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The covid restrictions meant you couldn't get close to Robby to comfort him, but you weren't sure you would have anyhow. You were close, but you had always shied away from expressing physical affection with him, worried it would come across as unprofessional. As it was, the affection he showed you, mostly in fist bumps and shoulder squeezes, always had your face heating.

After he had called time of death on Adamson, he sat by his bedside for a long time, until his sobs reduced to just sniffles, and he turned to look at you. It was difficult to make out his face through the biohazard suit, but you saw enough. He was wrecked.

"You should go back out there, they need you."

His voice was broken and still thick with tears. You didn't want to leave him in here by himself. Normally, you probably would have put up a fight to stay. You had seen enough grief in your life to recognize that it would be unlikely for Robby to be functional for the forseeable future. After he had fought to keep Adamson alive by the skin of his teeth for weeks now, he had been unresponsive, unreachable. It made you feel a little sick. And you wanted to fix it, you wanted to make it better somehow. Which was why you had been silently standing in the room for so long. In the hope that you could be a constant, comforting presence.

But you were senior resident and Robby was the only attending on shift. Which meant the only way you could make this better for him was to pick up the slack while he attempted to Frankenstein the pieces of himself back together into something workable. So you nodded, hesitated for only a moment before you headed back out towards central.

You were so busy, jumping from patient to patient, checking with Dana, checking with the residents and med students, you didn't realize you hadn't seen Robby in a couple of hours until Dana was asking you if you'd seen him.

You frowned, "No… Is he… Is he still with Adamson?"

Dana shook her head.

"I saw him go up to the roof." You turned to look at Samira Mohan, MS4, "Like, twenty minutes ago."

You sighed, "Thanks, Mohan," And then called out to another resident to come cover for you, that you'd be back in a few minutes.

"You're gonna go talk to him?" Dana walked with you as you went to grab a sandwich and juice box from the patient bin.

"I'm gonna try," You said simply, "I think um… I think he's spectacularly fucked up right now, so. Probably shouldn't leave him alone up there. I'll try and get him back down here."

"Do you want any help?" You felt Dana's hand on your arm through the PPE, "I know you're grieving too."

You shrugged dismissively, avoided eye contact, "Aren't we all? I only knew him for, like, three years."

Dana was silent for a moment and then sighed, "I know you think you're clever, kid, that you can hold it all together and no one will notice. But I notice. So, if you need to talk about it—"

"Noted," You said quickly, for once grateful for all the PPE you donned so she wouldn't see the wetness in your eyes, "I'll be on the roof."

***

You took off most of your PPE as you headed up to the roof, left on an N95 even though with the cool September air, you longed to take it off. Give your face a break. The bruises on your cheeks from where the mask sat most of the day still jarred you when looked in the mirror in your bathroom after a shift.

When you got to the roof, you saw Robby, PPE discarded in a pile next to him as he stood over the railing. Your breath caught as you watched him, terrified that if you made too much noise you'd startle him into falling.

Normally, you wouldn't be worried about Robby's suicidal tendencies. The both of you had joked on more than one occasion that it was an occupational hazard. But you hadn't ever seen him like this, the way he had been the last couple of weeks since Adamson had been brought in. Snapping at everyone, alternating between sobbing and praying, blurring the lines so deeply between emotion and proper care. His emotional state was so unstable you had stopped trusting him to make treatment decisions, subtly running as much as possible past Abbot via phone calls and texts.

You had always admired Robby from day one, had trusted him almost immediately. So it scared you, now, to have that trust forcibly ripped from you by the greedy hands of grief.

Taking Adamson off ECMO, then extubating him. Well, you'd never seen Robby so unlike himself.

You approached the railing, made sure to give him space before speaking, "I brought you a sandwich."

He didn't turn and didn't acknowledge your presence. If you craned your neck slightly you could see his face, flushed and tear-stained.

"I'm not hungry." He said after a few moments.

"Yeah," You sighed, "I know. But you haven't eaten anything all shift. It'll help."

You watched his chest heave as he inhaled and then sighed deeply, "I know you're trying to help, but I want to be alone."

"I'll sit here quietly with you while you eat the sandwich, but I'm not going back downstairs without you."

Finally, he slowly turned to you and you saw mostly resignation there. The face of a man who was speed running the stages of grief and skipping ahead to neatly pack it away where no one could touch it so he could get back to work. Yeah, you knew that face. Had seen it in the mirror once or twice.

"You shouldn't be this close to me with no PPE on."

"Well, if you get back on the right side of the railing I could socially distance from you, but right now I need to be in grabbing distance."

He stared at you, all red rimmed, wet brown eyes and you stared back. The two of you usually agreed on most things, but when you butt heads you could rival each other with your stubbornness.

You realized you hadn't seen him this up close with no mask in months and the sight had your stomach tightening. When the thought passed through you that you missed looking directly into those big brown eyes, you pushed it away so fast you could almost fool yourself into believing you had never thought it to begin with.

Eventually, Robby sighed and crossed back under the railing, "You haven't eaten today either," he said softly when you handed him the sandwich. It startled you that he had noticed that, even with everything going on, but you didn't try to deny it as you may have on another day, "You eat half," he said, and held out part of the sandwich to you, wrapped in cellophane.

Reluctantly, you took the sandwich and sat down roughly ten feet away from him, pulled your mask down to your chin. He watched you as you took a bite before taking his own.

You let the silence fall for a minute or two, wanting him to just focus on eating. But with both of your halves gone, you sighed and looked at the sun that was beginning to set. Shift was almost over. You'd both go home, the sun would set and rise again, and it'd be another day. The first of days without Adamson here.

You wouldn't sleep tonight, you knew. You'd likely be up worrying about Robby being on his own. You wouldn't be able to relax until 7 AM tomorrow when you got here and he was standing at the hub, talking to Dana, like always.

"It'll feel lonely," You said suddenly as you looked out to the sky and you felt his eyes snap to you, but you didn't return his gaze, "the first few days or weeks or months. You'll feel empty, hallowed out, and you'll want to fill the place in your chest where he was, but you won't be able to. And people will give their condolences, but that'll make it feel worse, because they won't really understand. You'll feel it change you on a cellular level and you'll wonder how anyone will still want to be around you when you could never be the person you were before again."

Finally, you looked up at him, "And I know you probably know all of that already, but I'm saying it because I want you to know that I'll still want to be around you. Once the dust settles."

He was looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. You could practically see the question on the tip of his tongue; Who did you lose?

But you didn't want to talk about Benji today or any day. So before he could ask, you cleared your throat and stood, "We should get back downstairs."

Slowly, he nodded and rose to standing. You started walking back to the door when he called your name, "Thank you." He said simply.

You gave him a sad smile, mask still off, and nodded.

You didn't think much of it at the time, but much, much later you'd remember it. And you and Robby would playfully bicker years later, about when it started. He would pinpoint a moment two years into your residency when he started to see you as an equal, professionally. You would point to this moment, the first time you had been tender and vulnerable with him, even if it was just for a moment.

But what you told people when they asked, was that it officially started when you finished your residency and headed to Boston for your fellowship.

***

You were avoiding Robby and you had been for the last week and a half. He didn't particularly understand why. In fact, if he was honest it was starting to hurt his feelings since this was the last week of your residency.

Then you'd move to Boston for your fellowship. The fellowship he had recommended you to, personally called contacts there to talk you up.

And he was happy for you, truly. You deserved it. You deserved everything you wanted. But he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his stomach when he remembered you wouldn't be here anymore.

"Do you know what's up with her?" He asked Dana after you had skirted him once again, quickly rattled off your treatment plan and ran off before he could even get out a "good job."

Dana shrugged, "Seems fine to me. She definitely hasn't noticed all your moping."

Robby laughed, "I am not moping."

She smirked at him, "Make sure she knows how much you're gonna miss her so she comes back home in a couple years."

Robby shook his head incredulously as Dana walked off and then his eyes found you again. He could hear the way you were coughing into your mask as you went to duck into the break room from here.

Frowning, he followed after you. When he opened the door, he found you guzzling down a blue Gatorade. An open bottle of DayQuil was on the table by your hip, "Are you sick?"

You almost choked on your Gatorade seeing he was there, and then you really started coughing and wheezing into your elbow. "Alright, sit down," He said, reaching for you by the shoulders.

You reeled back, backed yourself towards the wall and away from him, "Stop, you'll get sick."

"How long have you been sick?"

You shrugged, "I don't know, a week or two?" He gave you a knowing look, "Fuck, I don't know, probably like three weeks. But I'm fine, it's just a cold. It's not covid, I tested like a million times."

He crooked his finger at you and then pointed to the table, "Sit. Now."

You looked like you might argue, but when he raised his eyebrows, as if daring you to disobey, you sighed and walked over to the table, pushed yourself up so you were perched on the edge.

He pulled a mask and a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on before turning back to you. He tapped a finger lightly against your cheek, "Open."

You clenched your jaw for a moment, then rolled your eyes before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. It was stained blue from the Gatorade and Robby managed to suppress a smile as he shone his pen light down your throat.

No infection there as far as he could tell, just a bit red and inflamed from all the coughing.

He started to remove his stethoscope from around his neck, "You wanna tell me what I'm gonna hear when I listen to your lungs?" He asked, because he knew you would have already listened on your own.

But you continued to ignore him.

Robby placed his stethoscope in his ears and then listened closely to your lungs as you took deep breaths.

He took his stethoscope off and draped it back around his neck, trying to dampen his frustration, "Your lungs are crackling," he said quietly.

You were silent and wouldn't meet his eyes, which told him all he needed to know. You already knew. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You stared away from him stubbornly, "Are you going to make me waste hours waiting for a chest x-ray on my second to last day here?"

"Yes," He said angrily and dipped his head so you were looking at him, "Residents accepted into prestigious fellowships take care of their bodies when they're sick as they would their patients."

You scoffed, "So your fellowship wasn't prestigious then?"

He hung his head, "I'm telling Dana you need to go to up to Radiology and to admit you."

He started to walk back to central and he heard your hurried steps behind him, "I don't need a bed this is ridiculous—"

"What's ridiculous," he said, rounding on you, "is that you've been working in an ER with what's likely pneumonia for weeks and didn't think to inform your attending."

You huffed, "I wore a mask the whole time—"

"Ohoho!" He laughed and continued, voice dripping with sarcasm, "well, I guess that changes everything. Now, go sit in chairs until Dana comes to get you. Or you can go home, but you'll have to sign an AMA form if you do."

You clenched your jaw and shook your head, "You're a real asshole when you care, you know that?" You said and turned towards the door to chairs.

"Still your attending for two more days," He called after you, "be nice of you to show some respect."

You raised your middle finger over your head, "How's that for respect?" You called back before pushing the door open and disappearing into chairs.

He fought a smile. Yeah, he was really gonna miss you.

***

Shockingly, when Robby pulled aside the curtain a couple of hours later with your X-Rays, you were asleep. Curled up in the fetal position on the bed, you looked cold.

He sighed and pulled the curtains back around you. The infection must've really run you down if you were fast asleep with the fluorescent lighting and general clamor of the emergency room. He grabbed the stool and wheeled it to your bedside before sitting.

When he reached out to gently shake your shoulder, he began unzipping and shrugging out of his hoodie with his other hand. As you stirred, he draped it over you.

You made an annoyingly adorable noise as you woke and Robby acted like it didn't effect him. He had been doing that a lot lately, acting like you had no effect on his emotional disposition. In reality, whatever you felt, so did he. If you were in a shitty mood, he was more likely to be snippy with everyone. If you were happy, he smiled a lot more that day. And if you were sick, well, he was gonna make sure you were well taken care of to curb his own anxieties.

He had to keep reminding himself that you were leaving.

"What… Time is it?" You yawned into your elbow and then sat up, pushing your arms into his hoodie.

He looked at his watch, "About 6:30."

You wrapped yourself up in his hoodie, and maybe you didn't realize you had done it, but Robby watched you as you buried your nose near the neck and inhaled deeply. He smirked and looked down at his iPad to unlock it.

"What does this look like to you?" He turned the iPad to you so you could see your chest X-rays.

Your eyes slowly trailed to the X-ray, your head tilted slightly. You sighed and then looked back to Robby, "pulmonary infiltrates."

He nodded, "In both lungs," he lowered the images, "Have you had a fever? And don't lie to me," He added quickly when you opened your mouth.

You sighed, "Not since I started taking Tylenol."

"Okay," He said, "I'm gonna prescribe you some antibiotics—"

"I'm allergic to penicillin."

"I know," When you frowned he said, "you had strep a couple years ago, I remember." You were still looking at him funny though, "What? Is it that weird that I remember?"

"No," You shook your head and looked down at your hands, "no, I just, my own mother never remembers, so. I had a few close calls when I was a kid."

He paused, noted the way you had deflated. You weren't one to give many personal details. He usually had to pry if he wanted to know anything about your life. And your family especially, he knew very little about. Really just that they lived in the area, that you grew up here, that you had brothers, but it was anyone's guess how many.

"Well, I'm a doctor, so. It's sort of drilled into me to remember that sort of thing."

You nodded, "Yeah, no I know."

He watched you for another moment and then cleared his throat, "I'm gonna give you a Z-Pak and then I want you to go home. Is there anyone I can call to come get you?"

You shook your head, "No, I'm good."

He didn't like the idea of you going home alone with no one to take care of you, "What about that guy you've been seeing? From Neuro? What was his name?"

You smirked, "Eric?"

He snapped his fingers, "Yeah, Eric. Let's call Eric."

You shook your head, "We broke up weeks ago."

"Oh," He frowned, "I'm sorry. I thought… You seemed to really like him." He was being honest about that. He had seen the two of you in the stairwell on more than one occasion, embraced and giggling. Sure, it also made him feel unexplainable levels of rage, but he tried not to think about that part, attributed it to whatever protective feelings he'd developed for you over the last few years.

"I did, yeah," You ran a hand through your hair, "he just thought he could one day convince me that I actually wanted to have babies. That maybe if I loved him enough it would awaken some dormant maternal instinct in me, or something?"

Robby raised his eyebrows and immediately you sighed, "Sorry. I'm oversharing, I don't know why I told you that. I just, we shouldn't call Eric."

He shook his head, "No, no you're right we should not call Eric," He cleared his throat, "what about your family, your mother or a brother? Don't they live nearby?"

"No." You said sharply, "I mean, yes, they live nearby, but no I won't call them."

He tilted his head, "I'd really you rather not go home alone—"

"Robby," You sighed, "Look, I appreciate your concern, I don't want to bother my family with this."

Robby chuckled, "I'm sure if you tell them you have double pneumonia it won't be a bother—"

"I said no." You said sharply.

Interesting. "Okay." He said and rose to standing, "I'll get you that Z-Pak and then you can go home."

He started to walk towards the curtain before turning back to look at you again, "I still don't understand why you didn't tell me? Is it— Is it a work thing? You thought… I don't know, that I'd be upset somehow?"

"No, no," You shook your head, "I just, um, you're so busy," you shrugged, "didn't wanna bother you."

He tilted his head, "You being sick is not a bother." You looked down at your hands and said nothing, "What else is bothering you?"

You opened and closed your mouth, then finally sighed, "I thought… I know it doesn't make any sense, but I thought maybe you'd think that…" you shook your head, "I just thought you'd be more impressed with me if I worked through it. I have this… complex where I feel like I need to be the best at everything."

He tried not to let the shock show on his face, but he was rather surprised that you seemed to care so much of what he thought of you. You had been Adamson's favorite as soon as you started, and that had been the opinion that mattered most. Sure, he knew he had let you closely shadow him for much of that, but he had never gotten the impression that you cared all that much what he thought of you.

He frowned, "And… you thought you could win best doctor while sick with pneumonia."

You laughed, "Something like that, yeah. I told you it was silly."

He shook his head, "Well," he sighed, "I would say if you do that again, we'll have to have a more serious discussion about it, but you've finished your residency, so. Just don't embarrass me in front of the Harvard doctors, I really talked you up."

You hummed, "No promises."

Dana pulled aside the curtain, "They need you in trauma one."

Robby turned back to you, "I don't want to see you back here tomorrow."

"But it's my last day—"

"I don't care. Rest. It's not a request."

He was gone before you could argue.

***

The next time Robby checked for you, you were walking towards the ambulance bay, backpack on your shoulders and small bag of antibiotics in your hand. You were still wearing his hoodie, which was fine with him. It just meant he'd have an excuse to see you again before you left for Boston.

He was still thinking about the way you had seemed so persistent that admitting you were sick to anyone was an inconvenience, a moral failing even. That to him you could ever be anything less than his best resident and maybe even just one of his favorite people, full stop. He had thought you had known how impressed he was with you, that it had always been obvious how much he liked you. He thought you both had acknowledged to yourselves how close the two of you had grown both professionally and personally.

But maybe he had read too much into things. Maybe it really was just professional for you and nothing more, and that was fine, really. But he still cared about you and the thought of you being sick and alone had him a minute away from driving over to your place himself.

"Dana," he said as he sat down at his work station. He handed her the iPad he was holding, your chart still open, "Do you have her emergency contact information?"

"Yes," she said slowly, her eyes moving back up to his, "but she gave me strict instructions never to use it unless we really and truly thought she was dying."

He shrugged, "She could be dying. Pneumonia has been known to kill people."

Dana rolled her eyes, but began sifting through the staff directory anyway, "You ever tell her I gave this to you, I will make your life in here hell for months."

Robby smiled and took the number Dana had written onto a sticky note, "Thank you."

The phone rang a few times before a woman picked up.

***

You were curled up on the couch with your laptop, scrolling through takeout options when your doorbell rang.

Nobody ever rang your doorbell and you weren't expecting anyone so you ignored it. You figured it was probably the kids down the hall playing ding-dong-ditch.

But then your phone started vibrating on the coffee table, and when you glanced over at it, you saw the decades old photo of your mother, smiling at the camera while she held you and Benji, one in each arm. You had to have been about five or six and you were sobbing when the photo went off, wrapped in a beach towel and sopping wet from the pool. Benji was looking at you, furrow between his brow, little arm reaching for your hand.

The photo lit up your whole screen, Mother Dearest it read at the top and Slide to Answer at the bottom.

You knew you had messed up by not telling Robby when you realized you probably had pneumonia, but it was your final couple of weeks at PTMC and you wanted to make sure you left a lasting impression. A good impression. You had already secured his glowing recommendation so you weren't sure why it mattered to you so much. But you couldn't shake the panic in your chest that someone was going to replace you when you left. That Robby would forget all about you. And for some reason, the thought was absolutely intolerable.

Besides which, it really was true that you never told anyone when you were sick normally. Rationally, you had known pneumonia wasn't something you could just "stick out," but you figured if you could power through the rest of your time at PTMC, if you weren't better you'd get the antibiotics. And you had always done this, dangled the carrot in front of your own face with everything. If you could just suffer through this really difficult thing, you could have the good thing afterwards. It was almost as if you thought you had to somehow prove yourself worthy of being healed.

But now Robby had forbidden you from coming back to work and your mom was calling. Perhaps getting sick really had been some sort of moral failing on your part, because this sure felt like punishment.

You debated so long on ignoring the call you nearly missed it.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Ace, you sound terrible. Come open the door."

You blinked slowly, looked down your entryway to the door, "What?" was all you could manage.

"Hurry up," she chided, "come help with the groceries."

For a moment, you thought maybe you were having a stroke. You stood up from the couch and walked to the door, phone pressed to your ear. Still disbelieving, perhaps hoping against hope, you looked through the peep hole and saw your mom standing there with a paper bug clutched to her chest, your dad just behind her a huge stock pot in his hands. The horror you felt at seeing them there could not be overstated.

Lowering your phone and hitting the red button on the screen to end the call, you murmured a curse under your breath before opening the door, "What are you guys doing here?"

Your mom blew past you, "Really, sweetie, you sound terrible. Have you drank any tea?"

"Hey kiddo," Your dad threw an arm around your neck and pulled you to him to kiss the top of your head.

You indulged him for a moment before gently disentangling yourself and he walked by you to follow your mother into the kitchen. Shaking your head, you reluctantly followed, "Seriously, why are you here? Who told you I was sick?"

"Ace," Your mother said examining the pile of unwashed dishes in your sink, "would it kill you to wash a dish? I mean, how're you supposed to cook in here?"

You watched as she unpacked the ingredients for chicken soup. You were beginning to think it must've been Robby who'd called them, after you explicitly asked him not to, but you wanted confirmation before you went nuclear.

"Did someone call you from the hospital?"

Your mother had taken the stock pot and brought it next to your sink, making a face as she grabbed the sink hose and pulled it over to the pot before turning on your water, "Yes, a doctor. Said he works with you. He was very sweet, said he was worried about you being home alone."

You clenched your jaw, "And what was his name?"

She sighed, "I don't remember… I think it started with an R…"

"Robinavitch?" You offered.

"Yes!" Your mom nodded, "Yes, Dr. Robinavitch. Nice man."

You sighed deeply through your nose, "I'll be right back."

You swiped your phone off the coffee table and headed for the bathroom.

"Christ," You heard your mother swear as you walked down the hallway, "Ace have you forgotten what a mop looks like? This floor is disgusting!"

You bit down on your cheek to keep from shouting and closed the bathroom door behind you, locking it. You turned on the sink and opened the window, briefly thought about climbing out of it, but there was barely a ledge below the window so you'd probably fall three stories to your death. Though, that was starting to sound preferable to being here.

You didn't smoke anymore, but you kept an emergency pack of cigarettes and a lighter taped to the underside of the sink. You weren't sure why you still hid them like this, you were an adult now, but it was a habit you couldn't shake.

You definitely should not be smoking after being diagnosed with pneumonia, but if you couldn't drink with the antibiotics you needed fucking something. After you lit up, you sat on the toilet seat cover and dialed Robby.

He picked up on the third ring, "Hey, everything okay?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He paused, "You're gonna have to be more specific."

After your second drag, a coughing fit seized you and your chest felt tight. But fuck Robby, and fuck your parents, if you couldn't have anything else, you would finish this cigarette.

"You called my parents—" You struggled for oxygen, paused for a second to catch your breath, "—I told you not to call anyone and you called my fucking parents."

He sighed, "Look, I know what you said, but you shouldn't be alone right now."

"Ace! Where the fuck do you keep your garlic?!"

You sighed and stood, cracking the bathroom door open, "It's in the fridge!"

"I don't see any!"

"Then I ran out!"

"How could you run out of garlic? Haven't I taught you anything?"

You closed the door again and sat back down on the toilet, bringing the cigarette back up to your lips.

"Shouting is probably not conducive with having pneumonia," Robby said quietly.

You gave a short laugh, "Then you shouldn't have called my mother. I mean, what the fuck is it with you? You think you know better than me what's good for me?"

There was silence on the other line for a moment, then, "You don't take care of yourself," he said slowly, "You're a fantastic doctor, but you never seem to know when to stop."

You pressed the heel of the hand that was holding your cigarette to your forehead, "Gee, I wonder where I learned that from."

He sighed, "Come on, kid, I just wanted to help—"

"Yeah, well, next time mind your own fucking business." You spat and then hung up the phone.

Immediately, Robby was calling you back, the phone vibrating in your hand. You declined it. Waited a few seconds, and then the phone was lighting back up again. You declined it a second time.

A new text from Robby popped up on your screen: Pick up the damn phone.

The phone lit up again. This time, sighing, you silenced it and pocketed it, letting it ring. You put out your cigarette, ran it under water to be sure, before wrapping it in toilet paper and tossing it in the waste bin by the toilet.

***

"Well I just don't understand why you have to be so rude about it, we came here to help you—"

"And I appreciate that," You sat at your counter, face in your hands beyond exhausted and wanting more than anything to be alone. There was a steaming mug of tea in front of you, "I just wasn't expecting you. It's been a long day—" You saw your phone light up in the corner of your eye. Robby again. You silenced it. "—I'm really, really tired."

"Oh, and we're just so stressful to be around?"

You sighed, "Mom—"

"No, no it's fine." You lowered your hands to see her hurriedly packing up her things, that frown on her face and bunched up shoulders that you knew meant she was pissed. You looked to your father for help, but he only shrugged. Useless. "I know when I'm not wanted."

You shook your head, "I didn't say that."

"I'll remember this next time you're sick or need my help, alright Ace?"

You massaged your temples, "Yeah. Okay."

She looked up at you and shook her head, "Unbelievable. All of you kids, so fucking ungrateful."

You didn't have the energy to argue, so you waited silently while she finished packing up her things, and pressed an angry kiss to your head, "I love you, you know." She said, but she said it like she was sorry she did, "Even if you don't."

"Love you too." You muttered.

And then, mercifully, they were gone. You sighed and then stood, went to stir the soup your mom had left simmering. It was nice, the smell of the chicken soup on the stove. It reminded you of snow days when you were small, coming in from sledding and snowball fights to a bowl of soup and a grilled cheese. Your eyes watered at the memories and you almost felt badly for kicking your parents out. Until there was a knock at your door.

Yours eyes roamed over your kitchen as you walked to your door, wondering what your parents had forgotten, but when you opened the door it was Robby standing there. You had forgotten he knew where you lived, having taken you home a few times.

"Robby?"

"Look, I know you're pissed at me," He hissed, running a hand through his hair, "but you could pick up the fucking phone. Are they here?" He asked, eyes darting around your empty apartment.

You sighed, "No, I kicked them out," You stepped to the side, "Would you like to come in?"

He frowned, "Is this a trap? I thought you were mad at me."

"I am," You said and stifled a yawn, "too tired to fight, though."

He softened at that and walked in, immediately ushering you to the couch.

"Hey," You laughed at his insistence to get you to lay on the couch, "there's soup on the stove—"

"I'll take care of it."

You tilted your head, "My kitchen's a mess."

"I don't mind. Lay down."

You looked at him for another moment before sighing and falling back into the cushions. He grabbed a throw blanket and draped it over you and you again felt tears prick the backs of your eyes at the tenderness of the gesture, "I'm sorry I called your family," he said softly, "I thought—"

"It's okay, you didn't know," You said quickly, "I overreacted."

He pressed his lips into a firm line and shook his head, "No, you didn't. I overstepped."

He disappeared into your kitchen before you could argue. When he came back, he had a bowl of soup in his hand. He sat at your feet and casually pulled your legs over his lap before offering you a spoonful of soup.

You felt your cheeks heat, "I can… I can feed myself."

"Just let me take care of you, alright?" He said softly, "I'm being selfish, it'll make me feel better."

Well, once again, you weren't really in a position to argue with him. So, sighing, and feeling mortified, you allowed him to spoonfeed you the soup.

Once empty, he placed the bowl on your coffee table and sighed as he relaxed into your couch, rested his hand on your bare calf.

He was aware he was crossing lines, but he had been so scared out of his mind an hour ago that you were going to go to Boston pissed at him and never speak to him again. He wanted to touch you, reassure himself that you were here, safe, not upset at him. Even if it was just his hand against your leg.

"When do you leave for Boston?" He asked.

"A… week and a half." Your speech was slowed and he could see the drowsiness as it weighed on your eyes, "Did you… mean it? When you said I can't come in tomorrow?"

He nodded, ran his hand soothingly along your ankle, "Sorry kid, you need rest."

He was alarmed when your lip started to wobble and your eyes grew wet, "Hey," he squeezed lightly on your leg, "come on, you can't want to work that badly."

"It's my last day," you hiccuped, "you're gonna replace me. Find a new favorite resident."

Smirking, he reached out to press the back of his hand to your forehead, "You due for another dose of Tylenol?" He teased, but you pushed his hand away, pouting. "You're not usually so sentimental."

"You already have a new favorite resident, don't you?"

"No," He laughed, "You can't be replaced, only succeeded."

You smiled at that, "You promise?"

He nodded, "You'll always be my best resident."

You giggled, "Good, that's good."

He liked you like this, honest and sweet. He always liked you, but you could be so illusive sometimes he felt like he didn't know anything about you. He never would have guessed that you felt so strongly about being his favorite.

"How're you getting to Boston?"

Your eyelids were starting to flutter, "Hmm… Uhaul."

He raised his eyebrows, "You're going to drive a Uhaul to Boston all by yourself?"

"Mhm."

He scoffed, "Yeah, no. I don't think so. I'll drive."

You blinked your eyes open, "You're gonna help me move?"

He was being selfish again, he knew. He just wanted more time with you. But you did have pneumonia and he simply couldn't fathom you driving a box truck ten hours all by yourself.

So he nodded, "Did you hire movers?"

"No," You scoffed, "what do you think I am, made of money?"

He laughed, "Alright, I'll hire movers then."

"That's too much."

"Let me worry about that," he murmured, "You get some sleep, alright?"

You yawned, "Thank you for coming, Robby."

You were still wrapped up in his hoodie, hood up and drawstrings pulled slightly to keep it snug around your head. It looked ridiculous, but adorable. He'd likely let you keep it forever if you didn't think to return it.

Robby wasn't sure how he was going to run the ER without you there. Since Adamson you had become his right hand, the one person besides Dana and Jack he could rely on to always be there with whatever he needed. Even if he didn't quite know what he needed himself. He had meant what he said. You were irreplaceable.

***

It was sunny and clear out the morning you were packing up the UHaul. You weren't sure if Robby would show. You remembered him saying he would help you move the night you had been sick, but when you woke that morning he had already left for shift and you hadn't spoken to him since. You thought it likely he had forgotten or maybe had thought better of his offer. And you wouldn't blame him. Moving sucked. Especially when it included a ten hour drive.

But just as you were finishing getting the last of your things into the UHaul, sweat dripping down the back of your neck, you heard his voice behind you.

"Am I late?"

"No," You huffed and tugged the back of the UHaul closed, "Wasn't sure if you were still coming."

He pushed his sunglasses onto his head, reached a hand out to you to help you as you hopped down from the back of the truck, "Well I said I would."

"I know, I just…" You shook your head, "It seems like sort of a shitty job to have signed up for, I wouldn't blame you for bailing."

He frowned, "I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that, and anyway, I brought you something."

Out of his backpack, he dug out a trucker hat that had a small picture of the Cambridge skyline embroidered on it and below the skyline, it read Harvard.

He pulled the hat onto your head, "Perfect."

You smirked, felt like a little kid as you rocked back on your heels, "Thank you."

He nodded, "I'm really proud of you, kid." He looked down at his hands, rubbed the back of one into the palm of his other, "Monty'd be proud of you, too."

The mention of Adamson made your breath catch. You hadn't heard Robby talk about him since the day he died. You hadn't much spoken about him either, having tucked your grief for him away, near where you kept Benji.

You couldn't touch either of them for fear you'd spiral down into the grief and never resurface. So you nodded and cleared your throat, "We should probably get on the road."

Blinking rapidly, you stepped around him towards the driver's side of the truck.

"You packed your whole apartment up yourself?"

"Yes," You popped a stick of gum in your mouth and slid on your sunglasses as you adjusted the driver's seat and your windows.

He scoffed as he stood next to the open driver's seat door, "You're just getting over pneumonia."

You rolled your eyes, "I finished my Z-Pak days ago, as prescribed."

"Any shortness of breath?"

You sighed, "My God, you're such a worrywort, did you bring your stethoscope too?"

"Any shortness of breath?" He repeated gruffly.

You smirked and pushed your sunglasses up on your head, ran your tongue over your lips before you said softly, "Only when I get really excited."

You probably shouldn't have toyed with him like that, but you wanted to know what he'd do, how he'd react. He wasn't your attending anymore and you had wondered what he'd be like in bed for years now. At first, as nothing more than idle fascination, but then it transformed to yearning in earnest.

He stared at you, taking in what you had said, mouth slightly open and shifted his jaw from side to side. You didn't think the dilation of his pupils was a trick of the light.

Finally he dropped his head, laughed lowly as he ran a hand over his beard, "Fine, fine. I won't ask anymore, but get out of the driver's seat."

You laughed, "Yeah, right. I'm driving first shift," you tapped the passenger seat next to you, "come and sit over here, please."

He shook his head, "No, I said I was gonna drive."

"That's nice. I'm still mad at you for calling my parents so what I say goes." You smiled big, "Please head on over to the passenger seat Dr. Robinavitch."

He watched you for another moment before sighing and lightly tapping the driver's side door with his hand and then pushing it closed.

You fought a smirk as you pulled your sunglasses down back to the bridge of your nose, focusing on the steering wheel as you heard him get into the truck next to you. He sighed and stretched out his legs in front of him after hopping in and buckling his seatbelt.

"Must be real hard for you being in that seat," You said as you turned the ignition, the sound of the engine turning over filling the cab, "With your control issues."

He snorted, "If I have control issues, then you probably reach the diagnostic criteria for OCD."

Your grin widened as you pulled the truck out onto the street, "I have never claimed to not have control issues, it's actually one of the things I enjoy about you since we have it in common."

You noted the shake of his head in your peripheral, "I'm really gonna miss you." He said softly, sincerely.

Your heart stuttered in your chest at his admission and you bit your lip, "Me too."

***

You had been driving for five hours, Robby nodding off in the passenger seat, when Tommy began calling you.

The first time, you silenced it immediately and kept driving. The second time, you silenced it, cursing beneath your breath when Robby stirred slightly. The third time, you were still cursing and you silenced the phone as Robby fully woke up.

"Is that… the hospital calling or something?" He yawned, trying to dig out his own phone.

"I wish," You sighed, "No, it's my brother. Sorry it woke you." Your phone started ringing again, "Jesus Christ."

"You can answer it, you know. I won't eavesdrop."

You gave a short laugh, "Yeah, okay," then you sighed. Fine, Tommy, you thought, you win.

"Tommy, I'm driving." You said by way of greeting.

"Okay," He said, and you heard the sound of the phone jostling, "And I could be dying and you denied my call like five fucking times."

You sighed, "Well are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Dying."

"Obviously not, Ace, or I wouldn't sound so fucking calm. I thought you were a doctor."

You drummed your fingers against the steering wheel, the only sign of your annoyance, "What do you want, Tommy?"

"That's it, huh? No 'how are you?' No 'how's your girlfriend?' No 'how's your job?'"

You clenched your jaw, "If you don't tell me why you called me in the next ten seconds I swear to God—"

"Alright, alright, jeez, I get it, Miss Fancypants Doctor is busy. I just—" He broke off to sigh and said the next bit so quickly you barely registered it, "—needfivehundreddollarstomakerent."

You blinked and let the silence fall for a moment or two, "I'm sorry, I think maybe I misheard you, did you just ask me for five hundred dollars?"

"It's for rent." He said softly, and you thought it was nice that at least he had the wherewithal to sound ashamed.

You loved your baby brother, but ever since your twin, Benji, had died, he had used his grief as an excuse to use you as his bottomless piggy bank. He had a job and it paid well, but he was irresponsible with his money, always needed a cover for something. And you were just a resident, you really didn't have the money to be giving to him. You had once taken out a $7,000 loan while you were still in med school to pay off his credit card debt and you were still paying it off to this day.

You sighed, "And what happened to the two hundred dollars I gave you for groceries earlier this month, huh? Did you blow that on a new pair of Nikes?" You felt Robby's eyes on you from the passenger seat and tried to ignore it.

"Oh, come on, Ace, am I not allowed to have nice fucking things? After everything we've been through?"

You almost laugh, "Not if you can't afford your rent at the end of the month." You bit out, "Does your girlfriend have the money to loan you?"

"I'm not gonna ask my fucking girlfriend—"

"Oh, but you have no problem asking me? When I've practically ruined my fucking credit for you already?" Your voice was raising and Robby was no longer being subtle about staring at you, "What about mom? Or Luka?"

"You know they won't give it to me—"

"Right," And you did laugh this time, "Because I'm the only sucker dumb enough to actually give it to you."

"Ace, please, if I can't make rent she'll kick me out—"

"Then figure something out, Tommy!" Now you were shouting, "You're an adult now, why don't you fucking act like it for once?!"

Robby pushed himself up in his seat, eyes on the road, "Hey—"

"Sell some of your hundred pairs of sneakers or your fucking Xbox—"

"Hey, pothole!"

Robby reached for the steering wheel, but he was too late. You felt it when your tire hit the deep divot in the highway and there was no mistaking the way the the tire instantly blew out.

You think maybe you screamed as you dropped your phone, Tommy still on the line, to grasp the wheel with both hands and keep the car from spinning out. Robby had unbuckled and leaned over the console, one hand on the back of your neck, the other firmly over one of your hands on the wheel, steadying you the same way he would have while doing a procedure in the emergency room as he guided you and the truck to the breakdown lane.

Once parked, he got out of the truck without a word and you bent over to get your phone, hands shaking as you picked it up, "Have to go, Tommy." You murmured and ended the call without waiting for a response.

Then Robby was at your door, pulling it open and trying to help you out, but you were frustrated to tears, "No, don't—" You pushed his warm hands away from you, "—Don't touch me."

Your phone was in the pocket of your jean shorts as you walked about a hundred feet away from the truck and sat in the dirt, tried to level your breathing as you felt your phone continue to vibrate in your pocket.

Closing your eyes, you rubbed your hands over your face, let some of your tears escape. And then you pulled your phone from your pocket. There were unread texts from Tommy.

Need money by end of week.

Please.

Last time, I promise.

You let your phone fall into the grass below you and looked up at the blue sky above you instead of screaming. Tommy had for sure heard you almost get into a car accident and he didn't even acknowledge it in his texts to you. You had the thought that if you had died just then his first thought probably would have been who would get the money left in your bank account.

Now the tire on your Uhaul was blown, you weren't sure how long that would take to get fixed. The sun would be setting in a few hours. You had planned on making it through the entire ten hour drive to Boston today, dropping Robby off at a hotel and sleeping in your sleeping bag on the hardwood of your new apartment tonight, then unpacking the truck early the next morning. No way that would happen now and you had chosen to blow the tire somewhat in the middle of nowhere so you had no idea where you were going to sleep. When you glanced back toward the truck, Robby had his phone pressed to his ear, staring in your general direction, but with his sunglasses on you couldn't tell if he was looking at you directly. You took a deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth before picking your phone up again.

You didn't want to think about Tommy anymore. You didn't want to think about the phone call you'd get from your mom pretty soon when he inevitably told her you wouldn't give him the money. You didn't want to hear the guilt trip she'd send you on about how her and dad didn't have the money and if they could help they would. But you could afford to spot just five hundred dollars, right? Tommy was good for it, he'd pay you back (he never did). You didn't want to think about the way it would feel if you found out he did in fact get kicked out of his apartment.

This was supposed to be a clean break. You were supposed to finally be far enough away from their bullshit that they'd leave you alone. Obviously, that had been a fatal error on your part. They would never leave you alone, not when there was still so much left to take from you.

Your nose was running from the frustrated tears that burned your eyes and you wiped it along your sleeve before unlocking your phone with still shaking hands. You let your fingers find the Venmo app and initiated a payment to Tommy for five hundred dollars. You switched the payment from public to private and then before you hit send, you exited out of it to quickly open up your bank account to make sure the money was actually in there.

You had about seven hundred dollars left. You had paid your security deposit and three months rent up front, effectively draining most of your savings. But you still had one last check coming in from PTMC and then you started your fellowship in two weeks. It wasn't ideal, but you thought you could probably manage on two hundred dollars until then.

You swiped back into Venmo and finalized the payment. Tommy immediately sent you a "thank you" text with way too many exclamation points and emojis. You didn't answer, let your phone drop into the dirt again and rested your head on your knees.

The sound of the dirt beneath Robby's sneakers alerted you to his presence and the way his knees cracked as he lowered himself beside you had you fighting a laugh, even though you were supremely miserable.

"I'm sorry I almost killed us," You said lamely, not looking at him.

He scoffed, "That was nothing. Just a little off-roading adventure." You laughed, turned your head to look at him and were surprised to see concern on his face as he looked at you, "Are you alright?"

You blew out a long breath between your lips and pushed your head up off your knees, "Yeah, just annoyed with myself," You nodded towards the truck, "Don't know how long it'll take to get that fixed and now I've also stranded you in the middle of nowhere."

He shook his head, "I don't mind. Just means I get to spend more time with you before you leave forever."

You frowned, caught off guard by his honesty, "Who said forever?"

He shrugged, "Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out from the last few days that you're not very close with your family and maybe going to Boston is your out. It's what I would do."

Yes, right. Another of your similarities. Avoiding your problems at all costs.

"I might hate Boston."

He laughed through his nose, "No, you're gonna love it there. And they're gonna love you."

How to tell him that you were starting to think Boston was a bad idea? That you were never going to escape your family anyway so why bother leaving PTMC? Since Benji died, it was the only place you had ever felt at home; by his side. The only place you had ever felt both useful and wanted, but not just because you were useful. Because you were you.

Before you could work up the nerve to say something, he cleared his throat and turned his head away from you, "They didn't give you a jack for the Uhaul to change the tire so I had to call Triple A. They only have one guy working because we're in the middle of nowhere so they said they won't be out here until tomorrow morning."

You ran your hands through your hair, pulling at the roots lightly in frustration, "Fantastic."

"My phone says there's a motel just off the exit ramp," He pointed off to the right, "We could see if they have any rooms."

You sighed, "Might as well."

The two of you pushed yourselves up and out of the dirt and silently walked towards the motel, your respective overnight bags perched on your shoulders.

You were in such a daze from your fight with Tommy and subsequent truck almost crashing, you allowed yourself to just follow Robby in silence. You let yourself be led, let your head empty of every thought other than the back of his head.

As he led you into the motel you found yourself looking a little too closely at his neck, wondering what it'd be like to playfully sink your teeth into it—

"Did you hear me?"

You blinked, and, oh. Robby was looking at you now, waiting for a response to a question you hadn't heard because you'd been too busy thinking about biting and sucking on his gorgeous, gorgeous neck— Oh, fuck, you were doing it again. You cleared your throat, "Sorry?"

He gave you a funny look, "They only have one room left for tonight, one full bed. But, uh, they said there's a couch in the room so I can sleep there."

You scoffed, "With your old man back? Yeah right. It's fine, we're adults, we can share a bed."

It didn't hurt that you were also hoping that sharing a bed would encourage him to maybe cross some lines he normally wouldn't.

But Robby eyed you skeptically, "My back can handle the couch for one night, I'm not ancient."

You sighed and took the key from the concierge, "Whatever you say, boomer."

Next to you as you walked to the room he ran a hand over the back of his neck and you were pleased to see a flush working up the skin there, "You know I'm not really a boomer, right?"

You smirked, looking for room number 19 as you walked down the hall, "You're old enough that I don't care to know the difference."

He laughed and then murmured a soft, "Brat," under his breath that had warmth pooling in your stomach.

He was making you far too comfortable, toeing the line as much as you had been. First with all that touching when you were sick, then inviting himself to come help you move in, now not only had he not shut down your flirting it felt like he was encouraging it. And now the two of you were going to share a bed.

There was no way he didn't fuck you tonight. The idea had your stomach fluttering. It would be a good distraction from the fact that you were leaving, that you'd no longer have him to lean on in the ER. That you weren't even sure this was what you wanted anymore. That you had sent five hundred dollars to your brother and now only had two hundred dollars to your name as you were about to move to a city with a famously high cost of living.

You didn't want to think anything, you wanted him to fill you up until you couldn't remember your name, until you thought it was probably "good girl" since that's what he kept whispering in your ear.

Once the two of you found the room and walked in, Robby walked in in front of you and dropped his bag, then stretched his arms over his head so that his t-shirt rode up enough that you saw the soft skin of his belly and the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

"You sure you're okay with sharing the bed?" He asked, lowering his arms.

You swallowed and your eyes drifted back up to his face. He looked smug, like he had noticed your staring and liked it.

Clearing your throat, you turned away under the guise of needing to find something in your bag, "Yeah, of course."

Later, after you had both had something to eat and the sun had set, you crawled into your respective sides of the bed. Robby pulled out a crossword booklet—"It's just Mondays crosswords from the Times, so they're the easiest ones"—and perched his reading glasses on his nose. You thought you might die from how badly you wanted him.

He did his crosswords in pen because "pencil is cheating." Stupidly fucking endearing.

"5 down… Numbers to crunch… Four letters…"

Your throat bobbed as you watched him bite the top of his pen in thought, "Four letters?"

"Mhm…"

"Data."

He side eyed you and smirked before writing it down, "Alright, smarty pants… How about this one…" He cleared his throat, "9 across, opponent of Athens in the Peloponnesian war."

You almost laughed, "How many letters?"

"Six."

You nodded, "Sparta."

He looked down at the crossword and then back at you before giving a short laugh, his pen starting to move across the page, "How did you get that so quickly?"

You shrugged, "I was really obsessed with Ancient Greece when I was a kid."

He lowered the booklet and pushed his glasses onto his head, "Was your… brother Tommy also into Ancient Greece?"

You rolled your eyes, "If you want to ask about earlier today then you should just do so, you don't have to have a good segue."

His eyes roved over you as you looked at your hands, "I just… wanna make sure you're okay," he said finally, "you sounded really upset earlier, on the phone."

You sighed, "It's just normal sibling stuff. I'm fine, okay?"

He nodded slowly, "Do you… Need help with money? Because I could—"

"No," you said quickly, "no, absolutely not. I—" you sighed, "Thank you, but I've got it under control."

"Right," he said, "And you would tell me if you didn't have it under control, right?"

You inhaled deeply and then turned to face him, eyes traveling from where his glasses were perched on top of his head, down his neck, his broad shoulders, the gentle swell of his stomach.

Fuck it. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

He stared at you opened mouthed for a few moments and you watched as a flush climbed up his neck. Finally, he gave a short, incredulous laugh, "What?"

You blinked and started to repeat slowly, "Do you—"

"No, I—I heard you the first time," He shook his head vehemently and turned back to his crossword, "No, no, absolutely not. Ridiculous."

His rejection stung just a little, so now, if only for your pride, you would make sure he fucked you.

"When was the last time you got laid?"

His whole face was red now and he shook his head, his eyes focused intently on the crossword, but you knew he wasn't really reading it. How could he be when you were offering to fuck him? Surely you weren't that undesirable.

"We're not having this conversation." He said finally, still refusing to look at you.

"I would guess before covid," you went on, undeterred, "with all the social distancing and the… well… let's be honest… depression. No way you've slept with anyone in at least two years."

"I don't think we should be talking about this."

"Why not? You're not my attending anymore. And I've seen the way you look at me."

At this, he slowly tilted his head back up to look at you, "And how is it that I look at you?"

His voice was rough now and in the light of the lamps by each side of your bed, his eyes were almost completely black as he looked at you. You swallowed, "I imagine the same way I look at you. Like I'm starving."

You saw his sharp intake of breath, but his voice came out level and even, "Is that what that look is? I thought you looked at everyone like that."

You shook your head, eyes never leaving his, "No. Just you."

He seemed to be fighting a battle in his own head as he watched you, until finally, he brought a hand up to your cheek and stroked a thumb across your cheekbone, "This is really what you want?"

You nodded eagerly, maybe too eagerly. Reaching your own hand up, you rested your hand against his cheek, scratching lightly at his beard like you had imagined doing many times before. He closed his eyes against your touch and a wave of tenderness overwhelmed you. You almost pulled away, terrified of the feeling, but then he opened his eyes again and gave you a soft smile, "C'mere."

His hand shifted from your cheek to the back of your neck until he was gently pulling you down to him. When your lips met, it was slow and hesitant, as if he was giving you the option to pull away and change your mind. You could almost feel his restraint as he moved his mouth against yours. It was only when you whimpered as you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin that he deepened the kiss, groaning as you opened your mouth to him to allow his tongue access.

Soon, you were pushing the crossword booklet and pen from his hands so you could climb on top of him, flattening your chest against his as your kisses become more and more desperate. You slide your hands down his clothed chest and slip your hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. You had felt him, hard against you when you climbed on top of him, but feeling him in your hand had you shuddering against him.

He smiled against your skin, pressed kisses down your neck, "You like feeling how badly I want you?"

You nodded, pumping him in your hand and were rewarded with a hiss and the scrape of his teeth against your neck, "I've thought about this a hundred times," he murmured.

You hummed, continued to stroke him, smeared his precum across his head with your thumb, "You should've told me."

You watched with some satisfaction as his eyes rolled back as you continued to touch him, sitting back against his legs so you could watch him, "And would you have let me fuck you?" he ground out, "When I was still your attending?"

"I would've let you do anything, still would," You said sincerely and his eyes snapped to yours, full of both surprise and desire, "Just want to make you feel good," you said, licking your lips, "always wanted to make you feel good, proud of me, from my first day."

An expression crossed his face that you couldn't quite read and then he pulled you down again by the back of your neck until your mouth was on his again. He tugged your hands from his cock and then rolled the two of you until he was the one perched above you.

His gaze was almost reverent as he watched your heavy breaths, the rise and fall of your chest. He tugged your shirt over your head and you heard him sigh at the sight of your breasts, "Gorgeous," he murmured and ran a thumb across one of your nipples until it pebbled. Wetness pooled between your legs as he pulled and pinched at your nipples, lowering his mouth to your chest to suck one into his mouth. Between the swirl of his tongue around the bud and the roughness of his beard against the sensitive skin of your breast, it didn't take long before you were whining and arching your back off the mattress.

Robby released your nipple from his mouth and looked back up at you, "What do you need, pretty girl, hm? Can you use your words?"

You both loathed and adored him in that moment, your stomach flipping at the condescension in his voice. You weren't a virgin by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something novel in the way he spoke to you, how he looked at you. It was obvious how much he loved that you couldn't keep your head on straight with his hands and mouth on you and in turn you loved how eager he seemed to please you. How badly he seemed to want to make this good for you, likely as badly as he wanted to get off himself.

You covered one of his hands that cupped your breast with your own and slowly guided it between your legs, eyes locked on his, "Touch me," you whispered, "please."

He nodded and bent his forehead to yours as he slipped his fingers beneath the sleep shorts you were wearing. Slowly, he slid a finger along the slit of your folds, sighing when he felt how wet you were. He watched you carefully as he separated your folds, made a slow circle around your clit. You couldn't breathe, couldn't quite believe that he was finally touching you like this. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your mouth fell open.

"Is that good, sweetheart?" He whispered and placed a kiss on the shell of your ear, "You want more?"

Normally always one to have something to say, to have an opinion, you couldn't believe how easily Robby had reduced you to a whimpering mess. You couldn't manage anything other than a weak nod and a whimper.

At the same time he slowly dipped a finger inside you, he covered your mouth with his own, devouring your gasp as his finger filled you, slowly thrusted in and out as he stroked your walls. He pulled back slightly to watch you, his thumb stroking your clit while you rode his finger. Your eyes were closed and one hand gripped the headboard behind you, the other leaving marks where it gripped Robby's arm.

You looked like an angel to him like this. He had always thought you were beautiful, but like this, coming undone at his touch, you were otherworldly. He wanted to taste you, but decided he liked the view better from up here. Another time, he told himself, and then almost recoiled at the thought. Another time. Would there be another time? You would be in Boston soon and he'd be back in the Pitt, without his best resident. But now with thoughts of you writhing underneath him to keep him company. He felt your walls flutter around his finger and shook the thought from his head, refocusing his attention on you.

He added another finger, his cock twitching at the sound you made when he filled you up further, "Good girl," he cooed, "you gonna come for me now, baby?"

Your eyes fluttered open and he felt your walls clench around him, "Say it again?" You asked breathlessly.

He fought a smirk and slowed the movement of his fingers, "Say what again?"

You whined, and then he watched you hide your face in what appeared to be embarrassment. And then it clicked for him. The way you always lit up in the ER under his praise, even when you were in a bad mood, the way you just minutes ago had said you had always wanted to make him proud. He grinned, "Why don't you come for me first, hm?"

You huffed, "Please…"

"You can do it, baby, know you can," He applied just a bit more pressure to your clit with his thumb, "go on, sweetheart, let go."

You cried out as you came all over his hand, your body spasming, and he wiped his free hand across your sweaty forehead, "That's my good girl," he murmured and kissed your temple, then kissed gently down the side of your face, "did so good for me, yeah?"

He pulled his hand gently from inside you and brought his fingers to his mouth to taste you. Your eyes were still closed as you tried to level your breathing, so you didn't notice the way his cock pulsed as he sucked your juices from his fingers.

When your eyes did open, you brought a hand up to his cheek and gazed into his eyes with a fondness he had never quite seen from you before. Except maybe the time he was on the roof after Adamson died and you handed him a sandwich, made him eat, refused to go back downstairs without him. He still had never gotten around to asking you why you had spoken to him like grief was an old friend of yours. He had hoped you were too young to have experienced that sort of pain yet, but that day said otherwise.

After a few moments, you started tugging at his shirt and sweatpants, "Wanna see you," you murmured softly.

"Oh, I—" He gently pushed your hands away, "It's okay. I don't have any condoms."

You paused for only a moment, "That's okay, I'm on birth control."

He tilted his head slightly, "And what about STDs?"

"I haven't had sex in like a year and my gyno tested me three months ago. I'm clean. You?"

He stared at you for a few moments before nodding, "Yeah, same. Minus the gyno."

You smirked, "Okay then, clothes off."

He could not overstate how many times he had imagined this very moment. He had gotten off many times to just the thought of being inside you. But in all his fantasies, he hadn't anticipated the adoration that glowed in your eyes as you gazed hungrily at his bare chest once his shirt had been removed. He loved the way your hands felt as they roved over his skin and he found himself sighing it what sounded even to his own ears like relief.

Finally, your hands found his hips and you pulled gently until his cock pushed up against your entrance, and he hissed.

"You're sure?" He asked, one last time. He needed to know you wanted this just as badly as he did, or maybe not just as badly, but hopefully close. He felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his skin looking at you now.

You nodded, "Yes."

His eyes stayed glued to yours as he slowly inched himself inside of you until you were filled to the brim with him, "You okay?" He asked, barely able to contain himself with your warmth wrapped around him like this. He was getting older and with all the hardship of the last few years, it wasn't so easy for him to come anymore, but you felt so fucking good he didn't think he was going to last very long at all.

You nodded again, pulled him down by the neck to kiss him before wiggling your hips to try to create friction. Smiling against your mouth, he obliged you, pushing his hips in and out of you.

With your mouth covered by his own, you moaned into him, fingernails raking across his shoulders and fuck if he didn't slow down he was gonna come.

He pushed himself up between your legs so he was looking down at you again and he was alarmed to find that your eyes were glittering with tears as you looked up at him, "What's wrong, did I hurt you—?"

"No," You said quickly, and wiped at the tears with your hands, "No, the opposite, just… feels so good."

He believed you still, that you wanted this. But he wondered if you were thinking what he was, if your brain was also short circuiting at the thought that it could feel this good between the two of you and also be the first and last time you ever did it.

He leaned back over you until you were chest to chest again and rocked his hips into you slowly, gently licked the salty streams that traced paths down your cheeks, "Taking me so well," he praised softly in your ear and hushed you when the tears fell again at his praise, "Such a good girl fo' me." He kissed all over your face and moved his hips faster, feeling his orgasm building, "My best girl," he panted in your ear.

After he came, he stayed inside you for a while, pulling you to his chest so he could hold you. He didn't say anything when you kept crying for minutes afterwards, just ran his fingers through your hair and held you until you quieted.

***

It was humiliating waking up in the morning in Robby's arms, face pressed to his bare chest, and having the slow realization that you had fully cried while he had been fucking you and for a while after as well.

He had been really sweet about it, not saying anything other than reassurance and pressing kisses to your skin. Even in the shower after, he had just held you for a while as the warm spray fell over you. You thought it likely any other man would have bolted out of there, tail between his legs. But, then again, that would mean he would be sort of stranded in the middle of nowhere so you supposed maybe his comforting had been more out of survival than anything else.

And what else would it have been? Genuine care for your well being? You guessed it wouldn't surprise you to know that Robby cared about you like that. He had taken care of you when you were sick and insisted on helping you move. Comforting you while you cried wasn't that outlandish. Though, doing it both during and after sex did add a certain intimacy to it that you weren't sure you were ready to think about.

On top of that you had to grapple with why the fuck you had been crying in the first place. It was true, what you said to him, that you were overwhelmed with how good he felt. You had suspected he'd be good in bed, but it had been, hands down, the best sex you had ever had. And nothing about it had been particularly groundbreaking. He had fingered you until you came and then fucked you mostly in missionary. It was as vanilla sex as you had ever had. And yet… it had felt like there was something more to it.

But even so, you hadn't been crying over how good the sex was. You had been crying because with his face so close to you and the taste of his tongue still in your mouth, you realized you would likely never be this close to him ever again. You were grieving the loss of him as your attending, as your mentor, as your friend, as your partner of sorts, as he was still inside you. You were barely able to admit to yourself that it would break your heart when he dropped you off in Boston, you certainly could not admit it to him.

When your alarm went off, the two of you climbed out of bed and dressed without speaking. You checked out of the motel and trudged back to the truck in silence and when the Triple A guy pulled up, you sat in the grass a respectable distance away while Robby flagged him down.

Eventually, when the tire had been swapped and Triple A left, you followed Robby back to the truck, not protesting when he said he wanted to drive. The first twenty minutes back on the road were silent, but you could tell Robby had something to say by the way he kept drumming his fingers against the wheel.

But you wouldn't be the one to ask what was wrong. You didn't want to talk about it, had no desire to unpack the sex or the crying during it or the way Robby had been so gentle with you afterwards.

Unfortunately for you, none of that seemed to bother Robby, "We should talk about last night." He said softly.

You said nothing, only stared out the window when you felt his gaze dart to you then away then back to you again.

"I think…" He said slowly when you didn't say anything, "that it was probably a one time thing we needed to get out of our systems. You know, because you're leaving. We would have always wondered," he cleared his throat, "but I… I shouldn't have taken you to bed… I think because we're so similar and… and we both went through a lot together when Adamson died that I have this… probably unhealthy attachment to you and last night I exploited it and I'm sorry."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. So that's how he wanted to play it, talk to you like you were a child he had wronged. Fine. It was probably for the best, "Whatever." You said, and then immediately realized you sounded like the very child you were annoyed at him for treating you like.

He nodded and tightened his hands around the steering wheel; you'd annoyed him, "'Whatever?'"

"Yeah, whatever." You repeated, "If you wanna act like I'm just some fucked up coping mechanism, I don't care. The sex wasn't even that good." A blatant lie, but the rejection and Robby, of all people, Robby trying to therapize what happened between you both hurt and pissed you off so you were lashing out.

Sure enough, Robby laughed and you felt his eyes on you for a second, "Right," He said and rubbed a hand along his beard in the way he did sometimes when he was frustrated, "I was there too, you know. I think I can tell when a woman's enjoying the sex or not and you were definitely enjoying it."

You smirked. Robby was different than partners you'd been with before, but at the end of the day, he was still just a man. And men hated hearing that the sex had been mediocre.

"Yeah, well, I was faking it," you said flatly.

There was silence for a few moments before he spoke again, "I appreciate that what I said upset you—"

"I'm not upset," You bit out in a way that you knew sounded like you were upset. But again with the therapy speak, what the fuck was his deal? "I just thought we were being honest with each other so I'm just letting you know, in the spirit of total honesty, that I faked it. The whole time."

He hummed, "Okay, so when I felt you come all over my fingers, you're telling me that was fake?"

Your cheeks heated and you bit your lip, but you weren't backing down now. He knew you were lying. You knew you were lying. But still, he was annoyed by the lie. And that felt good.

"Yup," you said, popping the 'P'.

He was silent for a few moments and you thought maybe he was just going to drop it, which in turn made you feel almost panicked. You had made him angry with you the last few hours you had with him. Why were you always doing this? Pushing people away?

But then with one hand on the wheel and eyes on the road, he reached another hand over to your lap and started unbuttoning your shorts.

"Robby, what the fu—?"

"You said you didn't come," He said roughly, "so we have to fix that."

He shoved his hand beneath the waistband of your panties and you gasped, "You can't— You're driving—"

"Be quiet." He said, demanding, the same way he would give an order in the ER. Warmth pooled in your belly at the sound, "Or I won't let you come."

Here, finally, was the truth. All the words, all the attitude before had been a front, from both of you. The truth was that even after last night you both wanted to touch each other again so badly that it scared the shit out of you. The truth was in the fact that just minutes later Robby had his hand down your pants. And you? You silently spread your legs for him in the passenger seat.

Robby made you come three times, until tears burned the backs of your eyes and you were whining and trying to push his hand away. Only then did he pull his hand back.

You rebuttoned your pants and then the both of you sat in silence for something like fifteen minutes.

"I—I didn't mean what I said earlier. About attaching myself to you only because of Adamson." Robby said finally.

You nodded, still looking out the window, "I lied about faking it."

"Yeah, I know." He paused, then, "My head—I'm just—I'm fucked up. And I don't wanna fuck you up."

Slowly you smiled and then turned back to look at him, "I'm already fucked up. Don't need you for that."

He spared a glance at you and then back at the road, "You're not—"

"I am," You insisted, "I just haven't let you see most of it."

He didn't argue with you, didn't comment further on it at all. And in the silence you started to wonder if he didn't like that. That you were messy. That you were the type of girl to lie to him just to piss him off—

"Can I stay the night with you? When we get to Boston?"

You bit your lip to hide your grin, "Yes."

***

Robby helped you unload the truck when you got to your tiny studio apartment in Somerville, a small, mostly quiet neighborhood which was roughly a ten to fifteen minute ride on the Red line to downtown.

"You said you were moving to Boston." He chided, "This is not Boston."

"Well that's on you for thinking I could afford something actually downtown. Pretty sure you know what I get paid."

He was trying to hide the pain in his back from helping you carry everything upstairs. You had asked him not to help too much, but he had taken it as a challenge.

So now he was helping you build your cheap Ikea bed (there was only one screwdriver, so really he was doing all the work while you read off the instructions from the internet) and trying to hide the twinges of pain in his back as he did so.

Eventually, you stopped to go dig some Advil out of your overnight bag and grabbed your water bottle.

"Here," You offered him the caplets in the palm of your hand.

He looked at them and then up at you, "I'm fine, I don't need—"

"You take these or I'll look for a hotel for you tonight."

An amused smile tugged at his mouth and then he looked down at the pills. He cupped his hand under yours and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm once the pills were in his mouth. You watched as he swallowed with water.

"Is this how you get all your patients to follow their treatment plans? With threats?" He teased.

You hummed, "Only the ones I like."

He laughed and shook his head, turned back to the bed.

***

The next morning you were alarmed to find you were fighting back tears as Robby grabbed his things. You had cried again during sex that morning and he had just held you again, patient and never prying. You tried to ignore the voice in your head that said of course he was being so patient, he was about to be rid of you. He wouldn't have to deal with your weird grief that you refused to talk about anymore.

You were barefoot in just his zip up hoodie, arms crossed over your chest as he stood at your door, fully dressed and backpack over his shoulder.

"I can mail your hoodie back to you—"

"No, no, you keep it," He took a step to you and gently cradled your face with both of his hands, "Looks better on you anyway."

You managed a small smile and tried to blink the wetness from your eyes, "And you promise I'll always be your best resident?"

He pulled you to his chest, pressed a kiss to your hair, "Always. And now you're about to be Boston's best fellow."

You pulled away, snorting and rolling your eyes, "I mean it, hey," He caught your chin in his hand, gently turned your face up so you were forced to look at him, "You're one of the best doctors I've ever met. Not just resident or fellow. When this is over hospitals are gonna be fighting to get you as their attending. You can go wherever you want. As far away from your family and Pittsburgh as you want." His voice broke when he said Pittsburgh, but you pretended not to notice, "Know your worth, okay?"

You only nodded, afraid if you said anything you'd start crying and maybe begging him to take you back to PTMC.

He kissed you, long and slow, and you thought you tasted tears that weren't your own when he pulled away. But he was gone too quickly for you to confirm your suspicions.

And then you were alone.

***

The first day back in the Pitt without you was torture. It had been less than an hour and he still found himself looking for you, caught himself almost tell a new med student to go ask you a question he had and instead had to redirect him to a different resident. He even called out for you when a trauma came in and Dana gave him a sad look.

Now, he was at his workstation charting, when Jack walked up to central, finally getting ready to head out.

"How was moving your best resident to Boston?" Jack asked, now that there was a tentative moment of peace.

"Fine."

Jack hummed, "I'm thinking it went more than fine based on that hickey on your neck."

Immediately, Robby was blushing as he brought a hand to his neck, "I do not have a hickey."

"Did I hear you say Robby has a hickey?" Dana asked, making her way over to them, "I was wondering if there was more to your weekend than just helping her move to Boston."

Robby sighed heavily, "It was a one time thing and it's over now. She's never gonna come back to Pittsburgh."

The smiles fell from Dana and Jack's faces, "What are you talkin' about?" Dana asked, a note of panic in her voice, "What'd you say to her?"

"It wasn't me," He said, eyes still glued to his chart, "She's always wanted to leave," he looked up at Dana, "wants to be far away from her family. They have issues, it seems."

"We're her family," Dana said fiercely, "And you have two years to make sure she knows that."

Dana was pulled away by another nurse, but Jack stayed standing there while Robby rested his face in his hands, rubbed at his eyes.

"I know you already know this, but, she's a fantastic doctor," Jack said, leaning on his forearms, "Gloria was sort of counting on her coming back after her fellowship."

Robby laughed, "Yeah, well. Fuck Gloria. I'm not gonna ruin her life just for admin's metrics."

"You really think she'd be that unhappy here? She seemed happy enough to me," Jack mused, "Especially when she was working with you."

Finally Robby looked up at Jack, could see on his face all that he wasn't saying, "I'm not relationship material, Jack," He said, "I mean it, I would ruin her life if I brought her back here."

Jack nodded, "Do you love her?"

Robby shook his head, "Doesn't really matter."

"It does," Jack nodded, "Because if you do, you have two years to get your shit together. And you can start by calling a fucking therapist." Robby was already sighing and shaking his head and Jack ducked his to maintain eye contact, "It's not a joke anymore, man. I want to see you happy and you were always happiest when she was here. Don't lose her."

Jack left after that and Robby mulled over what he had said for weeks. He spent many of those days with a therapist's number typed out into his phone app, only to close it out a few minutes later. He alternated between that, and hovering over your contact. You hadn't reached out since he had left that day and he started wondering if maybe it hadn't meant all that much to you anyway. Maybe you had found some new, mentally sound attending in Boston and you didn't need him anymore.

And that would be okay, he told himself. Really, he could live with that. He could, eventually, forget the way you tasted and the way you felt underneath him. He would stop seeing you in the ER, stop running his tongue over your name the way he would run it over an empty socket after losing a tooth. He'd stop dreaming about the gentle look on your face when you handed him that sandwich up on the roof.

But then, one day after a particular grisly trauma, one that took nearly a full hour to stabilize, he pulled his phone from his pocket and saw several texts from you.

so i was looking at the schedule and i saw you have four days off starting thursday

(dana never removed my email from the schedule)

i was wondering if you wanted to come stay the weekend with me

Obviously, he had been with a patient and hadn't answered for several minutes and so you texted again.

sorry realizing how insane i sound asking you to drive ten hours to see me on your day off

totally fine if not we can just pretend i never texted you

Robby was smiling down at his phone like an idiot, could feel the heat in his cheeks as he ran a hand along the back of his neck. After reading and rereading your messages a few times to make sure he wasn't somehow hallucinating, he typed out a response and hit send.

I'll see you Thursday night.

About ten minutes later you hearted the message and he was in such a good mood the rest of shift, everyone kept asking if he had won the recent betting pool or if Gloria had quit.

The night before he planned to drive to Boston, he packed up his truck and sent emails to five different therapists to see if they had any openings.

***

For the next almost two years, this is how things went:

Whenever Robby had more than two days off in a row, he drove up to see you. Sometimes, if he knew well enough in advance, he'd book a flight instead. Whenever you had more than two days off, you would say you were going to come down to visit, but you didn't have a car and Robby knew you were struggling with money whether or not you told him, so he wouldn't let you rent one. He had offered to pay for a flight for you once and you had been so angry about it, you didn't call him for days. I'm not your fucking sugar baby, you had said to him. Never said you were, sweetheart, just want to see you. It took months before you finally accepted his offer.

He began to notice when there was no food in your apartment or when you tried to talk him out of ordering takeout that you were really and truly struggling with money. But he knew you'd never willingly accept his help. Sometimes, when he was in Pittsburgh and knew you'd be getting off shift, he'd order dinner for you and have it delivered to your apartment. When he was visiting you and you left for shift, he would hide cash in the pockets of your scrubs for you to find later and then he'd go grocery shopping, making sure to pick up all your favorites. When you'd come back to see your fridge stocked, you'd try to give him a lecture on how you didn't need his help, and he'd just say that they were for him, since he was going to be here all weekend. The second or third time he did this, you broke down in tears, but you wouldn't talk about it and he didn't push.

Robby started seeing a therapist, but he didn't tell you about that. He didn't want to explain that the only reason he had started going was because of what Jack had said to him. That he wanted to be worthy of you so you'd come back home when your fellowship was over. But it was genuinely helping, independent of you. When he lost a particularly difficult patient, he was starting to feel able to separate himself from it. Still feel that empathy and hurt, but without blaming himself, without letting it consume him. Without taking it home or to you. He was starting to feel like he could talk about Adamson now, without the thoughts in his head that told him he didn't deserve to. That he had let him die. But he was still struggling with that one.

He only asked once, when you had just a few months left of your fellowship, if you had started applying to attending positions. You had said yes, but not elaborated further. And because the two of you had never really established what it was you were doing, he didn't feel like he had the right to push. You never much talked about your fellowship with him so he had no idea whether you liked the department or the people there. He would talk about the Pitt often, hoping maybe you'd open up about something that had happened at your hospital recently, but you never did.

So when you called him in the middle of the day, with just two months left of your fellowship, an incoherent, babbling, sobbing mess, he thought something earth shatteringly awful must have happened.

"Hey, hey, slow down." Phone pressed to his ear, he locked himself in the empty family room for privacy, "What happened? Talk to me."

"Pl—please, could you just—? Could you come?"

It was the only almost coherent sentence he could get out of you. He looked at his watch, "I have a couple of hours left of this shift and then I can start driving—"

"No, no, please," He could hear you hyperventilating, struggling to breath. He had seen you cry before, but he had never, no matter how bad things had gotten in the ER, seen you have what sounded like a full blown panic attack. You had been through the pandemic and Adamson's death and had barely flinched. He knew it had effected you, but if you had ever broken down like this about it it had never been in front of him. "Please—need you now."

"Okay," He said quickly, brain running a mile a minute trying to figure out how quickly he could get to you, "Okay, I'll— I'm gonna get there as fast as I can, okay? You gonna be alright if I hang up?"

You sniffled, "Yeah," you managed, but it sounded like you were struggling to keep your head above water.

He took a deep breath, "Is there anyone up there who can keep you company while I'm trying to get to you? A neighbor? Another resident or fellow or attending?"

"No," He heard you attempt some shaky breaths, trying to slow them, "There's no one else. But I'll—I'll be okay. Knowing that you're coming. Promise."

He wasn't sure if he believed that, but it sounded like he didn't have much of a choice, "Alright, I gotta go. If you need someone and you can't get a hold of me, you call Dana, okay? You're gonna be fine, I'll be there soon."

When he hung up he immediately called Jack to ask him to come in early, and once that was set he went out to talk to Dana.

"This is her address," He scribbled it onto a piece of paper and handed it to her, "If she calls you and you think you need to, you call 911."

She looked at the piece of paper and back up to Robby, "You think this is necessary?"

No one had yet said it, but Dana knew what Robby was thinking. Something so bad and terrible had happened that you were on the edge of your own metaphorical roof. And he wasn't there to pull you back down with a sandwich.

He shrugged and finally let the panic show on his own face, his eyes were starting to burn, "I don't know, you should've heard her, I—She wouldn't tell me what happened, but I've never heard her like that."

Dana took a deep breath and nodded, "Okay, well, go get her then."

Robby nodded and then grabbed his things before practically sprinting out of the ER and jumping in his truck. There was a flight to Boston leaving in an hour and come Hell or high water, he'd be on it.

***

You hated your supervising attending at Mass General Hospital more than you'd hated anyone in your whole life. When you had gotten into the competitive fellowship at their Center for Vascular Emergencies, you had hardly been able to believe it. It had been your dream fellowship for years. You badly wanted to learn all the cutting edge medical practices and budding research they were working on to treat vascular emergencies because if anyone ever rolled into the ER with the same presentation as Benji had, you wanted to be prepared. You didn't want to see another seemingly healthy young person collapse and not be able to do anything about it besides watching them die.

Rationally, you knew there was nothing anyone could have done for Benji, even with the recent advancements in medicine, but it wouldn't stop you from wanting to try. You had convinced yourself over years of pining that this fellowship would finally heal the gaping wound your twin had left when his heart gave out that day.

But it did none of that. You were learning, but every day you were confronted with cardio emergencies that made your hands shake and triggered vivid flashbacks and you thought it would get easier with time, but it never did.

It wasn't that you hadn't dealt with cardio emergencies when you were at PTMC, you had, and they had always been hard. Especially when the patient was young. But there had been an ebb and flow to them. If you were having a particularly hard day, especially as senior resident, you could give it to one of the younger students and clench your hands behind your back until the nausea passed.

You couldn't do that here. And day after day your attending made sure you knew how useless and undeserving you were to be there. He berated you, second guessed all of your treatment plans, treated you like a medical student instead of a fellow. And while he had always been tough on you, even before it became evident you weren't up to his standards, the worst part was that he was right about it all. You didn't deserve to be here, you never should have come, and you were a disappointment to every doctor who had come before you. What bothered you the most was that you knew you were a disappointment to Robby.

Every time he came to see you, the confession was on the tip of your tongue, that you were a fraud and you were sorry he had ever believed in you. But you never did, you were too afraid to lose him.

He had asked the last time he was here if you had started applying to attending positions and you had said yes, which was true, but you had only applied to one: PTMC. You were never going to get a letter of recommendation from your fellowship so it was probably your only bet at getting a job. And part of you wondered if Robby knew what a horrendous job you had been doing the last two years, even he and Gloria wouldn't want you back. You would just be a stain on the reputation of the one place left in the world that you loved.

The only time in the last couple of years that you had felt like the person you used to be back in Pittsburgh was when Robby was here or when he flew you home. When he did fly you home, there had been a few occasions you had visited the Pitt and a hug from Dana had nearly brought you to tears.

That day, the day you finally broke, an eighteen year old boy was wheeled in, unresponsive after collapsing on a run. A bystander had started CPR immediately and the paramedics had continued until he was brought into your emergency room, but were unable to get a shockable rhythm back.

But you had froze when they presented the case to you. You could only see your twin on the gurney, another paramedic pushing against his chest, saying he had been in asystole for a half hour at minimum. Three rounds of epi hadn't brought him back, neither had the CPR. Your hands started to shake and there was a ringing in your ears.

"Are you gonna call it or what?" You vaguely heard the paramedic say, but he sounded faraway.

You're not sure how much time passed before you felt hands on your shoulders, spinning you to face your attending who was red with anger as he looked at you, "What are you, deaf? Can't even fucking call time of death? Get out of my sight. Go!"

You had stumbled away from the gurney and found a quiet room to fall apart in. You let Benji down, you let this kid down, you let down your attending, your department, you were letting Robby down. Everything was wrong, there was a tightness in your chest that wouldn't ease no matter how you tried to deepen your breathing. You were a failure, useless, awful doctor. You had wasted so much time and energy and money to be here and in a couple months it would be all over. You'd have nowhere else to go. PTMC would never take you back, Robby would never look at you the same.

Robby. Maybe. Maybe if you called Robby, maybe if you got him here, maybe he could fix it. Fix everything, fix you. He had always been so good at that. He was the only way out you could see right now, the only rational thought you had, so you picked up your phone and dialed.

***

Robby was out of breath by the time he made it to your apartment, banging on the door to get you to answer. He had tried calling you when he landed, but you hadn't answered and the terror that something had happened had him in a vice-like grip.

He was trying to figure out how to go about ramming your door down when it finally opened and he saw you, sleepy eyed in the threshold. Your eyes were swollen, but that was really the only indication you had been crying at all.

"Sorry, fell asleep," You said slowly and yawned, "Come in."

Perplexed, he slowly walked in after you and closed your door behind you, "Everything's… okay?" He asked, unsure.

"Yeah, sorry, I, uh—" You shrugged, "Think I overreacted earlier. Sorry I made you come all this way. Why don't you come to bed?"

He stared at you, unmoving, brain seemingly unable to process what he was hearing, "No, I—" He scoffed, "I'm not tired, I wanna talk about what happened. I've never heard you like that, I thought—" He ran a hand over his face, "I've never heard you like that." He repeated softly.

"Look, Robby, I'm sorry I scared you, but everything's fine. Come to bed—"

"No." He said sharply, "I'm so sick of this… Of you walling yourself off like this. You haven't really talked to me about how you're feeling, about your fellowship, about the future the almost entire two years you've been here. And then you call me up hysterical and you sound damn near suicidal, begging me to come here, and now you're going to act like everything's fine? No. You're gonna fucking talk to me about what's going on or I'm going home."

He watched your stature subtly transform, the way you steeled your face as you stared at him, "Then go home." You said coldly and turned back towards your bed.

He sighed, "Why don't you trust me? What the fuck can I do to earn your trust? To get you to talk to me? Was it… Was it a certain case that upset you? Was it a person? Is it not related to the fellowship at all, maybe your family?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" You shouted, "I wasn't thinking straight when I called you, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

He shook his head, "That's not the point. I'm happy you called me, that you trusted me enough to ask me to come. I want to help you, I want you to tell me what's wrong, please—"

"Please just go!" Frustrated tears were rolling down your cheeks now, "You'll never—You won't look at me the same once you know and I just—" You took a shuddering breath, "I just want a little more time before—"

Your face crumpled and Robby was there in a second, pulling you to his chest, "It's alright, baby, I've got you," He rocked you against him while you cried and kissed your head, "Everything's gonna be fine."

When your sobs quieted to hiccups, he gently stroked your hair, "There's nothing you could tell me that would make me think any less of you," He said softly, "I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I can't imagine a time when I won't love you."

You stiffened in his arms and then pulled away from him, rising to standing. You walked to your door and opened it, "I want you to go, please," You said softly, "Now."

He tilted his head, unsure if you really meant it, "Sweetheart—"

You closed your eyes and shook your head, "Robby, please. Go."

Robby felt like he didn't understand anything anymore. That he didn't understand you at all. He had told you he loved you and you asked him to leave and he knew it wasn't because you didn't feel the same. He knew you loved him even if you had never said it. Could feel it when you kissed him, when you laughed and shook your head at his dumb jokes, when you made sure he took pain reliever when he hurt his back.

So why were you so intentionally pushing him away? How the fuck was he supposed to reach you when you were doing back flips to make sure he could never catch up?

Eventually he stood and left, listened as you closed and locked the door behind him, his heart a mangled, broken thing in his chest.

He went home, back to Pittsburgh, and the two of you didn't speak again for months.

***

It was a couple of months later when you were pacing outside the ambulance bay doors of PTMC, trying to work up the nerve to walk in. You had seen Robby walk in a half hour ago and couldn't seem to psych yourself up enough to walk in after. You still hadn't spoken to him since he had said he loved you and you responded by kicking him out.

It wasn't that you didn't feel the same, you had, and still did love him. But spilling to him all your mistakes of the last two years when he had been there for you every step of the way still terrified you. He would change his mind once he knew. But when you accepted your new job as attending at PTMC, you decided he deserved to know the truth anyway. Then you could put the whole thing behind you. He probably hated you enough now already after the way you had reacted to him telling you he loved you. Surely the added information couldn't make things any worse.

Gloria had offered you the job immediately when you got onto your Zoom "interview" a few weeks ago.

You had frowned, "Did you talk to anyone at MGH?"

"No," she shook her head, "No need to, I know how everyone feels about you here. Robby'll be glad to have you back."

You weren't so sure about that, "Uh, could you, maybe not mention to him that I'm coming back? I'd prefer to tell him myself."

She grinned, "So you accept our offer?"

It wasn't like you had any choice, but regardless of how things stood with Robby, you were still glad to be back. You were still thinking about what you were going to say to Robby when the ambulance bay doors slid open.

"What're you doing here? Are you hurt?"

You spun toward his voice and froze, "Uh, no," You said finally when he continued to look at you expectantly, "No I work here now." You pulled out your badge that now said Attending Physician below your name.

He frowned, "Gloria mentioned we'd have a new attending starting today, but she never said it was you."

You nodded, "Yeah, I asked her not to. I wanted to tell you myself."

He nodded, "And then you didn't. I see nothing's changed, then."

You sighed, "I know, you deserve an explanation—"

"You don't owe me anything," He said quickly, "Come on," he nodded towards the doors, "we have work to do."

You walked quickly to keep up with him, "I really would like to clear the air before we start—"

"You had months to do that and you chose not to," He took out his glasses and pushed them onto his nose before picking up an iPad, "forgive me if I'd prefer that we focus on the patients while we're here."

You looked around to see if anyone was within earshot, but it was just the two of you at central, "I love you." You said quietly, "I'm sorry I didn't say it back, I'm sorry I kicked you out, everything was spiraling out of control and I thought I would lose you too—"

"I told you you wouldn't," He said softly and looked up at you, "There was nothing you could have told me that would have made me love you less."

You swallowed, the earnestness in his tone sending a knife through your chest, "And now?"

He sighed, "We can't have this conversation here."

"Okay," You said eagerly, sensing a door being opened, "what about after shift?"

"Can't," he docked his iPad and started walking, you following behind. The nostalgia for your residency, following him around like this, sent shockwaves through you, "I have therapy after shift."

You stopped walking for a moment, frowning. Surely you had misheard? You jogged to catch up to him again, "Sorry, did you say you were going to therapy?"

"Yep."

"For how long?"

"Oh, I don't know. Almost two years now."

The revelations were dizzying, "Two years and you didn't tell me?"

"I planned to."

You scoffed, "When?"

"I don't think you're really in a position to criticize me for keeping something from you. And if you must know, I only started going because once you left I realized I was in love with you and that I wanted to be capable of a real, honest to God relationship once you finished your fellowship. So that maybe you'd want to come home." Finally he turned to look at you and his brown eyes were devastating, "Now, please. Go find some residents to teach or something. We'll talk when I'm good and ready."

The whole time. He had been in love with you the whole time. He had been going to therapy because he wanted to be in a relationship with you. It was hard to breathe, hard to think with this new knowledge, but somehow you managed. Tucked it away and dove back into the place you loved so much. Familiar faces delighted to see you. You weren't sure you deserved any of it, but it made you feel hopeful anyway.

You could win over Robby again, too. You were sure of it.

Every day you came in and asked him if you could talk to him and he'd say he wasn't ready. For weeks. Until, finally, fed up, you followed him home.

"I told you I wasn't ready to talk." He said when he noticed you next to him.

"You don't have to say anything, just listen, please."

You took his resounding silence as permission and launched into your tale of the last two years. You didn't tell him the specifics of Benji's death, nor that it was Benji who died, just that you had experienced something pretty traumatized when you were still a kid related to a cardiac event and it had made you want to go into emergency medicine. And then, later, the yearning for MGH's fellowship for vascular emergencies.

You explained how over time, you thought the freezing up, the flashbacks, the shaking and sweaty hands all would pass when you desensitized yourself to it, but it never did. It only got worse. You told him about your attending, the way he berated you day after day and told you you didn't deserve to be there until you believed him. And finally, you told him about the day you really lost it, the day you called him. You told him how the next day, your attending fired you. How you packed up all your things and moved back to Pittsburgh. How you only applied to PTMC because you thought nobody else would want you.

You told him how when he showed up at your door and said he loved you, you realized once he knew you would lose him too. That he'd be so disappointed, so disgusted by the failure you'd turn out to be that even he wouldn't want you working at PTMC.

After you finish, breathless and shaking, waiting for his judgment, he's quiet for a few moments. Then, "I wish you had told me, while it was happening," He shook his head, "Did you ever think about why cardiac emergencies weren't as hard for you? When you were here? I know they still bothered you, but you never really froze. Only once or twice, until I figured out what was bothering you."

You frowned, "You knew?"

He nodded, "Nothing ever bothered you. Not covid, not an MCI, but whenever we had a stemi you'd get this faraway look in your eyes. I never knew why, but once I knew it was happening, I'd just talk you through every single one. Eventually, you didn't need that anymore, so I'd just stand nearby. If you knew there was someone else nearby, someone who had your back in case things went wrong, you were fine. It was that attending's fault that you failed, not yours. He was supposed to be teaching you, but instead he bullied you. Made you lose any confidence I had built up in you over the years. There's nothing wrong with you, we all have cases that haunt us, patients that remind us of our worst memories."

You swallowed, "I shouldn't need those sort of accommodations, though. I'm not a resident anymore."

He smiled sadly, "If we had a patient tomorrow who needed to be extubated because there was nothing else we could do, would you let me do it alone?"

He was thinking of Adamson, you knew, "No." You said quickly. It was non-negotiable. Of course you wouldn't.

He nodded, "And would you think I was any less of a doctor, for wanting or needing that support from you?"

Your face softened, "No." You said quietly.

"That's because we're a team." He said, "Everyone in the Pitt, we look out for each other, we step in without judgment when someone can't do it on their own. You shouldn't have had to do it on your own, in Boston. You should've had support. I'm sorry they made you feel like you weren't capable, it's not true."

You had made it to Robby's house and you both stopped walking. You turned to face him, "I should've said it back to you that night. That I loved you. I'm sorry."

He shook his head, "It's okay," He reached for your hand, rubbed his thumb gently over the back of it as he looked down, "I think we can still fix this, that we can have a shot at a real relationship. If you want that too?"

Tears of relief burned the backs of your eyes as you nodded, "Yeah, I really, really want that."

He smiled and tugged you by the hand so he could kiss you. He deepened the kiss, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before biting at it playfully, "I still love you," He said against your mouth, "I meant it, that nothing would ever change that."

You sighed into him. You wanted to hear him say it, again and again, forever, "Do you think I could stay the night?" You asked instead.