grip is firm—bordering nearly on squeezing—but the contact is over just as soon as it began after one definitive shake is granted. "Might have to spend more time down here if the answer's yes."

Male chauvinist asshole.

You retrieve your yogurt again. "Nice to meet you."

Taking a step forward, you eye the narrowly allotted gap between him and the other side of the doorway, which isn't nearly enough room for you to squeeze through. When he turns, you eagerly step past—the crown of your shoulder brushing against his chest when you do so—before heading in the direction of the ambulance bay so you can finish eating in peace.

Brendon watches you go with eyes trained squarely on your ass.

If this were a cartoon, steam would be blowing from Robby's ears, but you'd never know it from the calm disposition he portrays when he greets the younger doctor. "Park."

He nods to your retreating form. "She single?"

An intrusive image of Brendon's head being shoved through one of the trauma bay's glass walls flits through Robby's mind unwelcomely. "Not sure," he lies. "Think she might've just gotten out of something, but I couldn't tell you a lot about it."

"Was it serious, do you know?" he inquires casually.

Robby grinds his teeth. "You know how the grapevine works—like playing a game of telephone, so take it with a grain of salt—but, yeah, I guess feelings were exchanged."

Even if they were apparently one-sided.

He hums in interest. "Don't always mind a chase. Seems like she might be worth one." Turning, he grants Robby a nod. "Thanks."

The senior attending keeps his mouth firmly shut, watching as Brendon finishes his walk to the elevators while thinking to himself that he has no idea what the hell he's asking for. A chase. He told himself the same damn thing only a couple months ago and look at the position it's put him in.

Once Park is out of sight, Robby goes after you—absolutely fucking fuming when he does.

"What was that about?" barks Robby, now advancing in your direction.

You only somewhat acknowledge him from the brick half-wall you're seated atop—otherwise occupied with mindlessly scrolling through social media while finishing your snack. "Huh?"

Crossing his arms in a humph, he levels you with a glare. "You could do with looking at me when I'm speaking to you."

Locking your mobile device, you lift your head and smile sweetly. "Sorry, Rob. What was what about?"

Somehow, the oblivious expression painted across your glowing features only serves to further light a fire under his ass. "The exchange between you and Park," he spits.

You shrug. "I was mixing up my yogurt. He was watching me."

He glowers from beneath heavy brows. "Watching you shake your ass for the whole of the ED to see, seemed to me."

Your sunny disposition is quickly overcast by a cover of dark, heavy clouds ready to break into a fit of lightening strikes if he keeps pressing the issue. "I didn't ask for an audience," you snip. "I was simply enjoying my music while taking a quick break."

He shakes his head, causing the chain of his gold necklace to glint against the overhead sun. "Well, going forward here at work you could try practicing a little self-respect. It'd go a long way."

Swinging your legs over the edge of the wall, you dig your nails into solid concrete. "Sounds to me like this is beginning to border on some sort of victim-blaming nonsense."

Robby chuckles incredulously. "Victim?" He leans forward onto the balls of his feet. "I'm sorry. Victim of what, exactly?"

"You, apparently," you scoff. "And whatever this conversation is turning into. Which, from your tone and the look on your face, seems to be an argument."

His hackles raise. "Is this you trying to get back at me because I cut things off?"

You choke back a laugh. "Excuse me?" you stare up at him with an open-mouthed smile, sure he can't be serious.

He sneers at your apparent inability to take the matter fucking serious. "Jack, then Park. Seems to me like you're making the rounds."

"First of all," you snap, causing Robby to take a small step back—he never did care for when you got a temper with him; typically preferring to fuck it out of you until you were a contentedly babbling mess coming around his cock with a smile. "I didn't even know who Park was until like two minutes ago when he introduced himself. And I can tell you with the utmost certainty—from that brief interaction alone—that he couldn't be any further from my type. Not that it's any of your business." Standing, you shove your phone into your pocket. "Secondly, Jack and I have always flirted. It's not exactly a well-kept secret."

He raises a brow. Bending at the knees to meet you at eye-level, Robby squints suspiciously. "You don't think that's the least bit cruel? Leading on a widower like that?"

You tuck your hands into your pockets to keep from slapping the smug look off his face. "We did it before you and I, and are clearly continuing the tradition after. It makes the day go by faster and the workday the least bit more bearable."

Which he should know, given the parade of women he's gone through around here.

Standing at full height again, Robby snorts in disbelief. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that he's my best friend?" he questions doubtfully.

You inhale a deep, calming breath. "As I just said, it's something we've done for years, Robby. Years." You quirk your head curiously to the side. "Is there something you'd like to say to me? Or can I enjoy the rest of my yogurt in peace and quiet—the whole reason I came out here to begin with?"

Hands planted firmly on his hips, Robby chews the inside of his cheek until the the metallic taste of blood pools on his tongue. With a roll of his eyes, he turns and heads back inside without another word.

Plopping back down, you scream quietly in the back of your throat before retrieving your now lukewarm snack. Frowning down at a honeybee who's now crawling across a melted chocolate chip, you shoo the creature away before tossing the cup into the trashcan behind you.

Steering clear of Robby for the remainder of your shift, you silently pray that tomorrow will be a brighter day.

Had you known he would behave this way, you never would've carried on with him in the first place. The last thing you want is for the ED to grow into a toxic workplace. Not that it's from a lack of you trying to keep the peace by being a normal, well-adjusted adult who's returned to treating Robby the way you always have—including when the two of you were screwing—but the fact seems to only be setting him off instead of putting him at-ease, as was your intention: that your work relationship remains unchanged, that is.

Absolutely beat by the end of the day, you manage to dip out early—just missing Abbot by ten minutes when he pulls in and you're already on your way home.

It pleases Robby, however, that the pair of you fail to have a chance to talk again tonight.

He wants a resident that he can dote on? He has plenty of them on nightshift. Hell, he can take any from dayshift that he wants if it'll get him to back the hell off of you once more.

Given how tired Robby is this evening, it's for the best, lest he fly into a fit of rage again when he sees Abbot wink at or give you another to-go container.

Sure, it's only been a couple of days, but lack of the utter relief he found daily between your legs and in your mouth—as well as the loss of being able to curl himself around you afterward while talking your damn ear off as he vented endlessly about work as his head rested between your soft breasts and you played with his hair, or when you would straddle his back in just one of his t-shirts while kneading the knots from it—has put him on-edge.

His hand can do in a pinch, but... It isn't soft and warm like you, nor does it quietly whimper as he comes undone in its arms.

Robby thought he wanted—like he always does—to get himself out sooner rather than later, but for the first time, he's regretting it.

At least with Janey, he didn't have to see her every day after he broke things off and shattered not just her heart, but Jake's as well.

A fact he still feels guilty about.

And Noelle... Well, she works on another floor, so contact between them is rare and fleeting. Maybe a nod in the hall or a quick "How are you?" is all he has to concern himself with every once in a blue moon.

But you? Everything that initially drew him in is now getting under his skin like a damn parasitic infection that he can't seem to rid himself of no matter how many measures he takes to do so.

Your easy-going nature and bubbly personality he found sweet. Perfect facets for a short-term fling. Your libido was a hell of a lot higher than his, but it only served to make him feel all the more desired. Now, however, with the rose-tinted glasses halfway removed, he sees that he wasn't quite as special as he first thought. He clearly could've been anyone, as it now turns out.

You just wanted something warm and hard to fill your... Needs.

He operates the way he does—dealing strictly in casual relationships—because it puts him in control. Of the coming and going, the how and why of when it ends... But this instance has thrown him fully off-kilter.

Because you just don't seem to care. In fact, in the ambulance bay, you were coming off as if it bothered you that he did.

Damn brat.

He has half a mind to pile on the work so high you can't even see the top. But that would surely earn him a one-way ticket to HR. Something he begrudgingly acknowledges he'd deserve for such assholish behavior.

With a sigh, he gathers his things, vowing to get his head screwed on straight before he blows his life to pieces all over a piece of ass.

He cringes on his way out for thinking of you like that.

Filing in alongside the afternoon rush, Noelle makes an appearance at the ED's hub, looking for none other than her past flame. She's well-aware that it's none of her concern, but if what she overheard upstairs a handful of days ago was indeed untrue, she'd like to have as much confirmed by the source before she goes correcting other people's ignorantly made statements.

Spotting the man in question standing tall at a computer cart, she heads in Robby's direction with quietly clicking heels.

"Heard from a little birdy that you've been seeing a resident." Crossing slender arms clad in a perfectly pressed suit jacket, she tilts her head to the side, sending silky black hair cascading over a shoulder. "Robby, please tell me that isn't true."

Keeping his eyes on the monitor in front of him, he snickers while the back of his neck warms. They've not spoken in weeks and this is what she presents him with as conversation material? "Alright, it isn't true."

She shakes her head with a disapproving look. "Really? Robby, I thought you were smarter than that."

Assuming a casual stance with hands tucked away into his pockets, he glances past her to where you sit charting but a handful of feet away. "It's not a big deal." Robby looks at Noelle again and shrugs. "It's over now anyway."

"May I ask whom?" she inquires politely.

He can't stop himself from looking at you again. Finally, you lift your head and he doesn't miss a beat. Sliding a hand down Noelle's arm, Robby barks an overly dramatic laugh. "You may, but I don't find myself obliged to answer."

When you greet him with a toothy smile, accompanied by two thumbs up and nod toward Noelle—as if you're encouraging him to make a fucking move—he drops the hand back down to his side with a feeling of defeat swelling up in his chest.

He'd like to carve it out with a scalpel.

Slowly turning her head out of curiosity, Noelle studies you with drawn brows. "Well, I suppose you don't have to now. She's certainly young enough." Returning her attentions to the chief of the ED, she folds her arms coolly behind her. "Are you aware that it's over?"

Now crossing his arms, Robby rocks back on his heels. "I'm sorry?"

Noelle grants him a knowing look. "You can hardly keep your eyes off of her."

Sarcastically rolling them, Robby locks the computer before heading to a patient room that lies behind where you presently sit. "S'cuse me."

Sighing to herself, Noelle debates momentarily before following behind. Stopping in front of the desk you occupy, she slides her forearms atop it and offers you her hand. "I don't think we've had the pleasure. Noelle Hastings."

Your mind whirring into a state of overdrive, you begin thinking of a way to be a good wingman for Robby, but after his actions from yesterday, you find him the least bit undeserving of such kind efforts. Wrapping your hand around hers, you give Noelle a firm shake. "Y/N," you quip with a happy smile.

Folding her manicured hands together, she leans forward. "I hope this doesn't come off as inappropriate... But out of a sense of morbid curiosity, I was wondering if you'd be opposed to sharing notes?"

"Notes?" you ask ignorantly.

"Well..." Noelle's lips tilt into a nearly imperceptible grin, like she's considering whether to go on with finishing her sentence. "Like his apparent inability to sleep without the TV on," she elaborates with a playfully scrunched nose. "Not that I experienced it but maybe twice since he's always so eager to usher you out the door once you're properly dressed. Heaven forbid he partake in a bit of pillow-talk," she says with a chuckle.

Eyes flitting to the room behind you, Noelle continues. "Sleeping with it on in the background was impossible for me." Her attentions return to you then. "He ever tell you why he does it? I mean, I have my theories, but..."

You slide now sweaty palms over the thighs of your scrub pants. Affable as you may be, gossip tends to make your stomach twist uncomfortably when it's presented. You don't enjoy lying, but she'll be none the wiser as to whether you're returning her honesty with the truth.

"I can't attest to it since I never stayed the night. Never could sleep in a bed that wasn't my own," you commentate with a laugh. "Vacations as a kid were a nightmare since hotels scared me."

The reality of it is, is that apart from the night with the phone incident, any other time you slept over was at Robby's behest. He'd stare up at you with these wide, pleading eyes while quietly whispering "please stay" as he clutched tenderly at your hand. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, you almost always agreed, despite it being against your mutually agreed to set of rules.

Once you were lain back in bed with the covers thrown over you, he'd scoop you into his arms and pull himself against the length of your body before burying his face between your breasts and closing his eyes.

Didn't take long after that for him to fall asleep.

She hums pensively. "Certainly is one for privacy, though, right? Couldn't believe how defensive he got the night I went looking in his medicine cabinet for a single bandage."

Is she positive you're both discussing the same man? From nearly week one Robby assured you that nothing was off-limits in his house. Hell, he actually encouraged you to make yourself at home during the handful of times you stopped by on the weekend for a quickie in-between running errands.

Never did take him up on such an offer, though. His space was his and yours was yours. Not that he ever came over.

Speaking of the medicine cabinet specifically, there had been an evening maybe three weeks ago when he told you to look in it while he was busy relieving himself in the toilet beside where you stood at the sink. When you popped it open, you weren't really sure what you were supposed to be looking for, until he nodded at a still packaged toothbrush. "Just incase," he'd remarked with a wink. "Figured you could put it next to mine in the cup there on the counter."

It didn't see much use in the end, though.

You don't know it, but Robby still hasn't tossed it.

Awkwardly clearing your throat, you swivel your mouse and the computer screen bleeds back to life. "I don't mean any offense, Noelle, because it's been nice talking to and meeting someone new, but I don't like to, um... Kiss and tell, for lack of a better term."

If Robby doesn't have as much respect for you, that's on him. You know your character.

"Oh." She leans back. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

You wave your hands in a panic. "Oh, no, you didn't! I guess like anyone, Robby's a complicated man. I can agree on that account, at least."

She smiles. "That he is. Well," she says, now turning on her heel. "I'll let you get back to work then."

He was hurt initially when Noelle started in on disclosing his private behavior—worried it would lessen your opinion of him from wherever it currently stands at—but when you lied in order to shield him and the affection he tried to shower you with... It warmed his heart.

Robby had thought more of her than that. That she was more mature; seasoned when it came to concealing the details of an ex's private life like any middle-aged individual.

He was wrong.

Peeking at you from behind a patterned curtain, Robby's lips tug into a faint smile, appreciative of your discretion. And he hopes...protectiveness over what you had.

Admiring the swell of your backside and the outline of a pair of floral panties from where you're bent over trying to retrieve the Sharpie you dropped, Jesse stretches a rubber band between both of his index fingers before firing.

"Ow!" Clapping a hand over your ass cheek, you about-face and scowl at your offender. "You're such a pain in my ass, Jesse."

He grins. "Literally this time."

Were his glasses not resting on the bridge of his nose, Robby wouldn't have believed his eyes just now. So now it's not just one, or two, but three men that're vying for your fucking attention? Who's next, then? Shen? Mateo? Might as well just form a damn line at this point!

Crumpling a sheet of paper into a ball, you toss it at his head, but sorely miss when he rounds the end of the nurse's station with his head thrown back in a mocking laugh. You're just considering rifling through his desk drawer to steal a snack or a hard to obtain stationary item when your eyes meet with Robby's steely gaze.

With his lips drawn into a taught line and his nostrils flared, you shrink into yourself, like a child ashamed that she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He shakes his head in disapproval before returning to the tablet propped up against his bent knee.

Throwing yourself down into a cushioned rolling chair, you switch on a computer to finish up your end of the day charting—far too aware of his nearby presence. Such a party-pooper.

Hopping onto your bed, you position the head of your plastic hairbrush above your mouth and belt the lyrics You're looking like an angel on the walls of Versailles as Olivia Rodrigo blares from the bluetooth speaker in the living room.

The most alive I've ever been, you cry while swinging your hips from one side to other, but kiss me and I might drop dead!

Falling onto the mattress, you bounce, then hang your head off the foot of it while kicking your legs excitedly in the air. Pisces and a Gemini, but I think we might go really nice together!

Robby can't sleep. No matter how much he tosses and turns, nor how many times he fluffs the pillow he's holding close to his chest which still smells of you—he'll do laundry this weekend, dammit; he has too much on his plate already to be worried about fucking sheets—rest refuses to find him.

Rolling onto his back, Robby stares up at a dark, lofty ceiling while stewing in anger aimed at none other than himself.

He wants to blame you—has tried to the last few days—but the fault lies solely with him as to his predicament of perpetual bachelorhood. Can he really blame any of the others for being so taken with you? He has been since you were but a doe-eyed med student, so he obviously understands the crushes they're all harboring, even if he wishes otherwise.

Maybe he's kidding himself by thinking the two of you ever had a chance at anything more, had he not broken things off.

When he presented you with the idea of quick, easy sex, you leapt at the opportunity, and it almost unsettled him how easily you went along with the typical set of rules he always keeps in place, so as to retain a healthy amount of metaphorical distance between himself and whoever his chosen sexual partner for the next month or two is.

Perhaps part of him had been secretly hoping you'd object—would complain about how you wanted to snuggle on the couch, hold hands while walking into work, and go on cute little dates to local diners. Instead, it seems he had finally met his match in the detachment department.

You were actually worse than him about it.

Robby wondered at one time if that was what made him pine for your attention before long: because you were trying to play hard to get, which only spurred him on all the more. But no, it's just your personality, apparently.

Makes for good doctoring, at least.

You're not entirely mercurial and free-flowing, though. Anytime he asked you to stay... You would. That was what made him fall, he thinks: the nights he spent curled around you, safe in your arms while he rested peacefully against your breast.

Before you, every night was an hour long battle—if not longer—in terms of getting to sleep. But with you? The sound of your softly thumping heart always sent him dozing off after only a matter of minutes.

He slept like a damn baby where you were concerned.

And there was the way you'd play with his hair when his head would be resting in your lap after a long day as he read aloud to you, or the stupid trivia gameshows the two of you would watch in bed, debating the answers to ridiculous questions before a buzzer proved you both wrong.

Being in your company was just...easy. It didn't give him anxiety about the future or instill him with fear of the unknown. For once, he was finally able to live in the moment.

And no, he didn't require the TV to be on while he slept next to you because being wrapped in your arms equaled a quiet head. You're quite the contradiction yourself, speaking of. A free spirit with a nurturing side.

Sighing, Robby yanks his phone off the nightstand and dials.

He lets it ring damn near a dozen times before finally ending the call—his head now swimming with visions of Park pounding away inside of you, or Jesse fondling your ass while your own intimate escapades become long forgotten as he's replaced with another younger model.

Blinking wet lashes, Robby sets his jaw and sniffles quietly. He supposes this is what he deserves: a taste of his own medicine for once.

Was only a matter of time before karma came knocking.

With the shower now heating up in the bathroom, you plunk down in the middle of your bed and begin scrolling through unread notifications. When you see a missed called from Robby, your heart lurches.

Uh oh, is something happening at the hospital? He didn't leave a message, so hopefully not.

Best call him back, though, to make sure.

"Hey!" you beam when he promptly answers "Sorry I missed your call earlier, I didn't hear it. What's up?"

Your shirt is eschewed and hanging off of one shoulder, your skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and your chest is rapidly rising and falling in a clear effort to catch your breath.

Not to mention the mess of bedding found just behind you.

Is that a damn shower he hears running in the background?

Robby's ears perk up at the sound of a man's voice coming from a room away which immediately sets his blood to fucking boiling.

Turning to the side with an arched brow, your face screws into an expression of confusion.

What? Your little one-night stand already crying for you from the other room?

"Nothing," Robby hisses while you're still turned away. "It was an accident."

Staring at your mussed reflection on a now dark screen, you sigh then toss the device aside before pushing off the bed and padding into the bathroom to change whatever God-awful dad rock has come onto Spotify.

Whatever was the cause for Robby's attitude isn't your problem right now. Or ever, really. Your apartment is finally nice and clean, as are you about to be before long, and there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge.

For once, everything feels peaceful again.

Removing your sweat-stained t-shirt, you toss it into the laundry hamper before stepping beneath a cascade of steaming water.

"Good morning," you say warmly while greeting Robby with a sunny disposition.

He only hums in response, choosing to keep his eyes trained on the inside of his locker rather than bidding you the same pleasantry.

Wrapping your stethoscope around your neck, you pluck a ballpoint pen from the middle shelf and tuck it into your pocket.

"Looked like you got quite the workout last night," Robby grumbles quietly.

Clicking your locker shut, you chuckle. "Oh, yeah, the best cardio," you reply sardonically—deciding not to mention how you started squealing when a sticky cobweb got stuck to your face. "I'm gonna go check the board. Let me know if you need any help today!"

Watching as you walk away, it's all Robby can do not to flip the bird at the back of your head. How can you be so cocky about it? It isn't normal for someone to be this happy all the time.

Are you on something?

He never got that impression before, but supposes it makes sense.

Perhaps he should take a peek in your chart. Finding out that Langdon was hooked on benzos was bad enough. To discover that you had to get high in order to lie beneath him... He doesn't know whether he could tolerate the knowledge.

Not even lunch from a nearby sandwich shop managed to improve Robby's mood. He can't keep on with this headspace. It's not fair to you, the staff of the ED, or any patients who he could potentially end up taking his frustrations out on when someone inevitably refuses to listen to sage medical advice.

A glass door slides shut behind Robby, casting the exam room you're wrapping things up in in silence. "Can I at least ask who?" he asks gently, not wanting to intrude if he's not welcome to.

He understands that he isn't entitled to anything here, including answers if you choose not to give them. Your affairs are your affairs and they have nothing to do with him.

It's not right him acting otherwise.

It'll only lead to you feeling uneasy around him and that's the last thing he would ever want.

Your education comes first.

Glancing to him, you cup your hand beneath a sanitizer dispenser. "Who what?"

He studies you from beneath long lashes. "Last night. Who you were with when you called me back."

Uh... Why does he think there was someone in your apartment with you?

Wait.

Did he see something on camera? A chill crawls up your back. "I was alone. Why do you think otherwise?" you ask hesitantly.

His brows furrow. "I heard the shower. And another man's voice. C'mon, sweetheart, I might be old, but I'm not stupid. Not to mention the—the state you were in."

Rubbing the sanitizer into both your palms and along the backs of your hands, you take a step forward. "I was warming it up. I'd just gotten done cleaning my apartment right before you called. Well... I cleaned my apartment, then sort of ran around singing pop music and putting on my own personal concert with a hairbrush," you admit sheepishly. "As for the voice, it was some awful rock station Spotify picked out. God knows why."

He takes it back. He's both old and stupid.

"You were alone."

"Just me and Olivia Rodrigo," you confirm with a nod.

He raises a brow, to which you bat a hand in response. "Singer."

"Ah," Robby replies with a nod.

Submerging your hands in your shirt pockets, you cock your head to the side. "Why do you ask?"

Moment of truth.

Robby sighs. "I was jealous. I have been this whole week and I've been making you pay for it." He presses his lips into a thin smile. "I'm sorry."

You give him a once-over with a scrutinizing gaze. "So, are things going to return to normal now?" You lean your hip against the exam table. "Or are you going to pout when Abbot gives me a piece of gum?"

Robby considers for a moment while watching the hustle and bustle of the ED on the other side of the door. "Maybe I made a mistake."

Your brows knit closely together. "What do you mean?"

Studying the laces of his boots, he shrugs with a dismissive shake of his head. "Calling it off. Letting you go. Not asking for more." He lifts his chin. "All the above."

"Are you saying you want to continue hooking up?" You question with a cocked head.

You don't know how keen you are on that idea with how tiresome he's been the last handful of days—it'd be akin to rewarding bad behavior without an ounce of consequences being paid for it—but a warm body is admittedly a considerable improvement over a silicone toy.

Running a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, Robby digs his fingertips into freckled skin. "No. I mean..." he sucks his teeth. "I'd want sexual intimacy, yes, but more than that. I want us to be together."

The last sentence was spoken so quickly and quietly that it was barely an octave above a whisper. Nevertheless, you heard him.

"Like a relationship?" you inquire with crossed arms.

He nods.

You've had him in bed—inside of you—but not even then did he looks so soft and small and vulnerable. Almost boyish with the way he's rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. It's kind of cute, really.

So shy.

Coming to stand in front of him, you pull one of his hands toward you and wrap each of your own around it. "Okay."

Robby's head lifts so swiftly that something pops in the back of his neck. "Okay?" he repeats with a lilted tone of surprise.

"I have one rule, though. Or...an understanding, anyway, that needs to be agreed upon."

Cupping the side of your neck with a warm, heavy palm, Robby brushes his thumb along the underside of your jaw. "I'm all ears, sweetheart."

"You get one shot at this," you state point-blank. "And I don't mean we're not allowed to argue or have disagreements or lose our tempers on occasion. That's bound to happen; it's a normal part of any relationship. What I do mean is that if your commitment issues manifest a few weeks or months from now and you start thinking about running, that's it. I won't allow you to treat my life like a revolving door."

As if plenty of others aren't trying to pass through it, he muses. Sliding his palm down to the crown of your shoulder, he gives it a gentle squeeze. "So just like that you're mine?"

You nod and your stethoscope nearly slips off of you with the motion. "Yes."

His lips tug into a displeased frown. "So... I ask you to start sleeping with me and you do. I call it quits and you couldn't seem to care less. I come back groveling, and you hardly bat an eye before telling me okay to being together. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it's hard to take this seriously when you seem to just go along with wherever the wind blows you."

You can feel the vein in the middle of your forehead swelling up to size. "Did you expect me to get down on my hands and knees while begging you not to leave me? You said it was over and that was that. I'm not pleading with someone to stick around who has no interest in it. I think more of myself than that."

Not to mention that he's way too old to be playing these sorts of head games...

He'll never admit it, but the pride you seem to have in yourself he finds the least bit threatening to his ego. But it's also a turn-on, if he's being completely honest with himself. "Just hard to feel like an exception when it's coming off like I could be anybody. Abbot, Park, Jesse. What makes me different?"

From the way he runs the ED with an iron fist, you'd never think him so insecure.

It makes you wanna pinch his cheeks. Or slap one.

"Like I said about Park, I don't like him. Period. As for Jesse... Yes, we've joked around every now and again, but I honestly think of him more as a brother. Whether he shares that sentiment is his own business."

"And Jack?" Robby presses.

Removing his hand from where it's slid down your arm, you splay his fingers apart and lightly squeeze his fourth one. "He still wears his ring." Lifting your head, you gaze into Robby's eyes. "They didn't... Fall out of love or go through a nasty divorce. She died while he was still in love with her," you explain with the utmost care. "I can't ever hope to compete with that. His ring would serve as a constant reminder of what I have to try and live up to: impossible standards I could never even attempt to meet."

He nearly asks you what if Abbot stopped wearing it, but supposes it's a moot point. For right now, he does. End of story.

Craning his head down to meet you halfway, you tilt your own back and smile when his lips brushes against yours. "My girl," Robby murmurs before closing the breathy gap between you with a kiss.

"You like that?" you ask breathlessly. Lifting your hips, you slide down the considerable length of him and he utters a quiet curse.

Slapping a hand against your ass cheek, Robby watches with appreciation as the plump skin ripples like water before digging his fingers into the meat of your hips again. "Told you it feels better without a condom."

You roll your eyes, but with him seated behind you, he's unable to see it. "Don't really feel much of a difference myself, but—"

"Fuck, feels so much better on my end," Robby moans.

Straightening, you begin bouncing on it with a repeated wet plap, plap, plap while toying with your pebbled nipples.

"Turn around, sweetheart," he mutters; his hands sliding up your stomach and brushing along the underside of your soft breasts. "So I can look at you."

Lifting off his hard cock, Robby fists himself in his hand as you spin around. Guiding his swollen, leaking tip back between your slick, fluttering walls, he moans pleasurably when your cunt swallows his girthy length again until the shaft disappears entirely.

You love the way he stretches you open so deliciously.

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you cup the back of his head in your other palm before pulling his face between your sweaty breasts. "C'mere, baby," you coo affectionately.

His dick stirs and you snicker softly. Leaning his head back, you flick the tip of your tongue across his lips. "You gonna come inside me? Huh?"

Robby blinks wide eyes of pleasant surprise. "You'll let me?"

You grin. "I want you to," you reply with a faux pout. "I'm not getting off it until you do." Crushing your lips to his, your tongues tangle together in a battle for dominance.

Rapidly rocking your hips until a familiar bang, bang, bang of the headboard can be heard, you break away, then reposition your lips next to his ear. "You're such a good boy."

He shudders, so you drag the lobe of his ear gently between your teeth. "Come for me, baby. Come for mama."

Slapping a hand over your ass and squeezing hard enough to leave a bruised print, Robby bends his knees before hammering away between your pulsating walls. "O-oh fuck," he stammers. "I'm s-so fuckin'—"

"That's it," you sigh encouragingly. "Y-you're almost there. A little more."

Biting down on your shoulder, he chokes back a muffled growl. His whole body seizes while his cock twitches and spurts inside of you in-between long, deep, filling thrusts.

"Good boy," you gasp happily. "Oh my God, that's such a good boy."

Pressing your lips to the crown of his head, you ride out your high—flexing your walls around his emptying cock as your own orgasm ascends to its pique, leaving you a mess of babbling, praiseful words as you cling to Robby, tracing your tongue along his naked, salty skin while you do.

Gazing up at Robby from where your chin is resting against the back of a hand you've planted atop his hairy chest, you smile when he does.

He's been doing so for the last almost half an hour while tracing lazy circles along your naked hip. "That good, huh?" you ask with a laugh.

He rolls his head from side to side. "Just happy," he rumbles.

You press a damp kiss to his stubbled cheek before toying with his necklace. "Can I ask you something?"

He smirk morphs into a contended grin. "Anything."

"Not to bring another person into bed with us, but... Noelle and I spoke the other day. I don't know if you were aware."

Bending an arm behind his head, he nods. "I was. Heard most of it."

Eavesdropper...

"Why were you so different with her? Or... With me?"

It's been eating at you, truthfully.

He chews his lip for a moment in thought. "It's not that she did or didn't do something. I mean, I had nothing against her being around. She just... She didn't make me laugh. I felt like when I was with her—and maybe this was just me—that I couldn't step out of my role as chief, even when I was here in my own home. I struggled to let my guard down or relax. There was this need to be in serious "adult mode" 24/7." He tilts his head to the side. "There wasn't any vulnerability."

You lift a brow. "Thought you preferred that?"

He sighs and readjusts the pillow tucked against the crook of his neck. "Thought I did too. 'Til you came along."

You curl your fingers into the coarse hair smattered across his chest. "Is it because you think more highly of her than me? So you felt a need to impress by being—as you say—serious? That because I'm younger, I'm just the fun squeeze toy to keep around?"

Finally he finds a crack in your perfect sunshine façade. He rocks his head from side to side. "No. Was just a difference in personality. We all have various faces we wear. With different people, during different occasions... With her, I was Michael Robinavitch, chief attending of PTMC's ED. With you, I can just be me."

Not that he's wholly sure who that is most days now, but he hopes at your side, he can finally start to figure it out.

Cupping his cheek, you press a kiss to his lips. "I know exactly who you are."

A curious brow curves upwards.

"Sweet boy," you simper.

He huffs a laugh.

Turning onto his side, Robby pulls you flush against his weighty belly. "I'll be whatever you want me to be, sweetheart."

Biting the top of your head when he passes you by in the hall. Or when you force him to take a picture in the mirror, his go-to pose to 'ruin' the picture is biting your head.

and when he creeps up behind you to whisper in your ear, he bites the shell and the edge of his teeth drag along the skin for a split second. it gives you goosebumps in a good way.

when you're deep into making out, he bites and pulls at your lip no matter how much you whine at him to stop. you opened your lips already what more could he possibly need???

"can't help it baby, you just feel so nice between my teeth." he murmurs before taking another nibble at your puffy lip.

he drags his teeth along your bare skin. kissing and biting that makes you squeal and mewl underneath him. you have to pray he decides to mark you from the chest down. the last time he was too overindulgent on your neck, poor dennis actually feared you were attacked by a vampire. bruised marks and a faint outline of teeth decorating the meat on your neck.

"you look so good today. need to sink my teeth into you tonight." he says in passing. rendering you speechless in broad daylight of the ER.

and boy does he sink his teeth into you alright. ripping your scrubs away from your body and forcing you on to the bed. biting at the plush skin of your waist and belly as he travels down south. making harsher bites on your thighs. moaning at the feeling of your skin squishing in his mouth.

back arched in the mattress as he forces your hips still with his hands. he has been between your thighs for 30 minutes already. sucking and lapping at your drooling pussy. eating you out with an inhuman like hunger. he moans into your cunt and it vibrates against your clit, making you moan is name.

he's so hungry for you. he can't help it when he 'accidentally' bites your clit. you yelp and tug at his hair, whining for him to stop. but robby doesn't listen to you.

a small nibble at your clit. biting on puffy lips of your pussy and pulling enough to shoot electricity through your core. it makes it all the better when you come undone all over his face. like a sweet treat after his meal.

“I'm looking at hotels to stay in till they figure it all out,” you said.

“Your insurance going to cover that?” he asked.

You peered at him through the sleep you didn't get. “You're funny this morning, Ken, you know that?”

“Well I got an early start.”

“Hey-”

At the call of Robby's voice, you straightened like you'd been caught doing something you shouldn't.

Frank laughed into his coffee mug.

It was embarrassing, really. How quick your body reacted to Robby and his call quicker than your mind could catch up. All he had to do was appear, say your name or catch your eye and you straightened, falling to his side and doing whatever he said. Somewhere along the way of working with him, he'd trained you.

“You're late,” he said, a small tug in the space between his brows. “Not like you, is everything okay?” Robby slipped in and Frank slipped out, pulling a face behind Robby, puckering lips directed at you.

“Sorry, sorry. My car's in the garage and the uber cancelled and I didn't really sleep much last night, it- it won't happen again.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Interesting night?”

You chuckled to yourself. “You could say that.”

Robby squinted at you before his eyes caught onto the pile of your stuff that wasn't there the last time he came in for a coffee. “Moving in?” he asked.

You laughed, a little more genuine then you had at Frank. “My apartment's flooded, they're just here till I can get a hotel.”

There was something heavy in the rise of his brows, in the way his expression morphed and his eyes widened only a little.

You tried to ignore it, because it almost looked like genuine concern. Not just for his resident that everyone claimed he had a soft spot for, but for the person behind the medical training. “They'll be moved by the end of the day.”

“You get any sleep last night?” he asked.

“Do I look that bad?” you asked with a pitiful huff.

“No,” Robby said at once. “Did you?”

“Couple hours. Those that were lucky enough not to wake up on the Titanic had a few sofas available.” You'd slept on Mrs Issac's sofa for three hours before you woke to her cat curled on your chest and your phone alarm blaring. It had felt as if your head had only just touched down, your dreams had only just started to form in mindless and faceless shapes before you were being brought back out of it.

Robby looked around at the staff room that was empty besides the two of you, peeking out the jutted open door. “We're pretty slow out there. South nineteen's empty.”

You nodded. “I'll look who's in chairs, get someone in-”

“Get some rest,” he said.

At some point Robby had come close to you, leaning his arm on the counter to support his weight. The tattoo hidden behind his watch peeking out at you. He stared down, studying you.

“I'm-I'm fine,” you said, un-sure what to do under his care.

Robby shook his head, lips tugged up slightly. “Fine isn't good enough for my best resident.”

Best resident. Somewhere along the way of working with him that title had been given to you; knelt on the ground, a sword going from shoulder to shoulder and there you had your title. Whenever he could, Robby slipped it into conversation with you, saying it more than your actual name.

“Thirty minutes,” he said.

Arguing with Robby was like arguing with a brick wall.

You sighed, imagining the scratchy blankets and hard bed but your body slumping at the idea of rest. “Thirty minutes. And get me if there's a trauma.”

“Which one of us is attending?” he asked, amused at the fight you tried to pull.

“You don't have best in front of your title though, do you?”

“I don't know, you tell me?”

“Hmm, only on Tuesday's.”

“Oh, Tuesday's are special days, huh?”

Tuesdays were special days because every Tuesday the two of you worked together. You don't know how you realised it, and maybe Robby didn't even know but every single Tuesday since you'd began the two of you had always been on shift together. Days off, weekends missed, long weekends and holidays but every Tuesday without a doubt, you and Robby were there.

Robby led you out, a phantom touch of his hand ballad up in the back of your scrub shirt before it was gone again.

“You'll wake me up?” you asked again.

He nodded his head once more. “I will wake you up.”

“And if somebody needs the bed?”

“I will personally throw you over my shoulder and put you somewhere else.”

You were suddenly glad your back was to him, so he couldn't see the blush on your cheeks at the very idea of being thrown over his shoulder. In your delirious state you picture the situation you'd have to be in to be thrown over his shoulder, the behaviour it would take to have him moving you around, hauling you about-

Thirty minutes of rest you could do.

“Hope you know what you're doing.”

Robby flinched at the accent and heavy smell of nicotine mixed with mint. He didn't even satisfy Dana by glancing back at her. “What?”

She chuckled. “Nothing. I guess.”

He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, checking the hotels around the area. There seemed to be three types: expensive, high-end and pristine. Dirty, still not that cheap or booked up. How long would you need the room for? Was your landlord or anyone going to help you out for it? He didn't know your situation exactly but he knew what it was like to be a third year resident and stuck with bills.

Dana leant on the counter next to him, smirking.

“I'm just trying to help,” he excused.

“Yeah, sure.”

He peered at her over the black rim of his glasses. “Something else to say, Evans?”

Her head titled. “Don't you have a spare room at yours?”

Yes, he did. It was plain walled and not at all decorated besides a map of Pittsburgh train lines framed and not hung up. Some old Christmas gift from Jack that he couldn't get rid of in fear of offending him. The bed was comfy because it very rarely got slept on, aside from Jack or Jake on occasion. Truth was Robby couldn't remember the last time he had a guest over.

“Cheaper than a hotel,” she added. “Unless your up-tight.”

Suddenly he was thinking about it. You, in his place. You'd been around maybe once before, he re-called, un-able to re-count the circumstances that had you around.

“You'd be doing the girl I favour, I bet,” she continued.

Robby looked at the screen then back to her. “Has she... said something?”

“Not to me, but hey, she's been asleep the last hour. What do I know?”

Robby looked back down to the time at the computer, the numbers flickering by. He knew it had been longer than his half-an-hour. Really, he had no interest in waking you from your sleep unless he really, really had to. And if he had time to sit and scroll through hotels, you had time to sleep.

He let out a breath. “Apparently everything.”

She laughed. “Hey, you said it, not me. But if you can't put her up think I heard Santos offering up a sofa.”

Robby looked around the space, trying to find Santos or Whitaker to confirm. He didn't see either of them.

It was decided in his head then that he'd have to ask you to take up his guest room. He'd act it was all under the pretence of making sure you were well-rested, had a decent bed and your own space to sleep in, assuring you could get the rest and come in bright eyed and bushy tailed. Deep down he'd know, just to himself, it was because there was a seething bite of envy at the idea of Santos having you waking in her apartment, going home with you at the end of the day.

He dragged his hands down his face as Princess called out his name, demanding his attention.

What was a couple days, anyway.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

You looked up from your tablet, handing it over to Jesse as you stepped away from exam room six.

Robby stepped in Jesse's place, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders lifted high.

“Two hours,” you said. “I was asleep for two hours.”

“Sweet dreams?” he asked.

Yes. There had been dreams and rest. The blanket hadn't felt so scratchy and as tired as you were the noises of the Pitt were muffled in your mind. By the time you woke up your body felt lighter, you could practically feel the bags under your eyes retreat. Then you stepped out and there were new sets of patients, a different lighting in the place and the hour hand had moved all away around the clock.

“I dreamt there was a long que of patients waiting for the room,” you said. “A line like at Disney, except without the pay off.”

“They fast tracked to another,” he excused. “Can I talk to you now?”

He seemed restless, fists balling up in his fleece pockets and glasses tucked away in the front. His hair was tussled slightly, as if he'd already done a full day of work while you'd slept.

You waited for him to go on, watching his mouth open and close before he shook his head at himself, a light chuckle leaving him.

“I did some research,” he said, dragging out his words, in the way he did when he was nervous. You'd seen it when he was trying to let down every one of his flings, scared it was gonna end up loud in the middle of his ER. “Hotels in the area are expensive, I have a spare room, got a bed, it's big, my place is spacious and I'm hardly ever there. No garden but there's a balcony-”

Robby listed aspects of his apartment like he was putting it up for sale.

It took some time for you to realise what he was saying. A spare room, yours, he was offering. You caught the fact he'd looked up hotel rooms and suddenly you were imagining him, phone pulled out with the glow reflecting on his readers. Was he frowning at the prices? Was he rubbing at his beard in frustration, thinking which you'd prefer.

Was he hoping to find you a room so he didn't feel obliged to give up his own?

“That's- that's very kind of you, Robby,” you said softly, letting yourself down gently. “I- I can't do that.”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“Take your room.”

“It's not my room, it's a spare.”

You blushed, thinking that he thought you were thinking about staying in his room. “No! No, I-I get that, I just- I can't put you out like that.”

Robby rocked forward on his heels. “You wouldn't. Really.”

“I'm sure I could find somewhere cheap-”

“- you can't-”

“- or I can check around with friends-”

“- Santos only has a sofa,” he said, raising his brows.

“I-I have other friends.”

Robby pressed his lips into a thin line. “Like me?”

He was insistent. Had someone put him up to it? Had he seen how tired you were and felt bad?

Every morning you woke and before walking into work you took a shovel to the feelings you held for Robby and buried them deep, deep down, plunging a sign that read remain professional into the ditch of your own creation. You called him boss and cap, reminding yourself that's what he was. Of course a friend was another title too, but calling him friend and invading his space wasn't going to do much for your feelings. Or your nerves. And you liked to think you'd done a pretty good job in keeping both in check.

Robby rocked on his feet again, almost jittering. “I don't charge rent, you'd be saving some money.”

How many more excuses could you come up with? How long could you stand here going back and forth?

“How many bathrooms?” you asked.

“Just one.”

“You live in a quiet area?”

“Very.”

“You don't have a cat do you?”

He shook his head with a small smirk. “No. I had fish but lost them.”

You nodded, arms hugging yourself. Admitting yourself into his hands wasn't just a jump, more a leap. Denying yourself had been easier in work, when glimpses of Robby between procedures and patients was all you could gauge yourself on. In his space, you'd become full.

“Say yes and I'll put your stuff in my truck.”

Future regret bubbled up in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you said, earning a slump of relief from him. “But I'm paying rent while I stay.”

He shook his head. “I don't need it.”

“It'll make me feel better,” you said. “I have to do something.”

Robby looked past you, thinking for a moment. “You cook?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. While you're staying with me-” he jutted his thumbs at himself, like he was proud. “You can cook dinner, if you want.”

It wasn't a terrible service. More often then not you'd seen Robby slump his way out the place, mentioning something about a restaurant he was stopping by to pick up food that might last him a couple days. It would be like taking care of him and wasn't that what he was doing here? Taking care of you?

In a friendly way, of course.

“I will cook dinner,” you agreed.

“Great.” Robby seemed to relax in front of your eyes: his hands came out of his pockets, his shoulders shrunk and the crinkles at his eyes showed in a smile. “Your stuff's in my truck already.”

“Presumptuous,” you said, calling after him as he backed off slowly.

He shrugged. “Hopeful.”

But what did he have to hope for?

“Hey,” said Santos breathless and approaching you, moving your gaze from the pull of Robby's back to her. “I've got our labs back on that guy in seven.”

“Oh- er, great, great.” The tablet takes up your attention, but your mind lingers on the crows feet at Robby's eyes, the smile you saw briefly when you agreed to go home with him.

But Trinity Santos never missed a beat. “What was that about?” she asked in an uplifting teasing voice you were all too familiar with as she looked back at where Robby had disappeared to.

“What- what was what?”

“You and Robby, huh?”

“No. No me and Robby, don't make it weird.”

She smirked. “You're doing that all on your own.”

You carried yourself over to the nurses station, clocking Robby lingering in a corner, talking something over with Samira, so instead you distracted yourself with the tablet and charting. “He just offered me a place to stay.”

Santos's brows rose up high. “His place?”

You blushed under her analyses.

“Oh my god-”

“Don't- don't make it a thing-”

“It's already a thing,” she scoffed, leaning over and swatting at you. “You're staying at Robby's!”

“In his spare room, separate living completely.”

Santos leant back on the counter, looking around dreamily. “Suuurree, until you need the bathroom and just so happen to walk in on him, towel around his waist-”

“- Santos-”

“- it's all hot and steamy from his shower,” she continued. “And you just so happen to slip, right into his arms and- oh my- the towel falls.”

“You have too much time on your hands,” you said. “Go get Garcia for a surgical consult on twelve.”

Sulking, she did so, dragging her feet across the place while you were left to debate if the dent in your bank account was worth it to spare the dent in your heart.

A life with Robby was framed in different ways.

When you first stepped through his place, your case tugged in his hand and your bag slung over his shoulder along with his own, there was a thick layer of tension blanketing over everything, mystifying the tour he gave you. It didn't give in the morning when you both woke groggy from alarms, reaching for coffee. Through the day the tension sat between the two of you through patients and traumas.

It started to feel like a terrible idea.

Until you both went back to his that night and laughed about the couple that had super-glued themselves together, the teenage boy who got his head stuck in between balcony bars. You made mac & cheese, which Robby deemed the best he ever had but considering you only found kraft cheese boxes in his cupboards, you didn't think much of it.

Then the routine built, mugs of coffee in the morning, a hearty breakfast started by whoever was up earlier in the morning, taking turns in the bathroom with only the occasional awkward bump in to each other in between brushings of teeth.

It was one morning when he stepped out, a smudge of minty white toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

“You've got a bit of-” you'd told him, gesturing to the corner of his mouth by your own.

He rubbed and missed it completely and your hand reached out first. It was like you were watching it outside of your own body, as your thumb swiped away at the corner of his mouth, scratching at his beard.

Every morning since then Robby had walked out with that same bit of smudged toothpaste and every time you spotted it, you got rid of it for him.

Feeling the heat of his breath dance along your fingertips.

The peppermint smell of him clinging like second skin.

The wet fall of his hair, droplets dripping down to your feet.

It made every morning harder, but made every one more the while.

In work, you had your own new routine between the two of you.

In the mornings everyone in the Pitt- including those that stuck around from night long enough- lingered to watch as you and Robby walked in side by side, heading straight for the fridge in the lounge.

There, Robby would pull out two containers of leftovers from the night before while talking about.... well, sometimes nobody could really tell what it was.

“- all I'm saying is that if it was real life they'd be shut down instantly,” Shen caught Robby telling you, shamelessly lingering in the door way with Abbot and Javadi.

“It's not real life, it's Disney.”

“It's a restaurant ran by a rat!”

“It's whimsy.”

Robby grumbled under his breath. “It's un-realistic.”

You laughed and as busy as you were laughing you didn't see the look Robby gave you, a smile of his own. A soft one, because when he was looking at you, nothing had to be loud. “Just wait till you watch Cinderella, the rats sew a dress!”

Abbot was first to clear his throat. “Good morning, happy couple.”

And Robby's expression dropped, passing a glare to his friend.

As distracted as he was with the glare, he didn't see the way your face fell. The disappointment that marred your features.

“Got anything fun for me?” asked Robby, clapping his hands and getting to business, taking the night shift attendings by the shoulders and dragging them out.

Javadi entered in, a sheepish smirk on her lips. “So, how's it going?” she asked with all the air of a girl needing gossip.

“It's fine,” you said.

It had been three weeks of living inside of his apartment, of his space becoming yours, of shows he'd never think about watching slowly enrapturing him.

“Just fine?” she asked. “Isn't this supposed to be the part where the two of you get together?”

It was a few beers kind of mistake to tell Javadi on your feelings for Robby. But she was a med-student harbouring hard feelings for Matteo and you'd been desperate to bond and suddenly it turned into Javadi shooting you looks across the floor whenever Robby got too close, and he was doing that a lot recently.

“No, no, that's crossing so many lines,” you excused.

“Yeah but, he invited you to stay.”

“As a friendly gesture.”

“And how friendly do we know Robby to be?”

With you, very. With others it was more a tough game to play to get Robby to show some sympathy.

Your mouth was left ajar, stuttering on words you couldn't even come up with when Princess drummed her knuckles on the door.

“Louie's in south nineteen, asking for you.”

Never had you been so thankful to be called away on a patient run, especially when it was one of your terribly concealed favourites.

But you didn't leave quick enough to not catch how Princess crowded in Victoria, asking her what the latest was.

You managed to skirt your way over to nineteen without any more fans asking you about your new living situations. You were more than happy to hide away with Louie.

“Hey, doc!” he grinned as you let the door shut behind you.

“Louie, it's been weeks, what took you so long?” you joked, taking the stool and wheeling over to him with a smile. Really, you'd been worried when he hadn't come in- counting two months down since his last visit. It didn't give you hope that he was doing better, it filled you with dread he'd given up entirely.

He chuckled. “Sorry, doc, been busy.”

“A good busy?”

“Always.”

It was one of those slow nights when Louie came in when you and Robby were working- a Tuesday night where you were just about to go home when you checked in on Louie one more time, finding him half way through a devastating story on his life.

You'd cried in the bathroom and Robby had silently handed you a tissue when you stepped out, cold water splashed in your face.

“Hold out your hand for me, Louie,” you said, watching him do so with a tremble you could have bet your money on. “Shaky, huh?”

“Well it is eight a.m,” he grinned.

“We'll start you with fifty of Librium, as always. Anything else bothering you, Louie?”

“I had some aching in my side, right there-” diligently he showed you the pain, wincing as he pressed down on the pain.

You tugged on gloves and did an exam, finding the are bruised.

“You been in any trouble recently?” you asked, knowing that if Louie ever was in a fight, it would never be started by him. He was happy to drink silently.

“Not that I remember, maybe with a stool,” he joked.

You smiled with him, testing out spots of his chest and asking him to breathe in, listening down the stethoscope. “Everything seems fine but we'll get an ultrasound in to check you over.”

He waved you off. “Don't rush, doc, I like to watch the people go by sometimes.”

You entertained him. “Course, I'll be back shortly.”

You got Perlah on the case, someone just as happy to see Louie as you were, the duo that took the best care of him. Then you were occupied with slowly ticking off the board, discharging simple cases, working harder on the demanding ones.

At some point in the morning Robby slid in next to you, taking his place casually.

“I think I win for most interesting case today,” he said.

Happily, you looked up from your charts. “I didn't realise it was a competition?”

“Competition keeps you young,” he said, head nodding side to side.

“I'm not the one that needs to be kept young,” you teased.

There was smirk of shock that gave way to darkening eyes and a straighter back when he pulled himself up.

“You wanna play that?”

“I'm playing that,” you said. “I'm surprised you don't have an old mans seat when you shower.”

“I didn't realise you thought about me showering.”

It took you so off guard your elbow slipped, taking down someone's abandoned coffee.

“Shit!” You cursed, clamouring to the shards and spilt liquid.

Robby was still chuckling to himself when he knelt next to you, collecting the bits of mug in his hands, taking what you had in yours to his also.

“I- I don't think about you showering,” you said, quietly. “Of course I don't, I just- I just meant- a joke. It was a joke.”

Robby inhaled, tilting his head to get a look at you. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, god, I-I didn't-”

Your name was cried out and the shards of China fell back to the ground as Perlah helplessly stood outside of Louie's room. Almost slipping on the coffee, you took off in a run, Robby hot on your heels as you burst through the doors.

“He just- he just started-” Perlah panicked among the blood.

He lay still, un-responsive and you didn't miss a beat in jumping up, pumping down on his chest with gloves, without a gown, just the need to save a life that had been drilled into you.

His blood got on your hands, under your nails as with every pump down on his chest, you pumped more blood out.

“Get an intubation tray, crash cart and suction, now!” Robby called as a flood of nurses assembled around you. He was intubated and a bag put in place, a nurse came in for suction and the heavy rolling wheels of the crash cart sounded.

It fell upon you muffled as your arms shook while pressing down on his chest.

“We can swap out,” Robby offered quietly from behind you.

“No, no, I- I got this,” you said through the gasps and slow bead of sweat beginning down your temple. “C'mon Louie, c'mon-”

Perlah stretched over, slamming down pads on his chest, under the gown that practically had his name on it from how often he visited. “Pads in place!”

“Hold compressions!” said Robby.

You backed up enough to get a reading, getting a dull feeling of Robby's hands on your arms as you trembled. “Still V-Fib,” you said, climbing off the bed. “Charge to two hundred!”

“Charged!”

“Clear!”

So it went on, maybe only for minutes, maybe for an hour. A continuous rhythm of your chest compressions, the push of epi, the constant let down of no pulse, the flow of blood. And Robby's eyes only fumble from you to check on Louie before returning to you.

Everyone in the room hung on the thread of the flatline.

“Do we push more epi?” asked Perlah.

There was a silence behind you but you could picture the slow shake of Robby's head. You'd seen it in dozens of patients, in several helpless cases.

“Robby?” you called out helplessly, without knowing what you were calling for.

He was slow in his approach to you but you could feel him closer, know he was reaching out. “We've done everything we can.” It wasn't harsh. It wasn't kind. It was fact and sometimes fact was neither thing.

His hand was gentle on your shoulder, not squeezing or pulling. Just there. It was enough for you to feel everything deep down in your bones, the pressure of trying to bring him back to life making you weak and Robby's touch helping you give up.

You didn't recall the calling of his time of death, or the stumbling out the room, the wiping down of his blood on your scrubs. You didn't know anything until you made it out to the ambulance bay, drinking in gulps of fresh air that seemed to poison you more then help.

It clamped down on your chest and choaked at your throat-

“Hey, hey- it's okay, you're okay-”

Arms were tugging at you, pulling you into a chest you'd grown knwon with.

You pushed back. “No, no, I'm bloody, I- I can't-”

“Shh-” Robby cooed.

He embraced you tightly, suffocating you into his chest like he was trying to tell the rest of the world to go away, to shield you from the hospital and ambulances would inevitably come by. Robby stood there, arms strong and protecting you. He rocked slightly, lips pressed to the top of your head like it was a natural thing to do. Like you'd never felt them there or anywhere else before.

“I'm sorry,” you sniffed into his chest.

“No, don't be- shh,” he whispered into you. “You did everything you could.”

“He's gone, he's gone,” you mumbled.

Robby held you until he felt he could let you go, which proved a while. By the time you'd dragged yourself back in, red faced and teary eyed word had spread about Louie. Robby remained behind you, a hand curling against the lower parts of your back as he guided you through to the scrub bin, daring anyone to stop and ask you what happened.

He was a dog ready to bite.

“Take some time,” he said in the same air he'd used to ask you to stay with him. With no room for arguments.

You changed scrubs, met Perlah in the middle of the nurses hub for support. When Louie's body was took to the viewing room, Robby stayed stuck at your side, fingers brushing yours as he let everyone who wanted to say goodbye, say it.

By your side he stayed for the rest of the day, with biting breaths and lingering looks. His touches became every other moment, every spare second he knelt next to you, checking in.

“I'm fine,” you told him repeatedly as the day went on, as new patient names clouded your mind and traumas stole your attention.

“We'll get out of here, tonight,” he promised, hand edging closer to yours. Closer to something he wouldn't be able to take back. “No cooking tonight, we'll pick something up.”

“I can- I can cook-”

Robby shook his head. “And you can pick the movie.”

You smiled, though it was tainted from the pain. “Even if it has talking animals?”

His eyes rolled playfully as he sighed, pushing himself up. “If you must.” His hands were gentle on your shoulders as he squeezed, moving by.

When you looked back up you weren't surprised to see the fleeing eyes of Dana over her glasses.

She knew you'd caught her but only turned and walked off. You didn't know how you knew she was still smiling, but you knew.

By the time you and Robby got home- back to his- the sky had darkened and the Thai was procured on the drive back.

He'd let you shower first, knowing you still felt the need to scrub the phantoms of the day from you. You'd been so desperate you'd left your own wash bag in your room, your own robe there. So you bathed in Robby's signature smell, washed your hair in his shampoo that wasn't a two in one.

You wrapped yourself in a towel that was fluffy and smelt like him, wiping down condensation from the window before letting yourself sit with the grief.

It was never a good idea, alone in your own apartment to let the day haunt you. In Robby's place, surrounded by a smell that was all his, you safely let yourself remember the wobble in your arms, the pain in your heart and ache in your body.

You stood, re-tucking the towel around you when the door burst open at once.

“Shit- shit-”

You grasped at the towel as it slipped down your body, clutching it to your chest before it could expose everything.

Robby stood, frozen in the doorway, his lips parted slowly. “Shit- sorry, I thought you were done.”

“I'm- I'm finishing up,” you gulped.

Robby nodded, hand clenched on the door.

You watched his eyes catch a glance past your shoulder, seeing something there that had a blush creeping up his neck and ears. Something that made him bashful and looking away.

A chill ran down your body, from the toll of the day, the lack of clothing around you or the look Robby gave you.

“I'll, er- just...” you trailed off.

Robby closed his eyes, breathing deep. “Yeah. Yeah.”

The door inched closed slower. Before it shut completely you were sure Robby paused, sure you heard him inhale and sigh before you caught the retreat of his footsteps.

You body sunk in on itself, catching the electricity buried under your skin by just being looked at by him. At the idea that he could smell him on you.

It wasn't until you turned, catching a glimpse of yourself in the wiped down mirror that you realised.

Wiped down.

When Robby glanced behind you- to the mirror- he'd blushed at the sight of that part of you left bare. The slope of your back, the dimples that sat just above your ass and the curve of you.

He'd got a glimpse of it. Not just a glimpse by the way he paused- an eyeful.

“Fuck.”

It was bound to happen, maybe, with how long the two of you had been in co-habitation. But the day had been messy enough. Navigating the corners of yours and Robby's changed relationship.... you didn't have the nerve, though it felt alight by his look.

Maybe he hadn't seen anything, you told yourself as you dressed.

He probably didn't even notice, you said as you threw your damp hair up.

Just don't bring it up and he probably won't, you repeated as you stepped out.

When you came back out Robby was hiding in the kitchen, tucking himself right into the counter as he set up several dishes of all the food you'd ordered. His head was tucked low but there was a new sheen of sweat at the expanse of his neck still poking out from his scrubs.

“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologised, slipping into a stool across from him.

He shook his head and shrugged without looking at you.

“Smells good!” you said, reaching for the food that lay between you.

Muscles in Robby's jaw moved. Tightening.

You watched his tongue run over the bottom of his lip before he stepped back from the counter, a finger running over his lips as he excused himself quickly.

It was just a glimpse you thought you caught, something tightening in his scrub pants exenterated by his hands trying to be discreet in covering it (and failing).

Only when you went back to the bathroom an hour later, to brush your teeth did you notice the very, very cold setting of the shower. But if he didn't bring it up, neither would you.

Robby was only supposed to be passing. It had been ten minutes since he last caught a glimpse of you and he decided that was nine minutes too long.

He couldn't pinpoint when exactly the obsession started, if he wanted to call it that. It could have been when your things started to pile up at his, your favourite mug that you drank from sitting comfortably next to his every morning, or the cook books you went back to like it was your bible. It might've been before you'd even effectively moved in with him. Maybe when he saw the way you commanded a room around a trauma, never once doubting yourself.

Whenever it began it only increased with every good morning he got, every night and gentle touch he felt.

And finding you in that bathroom, a blink and miss it moment when your towel started to fall. The expanse of everything behind you that you were so un-aware of.

Robby felt dirty for the erection he supported most the night, even after the coldest shower of his life and taking care of it in his bed when you were sure you were asleep.

It had taken every bit of taught and measure self-restraint to keep his hands off you. You'd had a tough day, Robby throwing himself at your mercy wasn't going to help.

But it had been a week since then, a week of near misses and close calls in the bathroom the two of you were treating like a battleground. The splotches of toothpaste he let linger on him got further and further along his mouth, the playing clueless became more silly. The brushed past each other in the kitchen when there was plenty of room became more telling.

It was all supposed to be going somewhere.

“ - while she is playing house with her boss,” he caught Santos saying, hers, yours and Javadi's backs to him as he slowed his approach.

“It's messy,” said Victoria.

“Oh, would you- the two of you stop,” you said. “It's not like that.”

“No?” asked Javadi.

“It's not like what?” he heard the teasing uplift of Trinity's voice.

“Like what you're trying to say,” you argued. “Robby and I are friends, just friends.”

Santos nodded, head lowering. “Sure. Friends. Friends with house mate benefits.”

“What are house mate benefits?” asked Javadi, looking over to you enough that Robby could catch a grin.

“Oh, use your imagination,” said Santos. “One bathroom, two people, trips to get water from the kitchen, in nothing but skimpy little-”

Robby could practically see the face you were pulling.

“Oh, can we not talk about this?” you said. “Nothing like that has happened, nothing like that will happen. We're friends, just friends.”

Robby didn't realise how badly he must have wanted it to be more until he heard you dismiss it out of hand. Until he heard the mocking chuckle of his doctors at what you were saying. That nothing was ever going to happen, essentially admitting you didn't think about the escapade in the bathroom as much as he did.

Why would you? You probably thought it was odd and gross how he lingered. How he acted the rest of the night- withdrawn and ashamed- probably didn't help.

What? Did he think that after spending more time with him, living with him, you'd grow to care in a way he had for you. In a way he'd tried to ignore for months?

Did he really think he stood a fucking chance?

He was hyper aware of himself, standing there like an idiot with the fading mark of his heart on his sleeve. Soon somebody would call his name, his game would be up and the three of you would turn to him, catching him there.

Robby cleared his throat and shouldered between you and Victoria, practically tossing the tablet down. “Guy in five needs a surgical consult on a blood clot.”

Santos held up her hands to be clear of it and Javadi was walking away at once.

Robby watched you take it and he left.

It was time to start re-building his heart.

“Hey,” you said, quick to follow him. “I was thinking of trying a carbonara tonight, do you like it?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Cool. You know if we have parmigiana?”

“I have more pressing things to think about then what's in my fridge,” he said.

You were quiet for a moment and he hoped he'd scared you away. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure? Has something happened?”

“No,” he huffed, halting at the door to trauma two where a car crash victim was under the scope of three capable doctors. What was one more? “Now instead of pestering me can you go do you're fucking job?”

The flash of hurt in your eyes was almost enough to have him apologising. To have him cave and tell you he didn't want to just be friends, that he couldn't go a day without feeling you and being calmed instantly.

Almost.

Your lips pursed and you held the tablet up to your chest like it was a shield. “I will get right on that, boss.”

The tension that began at his house when you first joined him in the space of his walls falls returned, un-invited, with a vengeance.

After Robby's snap at you you figured it was a bad day, that things had piled up and him and he didn't want to talk about it. He still waited for you at the end of his shift, still drove you home but in a silence that was stale. He went to the bathroom first and you started on dinner, making two plates of the pasta you'd promised.

He never left his room that night and his dinner was still sitting on the counter in the morning.

It continued for three days. No blushing meetings outside of the bathroom, no movie's he'd fall asleep to and miss the end- though insisting he was only resting his eyes- it all stopped, quickly.

So quick you had no time to think of what had gone wrong.

“Hey,” said Victoria, lingering next to you as you went back to your search for cheap hotels that didn't have complaints of bug bites.

“Hey.”

“Your leftovers smell so good.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn't even pack lunch today,” she added, a small smile bitten back.

You huffed a laugh. “You can take Robby's, I don't think he's hungry.”

“Really?” she said. “He's usually very punctual about your lunches.”

He was, until a few days ago when you'd tried to find him to see if he was hungry, so you could sit down to your leftover together as you had done. But he'd brushed by you, telling you he wasn't hungry. He did so every day you asked.

“Has something happened?” asked Victoria.

Yes, something had clearly happened but you didn't know what.

“No, just.... Robby being Robby I guess.” You shrugged it off but the indifference hurt because it wasn't just Robby being Robby. You'd found a different Robby, the one that wasn't snapping and grumpy every day, the one who coaxed you to your room when you were too tired to move from the sofa, the one who let you hum along to the songs in the movies you'd pick, the Robby that made you coffee just the way you like. You'd never even had to tell him.

“Oh. I'm sorry,” she said. “You know if I didn't live with my parents I'd let you stay, of course.”

You smiled. “I know. Thanks.”

The hotel you settled on wasn't in the top ten in the city and it was nearly forty minutes out of your way. Earlier mornings were a small price to pay.

You let Robby drive you home without conversation, let him tirelessly switch from one radio to the other. Your fingers curled and un-curled against your knees in anxiety.

“My-urm- apartment is up and running again,” you said.

Robby's knuckles bleached white on the steering wheel. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I can get my stuff packed up and be out your hair.”

Robby didn't say anything. You glanced at him, seeing the tightness of his body and the eyes he kept plastered on the road. “It's late,” he said, mouth moving to say something else before he closed it again and thought. “I can give you a lift over.”

“You- you don't have to,” you said. The idea of one more tense car ride was enough to have you thinking about jumping out the moving vehicle. “I can book an uber.”

“It's late.”

Robby kept himself busy while you packed up the clothes you'd un-packed in the wardrobe in his room. He packed up your toiletries and your kitchen things that had slowly wound themselves in his cupboards.

You were already at the door, your case and bag standing next to you, your phone warming in your hand as you checked your hotel booking and uber confirmation.

Robby walked out from the bathroom, your toiletery bag in hand.

“I've got an uber booked,” you told him, quickly. “It's been a long day, I didn't want you to have to drive anymore.”

He nodded, slowly, handing you the bag. “Okay.” His hands retreated back to his pockets.

You loitered. You still had ten minutes before your uber on the way. “I'm sorry if I out-stayed my welcome.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “However long it took to get your place fixed.”

“Still, I didn't mean for it to take this long.”

Robby didn't reply and his gaze faded away from you.

It was a heavy goodbye. The longer you'd stayed with him the little time you gave to thinking how leaving would work. You wouldn't be escaping him, no, he'd be stuck in your mind and lingering in the corner of your gaze. You'd still remember how he looked when he was falling asleep, how his shower smelt and the way he stretched in the morning.

They'd all be happy memories of another time.

You took it with you like extra baggage into the uber and into the two star hotel.

Robby knew he was ingraining himself into the night shift longer than he needed to but since you left a week ago his apartment was cold, empty and he loathed it.

He hated that there was no other noise, no other mug sitting next to his, nobody to talk to. Hated it so much he was choosing the taunting walls of the Pitt over heading back.

“You thinking of joining the night crawlers?” Jack asked, finding Robby stretching at the hub of the Pitt.

“Nope.”

“Oh. It's just, you're still here, so I assumed,” Jack teased.

“I get it,” said Robby in a sing-song voice.

“It can't be that bad, can it?” asked Abbot. “You see her tomorrow.”

Robby wished he could say he didn't know what Jack was talking about but it was painfully obvious to everyone that he couldn't deny it himself. There was no more coming in together, in fact, you'd been coming in late but he was doing his best to avoid you he couldn't talk to you to find out why. He no longer had a tub of well-cooked food or your teasing invitation to eat with you.

It felt like he had nothing all over again.

He looked down to the nurses counter, picking at a mark on there. “It's just...” he trailed, trying to think of a word to sum it all up.

“Yeah?” asked Jack, leaning next to him.

“Quiet.” He decided on.

Jack nodded, slowly. He glanced away before frowning at whatever he'd found. “What happened anyway? The pipes at her place were fixed so you just kicked her out?”

“No, she wanted to leave.”

“So you guys can't just, hang out?” he asked, holding his hands behind his back.

Robby made a pfft noise. “Hang out?”

“Well, Dana says-”

“- Dana-” he scoffed.

“Dana says the two of you can hardly look at each other,” said Jack. “Seems to be a change from what I'd heard before.”

Robby looked at him. “And what did you hear before?”

“You laugh,” he said, like it was a rare phenomenon. “Heard you joke. Saw you smile. Saw you happy.”

He thought about you, grinning with Santos and Javadi as you told them you were just friends, that nothing had happened and nothing was going to happen. He remembered how you looked at him first thing in the mornings and last thing at night, how you were- and still- were on his mind as he laid his head down and pushed himself up in the morning.

“She... she made it clear that nothing was going to happen between us,” Robby admitted.

“And you wanted more?”

Robby was still, the flecks of the stain coming off under his nail.

“Want more?” Jack corrected.

He nodded.

“And did you tell her that?”

It was rather annoying, sometimes, how well Jack knew him.

“I didn't have to.”

“I think you did. You still do,” said Jack. “Just talk to her man, tell her how you feel-”

Robby shook his head at once. “- no-”

“Robby. Brother,” said Jack with a firm pat on his back. “I've seen how you look at her. I've seen how she looks at you. Take it from me, it would be a waste to let that go.”

He didn't want to let it go, but Robby didn't know how to hold on either.

“Hey, big bosses!” Lena called. “Got major trauma's coming, hotel caught fire. We're the closest hospital, Westbridge can only take two traumas and ten minors.”

“Send them our way, I'll round up the crawlers!” said Jack already sliding into his professionalism.

“I'll hang around then,” said Robby, almost spitefully proving a point to Jack. That he didn't need to go home.

“I'm giving you an hour.”

An hour was all he needed.

A flood of people, most in their sleep wear, robes hastily thrown and tied up flooded in. Many were covered in ash, faces grey or pale. They were checked over for smoke inhalation, nobody got through without a stethoscope to their chest and back. There was a family of four who's father was being treated for bad burns. An elderly man with cancer that was put up to south eighteen, chefs from the small hotel kitchen that were being seen for burns, damage to their lungs and everything else.

“I told you! I told you!” one of them shouted, accent foreign to Robby. “That place is a death trap! It was just waiting to go up in flames!”

Robby stepped out and decided to let them argue, tugging of gloves and fetching another pair from the always stocked box on the wall. “Is that everyone?”

“Just one more, pulling up now!” said Lena, yelling over the chaos the ED had turned into to.

Just one more. That heavy set of exhaustion was starting to settle in his feet, making them ache. It was nearing one in the morning, in five hours time he'd need to be up and heading in.

He thought it was the need for sleep that had him hearing your voice.

“Mark Tellon, on his seventies, severe smoke inhalation and asthma attack. No signed nasal hair, his pulse ox is at eighty-four wet crackles bilaterally!”

There was no such thing as dreaming.

Robby stumbled at the sight of you in bottoms that were too long for you, in a cartoon character he couldn't name, in a shirt that drowned you. He guessed it was once white but was stained in ash and smoke, as was your face and hair.

You wheeled in the man with the paramedics and Robby stepped just ahead.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded.

“Hotel caught fire, quick evacuation, this is everyone,” you listed, clinically.

“You were there?”

You glanced up at him as the bed of the old man was wheeled by the two of you. He watched your face fall, smudging ash as you wiped at your forehead. “Er-”

Robby didn't care for the answer. Well, he did but not when your eyes were hazy, skin clammy and smoke and ash covered you. His hands climbed at your cheeks, holding you there and looking into your eyes. “Have you been checked over?”

“Urm, no I'm fine-”

“C'mon-”

“What? Robby!” you protested even as his fingers wrapped around your forearms, dragging you across the floor and past patients waiting for consults and doctors and nurses clearly rushed off their feet.

There was no spare room available but the family room so Robby took you there, where it was empty, and closed the door behind him.

You were stuck, again, alone with Robby. Exactly the place you'd tried not to be. But he'd closed the door behind him, zoned in on you with that tight crease of worry between his brows.

You stood there, holding onto yourself.

Robby made you follow his finger with your eyes, his other hand steadying your cheek as he watched you. “Any dizziness?”

“No, I'm fine.”

He took his penlight out from his pocket of tricks next, shining the light and checking your pupil response, you knew how it all worked and let him go through the motions. “You inhaled smoke?” he asked.

“Probably. I was trying to make sure everyone got out, first.”

There was a tut from his lips but a small upturn in his cheeks.

“Course you were,” he mumbled, ditching the pen light when he was done with it.

“Honestly, I'm fine, I'll just need a shower.”

Robby was already making his way behind you, warming up the drum of his stethoscope in the palm of his hand. Still, when you felt the brush of his rough fingertips skirting over the skin of your back and the metal pressing along, you shivered. “Breathe in.”

You took a deep breath in, Robby's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

“Breathe out.”

You did everything he said.

He moved so he was in front of you, sliding the stethoscope down the front of your shirt, closer over the drum of your heart.

Robby's eyes remained lower, not meeting your gaze. “Breathe in.”

Your chest expanded into his hand.

“Your heart's racing,” he observed.

You swallowed down the feeling of him so close. “Yeah. Probably. Been a crazy night.”

Gently his hands smoothed down your arms, sitting you down on the leather chairs as he set himself on the small coffee table in front of you.

“Want to tell me why you were at the hotel to begin with?” he asked, elbows rested on his knees and hands clasped together. “Cause I can come up with my own ideas and I don't like them.”

Lying to him had proved a silly task time and time again.

“My apartment isn't actually ready to be lived in yet,” you admitted, low in your throat and looking down to his hands. The only update you had from your apartment was that it would take another week, followed by a hopefully.

“No?” he said in fake disbelief.

You shook your head. “I just guessed I'd out stayed my welcome, you wanted to be alone.”

“No,” he said. “No, you didn't. You could've stayed.”

You eyed Robby. “You didn't really seem like you wanted me there anymore.”

You watched as he sighed, shoulders slumping.

Robby's fingers thread and un-thread. “It wasn't like that.”

“I mean did I- did I do something?” you asked, a spew of words ready at the barrel of your gun. “I thought we were okay.”

“So did I,” he said, bringing up his gaze and taking a deep, shuddering breath. “So did I.”

“Then what?”

Robby pushed himself up, hands flying to the back of his head and patting down his hair. His boots scuffed against the floor as he paced the area small and not built for pacing. “I thought things were going really well,” he admitted, hands making a weak gesture between the two of you. “I thought there were moments.”

“There were!” you opposed, quickly.

Was this a chance you'd been looking for? Was he wanting you to say there was something more? That the touches and everything else meant something.

He looked at you, arms pulling over his chest. “But we're just friends, right?”

There was a way he was saying it, a bite to his words like a dog barking, trying to make a point. Just friends.

With your head spinning you remembered another time of saying those words. You remembered Santos's teasing (really it was hard to pick one particular moment out from it all) and Javadi there too. You remembered their teasing grins, asking you about benefits-

And how Robby forced the tablet in between the three of you.

Your head hung, hands wiping away the stress. “Oh god.”

Robby waited.

“Oh god,” your voice came out muffled by your own hands. “Robby-”

“Yeah, I started to like you,” he said, trying to make it all seem like it was no big deal, body moving to shake it of. “I shouldn't, I know. I'm your boss, you're the resident, you were staying with me as a guest.”

“Robby, I-” you pushed yourself up, making your way around the table.

“- and you made it very clear to Doctor Santos and Doctor Javadi-”

“- they were teasing me, it was- it was nothing. I didn't mean it! I mean, they'd been teasing me for weeks, they were just annoying me.”

His body moved in his breath as looked at you. “You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not!”

“You lied about your place. Instead you chose a hotel, one that was a death trap, apparently.”

“I thought you hated me!”

“No, I want you!”

“And I want you!” you yelled.

“You didn't tell me.”

“Well, you didn't tell me.”

Robby scoffed. “Yeah, I'm the one who's supposed to have communication issues, sweetheart.”

Within seconds you had thrown yourself into Robby's arms, practically leaping atop him and kissing him. His lips were frozen, body waking up slowly as his arms curled around your back, holding you in. You could feel the scrunch of his noise and the scrape of his beard as he didn't kiss you back.

You pulled away, keeping your eyes down.

Just because he wanted you, because you wanted him didn't mean throwing yourself at him (literally!) was going to work.

“I-I'm sorry, I thought-”

His hands drowned your face as he pulled you back in, head dipping low to lick his tongue into you. He pressed his mouth into your, letting his tongue in your mouth. His hands tilted your head back, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he reacted to you at once.

Your hands tugged a hold of his hoodie, bending him further along you while his hands slowed down your body, cupping your backside and digging his fingers in.

Some noise made its way out the back of his throat, groaning into your mouth.

“Are we-” you said against his lips. “Mmp; are we doing this right now?”

“Doing what?” He mumbled, tilting his head to nudge your mouth open deeper.

You smiled against him. “Making out in the family room?”

“God, I hope so.”

His mouth was open, warm and welcoming as he kissed you harder, finding parts of you nobody had ever found before.

“I meant it,” said Robby against you, his tongue running over the tip of your lip. “I want you.”

You nudged your nose with his, arms coming to wrap around the back of his neck. “I mean it. I don’t- we’re not just friends, Robby.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, smirking. “I don’t think think friends kiss each other the way I’m about to kiss you.”

Today's shift seemed to have no end. Every corner he turned, there was another fire. And somehow, always, only he could be the one to put it out.

The Fourth of July always came with its surprises, but today really took the cake. The cases alone were enough. Add to that dealing with Al-Hashimi, Langdon, ICE agents, and everyone who seemed to have an opinion about his sabbatical.

On top of all of it, he was supposed to sign his divorce papers today. 

He couldn't understand why everyone was so against the sabbatical. They should be relieved he was finally taking a break from all this. No human being was built to survive this many stressors at once.

The truth was the whole divorce negotiations were a wake-up call. He didn't know how to be a person who wasn't Dr. Robby, Chief of Emergency Medicine. He didn't know how to not be your husband. He needed time to figure himself out.

But at the rate this day was going, he wouldn't get the chance to leave.

He hadn't allowed himself a single moment of break during the day, until he saw you.

He caught you from afar, when you were walking through the doors to the ED. You walked in through the the ones that led from the main hospital wing to the Pitt, a place you rarely found yourself in these days. At the beginning of your relationship, sure. You and Robby quite literally met at the hospital. Your relationship was born out of intern Robby looking for any excuse to disappear to administration, or trick you so you would have to come down. And then, during the early stages of your marriage, you would stop by to force a sandwich into his hands, or just talk maintenance about some home matter. But over time–if he tried to pinpoint it, he’d say the last three years– your visits became less and less frequent. And now, with the divorce, you only came to follow up on legal proceedings, and even that was rare. You'd made it clear you preferred doing everything through your lawyers.

You were making your way toward the nurses’ station when Dana spotted you.

"Hey, sweet thing."

The urge to roll your eyes was hard fought. "Please, do not call me that." 

"Looking for Robby? You just missed him."

You sighed. "How much does he pay you to cover for him?"

"Not enough," Dana said cheekily. "Need me to make sure he gets anything?"

You lifted the manila folder, a deadpan expression on your face. "They need to be signed before he leaves. Whenever that is. Please."

Dana, recognizing the weight of what was in the folder, took it from you solemnly, with both hands. "I'll make sure he gets it before he leaves today."

Robby didn't hear any of that, though. The second he caught sight of you walking in, with that hellish yellow folder pressed flat against your side, he ducked into the bathroom.

He knew what was in it. You'd both spent the last six months going through the motions of divorce paperwork, which was always stuffed into those same yellow folders. But, now, all that was left was his signature. He'd gotten intimately familiar with the process this year, and these would be the final pages of it.

Okay, sure… he'd agreed to it. He was used to the idea by now. But having the papers handed to him today, of all days, would be too much. Better to get them from Dana than you personally.

He gripped the edge of the sink and looked at a face he barely recognized as his own anymore. He was tired to the bone. There was not enough of him to go around. Not enough for the department. Not enough for you.

Ten years. One signature away from a failed marriage.

It had ended not with a fight, not with an affair, not with anything you could point to exactly. He recalled the way you struggled to explain it when he first brought it up. Because according to you, it wasn't something he did; it was was he didn't do. Their marriage had ended with his silence, and inaction. He couldn't even own up to it out loud. He could recognize what he'd become. How he'd lost himself in a grave, grave way. He hadn't been your husband, not really, not for a long time. So he'd just let you have the divorce you wanted.

He waited two more minutes.

He was washing his hands when the bathroom door creaked open and a voice he didn't recognize immediately squeaked in. 

"Doctor Robby? Sorry— sorry to bother you in there—" Emma, was it? The new nurse under Dana's supervision. She hovered by the doorway. "You said to tell you if your friend Duke tries to make a run for it?"

Robby closed his eyes for exactly one second. Some small, tired part of him was almost grateful. It was easier to deal with Duke than it was to deal with his feelings about today being the day his marriage potentially ended. And that was saying something. 

"I've got it," he said, and dried his hands, and went.

He found Duke in the ambulance bay, checking over the Bonneville.

"I can see why you liked restoring this bike." Duke said, not looking up from it. "You're a fixer. I fix bikes, but you fix people. That's pretty damn impressive, man.."

Having had entirely too much time alone with his thoughts just moments earlier, Robby said, "Some people can't be fixed." 

Duke looked at Robby for a moment, then as if he’d given in and decided to have the difficult conversation, he added, “Look, I'm- I've done plenty of things I'm not proud of.”

"Yeah," Robby said. "Me too."

"No, bad things," Duke's voice dropped out of its usual gravel-and-grin register, "hurt people on purpose, hurt myself. And I did my time, but that doesn't wash away the regret. I... wish I'd done things differently. I think about it every day.”

"They say it's never too late to change," Robby offered.

"Some things can't be changed," Duke's eyes didn't leave him. “like death. Death can't be changed..."

"Hey." Robby's voice slid automatically into his attending voice. "I know the surgery is scary-"

"I'm not talking about me."

Robby didn't have an answer ready for that. "Yeah," he admitted instead, the words slipping out before he could stop them, his head was shaking on its own and he was fighting the emotions. "I don't know if I want to be here anymore."

"I don't know how you last twelve minutes in that place," Duke said, "let alone twelve hours. Twenty years."

"No. That's the only place I can be." His voice was full of emotion he was struggling to keep in check, "I have purpose in there. I can be distracted in there. I don't know that I wanna be... anywhere anymore.”

It was true. At least in the ED, his mind was never still. Every second demanded something of him. Every crisis he averted meant he was serving a purpose. But when he got to his apartment, there was nothing left to silence his thoughts. He missed your presence in his life. More than his wife, he missed his best friend. Night after night, he wondered when it was he should have noticed your unhappiness. He questioned what he could have done to make it right, if he had only caught it in time. When he should've known it was too late. 

"So what's the plan?" Duke asked, 

"Ride."

"Toward what?"

"I don't know."

"Away from what?"

"Everything."

Duke shook his head slowly. "That's not riding. That's running. That the last lesson you're gonna leave these kids?"

Robby shook his head, started to make his way back inside.

"No, no, no. Don't go." Duke sighed, and stopped him with just his voice. "Look, if you got the chance to do it again. Not as yourself. Not as the big chief. As the guy you used to be, before all this— would you take it?"

Robby sighed, "That guy died a long time ago," and walked away.

When Robby finally walked out of the ambulance bay doors by eight p.m., it was pouring rain.

"Fuck." He muttered it under his breath, backpack slung over one shoulder, and made his way to his bike.

He would've left it, but he needed her running by tomorrow. He was supposed to be on the road first thing in the morning. 

He carved his way through the dark, slick roads of Pittsburgh. His headlight and the occasional lamp lights were the only thing carving the pavement ahead of him. 

The rain had turned vindictive by the time he reached the bridge, his headlight could barely cut through. The engine's growl and the rain's static blurred as his mind circled back to today’s goodbyes.

He thought about Whitaker, who he'd left the key to his apartment with. His bachelor pad, he called it during his conversation with him, but really it was the apartment he had gotten back when you and him had separated six months ago. Dana hugged him and tears slid from her eyes. Jack bear-hugged him outright. After the day’s nasty exchanges with Langdon and Al-Hashimi, it had all just been too much to sit with, and he avoided saying goodbye to anyone else. 

He'd waved in their general direction, saying "I'll see you in a few weeks".

And then, because there was no keeping it out any longer, he thought about you. He’d slipped the manila folder into his jacket before leaving, to avoid rain damage. 

When he got home, he’d sign them. Drop them by yours before he hit the road tomorrow. Say your proper goodbyes. 

He recalled the day before your ten-year anniversary, when he’d come home his usual hollowed-out self to find you looking at him across the kitchen with tears already falling. "I want a divorce." He hadn't argued. He'd just stood there, and let you believe there was nothing in him that wanted to fight for it.  

He often wondered if there was anything he could've said in that moment to keep you from leaving. You’d asked for that, he’d come to realize much later. You’d pleaded with him even, saying "I just asked you for a divorce, and you don't even care?"

He felt the length of it when he got a call from your divorce lawyer for the first time. “I’m calling because we haven’t received a response to our filing.”

“Yeah sorry, I'm a Chief Attending at the Pittsburgh Trauma-”

“Mhm, yes Dr. Robinavitch. We're aware, however court terms are very strict, and we're going to need to file your response. If you don’t, we’ll be forced to file a request for default judgement against you.” 

That was probably the first time it jolted him that this was happening. That this was real, that you wanted to end your marriage to him. 

He was the shell of a person by then. He couldn't manage the ED and also a divorce at the same time, so he hired the first recommendation he got from the hospital lawyers, and the proceedings went on. 

It pained him to sit across from you in those conference rooms. Your eyes would avoid his when he searched for them. He didn't put up a fight during negotiations. He let you keep the house, he moved out immediately. He wanted to give you whatever you needed, whatever you wanted.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the obscene loudness of a horn.

He didn't register what happened. There was metal screaming against metal, the bike going out from under him. 

He was airborne for a fraction of a second that felt weightless. Gravel scratched his face, his body. Rain needled down and he felt the wetness coming from the dark sky overhead as he lay contorted on the road. 

It was curious. No pain yet, just a white so total that it swallowed the rain, the road, the darkness, the decade past. 

Robby moved through the house on autopilot, all the years of sleep deprivation through college and twelve-hour shifts made him efficient even when he was half-awake. He stepped into Noa’s nursery, flipping on the lamp. She was working herself up in the crib, waving those little fists while her face scrunched in hunger. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, scooping her up immediately. “Daddy’s here. Let’s get you sorted.”

He laid her on the changing table and made quick work of the dirty diaper, cleaning her gently with wipes and sliding a fresh one on with the ease of someone who’d been doing this every day for two months now. “There we go, you’re all clean now. Yes, you are. Who’s a clean girl?” He cooed at her, and Noa’s cries eased a little at his voice and touch, blinking up at him with those big and round eyes.

Next, he warmed one of the bottles of your pumped milk in the small warmer on the dresser, testing the temperature carefully on his wrist the way you both always do. Back in the rocking chair, he settled Noa in the crook of his arm. She latched onto the bottle hungrily, resting her tiny hands on the bottle as she drank with contented gulps.

Robby watched her with pure adoration, rocking her slowly. “You’re adorable at everything you do, you know that?” he murmured, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “Look at you, you’re drinking like a champ. You need to be gentle with mommy, okay? She loves feeding you, but sometimes you hurt her. She’s giving you everything she’s got, we’ve gotta take care of her too, right?”

Noa paused drinking for a moment, locking her eyes onto his face as if she was truly listening to him. Robby smiled at the adorable sight. “That’s my girl. You’re so smart, just like your mom.”

When the bottle was nearly empty, he lifted her to his shoulder for burping, patting her back in steady circles. A good burp came, but as it did, she spat up a little of the milk she’d just drunk on his shoulder. “Ah, there it is,” he chuckled, not bothered in the slightest. He grabbed a clean burp cloth from the stack, wiped her mouth and chin tenderly, then cleaned himself up. “All better. Let’s get you back to sleep with that full belly.”

Robby spread the soft blanket out on the changing table. Noa’s arms flailed once, then twice, her face scrunching in that particular pre cry warning that meant she was about three seconds from protesting. “I know, I know,” he murmured. “Hold still for your old man.”

He laid her down in the center, gently guiding one arm against her side, then the other, and began the fold. One side of the blanket came across her body, tucking firmly under the opposite side. The bottom edge came up and over her legs, and the final flap wrapped around and under, snug but not too tight, until she was neatly packaged with her arms secured and her legs gently contained, the whole of her looking exactly like a tiny burrito.

For a second she went quiet, with her eyes wide with surprise, as if she couldn’t quite believe the sudden containment. Then a defeated little sigh left her. Robby grabbed her once again, holding her against his chest.

He rocked her for a few more minutes, humming a tune that came from a place buried inside of him. He had the faintest memory of hearing it once, long ago, in his mother’s voice. Or maybe it wasn’t a real memory at all, maybe his mind had simply invented the comfort, out of longing and the few soft fragments he still carried from a childhood that had never been particularly gentle. He couldn’t tell which it was, whether the memory was true or manufactured no longer seemed to matter as much as the simple fact that he was here now, holding his daughter, offering her the same soft sound that may or may not have once been offered to him. 

Robby continued rubbing her back until her eyelids grew heavy. With her belly full, Noa drifted off quickly, her body going limp and trusting in his arms. Robby held her a little longer than necessary, just savoring the weight of her, the way her head was tucked perfectly under his chin. “I love you so much, Noa,” he whispered to her. “More than anything. You and mommy… you two are my whole world.”

Carefully, he lowered her into the crib, adjusting the swaddle and making sure she was comfortable. Robby lingered by the railing for a moment, watching her sleep, wrapped like a little burrito in her swaddle, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. “Sleep well, baby girl. Daddy will be home before you know it.”

He still couldn’t believe this little miracle that was now sleeping in the crib. He had spent decades walking into rooms where people were dying, or already gone, or fighting for their lives. He knew the weight of failure, he knew how easily everything could be taken. And yet here she was, warm, breathing, utterly unaware of the improbable path that had led to this exact moment. He couldn’t understand it, lucky felt too small a word, it felt almost insulting. What had happened to him was closer to theft, someone or something had stolen the version of his life that was supposed to stay solitary and quietly exhausted, and replaced it with this brighter, terrifyingly fragile thing. He kept waiting for the correction, for the universe to notice the error and take her back.

But she stayed. Night after night, she stayed. And every time he looked down at her like this, he felt the same stunned ache in his chest. Not the kind that used to mean another loss, instead he felt the one that meant something had finally, against every expectation he had ever allowed himself, gone right.

The two of you had been together for exactly one year when it happened. A beautiful year of falling deeper in love than either of you expected. The pregnancy was an accident, you'd been violently ill for a week with a stomach virus, endless vomiting, dehydration, barely keeping anything down. Your birth control pill had failed in the midst of it all. When the two pink lines appeared on the test, you'd sat together on the edge of his bed, stunned into silence. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready," he'd said quietly, covering your hand with his hand. But you shook your head. "I love you. And... I've always wanted to be a mom. If you're in this with me..." Robby had pulled you close. "I'm all in. I’m so in. I’d given up on being a dad a long time ago, but with you? This feels like a second chance."

From that day forward, Robby became your rock, devoted in ways that still made your heart ache with tenderness. As a doctor, he was meticulous, scheduling every appointment around his shifts, reviewing ultrasounds, ensuring you took your prenatal vitamins religiously. As your partner, he was everything you needed. He’d satisfied every craving without complaint, driving across town at odd hours for specific street tacos or fresh strawberries. He’d massaged your aching back and swollen feet, held you through hormonal waves of emotion, and spoke to your growing belly every night in that low voice you loved. "You're going to be such a great mom," he'd whisper, kissing your forehead. "The best. Our girl is going to know nothing but love."

He spared no expense for the baby. The nursery was a dream, with high-quality furniture, the most beautiful crib, expensive onesies and blankets he couldn't resist buying, a top-tier stroller, everything chosen with care. Having a baby with you felt like a dream come true for him, a beacon pulling him away from the darkness of the pitt. You gave him purpose, a reason to be better, to leave the hospital behind each shift and step into the light.

The first month after bringing her home had been a beautiful whirlwind. Robby was utterly ensorcelled by your baby girl. He lived for those moments maybe other men dreaded, changing diapers at 3 a.m. without a hint of complaint, feeding her while you rested, simply watching her sleep in his arms with a wondering expression you'd never seen on his face before. He'd trace her tiny features, hum songs under his breath, and whisper promises about the world he'd help her explore. 

With one last glance, he slipped out of the nursery, pulled the door mostly closed, and headed to work.

The pitt was already a chaos when Robby walked through the doors. The automatic doors hadn’t even finished sliding shut behind him before the noise hit, the beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and hum of conversations between staff welcomed him as he approached the nurse station. He was used to it, there was never a clean first hour, never a quiet stretch where a man could collect himself before the day started demanding pieces of him. The pitt didn’t offer that kind of courtesy, it only took from the moment you crossed the threshold and kept taking until the next set of doors opened and someone else walked in to take your place.

Jack was finishing up his night shift, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.“Hey, daddy,” Jack called him out with a grin, using the nickname that’d become permanent since Noa’s arrival. “How’s my niece doing this morning?”

Robby chuckled, setting his bag down and clapping his friend on the shoulder. “She’s wrapped like a burrito and deep asleep,” he replied. “Five solid hours last night, she’s killing it.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Living the good life. I wish I could swipe places with her. Burrito swaddle and zero responsibilities sounds better than this circus.” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection for his friend. “Seriously though, man. She’s got you wrapped around her tiny finger, and her godfather too.”

They moved into the handoff the way they always did. Robby stood with his arms crossed while Jack walked through the overnight cases one by one: the elderly woman with the troponin, the young guy with the syncope whose ct had finally cleared, the pending cultures that hadn’t resulted yet. He nodded and asked the questions that needed asking, keeping all the cases organized in his mind.

Once the essentials were covered and the board looked as controlled as it was going to get, Jack leaned in a little, dropping his just enough to make the shift from colleague to friend. “How are you both doing?” he asked. “You and your girl holding up okay with the new routine?”

Robby nodded, curving his lips into a wide smile, the same one that always appeared on instinct whenever he thought about you. “Surprisingly great. The nights are getting better. She’s a good sleeper, and we’re figuring it out together. It’s exhausting, but… it’s good. Really good.”

Jack landed his hand between his shoulder blades in a brief clap. “Glad to hear it. You deserve this, Robby. All of it.”

There was no teasing in it, just the certainty from a man who had watched him burn through too many years. Jack held his gaze a second longer, then turned and headed for the locker room and the much-needed rest waiting for him. Robby was left standing in the nurse station as the day crew filtered in.

Word had always traveled fast in the pitt. When you were pregnant, he’d kept it locked down tight. Not because the joy wasn’t there, God, it had been almost unbearable some days, the way it kept rising up in his chest at the most inconvenient moments, but because the idea of opening that part of his life to the entire department had felt like standing naked under the bright lights. His personal world was his, and yours, it wasn’t for public consumption.

Jack had been the first to know. It had happened one night over beers in the corner of a bar. Robby hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the words had simply slipped out somewhere between the second and third round. Jack had gone quiet, he sat there with the glass in his hand, and his eyes fixed on Robby’s face as they turned glassy. He shook his head as a disbelieving smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He was simply so glad that his friend had found this in life. After the years of watching Robby carry the weight of the department, Jack looked at him like he’d been waiting a long time to see something good finally stick.

Dana had been next. He’d told her he was taking the rest of the day off, muttering something about the twenty-week ultrasound appointment, and she’d looked at him for half a second before she started to silently cry. She’d pulled him into a fierce hug right there, saying, “About time, Robinavitch.” 

Still, somehow, the rest of the department found out weeks later. Someone caught a glimpse of his phone lock screen, the unmistakable curve of your belly under one of his old t-shirts. Someone else ran into the two of you outside the movie theater on a night off and saw the way your coat no longer closed properly over the growing evidence of what you carried. After that it was inevitable. Congratulatory claps on the back, knowing smiles, the occasional quiet “Sleep while you have the chance, dr. Robby.”

And now that everyone knew the baby had actually arrived, now that he had come back from leave, they asked every single day. Begged, really, to bring her in.

Donnie leaned against the counter, grinning like he’d been waiting all morning for the opening. “Hey Robby, you gotta bring Noa in one day, just for a little visit. We can arrange a playdate with my daughter.”

Princess didn’t even look up. “Yeah, call your girl and tell her to swing by with her. We promise we’ll be gentle. No crowd-surfing the newborn or anything.”

Dana, who’d been one of the view people who’d visited the three of you in your house, was passing when she caught the last of it. She slowed, a laugh escaping her as she turned toward them. “She is the sweetest baby. Those big brown eyes and those round cheeks? I’m telling you, she’s going to break hearts one day. You’ve got no idea what you’re missing.”

Robby felt the familiar heat climb the back of his neck. He laughed and rubbed at the spot with one hand, the other still holding a half-finished note. “I’ll talk to her,” he said. “Maybe on a slow day we can make it happen. But no promises on the timing, Noa’s still tiny, and we’re trying to keep things low-key for now.”

A collective groan rose from the group. Someone called him a party pooper, someone tossed a crumpled glove in his direction, but there was no real anger in any of it. On the inside they understood, there was no arguing with him. When it came to his daughter, Robby was as protective as they came.

Throughout the shift, the requests popped up again in quieter moments, Perlah and Princess cooed over the latest photo Robby reluctantly showed from his phone after begging him for hours, and García teased him about “the Robinavitch legacy” in the making.

Robby moved through the rest of his shift with a steadier mind than he had known in years. The old restlessness was still there sometimes, but it no longer felt like it owned him. Between patients, in the brief pockets of relative calm, his thoughts kept drifting home. He would picture you dozing somewhere, maybe with a book half-open on your chest, Noa nearby, either asleep in her bassinet or awake and occupied with the serious work of being two months old. 

He wanted to be there, twelve hours had never felt longer. He found himself calculating, almost without meaning to, how many more patients, how many more hours until he could walk through the door and find the two of you waiting on the other side of it.

Then, in one of those rare stretches when everything was temporarily under control, he stepped into the break room. He leaned against the counter, pulled his phone from the pocket of his cargo pants, and for the first time all day allowed himself the luxury of opening the message thread with you.

Robby: hey love, quick break here. how are my girls doing?

You were curled up on the couch with Noa nestled in your arms when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was Robby. The notification made you instantly smile, shifting Noa gently so you could snap a quick selfie. You were both looking soft and content, with your hair a little messy, and Noa’s big brown eyes half-open, fisting one tiny hand in your shirt. 

You: We’re good💕 Just taking it easy today

Sometimes when he saw you and Noa like that, a thought would come unbidden. What would it have been like, he wondered, to grow up with a mother who looked at him the way you looked at Noa? Not the keeping-alive kind of care he had known in fragments, but a mother who noticed when his voice went quiet, who sat on the edge of the bed instead of behind a closed door, who made the ordinary hours feel safe simply by being present in them. Someone who would have reached for him the way you reached for your daughter without thinking.

He tried to imagine it sometimes. A different house, a different childhood, where the question why wasn’t I enough? never had to form in the first place. He wondered whether he would have been softer, less braced for loss, whether the impulse that made him push people away before they could leave might have been sanded down by something as simple and profound as being wanted without condition. He would never know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of mothering. But he knew, with an almost painful certainty, that his daughter never would have to wonder the same thing. And somehow, that had to be enough.

Robby’s response came back a few minutes later.

Robby: Are you two angels that fell from the sky? my beautiful girls.  god, I miss you both already, that smile of yours and noa’s cheeks i’m the luckiest man alive

You laughed softly, typing back while Noa made a small contented noise against you.

You: We just had lunch and now we’re relaxing. Our bellies are too full to move. Noa demolished her bottle and I ate way too much pasta. How’s your shift?

Robby: Managing, nothing too crazy yet, thinking about you two makes it easier save some of that pasta for me? love you.

The conversation tapered off the way when a multiple-car pileup sent six patients inbound, two critical, the rest still being sorted. Robby was already moving, pulling on gloves and scanning the board. And yet, even as the ED filled with the chaos of shouted vitals and the smell of blood, the picture of the two of you stayed with him. You on the couch, Noa’s body curled against your chest. For the next hour, through the first wave of stabilizations, that single image kept finding him. 

A couple of hours later, you had Noa on her play mat for tummy time, the little one determined and doing so well, pushing up on those still pudgy arms, lifting her chin clear of the mat with a concentration that made her round cheeks puff out like she was holding her breath for the effort. A soft grunt escaped her, you watched her for a second longer, then lifted your phone and caught the exact moment she managed another small raise of her head. 

You sent the photo to Robby without overthinking.

You: Look who’s being a tummy time champion today

His reply came almost the second the message left your phone.

Robby: look at her go!  she’s lifting her chin from her chest so well, she’s so strong already.  i’m melting over here Tell her daddy’s proud

By the end of his shift, Jack clapped Robby on the back as they wrapped up handoff. “Go home to your girls, man. Don’t linger here, they need you more than we do tonight.”

Robby didn’t need telling twice, he pushed through the sliding glass doors, and the cool night air hit his face. His scrubs were rumpled and his hair looked disheveled from running his hands through it during the final hours of a brutal shift. A few years ago, he would’ve walked to his car with heavy steps, feeling the depression taking over his body, wondering what the point was, if there was any light left beyond the next shift, the next inevitable loss, the next person he couldn’t save. No one would be waiting for him at home, there was no reason to keep pushing forward.

But tonight, a smile curved his lips as he unlocked his car. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tension easing from his shoulders. He was going home to you, and to her. The pitt still demanded much of him, but coming home to both of you recharged him in ways nothing else did. The memory of your face during labor, the first time he held his daughter, the way you looked now as a mother… it all fueled him. And suddenly the depression that once had haunted him post-shift felt like nothing but a distant shadow. For the first time in years, the future felt bright and full of possibility.

You heard the familiar sound of the front door clicking open and then shutting softly, followed by the thud of Robby’s shoes being kicked off in the entryway. 

Robby appeared in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted for a moment before he stepped inside. His eyes found you immediately

He still hadn’t found the right words for what happened to him the second he stepped through the door and saw it. You were there, settled into the middle of the bed in your oversized sleep y shirt, with Noa cradled against your chest like she had been born knowing exactly where she belonged. One of your hands supported the curve of her back while the other traced absent circles between her shoulder blades. Her little face was turned into the hollow of your throat, her eyes half-lidded and her mouth working sleepily against your skin. 

The tired but genuine smile you loved so much spread across his face. He moved quietly, shedding his jacket and setting his bag down without a sound, then he approached the bed. “Hey,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to startle Noa. “How are my girls doing?”

His breath brushed your cheek as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another, a softer one to your lips. He placed one of his big hands on your shoulder, resting it there, while he hovered the other tenderly over Noa’s back. Robby stroked the soft fabric of her onesie with the pad of his thumb, careful enough not to wake her. Noa made a small sigh in her sleep but didn’t stir. 

Something moved through him then, it started in his chest and spread outward until his throat tightened and his hands felt useless at his sides. He could have stood there forever just watching the two of you. The woman he loved more than he had ever allowed himself to love anyone, and the tiny person the two of you had made together. It was so quietly sweet it undid him.

You were effortless with her, so natural that it made him a little stunned still. The way you shifted her weight without thinking, the soft sounds you made under your breath, the absolute certainty in the way you held her. Noa trusted you with her whole body. Even at this age she seemed to know, the way animals sometimes knew, that you were her safe space, that you would never let anything touch her, that you loved her fiercely.

Part of him still flinched from it, the old voice that whispered he didn’t deserve this picture, that something this good couldn’t possibly be meant for a man like him. But he had learned not to feed it. Every time it rose, he heard your voice instead, you told him he deserved this, that he made you the happiest woman alive, that Noa was lucky, so lucky, to have a father who already loved her the way he did. And somehow, when it was your voice saying it, he could believe it.

He kicked off the rest of his clothes down to his boxers and slipped into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Robby slid one arm around your shoulders, pulling you and Noa carefully against his chest as best he could without disturbing the baby. 

“How was your day?” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple, gently playing with the ends of your hair with his free hand. “Tell me everything, I want to hear it all.”

You shifted slightly, keeping Noa secure on your chest, and started recounting the day in a quiet voice. The morning walk around the block in the stroller when the sun was still gentle, the way Noa had stared wide-eyed at the leaves moving in the breeze. The feeding session that lasted nearly an hour around lunchtime, followed by a messy but successful attempt at tummy time where she’d managed to lift her head for a few seconds. Robby listened intently, asking gentle questions in between.

“She’s getting so good at tummy time, how long this time?” His thumb continued its soothing path along Noa’s back. “Did she fuss much when you tried the new bottle we got? Any spit-up today?”

You answered each one, smiling at his genuine interest. He wants the details, the small victories, the tiny struggles. After a while, he glanced down at Noa, then back at you. “Want me to put her in her crib so you can stretch out a little? You look like you could use the space.”

“Yes, please,” you whispered, and Robby nodded, carefully maneuvering himself into a sitting position. With infinitely gentle hands, he slid his arms under Noa and lifted her from your chest. 

She fussed for half a second at the transfer but settled quickly against his broad chest, instinctively turning her face into the crook of his neck. He stood there for a long moment, just holding her, rocking side to side with a natural rhythm.

You watched as he carried her to her nursery. From the monitor on your nightstand, you could hear everything. “Hey, my sweet girl,” he whispered to her. “Daddy’s home. I missed you so much today. You know that? I think about you and mommy every single second I’m away.” He cuddled her closer, pressing feather light kisses to the top of her head. “You are so beautiful. Look at you… those perfect little cheeks, that tiny nose. I still can’t believe we made you. Me and your mom… we created something this perfect. You’re half her and half me, and somehow you’re better than both of us combined.”

He took his time admiring her in the glow of the nursery lamp, tracing a finger along her eyebrows, marveling at the delicate curve of her ears, the way her fists stayed curled even in sleep. “My perfect Noa. I love you more than I ever thought possible. You and mommy… you saved me, baby. Gave me a reason to go on every single day.”

Eventually, he lowered her into the crib, carefully adjusting her clothes and swaddling her snugly in a fresh blanket, just the way she liked it, with her arms tucked in, secure and warm. He double-checked the swaddle, made sure the monitor camera was angled perfectly so you could check on her from your bedroom, and finally dimmed the light before whispering one last “Sweet dreams, baby girl. Your daddy loves you.”

A minute later he was back in your bedroom, closing the door behind him and climbing  into bed. Robby wrapped one arm around you immediately, pulling your body flush against his. As he tangled a leg with yours, he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

“God, I hate being away from you two all day,” he murmured against your skin, his voice coming out muffled. “Coming home this late… it kills me. I miss so much.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing him. “It’s okay, Michael. Noa and I keep each other company. We’re all right.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “I don’t like leaving you alone with everything. I wish I could be more present. Help you more with the chores, the nights, all of it. You’re doing so much.”

You cupped his cheek. “You have your job. Taking care of Noa is mine right now, and we’re managing, I promise.”

Robby sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You should reconsider hiring someone. Just for a few hours a day at first. We could find someone certified, with lots of experience and references. She could handle the chores, watch Noa so you can rest, shower, whatever you need. I want you to have some… room to breathe.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him softly, smiling. “I promise I’ll tell you if it gets to be too much. But today we actually had a full one-hour nap, straight through, no crying, no fussing.”

Robby’s face lit up, and he let out a quiet laugh that vibrated through his chest and into yours. “Oh wow, a full hour? No interruptions? You lucky girls.” He grinned, pulling you even closer, sliding his hand down to rest it on your hip. “I’m proud of you both, seriously. You’re incredible.”

You turned in his embrace, capturing his mouth in a kiss. What started gentle quickly deepened as Robby groaned quietly against your lips. He was roaming his hands all over your body, keeping his touch gentle but undeniably hungry, sliding them down your sides, over your hips, and up your back, as if he was relearning every curve. He pulled you closer, kissing you harder, his tongue meeting yours in a familiar dance.

He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your mouth. “We can stop whenever you want, baby. I’m just kissing you… we don’t have to go any further if you’re not ready yet.”

“It’s fine,” you whispered, threatening your fingers through his hair. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed. Robby shifted, settling his body on top of yours between your legs, careful not to put too much weight on you. The familiar press of him felt comforting and new all at once. His hands moved under your shirt, lifting it slowly.

Robby’s gaze darkened with desire as he looked at you, skimming his palms reverently over your breasts. He’d always loved them, loved sucking on your nipples until you squirmed, massaging the soft flesh, teasing until you were breathless. But he knew how sensitive they still were from breastfeeding, so his touch stayed feather-light tonight, brushing his thumbs softly over your nipples without pinching or pulling.

You froze for a moment as the insecurity took over. It came quietly at first, then all at once. The hunger that had been building under your skin suddenly was overtaken by the doubts creeping in.

You couldn’t help but notice the little changes, the faint lines that marked where your body had stretched to make room for Noa, the way your breasts felt different, no longer quite the same shape he had first mapped with his mouth months before she arrived. Nothing had fully returned to what it had been, and some part of you suspected it never would. This was not the same body Robby had first fallen in love with. This was not the same woman who had turned him on that first night, confident and untouched by the irreversible work of growing and delivering a child.

What if he didn’t find it appealing anymore? What if, when he finally touched you, it would feel obligatory, something he did because he loved you, not because he still wanted you with the same desire? You lay there with the questions pressing against your ribs.

Robby pulled back immediately, a look of concern replaced the previous heat in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, cupping your cheek with one hand. “You want to stop?”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you looked away for a second. “I just… I feel weird about my body right now,” you admitted quietly, a little ashamed of expressing these feelings of insufficiency to him. Robby would want a confident woman, not someone afraid of taking her shirt off. “I’m… insecure, I guess. It’s changed so much, I keep thinking maybe you don’t like it anymore. That I look different… gross even. You know, with the stretch marks, and the softness, and everything. I don’t want you to think I’m gross now.”

Robby’s expression softened completely. He shifted his weight to lie beside you, pulling you close so you were facing him. He couldn’t believe you were saying something like this. You, the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, were lying here looking at him like you somehow believed the changes in your body could make him look at you with different eyes.

He’d watched you grow Noa, had seen your body shift and soften and stretch into something stronger and more miraculous than anything he had ever put his hands on. None of it had lessened what he felt, if anything, it had made him want you even more. The idea that he could ever look at you and feel anything less than that same helpless pull was so far from reality it almost hurt. 

“Hey… look at me. I have seen you, all of you. Every day through the pregnancy, through the birth, through the recovery. And I think you are so fucking beautiful, so sexy. You look incredible to me. Your body carried our daughter, and I love it. I love every inch of you, exactly as you are right now.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, slowly, as if to drive the words home. When he pulled back, his hand continued its gentle exploration, over your stomach, your hips, your thighs. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, never. I want you just as much as I did before, maybe more. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. The way you look, the way you feel under my body… it drives me crazy in the best way. Nothing about you is gross. You’re perfect to me. My beautiful woman, my partner, the mother of my child.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, easing the anxious knot of insecurity. He kept kissing you, your lips, your jaw, your neck, while his hands caressed your body with admiration. “This body,” he murmured against your skin, squeezing your hip gently, “It's so soft… I love it. I love touching you, feeling you. You’re so damn sexy it’s hard to keep my hands off you.”

You relaxed into his touch, the earlier heat returning slowly but surely. Robby stayed patient, never pushing, just showering you with affection and reassurance until the doubts faded into the background of your mind. 

Robby helped you peel his shirt off when you reached for the hem of it, tugging it upwards. He glanced down at himself with a self-deprecating chuckle, patting the gentle curve. “Look at this,” he said with humor. “I look about three months pregnant myself, and you still love me anyway.”

You laughed, the sound coming out genuine instead of forced, and pulled him closer until there was no space left between you. Your hands moved freely over him, with greed, tracing the lines of his back, the solid planes of his chest, then lower, mapping the soft give of the belly that had always made your mouth go dry. You squeezed the warm flesh of his sides, sinking your fingers in just enough to feel him.

“I love your body too. It makes me so wet,” you whispered. “Feeling you like this. Fuck, Robby…”

He groaned, the sound was pleased, vibrating against your lips. “Yeah? I know exactly how wet you get for me, baby. God, I love when you touch me like that. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t, you kept kissing him, kept your bodies pressed tight, and your palms sliding over his warm skin while his own hands began their slow descent. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down in one motion, the fabric whispered along your thighs until it was gone. The cool air kissed your bare skin for only a second before the heat of his hand replaced it.

Robby parted your thighs with insistence and touched you, sliding his fingers through the slickness already gathered between your folds, spreading it, coating himself in how ready you were.

“So wet already,” he murmured to you. “This pretty pussy is so ready for me. Look at you… you’re dripping.”

His fingers found your clit with ease, rubbing slow circles that made your hips twitch helplessly against his hand. He worked your clit with that steady pressure that felt devastating, building the pleasure in rolling waves until soft moans spilled from your throat. Your nails scraped lightly down the length of his back, leaving faint red trails as sensation crashed through you, almost too much and nowhere near enough.

“Does it feel good?” he asked with his eyes locked on your face, drinking in every reaction he managed to pull out of you.

“It feels amazing,” you gasped, your own breath hitching under the assault of his fingers. “I missed this so much… missed your hands on me, missed feeling like this.”

Robby’s touch stayed steady, still circling your clit with the pad of his thumb in those perfect strokes that had you slick and open for him. Your body was responding eagerly, your wetness coating his fingers, your inner walls fluttering with every pass… until he let those same fingers drift lower. He toyed gently at your entrance, resting the blunt tips of two fingers right there, teasing you without quite pushing in yet, spreading the slickness he’d already drawn from you.

You grabbed his wrist instinctively. The motion was sharp, almost involuntary. Suddenly a million doubts flooded your mind at once. Robby’s fingers were long and thick, you knew the exact stretch of them, the way they filled you when he was patient and when he wasn’t. You knew he’d be careful the first time after birth, you trusted him completely. But fuck, after everything your body had been through, the thought of anything inside you still felt scary. 

“Stop.” The word came out quiet but clear, your fingers locked around his wrist, holding him still.

He pulled his hand away immediately, watching you with a concerned expression across his face. “What’s wrong, love?”

You took a shaky breath, the anxiety surfacing once again. “I’m scared it’s gonna hurt… after everything. The tear, the birth… I just—”

Robby shifted once again so he was looking directly at you, resting his hand soothingly on your thigh. “The tear is fully healed. Your uterus is back to its normal size and back in place. Medically, it shouldn’t hurt. But we can stop right now if you need to wait. It’s okay. I can just keep rubbing your clit if you want, whatever feels good for you.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I want you… but it’s scary to think about something inside me again.”

He kissed you reassuringly. “I understand. You’re really wet already, which is perfect, but we can use some lube too. It’ll help everything slide in easier, make it more comfortable. Sound good?”

“Yes,” you whispered with relief. You trusted him so fully, you knew you were in the safest hands you had ever known. Robby would never push, he would never take more than you were ready to give. Your pleasure and your comfort mattered more to him than his own.

He pressed one more lingering kiss to your lips, the kind that said I’ve got you without needing the words. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you. “Don’t move.”

As he rolled onto his side, the mattress shifted under his weight, he reached toward the nightstand, rummaging through the clutter until his fingers closed around the bottle of lube you kept there. He settled between your legs again, kneeling on the mattress as he warmed the lube between his fingers before applying it generously to your pussy. “Tell me if anything hurts or if you need to stop,” he said. “No matter what. This is all about you feeling good.”

You nodded, and once you did, he started rubbing the slick lube over your folds. His touch was gentle, coating everything thoroughly. He teased your entrance with just the tip of one finger, circling it and pressing it barely inside. The cool glide of the lube mixed with your own wetness, making everything feel smooth. He watched your face the entire time, gauging every reaction.

Little by little, he pushed his finger deeper. Robby moved with patience, the length of it easing forward only when your body gave the smallest acceptance. You felt the stretch immediately, familiar after all the times he had been inside you, yet still careful, almost tentative. It wasn’t painful, the sensation was simply full, a pressure that made your breath catch and your inner walls flutter around the intrusion. Slightly foreign at first, like your body was relearning the shape of him all over again.

He didn’t rush, every fraction of an inch was measured, his eyes remained on your face the entire time, watching for any flicker of discomfort. When at last his finger was seated all the way inside you, knuckle-deep, he paused completely. His thumb stayed gentle against your clit, offering the smallest pressure, but the rest of him went still.

The fullness settled, and so your body adjusted around him in involuntary pulses. “How does it feel?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb lightly over your clit to keep the pleasure flowing.

“Fine,” you breathed the word out. “It’s okay… good, actually.”

Robby smiled and began to move his finger slowly, sliding it in and out with careful and shallow thrusts. He crooked it gently, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. “Still good? Any pain?”

You shook your head and a soft moan escaped your lips as he found the right angle. “No pain… feels nice.”

He kept going, building a steady rhythm, fucking you with one thick finger while his thumb continued circling your clit. The combination sent waves of pleasure through your core. You started moving your hips, almost on their own, seeking more of the pressure on your clit and the deepness of his fingers inside you. Soon your breaths turned into moans and whimpers, his name fell from your lips in broken gasps. “Michael… oh god…”

After a few more minutes, finally Robby leaned down and added his mouth. The first stroke of his tongue over your clit was slow, tasting how wet you already were for him. Then the flicks came faster while he began to pump the single finger deeper, matching the rhythm of his tongue to the thrust of his hand. The dual sensation crashed through you in the best way, the thick stretch inside and the wet heat of his mouth working your clit until your thighs trembled on either side of his head.

You threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, the initial fear had burned away under the rising pleasure. “More,” you begged him. “Please—another finger…”

Robby groaned against your pussy, he answered without hesitation, carefully working a second finger in alongside the first. The stretch was deeper, but the lube and your own slickness made the slide smooth. He gave you only a moment to adjust before he began to fuck you properly with both fingers in strokes that grew harder. Robby was crooking the tips perfectly against that swollen spot inside you until sparks burst behind your eyes.

His tongue never stopped moving, he licked and sucked your clit with almost ruthless focus, occasionally glancing up just enough to watch your face as he drove you higher. You were moaning loudly now, the sounds echoing in the bedroom walls. “Don’t stop! Fuck, Michael, it feels amazing… so good, please don’t stop…”

Your thighs were trembling around his head, and you pulled his hair harder, grinding your hips against his face and hand as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Robby worked you relentlessly, thrusting his fingers deeper and faster, moving his tongue from side to side on your swollen clit.

The orgasm hit you hard, making your whole body seize on the bed, your back bowing as you came with a cry of his name. Your pussy squeezed his fingers rhythmically, pulsing with wave after wave of intense pleasure. Your own thighs squeezed his head and gripped his wrist, holding him exactly where you needed him as the climax ripped through you.

Robby kept going through it all, gentling his movements but not stopping until you started to come down, whimpering from how oversensitive you felt. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers and lift his head, looking at you with his lips shiny with your arousal befor kissing your thigh. “You did so good, baby. You look fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”

You just lay there panting, with your body limp, as Robby climbed up to hold you close, pressing tender kisses to your face and neck while you caught your breath. “I’d missed eating this pussy so much. Missed how sweet you are, how you soak my beard when you cum. Nothing in the world compares to that.”

Pressed against your body, you could feel how hard he still was, the thick length of him against your hip. When he spoke, his voice came out almost shy. “Could you… would you mind giving me some head for a bit?” He swallowed. “I’ve missed it so fucking much. Missed the way you look when you’re on your knees for me, how wet and hot it feels when you suck me. I keep thinking about it.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” you breathed against his lips. “I want to taste you.”

He rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch, you sat up and moved between his legs, sliding your palms over the warm skin of his thighs. The front of his boxers was tented, with a dark spot already dampening the fabric where the head of his cock pressed against it. You hooked your fingers into the waistband and dragged them down slowly, letting the elastic catch for a second under the curve of him before you pulled them the rest of the way off and tossed them aside.

His cock sprang free, leaking a clear bead of precum that slid down the underside. You wrapped one hand around the base and just looked at him for a second, then leaned in. You started slow, with open-mouthed kisses against the tip, letting your lips drag over the fat head, tasting the salty bead that kept forming there before licking it away with the flat of your tongue. Then you did it again, slower, circling the ridge, teasing the slit until his hips twitched. Another kiss, wetter this time, then a long lick from the base all the way up the underside, pausing to suck gently on the head while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Fuck… baby…” Robby dropped his head back with a broken sound. “That’s it… look at you. So pretty with my cock on your tongue.”

You kept teasing him, kissing, licking, sucking just the tip into your mouth for a few seconds before pulling off with a soft pop and doing it all over again. Your tongue painted slow stripes up and down his shaft, getting him all shiny and slick. When you nosed lower, you mouthed at his balls, sucking one carefully into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue while your hand stroked him tight. The other ball got the same treatment, and Robby’s thighs tensed hard on either side of your head before a high, almost helpless whimper slipped out of him.

Only then did you finally take him properly. You sank down, stretching your lips wide around the girth, taking him halfway in one smooth slide. You worked your tongue on the underside as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks until the lewd wet sounds filled the quiet room. You bobbed slowly at first, getting used to the weight of him on your tongue again, then started taking him deeper, getting saliva dripping down his shaft and over your fingers. 

Every time you pulled up, you twisted your wrist just the way he liked, then sank back down with a little moan of your own. Robby was already falling apart. “Oh my god! Yes, just like that. Your mouth feels so fucking good. Missed this so much, baby, missed how good you suck cock.”

You pushed yourself further, relaxing your throat and taking him deeper until your nose was pressed against the hair at the base and his balls rested against your chin. You held him there, letting your throat flutter around the head, then pulled back just enough to breathe before doing it again. Spit ran down your chin, but you didn’t care, you just sucked him like you were starving for it, with deep strokes that made wet shuck shuck suck noises every time you took him to the root.

Robby’s moans were turning into something closer to continuous broken sounds. He whimpered when you hollowed your cheeks especially hard. He gasped your name when you focused on the head and sucked like you were trying to pull the orgasm out of him. He tangled one of his hands in your hair while his hips kept making tiny thrusts, like he was fighting the urge to fuck your throat properly.

“Shit! Look at you. You’re taking me so deep… your throat feels incredible. Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last if you keep—”

You only sucked harder and messier, letting him hear every wet slide and every soft gag when you pushed past your comfort zone. Drool coated his cock and dripped onto his balls. You pulled off just long enough to lick him clean again, to spit on the head and smear it around with your tongue, then swallowed him back down to the base with a hungry sound.

Robby’s whole body went tight. “Stop… fuck, stop. I’m close… I’m so fucking close—” His voice cracked into another whimper. “Your mouth is too good, I can’t… I don’t want to finish yet—”

He pulled you off with a filthy sound, his cock was flushed almost purple and shiny with your spit, a string of saliva still connected your bottom lip to the tip. He was clearly right on the edge, breathing hard. Robby tugged you up into his arms instead of finishing, burying his face against your neck with a shaky laugh.

“Not yet,” he rasped. “Wanted your mouth so bad. But now I want to fuck you.”

Robby hauled you up by the waist and flipped you onto your back against the mattress, the movement was urgent, like he’d been holding himself back for too long and the last thread had finally snapped. His cock, still shiny with your spit, dragged across your thigh as he settled between your legs. He shoved your knees wide with his own, spreading you open, and looked down at the mess he’d already made of you, your clit swollen, your pussy flushed and dripping, the stretch of your entrance still slightly open from his fingers.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” hesaid. “All wet and ready for me after all that. You still want it, baby? Want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed, nodding desperately. “I want you inside me. I need it.”

Before getting inside you, he took his time .He gripped the base of his cock and dragged the head up and down the length of your pussy, spreading your folds open, smearing your wetness all over himself, then pushing up to rub circles over your swollen clit until it was shiny and throbbing. Every pass left another string of your slick connecting his cock to your cunt. He did it again and again, teasing the entrance without pushing in, watching the way your hole fluttered and tried to suck at him every time the head kissed it.

“Fuck, look at this messy little pussy,” he growled. “Already trying to pull me in. You’re so greedy.”

He finally lined up properly and pushed forward, just the broad tip forcing its way past your entrance. The stretch was intense, that first flare spreading you open after so long, but how soaked you were made it slide instead of burn. He stayed right there, only the head inside, and Robby started fucking you with it in short thrusts, popping just the tip in and out of you over and over, stretching your rim around the thickest part again and again while your juices coated him.

“How’s that feel?” he asked trying to hold himself back, locking his eyes on your face. “Any pain? Tell me.”

You moaned his name loud enough that it echoed off the walls, dropping your head back against the pillow. “Good! fuck, so good, Michael. Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

He kept those shallow thrusts going, watching every twitch of your face, every time your pussy clenched and tried to drag more of him inside. Your moans got louder as you arched hard off the bed, chasing the head that kept rubbing perfectly over the sensitive ring of muscle.

Robby groaned through gritted teeth. Gradually, he started giving you more, with every slow thrust he sank a little deeper, another inch, then another, until your pussy was visibly swallowing him, the stretched rim clinging to his shaft as he fed it to you. You wrapped your legs tight around his waist and dug your heels into the soft flesh of his ass, rolling your hips up hard. The movement forced the rest of him inside in one long slide. Robby bottomed out with a loud moan that cracked in the middle, pressing his balls flush against you, the entire thick length buried to the root.

“Fuck! Michael— fuck me,” you gasped.

He cursed loudly, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as his cock twitched deep inside you. “Jesus fucking… your pussy. You’re so goddamn perfect. It feels so tight, so hot. I missed this so much, baby. Missed being buried balls-deep in you.”

He stayed completely still for a long moment, letting you feel every pulse of him, every throb. “You feel incredible. This pussy was fucking made for my cock. So wet it’s dripping down my balls already. You’re fucking perfect, baby.”

Then you begged, your voice cracking with pure need. “Fuck me, Michael. Fuck me deep. Please… I need it.”

Robby pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in to the root in one strong stroke. He set a deep rhythm right away, snapping his hips forward hard enough that each time he bottomed out, his heavy balls smacked against you, and the head of his cock punched that spot inside until your vision went white at the edges.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice already wrecked. “Take every fucking inch”

You clung to him like you were drowning, carving red lines down his back with your nails, locking your legs tighter around his waist so he had no choice but to stay buried deep. He gripped the backs of your thighs and shoved them wider, pinning them open against his body so he could watch every inch disappear inside you. 

“Michael… oh god, Michael, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”

The sound of his cock plunging in and out of your soaked cunt filled the entire room. Robby leaned over you, his sweaty chest sliding against yours, and claimed your mouth in messy kisses between thrusts, fucking his tongue  past your lips the same way his cock was fucking your pussy.

“Fuck, baby,” he snarled against your mouth, sounding desperate. “I’m trying so hard not to cum yet but this pussy is squeezing me so goddamn tight.”

One hand stayed braced beside your head for leverage, while he shoved the other between your bodies without mercy. He found your throbbing clit and rubbed tight circles in perfect time with the snap of his hips. 

You were moaning his name like a prayer now, bucking your hips up to meet every brutal stroke. “Michael! Michael! yes! fuck! I’m gonna cum—” you gasped.

“That’s it. Cum for me,” he ordered. “Cum on my cock… let me feel this pussy milk me. Soak me. Do it.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a wave, your cunt clamped down in pulses, squeezing and fluttering around every inch of him. Robby’s control shattered with a primal groan. “Fuck— I’m cumming. I’m cumming right now, baby—”

He slammed home as deep as he could go and stayed there, stuttering as he unloaded inside you. You felt every hot rope of cum flooding your cunt, painting your walls and overflowing around the tight seal of his cock. He kept thrusting through it, forcing more of his release deeper, groaning your name into the side of your neck like it was the only word he still knew.

For a long moment afterward, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the baby monitor on the nighstand. Robby collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you, with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your damp skin. “You’re incredible. Thank you for trusting me with this… with you.”

“I love you too.” You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as your bodies stayed joined. The intimacy, the release, the love… it all settled warmly around you. Robby eventually pulled out gently, before pulling you into his arms. 

He held you tight, brushing a damp hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. “You good?” he asked softly. “Any discomfort? Did it hurt at all?”

You shook your head, a satisfied smile spread across your face. “God no. That was perfect. Even better than I remembered it. I feel… amazing.”

Robby’s face lit up with relief and pride. He leaned down to kiss you tenderly, lingering his lips there. “It was perfect,” he murmured against your lips. “You felt incredible. I missed being with you like this more than I can say.”

All of a sudden,  Noa’s cries start coming through the monitor, small at first, then building into a fussy wail. Robby stirred immediately, already moving to get up. “Stay here, baby. I’ll go.”

You sit up a little, shaking your head. “There’s no milk ready. I’ll go.”

He gently pushed you back down with a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll get Noa and bring her here. You rest.”

Robby slipped out of bed, pulling on his boxers and a pair of pajama pants before padding quietly down the hall to the nursery. You heard his soothing voice through the monitor as he lifted her. “Hey, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you. What’s all this fuss about?”

He checked her diaper quickly on the changing table, it was clean and dry, then scooped her up against his bare chest, rocking her as he carried her back to your bedroom. Noa’s cries eased slightly at his familiar scent and voice, but she was still hungry and fussy. Robby climbed back into bed carefully.

“Here she is,” he said, helping position her so you could nurse. You lifted your shirt and guided her to your breast. She latched on eagerly, the suckling sound filling the room. Her little hand rested on your chest as she drank, her eyes blinking slowly.

Robby lay on his side facing both of you, with one arm wrapped around your waist, hugging you close while you fed your daughter. “I feel so lucky,” Robby whispered after a while as he watched you. “I never thought I’d get this. Making love to the woman I love… then watching her feed our baby. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world… you’re the most beautiful thing.”

You smiled softly, reaching over to touch his cheek. Robby stayed right there with his arm around you, occasionally leaning in to kiss your shoulder or Noa’s head. When Noa was done, with her belly full and feeling drowsy, Robby gently took her to burp her, patting her back until a good burp came. 

“Hey, you want me to set up the side-car crib? We can put Noa next to us and co-sleep tonight.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes in the dim light. “Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

He carefully transferred her into your arms while he stood. The side-car crib was already in the room, leaning against the wall where you’d both kept it for nights like this. He moved it, unfolding the frame, locking the rails and adjusting the height so the mattress sat flush with your bed. 

When it was ready he took Noa from you with infinite care, and lowered her onto the small mattress. He adjusted the light blanket over her, made sure her head was turned just so, then stood there for a second watching the rise and fall of her chest before he finally climbed back into bed behind you.

You shifted onto your side, facing the side of the crib so you could watch her. Robby moved in close behind you, pressing his chest fully against your back and sliding one arm under your neck, the other wrapping around your waist. He pulled you flush against him until there was no space left, his knees tucked behind yours, the curve of his belly warm against your lower back. “There we go,” he murmured. “All three of us.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, you simply existed in the closeness. Robby’s voice finally broke the silence, coming out vulnerable. “There’s something about seeing you with Noa,” he whispered. “Watching how good of a mom you are… how much love you pour into her every single day. It heals something in me, deep down. Something I didn’t even know it needed healing until I saw you with her.”

You felt the slight tremble in his voice and squeezed his hand over your waist, turning your head to look at him. His eyes were glistening. “Because I know that you’d never… that you’d never leave her like… like my mother did,” he continued, and the wau his voice cracked on the last words almost undid you.

You knew the story, he’d told you once, late at night in the early days. His father had died when he was still a baby, too young for memory, only the absence left behind. After that, his mother had tried, for eight years she had tried, in the only way she knew how, which turned out not to be enough. Those years were not happy ones, the clearest pictures he carried were of a closed bedroom door and the silence behind it. Her depression had been a living thing that filled the house, keeping her in bed for days at a time, the curtains drawn, the world reduced to the small square of mattress she rarely left. A little boy learning too early that the person who was supposed to be his safe place could not even get up to meet him. He remembered standing outside that door sometimes, listening for any sign of life, and the stubborn hope that today she might open it. She never did, not really.

The night he found her on the bathroom floor stayed with him in fragments, the cold tile, the way her body looked smaller than it should have, the childish terror that something irreversible had already happened. He was eight, old enough to understand that she was gone. Losing her carved a particular kind of scar, the kind that never fully closed. He never spoke of it, but it lived in him all the same.

He was older now, and he knew better than to hate her for being ill. He’d stood in that same dark place himself more than once, close enough to the edge of death to understand how a mind could decide the world was no longer bearable. He could list the clinical reasons, the weight of grief and untreated depression and the impossible task of raising a child alone while drowning. 

He could be fair, but fairness never quite reached the part of him that was still that eight-year-old boy. That part still carried the furious question: why wasn’t I enough? Why didn’t the thought of me keep her here? If the one person meant to love him without condition could choose to leave him, what proof was there that anyone else would stay? The fear had settled deep, becoming a kind of muscle memory.

“Michael… baby,” you whispered, your heart aching a little for him. You shifted across the bed, moving to lie on top of him fully. Your body covered his, legs straddling his hips as you rested your head on his chest. You started giving him the soft little neck kisses he loved so much, gentle presses of your lips against the warm skin just below his ear, then trailing slowly down to his collarbone. Slow, loving, reassuring kisses that you knew soothed him like nothing else.

The contrast was almost painful enough, his own mother had been a closed door and a drawn curtain and the silence of a child who learned too early that love could be present in theory and still entirely out of reach. He had spent years telling himself he had made peace with that absence, but watching you with your daughter did something the years of rationalization never managed. It reached the place that still hurt and, gently, without asking permission, began to ease it.

Not all at once or dramatically. The knowledge that this little girl would never stand outside a locked bedroom door waiting for a mother who could not come, that she would grow up knowing the sound of a voice that answered when she cried, the presence of hands that reached for her without hesitation. That the woman he had somehow, impossibly, found was the kind of mother he had only ever been able to invent in the vaguest, most private corners of his mind.

It healed him, Robby would feel the old ache loosen its grip just enough to let gratitude settle in its place. He felt that in giving Noa a mother like you, the universe had, in some unexpected way, begun to give him back pieces of what had been taken before he even understood the loss.

He let out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand stroking up and down your back. “I think it hurts a little, deep inside, when I see you taking care of her,” he admitted quietly. “It makes me wish I’d had a mom like you. What life would’ve been like if I had had that kind of love from the start. The consistency, the patience, the way you look at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world… it’s everything I missed.”

You kept kissing his neck, resting your hand over his heart. “I know. But you have me now,” you whispered between kisses. “As your partner, I’ll always love you unconditionally. I’ll look after you too, just like I look after her. You’re not alone anymore, Michael. You never have to carry that by yourself again. I’m here… we’re here.”

Robby’s arms pulled you impossibly closer. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for being so amazing with Noa, for loving her the way you do, for being such a great mom. You have no idea what it means to me… to see her safe and happy and loved every day. You’ve given me a family I never thought I’d have. You’ve given me healing I didn’t even know I needed.”

You continued the gentle kisses, moving across his neck and shoulder, occasionally nuzzling against his skin just to feel him. His hand never stopped its soothing strokes on your back. Eventually, you both drifted into a light doze, still tangled together.

He fell asleep knowing that tomorrow would be another day, another chance to do this all over again, and he couldn’t wait for the brand new morning to arrive.

A/N: If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I love imagining Robby as a father, especially as a girl dad. You’ll never catch me writing a fanfic where that man has a son.

I’ve always found it so interesting to think about how he’d experience parenthood given his difficult childhood, and how becoming a father might change the way he sees himself and the world around him. And now, knowing that canonically his mother took his own life, I think those feelings become even more complex. I’m also really interested in the idea of what it would be like for him to watch his partner be a mother to their child. To see someone love, protect, and nurture his daughter in a way that he never got to experience himself. I imagine that would bring up a lot of emotions for him, some painful, but also some incredibly healing.

That’s something I wanted to explore in this fic.I don’t know if I did it enough justice. I don’t think writing about emotions, or trying to be profound, is my strongest skill. I think there are plenty of writers who could tackle those themes much better than I can. But they were thoughts I’ve had for a long time, and they felt important enough that I wanted to try putting them into words anyway.

I hope you enjoyed it🩷 I’d love to know what you think, and as always, your comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

Robby is watching you from Trauma One.

His sweetest kept secret.

For some reason, you have managed to bypass the seven-week itch and Robby thinks it’s down to being younger than him by a margin; meaning you often ran circles around him. 

From his obstructed view, he can occasionally capture you stretching above the line of the monitor like a docile cat. Before you reduce yourself to a bad posture again, Robby notices that soft fatigue that glazes over your watery eyes when you yawn. A sleepy look that—since the big shift in your non-labelled situation—he can recognise. 

Because you’ve started staying the night.  

Dr. Mohan is leading a hilar flip when he asks her, “You got this?” in which she gives him a strained smile alongside a curt nod; the tension still taught between them. 

He backs out of Trauma One and takes a leisurely stroll up behind you. You’ve dozed off somewhere in between him habitually sanitizing his hands and pulling a singular latex glove from a box nearby. He spares you a moment, so he can read the long waiting list of patients allocated to rooms across the department. 

Snap! 

You jolt awake from the feeling of thin rubber striking the back of your neck. You peel your eyes open to see Robby bending at the waist to look at you warmly. 

“Hello,” he says sweetly, his smile reaching his eyes, “Good sleep?” 

“I’ve had better,” you grumble and rub at your eyes, “I was just catching up on my long overdue notes like you asked me to do.”

Robby hums, “It looked like it too,” he chirps sarcastically and takes a deep inhale as he speaks again, “Save the charting for later. I’ve got a patient with GERD that has your name written all over it. Easy case to wake up to.”  

You emphasise your lack of enthusiasm as you stand, “You just told me to catch up on my charting.” it comes out as a whine. 

“Yes, I did. Then you started dozing off at the workstation, so now, I’m telling you to follow me so we can get this patient discharged and free up a bed,” Robby lilts as you catch up with his pace, his eyes on every corner of the PTMC. 

“If I have to redo my third-year of residency because of your indecisiveness on where to put me, Dr. Robby, I will be filing a report against you,” you grumble in discontent. 

Robby huffs a laugh. “Ho-ho. I’ll be sure to send you flowers.” 

“No you won’t.” 

“No, I won’t. Not for that anyway.” Robby advises you casually, he spares you a glance over his shoulder with a crooked smile on his face, “Because you won’t have to redo your third-year.”

The easy banter between the two of you makes your stomach burn with giddiness. 

You liked how things were going with Robby. Under the radar, no strings attached. Though, somehow, you both seemed to be getting a little tangled in your…well, entanglement. 

It was proving to be difficult to not have the boundaries blend into a real thing with all the bells and whistles of emotional feelings attached. The initial intentions were simply just for sexual pleasure—and then you started getting pleasure by just co-existing.

It was messy. But it was your kind of messy. 

McKay catches up to you, bumping your shoulder with hers, “How’s it going? I haven’t seen you all morning.” 

“About to give a patient a shot of Mylanta for his GERD,” you respond quietly, “Dr. Robby caught me sleeping.”

“Yikes.” she cringes, “Well, he’ll keep you right.” 

He has been for the better half of the year, in more ways than you know. Is how you want to respond to Cassie’s innocent statement. You settle for the latter of a hopeful smile and shrug of your shoulders. 

The three of you come to a slow halt in front of the patient bay Robby had selected for you off of the board. 

You peer into the window of the room. 

A bucket of ice cold water dumps over you.

“I can’t take this case on,” you blurt in a panic, which in turn has Robby and McKay’s head cock to the side, because what do you mean you’re rejecting a case as a R3. You shake your head, “No, seriously. It sounds stupid, but I matched with that guy on Tinder, and…it didn’t end on good terms.” 

It was true. The male sitting upright on the gurney, in a hospital gown one size too big for him, was currently under the status of blocked on your phone. 

Things had been going well within the app at the time, you matched, connected over menial interests and then took the conversation to text message. You must’ve missed the lesson in life that made the translation of app messaging to text messaging the equivalent to a hard launch into a relationship with a guy you had never met face-to-face. 

Because—and what a story to weave into a one truth and two lies game it had come to be—whilst you were elbow deep in a wide array of traumas that wheeled through the doors of the PTMC, this guy had left exactly 54 text messages, 32 missed calls and 1 beautifully arranged voicemail that poetically told you that you fumbled the catch of the century. 

(Fish were slippery for a reason, right?)

Even with the slight malicious tone blurred between his words, you still kept the voicemail; because it was deeply comforting to play to your co-worker Dennis Whitaker at 4PM after his patient had just coded. 

McKay dips her head to speak lowly to you. “You mean he’s the guy?” 

“What…guy?” Robby’s question is lost to the wind when you squeal out confirmation to McKay that the patient was in fact, the guy. 

He watches the exchange between you and McKay like a third party stuck behind a noise cancelling window. Somewhere amongst the back and forth with hints of worry and mild amusement, Robby starts to feel left out from the bigger picture. 

Tinder. Voicemail. Blocked, is all he took away from this. So…he frowns and crosses his arms across his chest.

“Wow. In the flesh…I’ll swap you for Central 8,” McKay barters, “Utensil through the nose.” 

“Can someone tell me what’s going on here?” Robby cuts through with his hands up, “You have history with this guy?” he thumbs to the door of South 15.

You nod, “Not so much a history, more a brief encounter that’s funny to talk about over drinks.” 

“Yeah. Well, we—” he gestures between you “—aren’t having drinks.” Robby supposes there’s some sort of streak of jealousy going on in his voice, “Can you catch me up to speed? This guy needs a shot.” 

You launch into a shortened version of the story of how this man came to gain such a notoriety that extended all the way into the pit of the PTMC and used for comedy relief after patient coding. Robby, for all intents and purposes, is trying his best to keep a neutral, maybe slightly concerned facial expression as you gesticulate through a brief recap of how you and this guy came to be.

It’s poorly timed the way the envy flares in his chest. He cranes his neck to take a look at the patient again, brows in a pinch because seriously? You had been setting up a potential, future relationship with that? 

Then you casually drop into the conversation that the male had informed you that someone like you, served no purpose for a man with such a catalogue of aptitudes. (He works in finance.) 

And Michael Robinavitch doesn’t like that.

“So, that’s your type?” Robby physically cannot help himself. It’s like he’s purposely being conspicuous. 

You hesitate in surprise, “Obviously not? I don’t really have a type, per se.” (You do. He’s staring right at you.) “I mean, this was all before…” 

“Before?” Robby goads, shifting from one foot to the other, he sinks his hands into his fleece pockets, pulling at the lint gathered there as the words get stuck in your throat. “Alright. I’ll take the case. In the meantime, you can go back to catching up on your notes. I’ll come find you afterwards.” 

“Dr. Robby, I’m happy to swap cases with her—” 

“I’ve got it.” Robby cuts McKay off with a curt nod and polite smile—something she isn’t buying. 

McKay surrenders, but not without flitting her eyes between the pair of you. If there was anyone that could read signs a mile off, Cassie McKay was the woman for that. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t press on the matter as she breaks away from the group. 

“Discreet, Dr. Robby,” you murmur. 

Robby pulls a face that is ridiculously handsome and borderline cocky, “I’ve got this. Charting. Go.” 

Robby finds you at a different workstation much later on. More awake, a few more cases under your belt, but still wearing a notable level of bleariness. He provided the shot of Mylanta to your ‘what could’ve been’ and spent half of his time between other patients, rendering to the insecurities of the probability that he was the oldest male you have ever been with. 

He mulls over his words until he finds a way to express this to you. 

“So…Tinder?” 

“Nope.” you look up at him, “Offloaded the app.”

“Hm.” Robby nods with a frown and then decides to put some feelers out there, “Do…you think I have a predisposition to geriatric behaviours?” 

Your fingers halt on the keyboard. The patient notes on the monitor are forgone for an easier distraction. The expression of perplexity is hard to squash when your brows pinch at the question that has seemingly been plucked from the thin air of the PTMC. 

Robby stands at full height over the central workstation. Brown eyes shimmering beneath the clinical lighting, there was an ease in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before and the look of innocent curiosity blended nicely amongst his weathered features. 

His long fingers tap idly at the surface top. 

You hesitate, and then point a finger to your chest, “Are you asking me?” 

“Well—” Robby exhales through his nose as he leans against the workstation, his forehead creasing as he peers over the rim of his glasses at you. “—I’d like to think you could give me some biassed insight.” 

He tosses a lopsided smile in your direction, and you harness some restraint to ensure that from an outsiders perspective that this was an ordinary conversation between the Chief Attending and a third year resident. When you poke your tongue into the flesh of your cheek to prevent a broad smile spreading across your features, that is when Robby mirrors the amusement filled to the brim in your eyes. 

Workplace relationships came with hardships. 

It was becoming evident that having a loosely labelled ‘relationship’ with Michael Robinavitch, the long-time bachelor of the PTMC, was a whole different ballgame altogether. 

It was a long-standing commitment, the act of secret keeping that is. An oath to keep things under wraps, whilst also balancing the navigation on what to do when the leak eventually becomes noticeable—all whilst surviving a twelve hour shift on a protein bar and a prayer. It meant that you were met with hurdles like: how morally grey is it really to sleep with your boss, who could also provide you with a gleaming recommendation at the end of your residency? 

The answer fell somewhere in the ‘power imbalances’ category in the tedious employee handbook. 

(Luckily for you, you only skimmed the surface on the hierarchical structures chapter.) 

It also meant that Robby would often approach you throughout the day with a bucketful of insecurities to unload in a feeble attempt to salvage the dignity that he lost on the way. Unfortunately—he thinks, for you anyway—his keen interest to receive intermittent reassurance from you that the gap in your ages was justifiable, through the form of abnormal questions that dogpiled onto your already stressful day; was his way of seeing the world through your eyes.

It was sort of…pendatically romantic. 

You begin to type your notes again, “Did Javadi school you again?” 

“No…” Robby frowns at the thought, “Just extending some morbid curiosity.” he leans one arm against the workstation and scans the rooms closest within his vicinity. “And, you can put an end to my suffering right about now—”

“You act your age.”

Robby slowly edges his attention to you. 

“Act my age?” 

You let out an airy laugh, “That’s a good thing. It means you didn’t peak in your formative years. Or the years following that.” 

“Huh.” Robby clicks his tongue as he straightens up, shaking a finger in your direction whilst he reads off the board, “Pinning this for later. I did not like the way you worded that.” 

“You got it, boss.” you track his movements as he rounds the workstation to depart it. 

Robby lets out a cackle from the back of his throat as he leaves, angling his body with his hands up to allow space for Trinity Santos to stroll past him. She occupies the vicinity in his immediate absence, her jaw slack as she stares over her shoulder at the humoured physician disappearing into the south-end of the department. 

As she idles up to the workstation, her brunette hair swishes around when she turns her attention to you. 

“What did Dr. Goofy want?” she asks plainly. 

“Dr. Goofy?” you repeat, unable to prevent your face from cracking with mirth. 

Santos shrugs, “Yeah. He’s been…like super chill recently. He seems happier? I don’t know. There’s an underground betting pool going on about the source of Dr. Robby’s joy.” 

“Really?” you brighten at the thought, “Have you put money on something?” 

“He’s getting laid,” Santos admits, her eyes narrow whilst she looks around, lowering her voice at the same time, “I just…don’t know who. I mean it has to be someone in the PTMC, right? I like to think he’s like a caged animal—the hospital and his apartment are the only two roaming spaces for the guy.” 

You hum, locking the computer. “Or he’s going to therapy?” (You knew that wasn’t true. Just throwing Santos off her scent.) 

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “Like the rest of us are.” 

“True.” you stand and stretch your spine until there’s a soft crack. The clock above ticks just over the next hour, “I’m going to spin round the perimeter and grab a coffee.” 

Trinity saddles up into the desk chair you had resided in for the last fifteen minutes and gives you a two-finger salute as you walk away. 

There’s a release of breath that escapes you once you turn down the corridor toward the coffee station besides Pedes. The news breaking that Robby’s sudden one-eighty into an optimistic nature following some questionable behaviours for a male edging into his fifties, was being highlighted amongst the gamblers of the Pitt; and that was enough to have your pulse quicken. 

It wouldn’t be such a crime to be unearthed by your co-workers. At some point, honesty would be the best policy and you weren’t so sure that the on-call rendezvous would go under the radar for much longer. However, it would feel similar to a humiliation ritual if your situation were to be exposed through sticky notes on the whiteboard in the staff room and a lump sum at the end of it. 

When you think about it, you take the mental note to take a leisurely stroll toward the dispatch room to try sneak a glance at the betting pool exclusionary toward one Chief Attending. 

The slop of coffee sputters into the white styrofoam cup with you patiently waiting with a yawn to encapsulate the low energy levels from spending the night at Robby’s, that had finally caught up to you mid-shift. You slow blink as the liquid fills to the brim of the cup, adding your preferences to the sorry excuse of a caffeine hit. 

You press the lid around the rim until it gives a soft pop. 

By some hideous trick of unfortunate timings and coincidental placement, when you bring the steaming hot coffee to your lips, Robby zooms into your periphery and swipes it out of your hand in hurried passing. He plants it at the coffee station as he ushers you with urgency with a hand to your back. 

The touch would have sent your stomach swirling—especially if it had been hours since the last—if it weren’t for your open mourning over the loss of caffeine searing your taste buds. 

You let out a longing whine, “My coffee.” 

“Will be reheated. By me, personally.” he swings the door from North into Central and manoeuvres you toward the South bays. “Right now, we need you in 15 with an AFib cardioversion.” 

“We?” you repeat, “Am I the guest of honour for this cardiovert?” 

Robby backs into the door of 15 with his hands already slathered in sanitiser. He tilts his chin, exuding healthy amounts of cockiness. “This is a teaching hospital, regardless of a more senior role. Let me teach you,” he croons. 

You chew back a snarky remark about Robby getting a new hobby instead of ‘peacocking’ around you for some telepathic praise. Instead, you find yourself opposite Robby as he snaps the latex gloves up to his wrists and observes the patient whilst Mel, beside you, presents the case to him. 

The patient is within your age range. Sort of handsome if you thought about it for too long. He looks up at you, his eyes glazed in awe. It was as if the white lighting overhead had created a halo effect around your head and he was witnessing the presence of an angel in real time. 

He gives you a lovesick, dopey smile. (You get that a lot.) 

Which, considering his circumstances, was a good sign in the grand scheme of things. 

“They hire from heaven or somethin’?” his question is met with a blanket of silence. His chest rises and falls at an unsteady pace—part of you wonders if it’s his condition or if it’s down to the fact that he is quite taken with you. 

Mel glances between the pair of you as she preps the propofol. 

The monitor beeps behind Robby, who silently tilts his head to see how you approach the compliment.

“Oh.” your eyes drift to Robby who scrunches one eye shut, his lips pressing into a thin line as you hesitate. You give an airy chuckle, “Delivered especially for you, Mr…” you look to Mel who mouths the patient’s surname, “King—Quinn.”

Robby glares at you, each wrinkle in his forehead lined with judgement that makes your skin prickle. “Mel, what is the safe window for cardioversion?” 

“Uh, twelve hours.” 

Brown eyes find you again. “What happens after that?” 

“Increased risk of embolic stroke from left atrial blood clot,” you say, eyes following Robby’s direction to the monitor as he encourages you to continue the diagnosis, “…Which he doesn’t have.” 

“Good,” he mutters softly. (You give him a warning glance to end the praise there.) 

Mr. Quinn is in an immediate state of sedation with a successful cardioversion that sends him into a sinus rhythm that will need a few hours of monitoring. Something you don’t jump at the chance to do to lessen the work load that was quickly piling up on your shoulders. 

You exit the room with Robby in tow. 

He walks a few paces behind you, head on a swivel whilst he takes a headcount of fresh faced med-students roaming around the department. Once you’re out of earshot from nearby gossips—Princess and Perlah—Robby bends slightly to talk into your ear. 

“I think you should give patients similar to your age, a wide-birth.” his tone is playful in its emphasis at the very least. 

You tut, “Why encourage patient negligence? I’m clearly a crowd favourite.” 

“Tell that to the grey hairs you give me.” Robby pinches your wrist as he takes over you, heading in the direction of Pedes. Presumably to the coffee station, where your abandoned coffee remains—you hope anyway. “Reheated coffee coming right up. I’ll come find you.” 

“You seem to be doing that a lot today,” you call back to him. He doesn’t respond. 

You decide to double back toward dispatch, to cash in the mental note of placing a bet on the secret betting pool on Robby’s newfound happiness. As always, you find Ahmad standing at the door with his thumbs tucked into his belt loops whilst he scopes his surroundings. 

He looks bored. So, you give him something to be excited about. 

“Do my ears deceive me, or is there some exclusionary betting pool going on that I wasn’t aware about, Ahmad?” you sing as you approach him. 

Ahmad instantly brightens, “Maybe.”

“What have the wagers been so far?” 

“$40 on new motorcycle, $20 on a pay rise, another $20 on pussycat.” Ahmad glances at you with a knowing smirk, “Santos submitted that one.”

“Go figure,” you mumble.

“Are you in, doc?” 

You nod and reach into your scrub pocket, “Sure, why not. I’ll put…$20 on a mid-life crisis.” 

Ahmad smothers his laughter behind his fist. “That’s heartless. Alright. $20 on mid-life crisis.” he takes the bills from your grasp, “You’re lucky he ain’t part of this bet. That recommendation you need after your residency? Dust, if Robby knew.”

“It can be our little secret until then.” you tap at your nose. 

“What can?”

The timing of Michael Robinavitch was impeccably vexing. As the eyes and ears of the ED, most of you began to fear that he was presenting evidence of omnipresence. He appears, he soaks up the happenings, and then he dissolves into the chaos. 

If you wanted to be the one to water the reasoning down, it would be the fact that Robby was slowly becoming the South Pole magnet to your North Pole magnet and you just happened to create such a forceful magnetic field across the department, that it was near impossible to not drag himself toward you when he got the chance. 

He’d just call it grabbing you a well-earned coffee. 

You don’t bat an eyelid as you speak.

“That would defeat the purpose of secrets, Dr. Robinavitch.” you take the coffee from his grasp, fingers intentionally overlapping, you don’t flinch when you feel the card that had been conveniently placed on the underside of the cup—your fingers curling to conceal it from Ahmad’s view. 

Robby steps back and gives you a subtle nod. 

On-call room. Fifteen minutes. 

Ahmad holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m out on this one.” 

He manoeuvres himself out of the situation with ease, leaving Robby and you exactly where you wanted to be. Out of earshot and each other’s company. 

You take a sip of your coffee, kissing your teeth at the bitterness. “You need to be a little more subtle.” 

“That…is what the on-call room card is for.” 

The next thing you knew, you were slipping into the on-call room five minutes after Robby. He meets you in the middle of the room with a face melting into unfiltered fondness, tugging you in by the crook of your elbow, his fingers featherlight against your arm as he envelops you into a warm embrace. 

This was one of the very few places where CCTV couldn’t capture grainy footage of your bond. So, you soak it up when you can. 

With your ear against his chest, you can hear the low rumble he lets out from being content where he is. You tilt your chin upward and he’s quick to catch your lips in a chaste kiss—greedily taking a second.

Being deprived of affection all day, you relish in his undivided attention. 

Robby is staring deeply into your eyes, swaying you both. He decides to take a leap of faith, “Stay tonight?” 

“Two nights in a row?”

“Yes…” Robby grumbles in a warning. 

A smile creeps onto your face. “I think this could be a healthier habit for you to adopt. No reason for me to say no.” 

Crows-feet prominent, Robby smiles and dips to kiss you again. You pull away and begin to pick at the bobbling on the fleece he wears. He keeps you in the warmth of his arms, tucking his chin to watch you busy yourself. 

After a couple of seconds, he brings up a relevant topic of discussion. 

“You want to tell me what that was about with Ahmad?” he coos.  

You give him an innocent expression, “No idea what you’re talking about. We were just having a discussion.” 

“Ah.” Robby draws his brows together, “Nothing to do with the wages being placed against the reasoning behind my…” he takes a deep breath, “upbeat tempo these days?” 

“Don’t make a snitch out of me, Robinavitch.” you nudge his chest in disbelief, “How’d you know about it?”

“Well. This is my department. I know the inner workings of the entire ecosystem, sweetheart,” he croons before adding, “Plus, Abbot was ecstatic to be the one to tell me.” 

You scoff at the revelation. It just had to be Jack Abbot. 

“Are you mad?” 

“Oh, I think I’ll survive the outside noise for a little while longer.” Robby traces your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, in a way that feels less along the lines of no strings attached. “What did you put your money on?” 

“Something not relating to your sexual deviance.” you tease and Robby brings his fingers up to tug at your earlobe. You moisten your lips and bare your teeth in a sickly sweet smile to soften the blow, “I put $20 on mid-life crisis.” 

Robby’s brows shoot to his hairline, squeezing his eyes shut as he gives his head a wobble to digest your words. There was a conversation that needed to be had somewhere in there; just much, much further down the line. 

And outside of the PTMC. To preserve both of your sanities.

You find yourself trailing the palms of your hands down Robby’s forearms—half covered by the rolled up sleeves of his fleece—to soothe his outward reaction of immediate discontent at the accusation you haphazardly flung out. 

A fucking mid-life crisis.

“You…give me a headache,” he says earnestly.

“I know. But you like it.” (Correction: he loves it.) 

Robby draws back with little time left before your co-workers begin to put two and two together due to the convenient disappearance of you both. 

“I suppose I’ll take it on the chin.” he shoots you a playful look, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I put in an anonymous wager in myself two nights ago. Perks of being the last one to leave this fucking place.” 

“Oh yeah?” your interest piques. 

He reaches for the handle of the door, scratching at the coarseness of his beard with his other hand, “Yeah. I think I have a good shot at winning,” he chirps. 

“Okay.” you nod your head in amusement as he walks away from you, “What did you even wage on? New motorcycle?”

The door buzzes open and Robby swings it open with his face filling with mirth. He leaves you in the On-call room with a singular word uttered; sending you into a frozen shock. 

“$40 on girlfriend.”

“That's not normal, right?”

“Could be a blocked duct, swollen lymph node, muscle strain...” He lists the harmless possibilities first because he knows you'll latch onto the scariest one.

Sure enough, panic flashes across your face.

“Or cancer,” you whisper.

He steers you onto the sofa.

“Let's stay calm, honey.” The nickname melts you every time. He uses it strategically, aware it overrides your higher cognitive functions the way pressing CTRL-ALT-DEL overrides a computer. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

You comply, shoulders sliding back in the process the way he guided them at Dana's 60th birthday party last month — thumb up your spine, murmuring, “good posture keeps that pretty dress from doing all the work.”

Jack had hollered from the pool table, “You taking your shot or what, Robinavitch?”

Robby muttered something about musculoskeletal health, but you'd seen the grin he tried to hide.

Today's grin is subtler. He cups the the spot again, pads of his fingers warm, professional — mostly.

“This doesn't feel like cancer.”

Your eyes jump to his. “You can tell?”

“I can tell that nothing about it is setting off alarm bells.” His fingers gently test the edges of the knot. “It’s sore, it moves under the skin, and you only noticed it today. That points much more toward irritated tissue, a little cyst, or something hormonal.”

“So I’m not dying?”

“You are not dying.”

Your shoulders loosen by a fraction, until he clears his throat, gaze flicking down with clinical (and far less clinical) intent.

“While we're here,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing over both breasts, “let me double-check a few other things.”

Before you can agree, or pretend to protest, he coaxes your tank top higher. Warm palms frame each swell, thumbs grazing nipples until they perk under the attention.

“Temperature’s good,” he says, voice gone velvet. “Circulation…” He bends, mouth closing around one peak to suck gently, tongue flicking an unhurried pattern that makes your pulse trip. “…excellent.”

Your breath stutters. “Is this… uh … part of protocol, or did you invent that just now?”

“Holistic medicine,” he answers, switching sides with exaggerated professionalism and an open-mouthed lick that leaves a glossy trail. “Whole patient, whole care.”

Your brain, already mushy around him, accepts the lie for a solid five seconds. Then the penny drops, finally catching on that this is not standard practice.

“Robby.” You scold with big eyes, but the syllables come out a little sigh-soft.

He grins against your skin.

“And you” — another slow suck, enough to drag a whine from your throat — “are officially cleared for vigorous activity.”

“Doctor’s orders?”

“Doctor’s insistence,” he corrects, sliding a hand down your rib cage toward far less innocent territory. “Now relax, princess — this part of the exam takes… time.”

MARIA NOTE procrastinating writing stripper reader.... but trust it's coming... and it's already up to 10k words idk who i think i am