c ౨ৎ @southstarlight - Tumblr Blog

A MIRAGE ON SAND

୨ৎ pairing .ᐟ.ᐟ michael robinavitch x psych fellow!reader

୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ you and michael had an agreement: you both would treat patients cordially, and nothing more. that didn't stop the lingering glares and quip remarks from either of you. you both assumed you had dr. jefferson fooled. you both were mistaken when he separately invited you both to dinner with the other sitting in his place.

୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no physical description, no use of y/n, mental illness, references to self-worth struggles, emotional repression, mentions of assault, mentions of chronic illness and disability, professional misconduct & workplace conflict, trauma (physical & psychological), healthcare burnout, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, forced proximity, workplace rivals, accidental date unresolved sexual/romantic tension, miscommunication, robby being and ass

୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ i'm so glad to finally be posting this!! this is the second part to 'the slippage in the system' !! i was excited to work on an enemies-to-lovers but with a lot of tension...hopefully this lives to yall standards.

i strongly recommend reading the first part if you haven't yet <3 also still trying to figure out a theme, so bare with me lol

୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 15.7 k

The elevator dinged, a totem toll of dread Robby had personified. He wasn’t typically caught in the upper levels of the hospital, not unless he had some sort of meeting with Gloria or another admin. With his position, all he knew was the chaos of the basement floor. He resigned himself to that environment since.

Outside the Pitt, Robby was out-of-place internally. It was somehow colder and bleaker as he was walking down the hallway to the Behavioral Health unit. The thumping of his feet echoed louder on the ground, even as staff passed him.

The chaos didn’t end as patients transitioned further up the hospital.

If anything, worse came up to the behavioral unit at times. He had to admit he was glad he didn’t settle on psychiatry after the nightmare of his first ER rotation during clinicals. He does applaud their efforts, considering the type of work Jefferson has done in the time he’s known him. However, on some occasions, he wondered if they weren’t as unhinged as their patients.

He knew you had him questioning that judgment.

Since the incident with the detainee and at the bar before Christmas, you both had made well on each other's vow. He didn’t act like you two were anything but coworkers. You didn’t psychoanalyze him. So far, you two have managed to make it work.

You swoop into the Pitt like a hawk staking prey and when you finished speaking with a patient, you’d flap away with wide wings. He rarely spoke to you now because of it. You handled the cases with whatever doctor was assigned and if it warranted his attention, you’d find him. All talk was about patients, and anything else was just for the act.

Occasionally, you’d be roped into conversations that Robby happened to be a part of. Since everyone witnessed you sucker punched by a man completely out of his mind, everyone had greater considerations for you. They didn’t exactly pity you or act overtly nice to alert your sirens, but they made more efforts than before. A simple question of your day or cracking more jokes in your presence.

Things were definitely different from what Robby noticed.

Although you only still felt comfortable around Shen, you were more relaxed than you had been before. He thought the holiday spirit made you soft. After more consideration and observation of your nature, he was sure you were just an anomaly.

You smiled wider, sat around to listen to Javadi’s nervous rambling or Santos’ defenses over certain patients. There was a new calm overcoming you after the New Year began, and Robby thought he was paranoid.

When the double doors to the behavioral unit clicked open from his badge, he made his way around the nursing station like he was familiar with the area. It wasn’t the Pitt, but it was set up like most of the units in the hospital. Wide counters, curved edges, and bright lights.

He glanced through the rooms of patients, similar to that of the behavioral room in the Pitt. Wide glass windows and sparse space. The patients inside were mostly sedated, sitting or sleeping on the gurneys, but he couldn’t imagine what they were going through psychologically. It was strange how humans could hide their true intentions and instincts.

Robby opened the wooden door, revealing an open working station for the staff. Some of the night residents were sitting, dictating notes. He saw the tired expressions, practically drooling over the keyboards. Chuckling to himself, he welcomed himself to the direction of Dr. Jefferson’s office.

He halted his steps when he heard the conversation happening inside.

“I know you’re not happy about this, but there was bound to be a trial.” Caleb’s voice rang, loud enough for everyone else to hear from the crack of the door.

A displeased scoff followed, “Doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for their punitive hunger.”

With Robby’s hands stuffed in his pockets, he listened intently. From around the corner, the voices came louder. He heard one of the residents tsked, motioning disapproval of the conversation. “I don’t get why he pushes it so much. Maybe putting her in contempt would teach her something.”

Robby furrowed his brows at the comment. This was the current ongoing issue. No one was pleased when the hospital legal team had sent out professional correspondents summoned for the trial of Mr. Richman v the People. It was bound to come, but no one puts ‘testifying at a trial’ on his or her New Year’s resolution.

However, it was the exact reason Robby had come to work earlier than his staff. The hospital's legal team needed you two to be on the same page of the assault—to agree it had occurred.

“Do you speak that way with Dr. Jefferson present?” Robby’s voice boomed a bit from the suddenness. The resident who spoke, some young, blonde muscular man–who could pass as an ortho jock–turned with raised brows. Robby stared down at him, a sarcastic smile on his face, “If I were your attending, I would have HR remind you of appropriate conversation in the workplace about colleagues.”

“It’s a good thing you aren’t then.”

When Robby turned his head, he saw you standing with an annoyed look on his face. Except, for once it wasn’t meant for him, instead for the blonde resident now leaning back in his chair with a smug look. You shook your head, “He’d never survive a day working for you.”

“I’m made with thick enough skin for the ER.” The resident pointed out, a smirk on his face. Robby stood back with his arms folded, staring skeptically between the two of you. From what he could see on his badge, Dr. Malek was sickly photogenic. Full, bright set of teeth visible on the badge.

“So, you’re helping mentally ill people out of the kindness of your heart? Cute.” You simply stated a tight lip smile on your face. Dr. Malek scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Robby,” Dr. Malek stood from his chair, grabbing his energy drink in one hand. Robby shook his bowed head, scratching the back of his neck. “I know better than to disrespect women. I was raised right.”

Dr. Malek spared you a look, which you ignored, shooing him. Robby finally looked at your attire. You were wearing a long black dress, pleated at the skirt. It covered most of your legs, but left enough space to show off the shine on your heels. Despite the brown blazer covering your arms, the V-neck of your dress showed modest skin, enough so to bring some attention to the dainty necklace you wore around your neck.

“Michael,” Dr. Jefferson announced with amusement, calling for his attention with the sharp pronunciation of his name. He must have caught Robby examining your different business wear by the raised eyebrows and quirk of his lips. “How may we help you so early in the morning?”

Robby instinctively stared down at his watch; it was barely 6:30 am. He stretched his neck, offering a close-mouthed smile. “I am here to talk about the prosecution’s case against Mr. Richman.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You quickly remarked, crossing your arms, which did nothing to stop the fact he couldn’t stop acknowledging the fact you were dressed differently than usual. “Actually, I think the prosecution might get the wrong idea if they caught us talking about the case.”

Robby cocked his head to the side, keeping his expressions minimal. Civil. “Well, the hospital’s legal team seems to think otherwise.”

You frowned, shoulders shrugging. “I already spoke with them.”

Robby silently reminded himself to not lose his patience. With an audience of your peers in the dictation room, they’d be able to sense the tension if he spoke too curtly or sharp. Especially so with Dr. Jefferson.

You must have kept your word that night at the bar because Caleb no longer herded him in your direction. When you weren’t around, it was easier for Robby to fake pleasantries. He’d ask how you were holding up after the assault, listen to whatever Caleb had to respond, and the two could continue with business.

It was a bit trickier when you were around while in Caleb’s presence. The two of you knew he watched with a keen eye, not that he had any reason to suspect anything, but it wouldn’t be misplaced skeptics. You give him enough of your attention to appear interested, but when Robby looked back in your eyes displaying a taut smile, there was nothing on the surface.

Robby was uneasy by how detached you were to him. Enough so when you spoke, it felt more like monologues than conversations. He agreed to those terms, but it only provoked him more.

“They felt you didn’t actually listen to what they said.” Robby folded his arms, leaning forward from the hip. He hadn’t even started his shift and the balls of his feet were already sore. “They just want to make sure we are both on the same page over his medical care here.”

“That he isn’t suffering through severe psychosis, including audible and visual hallucinations, which removed his ability to rationalize his actions?” You rhetorically asked, lifting a finger for each comorbidity Mr. Richman had. He saw the small tick in your jaw, inching to laugh over an argument you felt was pathetic and ridiculous.

Robby sighed, pulling his shoulders back. “I agree that Mr. Richman was not okay to the extent beyond his external injuries.”

He paced his words carefully. Robby wasn’t known to be a mediator. Years training under Adamson and becoming an ER attending taught him what he knew, but occasionally it blew up in his face. Adamson always warned him he was so short-tempered, bordering passionate with certain causes.

‘Being human isn’t bad, it’s how your reaction affects everyone else that needs to worry you’ Adamson once told him after Robby let his frustration fluster a second year resident during a code.

“But Morgan is afraid they’ll paint you out as a cynic on the stand.” Robby explained, staring at you pointedly.

Regardless of how he worded it, he would bet it would still earn him an eye roll and a scoff with disturbed annoyance. Robby's eyes landed on Caleb, who was gripping onto the wheels of his chair. He chuckled, tutting his chin upward, “Why don’t we let you speak privately? I have rounds to do with the residents anyways.”

You glanced at Caleb who gave you a firm assurance. The other two residents sitting off in the corner pretending not to listen stood up promptly. One of them, gingered curls on his head, aimed straight for the door, opening it to let Caleb through. The smaller, blonde residents with doll-like features offered a small departure wave before stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. Both of them trailed closely behind their attending, ear red and hot.

When the door closed, you stalked off, heels clicking against the freshly polished floors. Robby stood silently in the room, unsure how to proceed. He couldn't exactly ask you if you were nervous about confronting Mr. Richman, because that would be too personal.

He heard the clinking of the coffeepot, watching your arms move. The splash of the liquid hitting a paper cup confirmed his suspicion. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when you glanced over your shoulder. “They’re afraid I’ll be too politically expository for the hospital liking?”

Robby raised his eyebrows in amusement. In so few words, that suspicion was correct. He wouldn’t tell you exactly how they interpreted your defensive emails, even quoting one of the jabs you sent in response. He had to refrain from laughing in Morgan’s displeased face.

“From my understanding, their concern is protecting your reputation and ability to continue your fellowship.” Robby responded stoically, shoulders squared and lips pursed.

Your furrowed brows caught him off guard. The cup you were bringing up to your lips stopped midair. “Did the prosecution insinuate they’d be gunning for my license?”

Robby didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to note the small gulp or strain in your voice. He adjusted his stance, staring pensively. Sure, he had made it obvious that you were a standoffish person. Sarcastically witty and defensive in nature, but he’d never testify you were a bad physician—enough so to prevent you from practicing.

“It’s a criminal trial that resulted in irreversible facial tissue, nerve, and vision damage on a 26 year old woman.” Robby recalled. He obsessively read over the case reports of the woman who transferred to Presby. He was silently grateful worse hadn’t occurred while you were evaluating Mr. Richman. “The assumption is they will exhaust every option to make their case.”

While drinking your coffee, you visibly relaxed. That didn't stop you from raising your eyebrow as a challenge. “Even if that means incarcerating a man who is the textbook definition of an insanity case?”

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he did agree persecuting him for the sake of making a career felt ethically wrong. The media publicized Pittsburgh’s district attorney as a gunner, looking for any chance to make a name for himself. Robby raised his hands, wiping himself clean of the arguments. “Look, I’m not here to argue over the law. They sent me as their messenger. I’ve accomplished all they asked me to do.”

You nodded slowly, the corner of your lip twitching. Respect or maybe amusement for his reluctance to argue with you. Not because he’d lose, but because that required caring of your opinion. Staring down at your cup, you swirled the liquid around. “When do you testify?”

“Next week.”

Robby watched as you grabbed a bag from a nearby office chair. Tossing it over your shoulder, you approached his direction. You spared him an up and down look. When brushing past his shoulder, a small snicker came from your throat. He couldn't help but look back as you headed straight for the door, not bothering to look back.

“Good luck.”

Anyone reasonable would take any excuse not to come in for one more grueling shift at the Pitt. God knows none of them get enough consistent days off. But, when you spend it at the courthouse, stuck in a stuffy suit and tie, trying not to lose patience over the redundant questions of lawyers and judges–Robby would pick the Pitt every time.

He had testified in plenty of medical lawsuits, responding to his own depositions, grilled over procedures and processes in the hospital. Robby tasted the hunger of vultures wearing four-figure suits as they hungrily clawed for gaps in the tapestry to shred. It was no different in the courtroom. The prosecution was stubbornly pushing for incarceration, and the pro-bono defense attorney was not letting them manipulate him into relenting.

Robby sat on the witness stand like a child witnessing a messy divorce. The legal jargon they threw out every time he testified became a game on who objected the most during his examinations. He wondered if the stenographer ever had the urge to stand tall and tell them to slow down or shut up for a change.

He wouldn’t have minded the whole shakedown if they stuck with questions based on his medical expertise or professional relationship with the defendant. The last thing he expected was for it to become an interrogation of your character.

Your testimony was a mystery to Robby. He didn’t know whether you headed the warning of the hospital’s legal department after all, but based on the questions he was asked from the prosecution, something made them doubt your credibility.

How would you describe her work ethic? Has she ever made questionable judgments on patient care? Do you trust her course of action while treating Mr. Richman?

If the case were tried with a jury panel, Robby was sure the line of questioning would have them questioning who was really on the stand. He knew his reluctance was clear to the prosecution from his stoic expression. They both wished they were not in this position together in very few words.

He was acutely aware the stenographer documented every single word for evidence. Not that he’d have anything improper to say in regards to the case, but he did think a lot harder before answering some of the questions.

Robby breathed in the antiseptic air of the Pitt, allowing himself to assimilate in his natural habitat. Jack asked him questions on how the trial was going, but everyone else acted according to their role. The heaviness of his formal responsibility slowly drifted as he could put the thought of expert testimonies away. He walked around the ER with newfound determination to get back to work.

He belonged in the disruptive nature of the ED, not playing political chess at the courthouse.

Except, he didn’t truly escape the split banter. In his world, he was finding ways to live in peace with you. He hadn’t spoken to you since your appearance at court. All Robby knew was you had survived the questioning (even summoned the next day). He overheard Caleb tell Mohan that you were working nights for the week, but when shift change came along, he barely saw you. He didn’t actively search for you per se, but he was slightly intrigued on how you fared with the lawyers.

Right as he walked by Central 7, he heard Dana call him over for an incoming patient. The snapping of gloves and the announcement of chief complaint and vitals followed as EMS brought in a middle-age Asian woman. A biking accident later, and she was suffering different fractures or breaks along both arms, a grade 1 concussion, and obvious fracture of the thighbone.

When brought into the trauma room, Whitaker and Mohan worked on examinations, checking her neurological abilities, mobility in the obvious fractures and breaks, as well as pain tolerance. Robby stood back, staring at her vital signs, watching nurses administer medication for the pain. Radiology moved quickly enough to capture images and despite Ms. Chen being in obvious discomfort with her arms, distraught from her unfortunate accident, she was still alive.

Calls were made, and in no time, the atmosphere in the department was chilled with anticipation that came with the most intimidating predators. Therefore, when the doors flew open, and Dr. Brendon Park glided his way inside the trauma room with a reputation that could not be replaced, everyone remained silent. While he never paid any mind to the students or residents, he did flick his chin upward to Robby, who earned his respect as a colleague just up to that measure.

“Present.” Park commanded as he stalked the patient, staring intensely at the obvious comorbidities.

Robby allowed Whitaker to take center stage. If he wanted a position in the next year’s residency program, he needed to command equal control. He tried to hide the tremor and wide-eye stare he gave the orthopedic surgeon, which did nothing to appease his stoic expression.

“Where are the images?” Was the follow up question, cutting off Whitaker’s anxious ramblings. Robby motioned to the X-ray captured. Dr. Park leaned over the machine, examining the femur followed by the displacements of the wrist and fracture involving the elbow.

“I should’ve known better.” Ms. Chen breathed out, her head thrown back as she held in the welling of tears. “I’m a physical therapist. I work with athletes. I’m so stupid.”

Mohan offered a sympathetic smile, “I understand your frustration, Ms. Chen.”

“Dr. Park here is our best orthopedic surgeon.” Robby followed up, posting himself beside Mohan. He stared down at Ms. Chen, too embarrassed to make any contact. “You’re in good hands with him.”

“Don’t get all sappy around me, Dr. Robinavitch.” Park spoke from the opposite side of the bed. He continued staring at her arms, gloved hands masking over her leg to map out a better understanding for a surgical approach. He leaned down; making what he could from the debris Whitaker was working on flushing out.

“Moving ahead with reduction and fixation.” Park announced, standing up tall with his back straight and shoulders squared. “I’ll book the OR.”

Park didn’t wait for anything, immediately heading for the same door he walked out of. Robby took one last look around the trauma room, noticing the relief that came from Dr. ‘Sharks’ departure. He nodded to Mohan who silently understood her assignment.

He walked out the trauma room, hands in his pockets as he glanced around the other end of the Pitt. As he turned his head to the right, he almost missed the peculiar sight of plum scrubs still lingering. Robby stopped in his steps, eyebrows furrowed as he stood and watched. When Park took a step to the side, burly arms crossed over his chest, he finally saw whom he was conversing.

You stood across from him, head cocked to the side as you looked as stoic as him. Could you be old friends? If you were previously involved in the surgical world, maybe your paths crossed, the way Shen’s had before. Robby hung beside a wall, attempting to mask his presence that stood out without much effort.

While watching your body language, the most he could make out was you were peeved. Park kept talking (which was the most he had seen him talk to anyone), but you kept staring around as if you would rather be anywhere else. The heavy deflate of your chest as well as the fiddling of your necklace told him as much.

Robby knew he was in a visible spot considering the area wasn’t as congested as it could get. And as if the world was screwing with him, you happen to glance to the elevator, visibly frenzied, spotting a nosy Robby already staring at you.

Silently cursing under his breath, he pretended the moment was a coincidence, frantically looking for some other place to look. If the universe decided to swallow him completely, he’d be beyond grateful; but instead, he was welcomed with the oncoming panic of you striding in his direction. His instinct just so happens to fail him this time, giving him no reasonable escape off the top of his head. He glanced through his eyelashes, Park tailed behind you, his voice quieter as you gained closer.

You paused in front of Robby, offering a polite smile. Robby provided it back (albeit it was stiff and confused), before looking back at Park brushing behind you. He nodded once at Robby before his eyes instinctively landed on you. “OR should be ready within the next hour.”

“Thanks, Shark.” Robby responded, following his figure to the elevator, held open by one of the RTs. Park pressed a button and the door slid closed.

You released a breath you were holding, hands crossing tightly around your chest. There was uneasiness that settled between you and Robby, not the typical pressure of your subtle distaste with each other’s presence. Robby stared down at you, avoiding his obvious looks, and he couldn’t ignore the discomfort in your stance.

“Did Park mention anything about the patient?” Robby asked his voice low as he tried to decipher what was going on with you.

“What patient?” You questioned, face scrunched, finally staring him in the eyes.

Robby motioned in the direction of the trauma room. Through the glass of the windows, you barely made out the patient who was sitting up on an incline. You shook your head, “I know nothing about her.”

Robby made an ah sound, attempting to hide his increase in confusion. If it wasn’t regarding a patient, what could you and him have talked about? Robby crossed his arms, craning his head lower, “I assumed you two were talking about Ms. Chen. She suffered multiple fractures, breaks on her tibia, and arms. As a physical therapist, she seems to be taking it pretty hard.”

“She’s in distress. I’m sure she is aware she will require some PT or OT coming out of here. Nothing that won’t resolve with time.” You simply said, shrugging your shoulders as if the situation were menial. He knew it was anything but from the way Mohan and Whitaker were both gazing at Ms. Chen with sympathy and compassion.

Robby stared at you, puzzled by the sudden distance in your voice. You continued looking at the scene inside the trauma room, but from your side profile, your vision was unfocused and distracted. He must have been staring more intensely than before because you noticed and shook yourself from the daze.

With a careful step back, you stiffly excused yourself at him. The distance reminded him of your opposition and he suddenly felt the tug to be pulled elsewhere. “If there isn’t anything you need from me, I’ll be heading upstairs. Page if you need me.”

Rubbing his hands together, he silently agreed, letting you leave with grace. Your back turned to him, and instead of walking with profound confidence and comfort in the Pitt, you walked with your head down. His eyes twitch watching your hands clam together, grasping onto each other. He was confused from the entire interaction.

Between watching Park speak purposefully with you to you running off to him for an escape was all strikingly odd. You and Park. Was there something beyond professional? Certainly, Park wouldn't advertise a relationship with another hospital employee so shamelessly. He never entertained the gossip train, but he knew better than to be caught speaking with anyone comfortably beyond one-word sentences and sharp, bitter analyzes.

Maybe Robby's dissection was based on his paranoia; obsessing over the strained relationship every time you crossed the forefront of his mind. Even if he opposed every curious instinct to make sense of all your nuances, he couldn’t let it go. With time, maybe the itch would go away.

Yet, that all failed almost three hours later.

Trauma after trauma wheeled in through the ambulance bay, and Robby wouldn’t have thought of you through any of it, until one particularly agitated man came in. He didn’t know what to expect with the patient, but he knew it was out of his league when he tried biting Princess.

Robby approached Dana at the nursing station who was speaking in hushed whispers with Perlah. Dana sensed the looming presence of Robby, especially when Perlah looked behind her, promptly stopping. Spinning around, she flashed him a tense smile. “How are you holding up, cap?”

Lightly groaning, he shook his head. His hands instinctively rubbed the back of his head and neck, hoping to alleviate the mass of stress settling in his muscles and pushing against nerves. “We have a problem down in South 16.”

“So, I’ve heard.” Dana mused, turning her back perfectly in front of Perlah to allow her to slip away. Nodding her head slowly, she took in Robby’s disheveled look. “What’s your plan? I don’t want any of my nurses losing a finger because of that man.”

“They won’t.” Robby chuckled dryly, reeling in his growing agitation of the issue.

“Why haven’t you moved him to the behavioral rooms?” Dana motioned to the currently empty rooms.

Robby’s hands fell to his hips, turning away from the sight of the rooms. “Because I don’t want to call unnecessary attention.”

Dana gawked at him, watching Robby walk away to the other side of the nursing station. She followed without missing a beat. “Hate to break it to you, but he already did it himself.”

Whilst craning her head to look at his face, she could see the jarring tenseness in his posture. Rigid and disciplined, but overwhelmed. Robby's chest was heaving as if something weighed on him as he attempted to inhale a sharp breath. “We need someone from psych to evaluate. I’m afraid he might be suffering from paranoia.”

“Perfect.” Dana announced, hands clapping together. She immediately searched around her view, speaking your name aloud. “She was around here. I’m sure she’d be happy to assist.”

“I’ll call Dr. Jefferson down.” Robby intervened before Dana could finish her thought. She stared at him with raised eyebrows, offended and confused. He barely spared her a look as he began dialing a number on the phone. “Make sure nurses are accompanied when in the room.”

Dana took the instruction silently, standing still as she listened to Robby speak through the line. She could make out the muffling sounds of someone responding on the other end. Pretending to depart, she slowly strolled behind him, rubbing her earring.

“She’s busy with another consult, and I’d really like to expedite Mr. Gordon’s care to prevent an incident.” Robby tentatively spoke through the phone, watching the staff pass by in front of him.

Dana didn’t understand some of the decisions Robby made, and even if she didn’t question them vocally, he was aware of her hesitations. She didn’t try to fish out an explanation when she watched him wait for Dr. Jefferson, who met him at the nursing station no more than ten minutes later.

“Michael, you have a patient for me?” Jefferson mused, wheeling in tandem with Robby, who held a tablet in his hand.

“Thirty year old male who suffered a mild-concussion after running into oncoming traffic. Presents moderate neuro functions, but has persistent agitation and paranoia.” Robby listened, his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed the notes put in by McKay.

Jefferson hummed, following smoothly beside Robby. Before approaching the room, Jefferson pulled to the side, hand stretched out. Robby passed the device permitting Jefferson to read the information for his own accord. “How did testifying go the other day?”

Robby hummed, arms resting on his hips. He awkwardly shook his head, actively looking elsewhere. “As per usual. Too many suave jabs made between Harvard law jocks with ego-complexes.”

Jefferson peered at Robby through his eyelashes, the corner of his lips curling upward. He lets out a scoff, “Not something you’re entirely unfamiliar with, it seems.”

“Oh, come on, Caleb.” Robby snorted, arms crossing over his chest. The corner of his eyes crinkled as he softly grinned. “We both know this is some lousy attempt for the district attorney to build a campaign off of cleaning the streets overseeing the root of the issue.”

“You’re starting to sound like someone I know.”

Robby tensed his smile, upholding the facade he had built brick-by-brick. There was a method to the madness you compromised on. It wasn’t a hostile-free environment, but the two of you remained civil and respectful. He knew from the look of your eye when he was pushing it, and you never spoke more about what you saw in him.

He was acutely aware you were observing him methodically, as if he was a patient in the wild, but you kept it to lingering stares. The way you silently analyzed his every movement made goosebumps rise on his skin. Even if you both hardly spoke during a shift, he could sense when you were across the floor, watching him from a distance, especially when he was especially exhausted and irritated.

You saw past the mask of his low moments. Many would miss the small laps of his wrath and self-worthlessness blend in his professional life, but you somehow caught it all.

Robby shrugged, his head moving up and down along with Jefferson despite his mind wandering elsewhere. “Let me know what you make out of Mr. Murphy.”

When he walked away, he couldn’t ignore the deafening chill of doom he sensed. He was no fortuneteller, but he knew his actions had consequences. Especially those he made on behalf of others.

His job as an attending was to let his resident and med students learn through their own methods. Examine each case and turn over diagnosis until they landed on the correct piece. That didn’t go without his discretion at times, but they needed to learn what he already knew as well. Robby was used to inserting himself, guiding the process with his two bare hands to get the job done.

That didn’t work all the time; especially when he was navigating the decisions of someone who was a colleague, not a student.

Therefore, when Robby stood across from the nursing station watching Caleb speaking with Mr. Murphy nearly an hour later, spotting you staring confused from the sight, he panicked. It was a decision of his own making, but he thought that maybe the universe would grant him this one favor.

You were passing by the room, a device in your hand. You happen to look up to see Caleb through the glass of the door, speaking with the patient. The surprise caught you, stopping you in your tracks with a slight alarm.

As the current emergency-psychiatrist on-call, you were always notified when patients needed evaluations, regardless if you were predisposed. You certainly would’ve heard if Caleb was assisting to cover the workload. You worked hard and tirelessly to make sure that wasn’t the case. There was enough happening upstairs as it was, and you didn’t want to pull Caleb down because you couldn’t handle your one job.

You dragged your feet away, still dumbstruck. When you lifted your gaze, Robby was standing across the room, inadvertently watching you instead of Jefferson. With a calm demeanor, you bee-lined for him at the workstation. He leaned forward, bracing himself for the impact of the storm. You had a greater composure to your mask, and he almost resented you for it.

When you stopped beside him, you pretended to be reading off the chart, scrolling slowly. “What is Dr. Jefferson doing down here?”

Robby hummed, putting on a strained smile for McKay who was passing by. She glanced at you before disappearing elsewhere. “We needed a psych consult for an agitated patient.”

You raised your eyebrows, continuing to scroll through the device, clicking drop down tabs. “Strange. I didn’t see you or anyone put in a request.”

“I heard you were busy.” Robby smoothly explained. When he looked down at the movement of your hands, he noticed you stopping briefly in-between actions, stretching your fingers uncomfortable. “I called down Caleb to assist.”

You stared at him from the corner of your eye, skeptical of his explanation. Your fingers continued scrolling through the device, “Mr. Murphy came in with a concussion. Excelled neuro exam, but persistent agitation and hesitation with treatment continued.”

When Robby leaned over to read what you were looking at, you had already skimmed through all the recent notes and updates on the patient. Caleb had yet to submit his notes, but he knew you were aware of that. You finally looked up at him, adjusting the oval glasses on your face. “I fail to see what I couldn’t have assisted on.”

Robby scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. Somehow, his honorable efforts of avoiding a conflict landed him in a landmine of troubles. You stared straight at him, expecting an answer no doubt.

He fixed his posture, “It wasn’t a question of your capabilities. I was trying to prevent delay of treatment, which in turn could allow opportunity for him to lash out on my staff.”

You furrowed your brows at him, eyes shifting to look at both of his dark irises. Your head barely shook as you tried to deny what your ears were hearing. “Seriously? This is about Mr. Richman?”

The sharpness of your tone sounded like hissing as you lowered your voice. You leaned forward, head cocking to one side as your eyes narrowed into slits. “Is this all some ploy between you and Morgan to keep me out of ‘trouble’?”

“No, this is about actively fighting against a nationwide issue that will continue costing us staff if we let it continue to happen.” Robby punctuated his words with a matching condescending smile on his face. His hands were now curled around his hips, gripping onto the skin and muscle as a release of the current storm brewing in his head.

You scoffed, sounding amused from the irony only you found humor in. “So, you think I can’t handle an agitated patient?”

Robby pressed his lips, grumbling within himself. It was like arguing with a teenager over why they couldn’t do certain things all their friends were doing. Stubborn and relentless—it was going to cost him more than his sanity.

“I can’t have another incident in my ER that will result in more strain and insecurity in my staff and their job.” Robby hurriedly spilled, leaning forward on his feet, imposing his height over you. With your menial glare, the scene looked almost normal for anyone passing by. “I was trying to protect you along with everyone else who is my responsibility.”

“I don’t need you looking out for me, Dr. Robinavitch.” You spat back, positioning your body to face him entirely. If you took a couple of steps closer, your chests would be touching. “Or making calls about what patients I am capable of treating alone. Maybe I haven’t made myself abundantly clear.”

Robby’s chuckle was merciless and detached from any professional respect he held for you. His current shades that hide the detest he had for your attitude were being ripped off as his pupils dilated right in front of you. “Oh, I wouldn’t want you wasting your breath. I know you don’t like wasting your time.”

“Among other things.”

You spun around, looking down at Caleb with wide eyes. Taking a careful step back, you stood beside Robby who was sucking in breath. It was a comedic sight to see the two of you brushing shoulders and holding in the fright of being caught. Robby had less to fear from you, but even Caleb’s amused glances brought him unease.

Caleb swiped off his glasses, letting them rest against his chest held up by the strap. His hands folded gracefully on his lap along with the device. His careful examination of the two of you took place quietly, the bustling of the Pitt filling in the silence. “Am I interrupting something?”

Robby fleetingly attempted to quip up, refiguring his domineering command, one you carelessly stripped every time you pushed his buttons. Yet, you beat him to the punch. Repositioning the tablet, you smiled down at Caleb. “Robby was just informing me of Mr. Murphy. If you’re done with the evaluations I can proceed with follow up.”

Caleb raised a hand, waving it lazily. “All good. I am glad Robby called me. I found out some interesting information from him that I’d like to personally follow up on.”

“Well, I know you’re busy—“

Caleb announced your name, a soft smile on his face that interrupted and politely stopped your rambling. Robby stuffed his hands in his pocket, tucking his chin in as a foolish attempt to hide from you. He didn’t need to be ashamed of his decision if Caleb agreed on its benefit, but your subtle disappointment didn’t go unnoticed.

“Mr. Murphy exhibits signs of OCD that I’ve experienced with other patients.” He explained, returning to the posture of your attending. He was your friend a lot of the time, but he didn’t demean his responsibilities as your mentor for the sake of getting to know you better. “I know some resources that could be of use to him. Plus, we both have fondness for ‘80s rock.”

Disheartened, your shoulders sagged along with the escape of air. Robby glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and the tension in your jaw and temple were prominent. He had never seen you shrink up so much in front of Caleb. You, who had always stood firm and proud in your position in his department, were turning meek like one of his junior med students.

You stiffly agreed, readjusting your grip on the device. Robby would have missed it if he hadn’t turned to look at Caleb at that moment, but something clicked in his eyes. Robby saw the shiftiness in his gaze and the turning of gears in his mind. Caleb offered Robby a polite smile. “We have to head up for a meeting, but I will catch up with you later on Mr. Murphy.”

Robby stepped back, allowing a space between you and him. It allowed Caleb to proceed straight without much maneuvering. You stood still, staring at the ground. When Caleb wheeled past the both of you, Robby caught the small glimpse you took of him from your eyelashes.

You had hardened your expression, barely letting any once of your reaction to being dismissed through. Robby caught the flicker from before, but whatever he saw before, you had tucked away under lock and key. Watching your back as you began putting distance, he saw Caleb look up at your direction, muttering something with a concerned tone.

Cursing under his breath, Robby rubbed a hand down his face. Right when he thought he could ride things through without conflict, debates, or heated remarks, you’d topple over his plans of surviving whatever was left of your fellowship.

A lot was still a mystery on whether you’d seek a permanent position at PTMC in emergency psychiatry. Caleb could use the help, and he didn't seem to hate the idea whatsoever. But, Robby still counted the days. Truth was, he was already planning an escape, coinciding with the time in which you may or may not return as a permanent physician.

At least, if things become official, he may buy himself a little time of bliss before the incoming storm of your indefinite practice with him. Robby could pull his hair out at the idea. Just make it to the sabbatical, he reminded himself—it’s only a few months away anyways.

A couple of days had passed and your slight energy had gone amiss. Maybe Robby had jumped the gun, completely hay wiring your momentum and stability in the department. He had scrutinized your decisions and pushed for explanations, but he had never jumped over your authority.

He thought he made his bed over your constant presence in his department. One could even argue you worked under his discretion more than Caleb’s from how often you consulted with him. Yet, that didn’t erase the impression you made on him.

He was officially hitting the noon mark and all he had was half a protein bar in his stomach. Sneaking off to the break room to eat the leftover sandwich he had in the refrigerator for the past couple of days sounded appealing at the moment. Right as he was about to, Dana had stopped him, as he was bristling past the nursing station.

“Robby, have you seen anyone from psychiatry?” Dana questioned, pulling off her glasses as Mel stood beside her.

Robby rubbed his hands together, thinking with great effort. He did recall Dr. Jefferson planned to take the day off and he had seen you and psych residents wandering from patient to patient. He hummed, mumbling your name. “She was supposed to do an evaluation for a patient in North 5. Concussion and road-rash patient from an e-scooter accident.”

Dana let her hands fall to her sides. “Dr. King has a patient waiting for an eval.”

“30-year-old mom suffering from second-degree burn wounds.” Mel recited, awkwardly fiddling with her hands.

Robby nodded, inhaling sharply with a tired smile, he reached over and grabbed a device from the dividers. “I will go find her.”

“Thank you, Cap.” Dana exclaimed, patting Mel on the shoulder as she pushed her to continue working.

Robby shook his head to himself, trying to muster professionalism for the interaction to be simple and passive. All he needed to do was check in, alert you of a patient, and move on. Maybe it’d be easier said than done, but some things were always simpler in concept. He almost considered the plan perfect until he heard something approaching the pulled curtain of North 5.

“Have you ever felt like you have no control? Over your body or your mind?” A female voice asked, different from yours. She seemed exhausted, her voice breathy and sad.

He took a careful step back, preparing to turn away, he in no way was supposed to listen in on the conversation. He was a physician, but the atmosphere felt too intimate for him to intrude. He stared down at the girl’s chart, finding a reason to prompt the consultation.

The accident was caused from a lapse of focus. The 20-year-old patient had been distracted from nearby music playing while riding the scooter. A song triggering a state of catatonic shock–which reminded her of the events at PittFest.

As if his feet controlled his mind, he found himself stopping before taking a complete step away. Just the sight of the words had his body halting in place. He heard the faint sound of humming. “As someone who suffers from a chronic disease, I know exactly what that feels like.”

Chronic disease? If Robby were in your situation, he would expect you to turn away without much though. He almost expected from how little you seemed to be interested in his personal affairs, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Morally, he had mixed feelings about his decision.

“How do you live with that?” The girl, Savannah from the chart, asked. From what Robby could hear, she was hesitant to ask, afraid to impede a doctor’s life. You had opened the door, casually, which sounded unfamiliar to Robby. “Sometimes, I can’t help but hate living like this.”

There was a pause, and the sound of the Pitt filled it from the outside, but he couldn’t envision the heavy moment of vulnerability between you and Savannah. “You know, psychiatry wasn’t my first choice as a specialty.”

Yes, Robby thought. Which was about all he could say confidently. That information was no-thanks to you, and neither would anything else he learns from eavesdropping on your conversation. You chuckled, and he almost would describe the sound as melodic. “I wanted to become a neurosurgeon.”

“I joined a competitive program in California.” You shared, and Robby imagined sitting across from you as you spoke. With your voice ringing loudly from the other side of the closing, it was easier to see. “During my third year in residency, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that was attacking my good tissue, which affected the joints in my hands.”

Robby held his breath. He sensed the devastation from the weight of that news. Being young and aspiring to join a field recognized for its meticulous work, the two could never be compatible. You had made it through half a residency program with the hope of accomplishing a dream–suddenly ripped from you.

“It changed the entire trajectory of the plan I had for myself.” You mumbled, but Robby made out what you said. Despite his bowed head and the screen illuminating his face, he was paying little attention to the words. “I almost quit medicine entirely, until I remembered I still wanted to help people, even if it wasn’t my first choice.”

This was wrong. The sudden rush of guilt that rushed over Robby was instantaneous. Regardless of his intentions with the information about you, he should have reasoned how inappropriate listening to a conversation from a psychiatrist and a patient was. Savannah was obviously distraught over her situation, the wounds still raw and tender, and he should have at least considered her dignity of the situation.

Slimy and disgusted with his choice, he started tuning you out, shaking his head and excusing himself. Before escaping the vicinity, he heard the scraping of the curtain rings. With it pulled back, he met you staring back at him. Your eyes were wide and your face scrunched from the confusion and surprise of his presence.

“Dr. Robinavitch,” Your voice was sharp, and he noticed the tightness in your lips. “Did you need something from Miss. Lorence?”

Robby, caught off guard, quickly shook his head. He glanced back at Savannah sitting on the gurney with her knees bent close to her chest. She wiped away the few tears that had escaped her eye, avoiding Robby’s gaze. He cleared his throat, “No. I was actually looking for you, if you have some time.”

His voice was hoarse. Nervously aware you caught him, burning holes through him with your steely eyes. You glanced back at Savannah with a soft smile, “I’ll be back.”

Robby opened his mouth, before screwing it shut. Fuck. He had messed up big time, and he didn’t need to see the clinch in your facial muscles to confirm it. In your hand was a gray cup and without any more delay, you pulled the curtain close, brushing past him with a newfound anger.

Fuck his life.

He didn’t waste the time, following your tail. Your shoes clicked against the ground and the sound was like a hammer hitting the head of the nail. He followed you to the corner of the Pitt where the industrial ice and water dispenser were for the patient. With your face obscured, he couldn’t make clearly what you were feeling, but the displeasure was clear from your silence.

When your name escaped his lips, curt and professional, you scoffed, gripping the cup away from the sensors so as to not activate them. “One of my residents needed a psych consult, and I was looking for you. I should’ve walked away once I heard your voice.”

The sound of the water splashing in the cup fulfilled your response. You stared at the cup slowly reaching the brim. “You have a lot of nerve trying to excuse yourself.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Robby whispered, leaning forward to hide the rising color on his face. He was beyond flustered. He didn’t expect the sudden turn of events. He didn’t know why he stood in place to hear you share details of yourself you were using to connect with a patient. It wasn’t within his right. “I just want you to know I don’t listen to your conversations for the sake of scrutinizing you.”

“We’re beyond that at this point.” You exclaimed, a bit louder as you spun to face him. Robby retracted from the escalation. He gripped the device in his hand, grinding away at his teeth. “This is about your blatant disregard of respect for my patient.”

You let the cup sit on the dispenser tray while crossing your arms over your chest. As he stared down at you, he could see your pupils dilate. It was strange to see you lose the control of your expressions. The faint grins and displeased looks you sent him was something he welcomed at this point. He knew this side well without delving his over pour into your cup. Without the mess of knowing you, and vice versa.

“You’ve made it clear that you don’t like having me around your department, but you couldn’t even respect the integrity of the job for the sake of patient care?” You rhetorically asked with your eyes narrowed at him.

Robby made the mistake of glancing around and the peculiar stare sent your directions fueled something in him. Nurses were sluggish in their movements as the raised voices interrupted their task and conversation. He even noted a couple of his residents staring. Public humiliation in what he knew was a disgraceful move.

Shaking his head, he scoffed. “Actually, you don’t know anything. So don’t presume to know what I am doing in my department.”

Agitated and pushed to a line Robby didn’t know existed, your hands fell to your sides with aggravation. “You scrutinize my judgment, dismiss my capabilities, and then invasively listen to my consultations.”

“I recognize what I did was inappropriate, but we don’t need to be having this fucking conversation right now.” Robby emphasized, dark eyebrows shadowing over his eyes; this added darkness might’ve frightened his underlings.

He motioned his head to the staff standing feet away, evidently listening to the argument. You followed his direction from the corner of your eye, which immediately alarmed the rest, forcing them back to their current tasks. When you looked back at Robby, he couldn’t ignore the way you gnawed at the inside of your cheek.

Maybe he overthought the action, but he saw the same anxious glancing from when Dr. Jefferson dismissed you. He didn’t do it in a punitive fashion, or even rudely, but something about your work seeming unimportant hit a nerve. Your fingers waved nervously by your sides. “I fooled myself into thinking we could work together. Treat patients mutually, but I see I was wrong.”

“We only have to endure this for five more months. Think you can manage that at least?” You spat out, grabbing the cup as you brushed past him, making a point to avoid any contact.

Robby knew the few who dared to continue staring were gawking–possibly marveled–by how you whipped him with your words. Not many had ever stepped toe-to-toe with him, especially not in the comfort of his department. The staff who worked in the environment of trauma with surgeons like Garcia stabbing at his side with a fencing sword wouldn’t compare it to this scene.

You had brought a gun to a knife fight.

Some would argue that as a psychiatrist, you knew to hit where it hurt. Robby considered it something worth penalizing; which is why he had fought over your arrogance with Jefferson before. It had all proven him right all along. He couldn’t change your flaws for you, and he was done repenting over his thoughts.

That's what he planned to get Jefferson to understand a couple of days later when the psychiatrist requested to speak with him before their shifts. When Robby found his way back to the behavioral health floor, it was a bad case of déjà vu.

Only a few weeks ago, Robby was warning you about the legal case against Mr. Richman, and now, he couldn't be more scorned in your eyes.

Hesitantly, Robby walked into the dictation room, where he was told Jefferson was last seen. He knew you had worked the night shift and was hoping you’d be gone by now; but when he opened the door and found you tossing back a couple of pills, he froze.

You paid him a look from the corner of your eyes as you took a sip from your metal water bottle. You didn't bother to hide the small eye roll, and Robby turned away, hands in his jacket pockets. He let out a sigh, peering around the dictation room like he’d find something more interesting.

He knew eventually the two of you would need to talk, but things were too fresh. You were visibly indignant to the sight of Robby, and he was so close to turning away and never coming back up to the floor. He grumbled to himself when he saw Caleb coming from around a small hallway in the room.

Caleb first smiled at Robby and then his eyes immediately gravitated to you, zipping up your backpack. When he looked back at Robby, he noticed how he positioned his body to face his back in your direction, keeping you out of his view.

With his eyes back on you, he wheeled closer to your direction. “Have a goodnight. Make sure you sleep.”

You hummed, slinging your backpack over your shoulder as you exited out the door. Without much else, the door slammed behind you, leaving the two attendings in tense silence. Caleb turned his chair, pointed towards where Robby stood still, afraid of Caleb noticing his demeanor.

“That couldn't have been more uncomfortable.” Caleb verbally noted a small smirk on his face. Robby turned around lazily, his head swiveling with his body. When he looked at Caleb, tucked his chin, staring at him through his eyelashes. “Worse than when I scold my daughter when she comes home later than she should.”

Robby chuckled, tossing his head back. “Who’s the daughter in this scenario?”

Caleb chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “You tell me.”

The deafening silence that followed told Caleb that Robby was completely aware of what's to come. It couldn’t have been a surprise that Caleb would want to talk after the blow out the two of you had. Cocking his head to the side, Caleb hummed. “I’m sure you're aware of what this may be about.”

Robby scratched the side of his beard, confirming with tight lips. Caleb followed his movement, watching every piece of ticking of his demeanor. “I was under the impression the two of you had worked it out. Now, I’m hearing the two of you had a screaming match in front of the staff?”

The humorless chuckle Robby gave in response warned Caleb of what to come. From the distance he saw between him and you, Caleb sensed whatever had occurred disrupted the routine Robby had for himself. The Pitt was tainted by the memory he shared with you, disturbed by you. If he didn't feel a dread of the idea of working with you every time he came to work, it was now settled in the atmosphere surrounding him since that shift.

“You can’t call it a match if she was the only one fighting.” Robby muttered with his hands on his hips. The slight tilt of his head was a familiar look Caleb had seen before. The rare sight of his pupil and the squaring of his shoulders. Tense and bothered. “And honestly Caleb, you should talk to her about it.”

“I’m talking to you.” Caleb motioned, wide eyed as he tried to assemble to puzzle blindly. “Surely you can enlighten me as to what led to the argument.”

Robby grievously shook his head, “She was upset, that’s all I know.”

With that vague response, Caleb was burning deeper holes with his stare. Robby wasn’t panicked, but he found himself in a hard place to crawl out of. Obviously, Caleb didn’t find much from you, which left him to resort to questioning Robby. He stared down at the ground, more interested in his shoes than in Caleb.

Caleb hummed, pensively tossing around the excuse, like there was true validity. “Doesn’t sound like her.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know her as well as you think.” Robby chuckled dryly, rubbing at his forehead with his pointer finger and his thumb. They ran against the wrinkles of his age, trying to alleviate the throbbing sensation of an oncoming headache.

Caleb paused, examining Robby up and down. Curing himself internally, he squeezed his eyes, shaking himself into reason. “I mean, everyone has bad days. Sometimes we fuck up because of it.”

“I get that.” Caleb rationalized, completely understanding. Too understanding, even, with his tone reflecting the cadence he used with some patients. Robby skin prickled with the sound. “Do you know anything about what upset her?”

Coming clean would let Jefferson know that you had shut down all possibilities of there being anything amicable between you two. You, who had created this ‘system’ that prevented anyone from coming near, but also aimed arrows straight to the soul to keep them away.

Every time you two ran into each other, up to the last interaction, it was as if you had prepared secret attacks against him. Your snarky words or your harsh resolutions ticked Robby, who was like a bomb around you, creeping closer and closer to explosion.

It was as if someone pulled a string with the incident between you two, and his whole resolve was collapsing with it. The professional mask he put on for show not just for Jefferson, but for the rest of his department as well, was beyond cracked and broken. Robby tried to collect the pieces as he actively defended himself, but he was missing the glue to keep it together.

Robby resorted to shaking his head. Maybe if he didn’t say anything at all, Caleb would let it go. He squeezed his arms tighter, constricting his chest cavity against his beating heart. He was reminding himself there was still reason in your agreement.

Caleb accepted the response, nodding while also carefully watching Robby. He could sense the thickness in the air around him, a dark storm cloud that followed him wherever he went.

Everyone else must have seen it so clearly.

Days had passed. Santos walked alongside him, approaching a patient in Central 14. When she first came up to him, he was already grumbling, a hardened expression after cleaning up from a trauma. Something had been ticking her boss off, and the rest of them were walking on eggshells because of it.

His muscles were flexing with discomfort, constantly shifting his head to glance around every space he entered. She would describe him as paranoid. Not to his face—she would let Dana do that for her.

They were currently on their way to check in with the 40-year-old patient they requested a psych consultation. She was on SSRI medication, and there were concerns she mentioned vaguely. When the two of them approached the room, you were typing away on the WOW in the room.

Your back was facing the door, glancing occasionally at the patient. Robby approached the door, knocking before entering and presenting Mrs. Myers a polite smile. “Hello Mrs. Myers. I’m Dr. Robby, I am the attending physician here. How are you doing?”

She softly smiled, trying to bear the slight discomfort in her fractured ankle. She readjusted herself on the hospital bed. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” Robby whispered, standing at the foot of the bed. You were closer in proximity, still confined to the WOW, typing away gently as the two spoke. “We spoke with orthopedics and they will be recommending a boot to help stabilize the bones in your ankle and feet.”

Mrs. Myers groaned lightly, throwing her head back. Santos stepped forward, hands folded in front of her. “The good news is, you will have more mobility than if you were in crutches after two weeks.”

“I won’t be able to go running.” Mrs. Myers sighed out, exasperated, as if she was told the worst news ever.

Santos scrunched her face, while Robby provided a sympathetic smile. Santos stuffed her hands into her pocket, leaning back on her heels. “Best case scenario, the boot will be on for a minimum of 8 weeks.”

“Fucking great.” Mrs. Myers muttered, running a hand down her face. She gritted her teeth, moving her one good foot to plant flat on the bed.

“Someone from orthopedics will come down to apply the boot and go over precautions.” Robby added, leading Santos out the door. He glanced carefully at you, as you continued typing in silence. He saw the subtle twitch in your hands, peaking at the figure by the door.

Promptly, you logged out of the WOW, readjusting a pen you clipped onto your pant pocket. Offering Mrs. Myers a smile, she grimaced, watching you with less bitterness than Santos. “I will come back to check in with you.”

You followed behind Santos, pointedly avoiding Robby’s gaze as you passed in front of him. When the three of you emptied the room, Robby closed the door behind him. He saw Santos let out a sigh, shaking her head. “These health nuts are so self-absorbed, you’d think she cares more about her blaring fractured foot instead of her reaching her daily step count.”

“Dr. Santos, you would never say that in front of the patient, right?” You questioned, hand motioned back to the room. Santos warily looked past you, glancing awkwardly at Robby then back at you.

She opened her mouth to respond, but you beat her to the punch. “I shouldn’t have to remind you of proper etiquette, regardless of whether the patient is present or not.”

Robby positioned himself in your view, folded arms as he leaned in. “I think Dr. Santos presents a concern for psychiatry to follow up on.”

The hardened glare you sent in his direction didn’t dismay him. He remained stone cold in his position. Santos was left in a worse position, not wanting to fall in the middle of whatever beef you and Robby had.

“Which I was, until you bustled in.” You replied, raising your eyebrows. When you turned back to Santos, she straightened her back, feeling suddenly chill, hands absentmindedly rubbing her biceps. “Word of advice, when a patient seems distressed by news, you don’t console them by spitting out incessant information.”

Robby warningly called out your name, quiet enough for you to hear the caution in his voice, He was withholding the distaste of your reproach, but you didn’t bother to heed it. “And for your information, she is severely depressed and utilized running as a form of medication.”

“With her current dosage not satiating her needs, she resorted to running for the endorphins,” You informed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Wouldn’t you be upset if that was no longer an option in this situation?”

Santos swallowed thickly, nodding her head hurriedly. She avoided your gaze, staring down at her shoes. “I misinterpreted her intentions.”

“Big time.” You replied, smiling with slight displeasure. Santos didn’t seem as rattled as the one he recalled last year. Her skin was thicker and she didn’t let herself be pushed over. Robby liked to think the Pitt was helping her become a doctor confident in herself.

He didn’t want to think of how this place may ruin her.

Robby announced your name one more time, finally capturing your attention. “I believe Dr. Santos has another patient to check on. I’ll check in with ortho.”

Without saying a single word, Santos excused herself, walking away while aimlessly looking at the ground. Robby watched carefully for her to disappear before turning slowly to glare down at you, eyes wide in disbelief of your confrontation. You always spearheaded the care of any patient you took on, which he believed, had you tossing all esteem and cordiality out the window.

“If you’re upset with me, that's fine, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t take it out on my residents.” Robby warned with one hand stretched out, slicing away the thought. He needed the point to drill into your head. He didn’t want to be dismissed as Santos was.

“I’m not upset.” You corrected, nose scrunching in offense, as if you smelled something foul from his words. “And I was simply telling Trinity the importance of selecting her choice of words and making judgments before she knew the patient’s circumstances.”

Robby took a step back, furrowing his eyebrows. Trinity? He didn’t even recognize the name from how little he heard it. Everyone was called by his or her title and surname. ‘Trinity’ was a foreign subject. “Didn’t realize you two were on a first name basis.”

“Is it so hard to believe I can make friends?” You rhetorically asked. If you had seriously considered his answer, it would be an indefinite yes. Even if you still spoke with Shen like old pals, he still found it hard to believe it was authentic. “We’ve managed to get along without you meddling.”

“You were the one who said you didn’t befriend coworkers.” Robby recalled dumbfounded.

“There are exceptions.” You plainly said, turning back to look at Mrs. Meyers.

“And I’m not one of them.” Robby bemused. Since he officially began working with it, you have always made yourself abundantly clear.

With your attention back on him, you raised a single eyebrow. Your lips tensed, before you scoffed. “Dr. Robinavitch, after the charade you pulled last week, can you blame me?”

“I apologized.” Robby huffed out annoyed.

“Only because you were caught.”

Robby clapped his hands, rubbing them together. Your sights caught his every movement, entranced on what he might do next. His stiff smile and wide glare had you readjusting your body to face him entirely. Hands flattened together he motioned to you, “You’re entitled to your opinion, as I am entitled to mine.”

“And I think Mrs. Myers needs a follow up with psych regarding her prescription and the fallout of her fracture.” His hands choppily moved to himself then to South 14, where Mrs. Myers sat with her hands over her face.

“Marvelous thinking, Dr. Robinavitch.” You dramatically mused, putting on a charming smile. You began to take a careful step back, cocking your head. “I would invite you to sit in, but you have a tendency of welcoming yourself where you aren’t invited.”

Before Robby could put in the last word, he was welcomed with the sight of your back walking into the room again, closing it behind you. He saw from the glass how you closed the shutters, closing him and everyone else from the solace. Robby let out a frustrated sigh, hands immediately landing to the back of his neck.

This was his nightmare reincarnated. He was supposed to be focused on his job, his residents, and the fact he was about to go on a three-month vacation in July. He shouldn’t be worried about what you might do the next time your paths cross. Every dread that filled him coming into his shift stemmed from all the ill in his life and you were a part of that.

When you finally left Mrs. Meyer’s room, you headed straight for the elevator, keeping to yourself. Enough trouble had occurred in the shift, let alone the seven months you’ve worked on your fellowship. When you stopped at the elevator, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Without second thought, you answered, stating your name lazily.

Caleb chuckled from the other end. “Long day?”

“Something like that.” You responded, stepping into the empty elevator. Pressing the button of the behavioral health floor, the doors slid closed. Leaning back, one hand holding the small metal bar, you threw your head back. “Everything’s under control here though.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He said coolly. You could vividly see the ghost of his smile.

“So, why did you call?” You asked, elongated your words as a way to hide the current nerves bustling. Your hand gripped onto the railing tighter.

“I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight.”

You internally cowed, trying to omit your current reluctance to play niceties after a busy shift. You just didn’t have it in you to entertain someone, even Caleb, at some dinner. Caleb must have expected a polite decline from your part as he chuckled lightly. “I know it’s last minute, and after a shift, but I just got the reservation to a new place in town. I'd hate to be the only disabled man, and eating alone.”

“I think only you could rock that look.” You joked, watching the door slide open. Stepping out, you stopped to the side of the hallway, before entering the patient care areas.

Caleb hummed light and amused. “I know it's last minute, but my daughter has soccer practice.”

“And your wife?” You teased him.

“She’s got a book club meeting with her girls. I know better than to intervene with that.”

You stifled the laugh. All you could recall was the one phone call you had walked into in Caleb’s office. You can attest she was not a happy woman when her plans were ruined.

Tapping your foot incessantly and gnawing on your bottom lip, you internally flipped the invitation. When was the last time you had gone out?

“Fine.” You huffed out, and you were silently pleased no one passing by could see the girlish smile on your face.

“Good.” Caleb responded, too elated, not that you had noticed. “I’ll see you tonight.”

You were sitting at the restaurant, twiddling with your phone. Briefly, you glanced at the time, swiped up on the screen and you had no new messages. Grumbling to yourself, you continued spinning the phone in your hand, lightly tapping the table. You were starting to regret agreeing to dinner with Caleb.

He had never bothered to treat you to something as fancy as a sit down restaurant that required a reservation week in advance—until now. When you first joined the fellowship at PTMC, you two had take-out in his office and ‘bonded’ over your careers. You didn’t think the two of you had grown close enough to go to dimly lit restaurants together, but maybe you underestimated how responsible Caleb felt for you.

At least, you thought that until now, whilst Caleb ghosted the second text you sent. If you weren’t sitting alone at a reserved table for two with heels, a dress, and makeup on, you would’ve felt differently.

You 7:53pm

I’m having flashbacks to the many dates I’ve been stood up at.

Don’t make me look like a fool in stockings, Caleb.

You were counting down the minutes until you walked out. After waiting almost half an hour, your patience was withering. The idea of stripping yourself clean and substituting a luxury dinner with a tub of ice cream seemed more and more appealing. The way time was inching closer to 8pm, you might get exactly what you want.

Carefully, you looked around for a waiter, expectantly preparing to pay for the one drink you did have while you waited to make the perfectly executed escape. Right as you spotted your waiter, you heard your phone vibrate on the table.

Caleb Jefferson 7:59pm

Don’t panic and don’t leave.

Just follow my lead on this one.

What? Your one hand you had raised to capture the waiter’s attention slowly came down. Without second thought, your hands began typing out a message, and before you could hit send, you sensed a figure looming over the table. Quickly lifting your head, you were met with the equally confused gaze from Robby,

You glanced down at your phone, quickly scanning the new message to pop up like it carried the answer to both your confusion.

Caleb Jefferson 8:01pm

Be open minded

I tend to be right about these things : )

When you brushed your loose hair out of your face, you noticed Robby looking around, like he was waiting for Caleb to wheel out the corner and exclaim that it was all a prank. You took in his clean, casual look, which made you feel overdressed. He wore a black, wool coat, button over a gray shirt. He had straight, dark blue washed jeans, paired with black leather boots.

He sported the round, black glasses, and his hair casually combed to the side. Some strands fell on his forehead, as if intentional. It left you speechless, the same way he probably would say the last person he expected to have dinner with was you.

You groaned lightly, placing your phone firmly on the table. “Caleb played us.”

Robby raised his bushy eyebrows, awkwardly staring between you and the empty chair across from you. “So, this was his plan on getting us alone in a room together.”

You let out a dry laugh, leaning back in your chair and looking up at him “Seems like.”

The silence that befell you two stretched the air and folded it to form layers of brewing resistance. Since you caught him eavesdropping on you and a patient, you didn’t bother to play nice anymore. There was nothing more to hide from Caleb. Your long-lasting distaste for one another was out in the open, and the two of you were out of energy to continue posturing.

You tapped your foot under the table, thinking to yourself. Twirling around the idea, which you may regret, opened a pit in your stomach, tearing away your appetite. You rolled your head to the side, sighing. “You’re already here. We don’t have to talk, but we may as well not let this reservation go to waste.”

Robby paused for a moment, glancing at the chair. He realized how weird he must look to the other clients as he stood shadowing over you. He shuffled his way into his seat, rubbing his hands on his denim-clad thighs.

You took a careful sip of your fruity cocktail, something fresh, sweet, and tart. Something exciting to pass the time, awaiting your inevitable fate. When the waiter came back, Robby only asked for water. You scoffed, putting your drink down. “Worried you might let your inhibitions go if you’re inebriated?”

Robby stared at you, considering his next words. He curled his lips, crossing his arms. “I’m no lightweight, if that’s what you mean. Haven’t been since my med school days.”

“When they used to chart by candlelight?” You joked monotony, tracing your fingers across the edge of your phone.

You didn’t have to lift your head for Robby to see the small smirk on your face. He didn’t expect this dynamic. Shamelessly jabbing at him like you were friends. Similar fashion that Dana would, that came with years of a fostered relationship. He would never replace Dana, and he got the sense that you weren’t doing it out of friendliness.

The water was placed in front of him, and before letting the waiter leave, he requested a whiskey neat. You nodded with approval, grabbing one of the menus sitting at the center of the table. Eyes scanned the egg white sheet, pretending to be engrossed in the meals and their complimentary ingredients.

Robby was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh. He didn’t hide the fact he was staring at you, trying to read into what to expect during a dinner with you. If the first few minutes told him anything, he was in for an interesting night.

“Did you hear about Mr. Richman?” Robby questioned, cradling the glass of water in one hand. He quickly gauged your reaction, before staring back at the glass.

Your eyes stopped on the menu. Slowly, you lowered the menu you held up, glancing warily at Robby. He heard you suck in sharp breath, laying the menu down. You nodded, “I did. I’m more than pleased the judge was willing to hear his lawyer out.”

“I’m sure the expert witness testimony helped him reach an appropriate conclusion.” Robby mumbled back, shaking his head as he furrowed his brows. It was bittersweet to think if it hadn't been for Mr. Richman, maybe the two of you could work better together.

You cleared your throat, leaning forward. “Is that a compliment?”

Robby sheepishly smiled, scratching the side of his beer. “Only if you’ll accept it, I suppose. It’s no secret that you were his biggest advocate, despite everything.”

He motioned to you, more specifically, your face. The bruising was gone by now, no longer needed to be caked over with color corrector and makeup. When the trial had first begun, there was still slight discoloration. Now, everything was returning to a sense of normal for the better. Mr. Richman would receive help, and you no longer had the scars to carry off the brawl.

“That’s my job. To make sure my patients have some decent quality of life.” You sighed out, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress, mostly to keep from staring across the table. “He needed the absolute maximum care, regardless of how I felt about what he did.”

Robby hummed, noting the obvious distraction you created for yourself. You in no way coward from him, but he sensed he was treading in deep waters. Too close for comfort. “That’s honorable.”

You shook your head, “No. It’s my job.”

Briefly interrupted by the waiter dropping off Robby’s liquor, checking in with the both of you. He dismissed himself with a polite smile as you asked for more time. With you two secluded to each other, you took one more sip from your drink, taking steady breaths. “I should apologize for the way I reacted the other day. It was unprofessional and uncalled for.”

“Do you mean it?” Robby asked curiously.

Your choice of word told him you didn’t know how to broach the subject, but your intention was clear. He didn’t seek to humiliate you, but he needed to push for this social experiment of Caleb’s to work.

Sharply nodding, you swallowed thickly, staring at his eyes that seemed darker under the restaurant lighting. “It’s not my place to scold anyone, let alone the chief of the emergency department.”

Robby shook his head, “I deserved it.”

“Still—“

“I crossed a boundary—“

“I shouldn’t have taken out my frustrations on you.” You announced over his overlapping voice. It was also loud enough to capture the attention from a few of the nearby tables, staring concerned from the corner of their eyes.

You gritted your teeth, attempting to ignore the fact you always seemed to earn uncalled attention. Robby leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Frustrations about what?”

If Robby were sitting closer to you, he could possibly hear the hammering of your heart. You drowned in the sound as the pulsing filled your ears like a thumping drum in your head. This moment was a break in the messy equilibrium you had fed. The ‘agreement’ the two of you had sealed that night at the bar was pointless. With Caleb directing the pawns to his liking, he left you two with no choice.

“I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis.” You spoke clearly, leaving no doubt or confusion needing clarification. Your hands on the table trembled slightly as you eased your body into uncontrolled waters. “That’s the reason I had to quit my surgical residency.”

“I’ve come to terms with that. I recovered by joining an equally satiating program that taught me more about myself than surgery ever did.” You laughed, glistening eyes sparkling as you tossed your head back lightly.

It was a rarity to Robby. He had seen the human tenderness when Mr. Richman first came in. He heard it in the way you spoke with Savannah, utilizing your experiences as more than just an anecdote. You formulated your life into a way to help others. Robby didn’t see the intention behind your action; and if he wasn’t so bothered and engrossed in his own troubles, he’d notice it more.

“What stuck with me though was my attending's reaction.”

Robby felt his breath be stuck in his throat. Adamson’s words echoed in his mind and what followed was the dark memory of Robby shoving Langdon’s backpack into his chest, cursing him out of the Pitt. When he saw the dread in your face, the small frown and the repulsion of the recollection, he almost sank in his chair.

“He was the one who noticed the inflammation in my hands and the fatigue.” Subconsciously, you motioned to your hands, turning them over before intertwining your fingers. “I always thought I was overworking myself in the simulation lab, but he pushed for me to get a second opinion.”

The wet scoff that followed had you turning away to hide the shame. “I didn’t even tell him when I found out. He personally reached out to the head of ortho to get the results.”

When you leaned back in your chair, Robby saw your squared shoulders. Despite the conversation being private, the closest table over five away, you looked paranoid. You had the same guardedness when he had walked into Mrs. Myers room earlier. The hesitancy to do your own job in his presence.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I stupidly attempted to scrub into a surgery a couple of weeks after. He took me to the gallery instead and gave me an ultimatum.”

“He told me I either resign from the program or he would have me forcibly removed, emphasizing my defiance.” You had finally looked up to meet him in the eye. He almost hated to see the repulsion of yourself in your eyes. It felt too real of his current situation, and he was certain someone is currently noticing his downfall. “He’d personally ruin me in the medical world if it meant I never risked anyone’s life for my ego.”

Robby felt the words punch him in the gut. As a mentor, he tried everything in his power to aspire his students to do better. Be smarter, kinder, and quicker than he is. As a department head, he emphasized that need even more to his senior staff.

But, how do you do that when you’re drowning in a sea of everything you’re meant to do? You tide over your shame onto everyone else’s shore, he supposed.

“He abused his power,” Robby affirmed, shaking his head in disappointment. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

He was off put by the small grin on your face, like there was some inside joke he was missing. You shrugged, straightening the skirt of your dark dress. “Not your mess to try and clean up.”

“He was part of the reason I left California, even when they offered me an attending position.” You confessed, smiling sadly. Robby wondered what his life would look like without you here. After briefly sipping your drink you sighed, “I sometimes wonder if that was the best decision.”

Robby remained silent. Maybe his life wouldn’t look so complicated or he wouldn’t feel like he was constantly under a microscope by your stare. He could probably get away with his current deranged way of acting. Although he wasn’t at rock bottom yet, he may agree that he was on a steady decline to a point of no return.

“There wasn’t any way of preserving your joints?” Robby asked curiously, changing the subject with ease. If you noticed, you didn’t make it obvious.

“My doctors told me surgery would be too aggressive. They wanted to attempt the medication before jumping the gun.”

“And how are you doing now?” Robby followed up, a brief sincerity escaping his lips. He didn’t attempt to take it back or excuse it as a mistake.

“It’s been five years, give, or take.” Your eyebrows flinched, the realization a shock to yourself. “I understand where my attending was coming from. But when you’re young and after fighting for a spot in that program, it all feels like a personal attack.”

Yeah, it does, he silently thought. He shouldn’t have resonated with those words. His mentors pushed him to be the doctor he was, and even if he felt he wasn’t living towards the standard they set, it didn’t change how they formed him. Adamson remained a core pillar in his practice, and every day since his passing, he felt he was losing the part of him that shaped and molded a worthy attending ER physician.

After a beat, Robby’s eyebrows dipped, turning his head slightly as he thought. “Is that why you were talking with Park?”

“I had narrowly been trying to avoid him and his offers of surgery for a while now.” You snickered, shaking your head. Robby bowed his head, masking the fleeting break in his stoniness. “He finally found me, but I’m beyond broaching those choices.”

You seemed comfortable. Removing himself from the objective light he saw you, he had noticed you submerge yourself in the staff. He should’ve known you would’ve found a safe place to land in the Pitt. It had a type of energy that kept him coming back, even when he dreaded it most.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why psychiatry?”

You hummed; almost amused he dared to ask the question. It might have been as thrilling as surgery, but with the sort of drive he saw buzzing within you, it still felt it missed the specialty of surgery. “Honestly? It was Shen’s idea.”

“When he was doing a surgical rotation, we debriefed a patient; he offhandedly said I’d make a good psychiatrist.” You smiled brighter, your expression brightening with your mood. Robby would be a fool to say the woman sitting across from him was different from who he worked with.

He was starting to come to terms that he didn’t know the type of person Caleb and Shen knew. Laid back and genuine. You shrugged, “I guess that stuck with me.”

“You are good at what you do.” Robby affirmed instinctively. He didn't think when he said that, but after a beat, he confirmed the thought with a nod. He watched you sit silently; staring at him like you couldn’t believe he could think that highly of you.

He groaned lightly as he leaned back, one hand rubbing against his jean-clad thigh. His closed mouth smile pushed up his glasses, letting you see the darks of his eyes better. “We’re lucky to have you. And it’d be a shame if you left us so soon.”

You paused, tilting your head as you let your mind run wild with thoughts. The fellowship was temporary, safely branching out your options to a more permanent place to stand. You never expected more than just another line on your resume, yet the idea of leaving haunted you. “PTMC has some charm, I suppose.”

The words came out as a thought, quiet and long. You leaned onto the table, elbows resting on the edge, and he couldn’t deny the glint in your bubbled something exciting in him. He didn’t expect a few minutes of dinner to leave him wanting more conversation with you. The corner of your mouth twitched upward, eyes squinting at him. “The real question is would you want to continue working together.”

Would he? That was something he had debated, skipping like a broken record. He could learn to be more courteous and understanding—compassionate even—beyond the sake of patient care. If the last few minutes conversing told him anything, it was that he had yet to learn all facets of his job.

Robby shrugged, agreeing nonchalantly. “I’m sure we can make it work.”

You pursed your lips, watching him skeptically. Had he been so unconvincing? He wouldn’t swear anything, he was taught better than to breed false hope, but he did mean it. Before he could affirm his stance, you interrupted, “Can I be frank about something?”

You waited until he gave you subtle confirmation, readjusting your posture with careful precision.

“If you’re serious, we need to discuss keeping each other accountable.”

Accountability. Dana would’ve laughed at that. She’d argue that doctors never voluntarily took the blame of their wrongdoings. She tried it herself with Robby, and she saw how nasty of a game that was to play.

Once he furrowed his brows, you sat up taller. “What I said at the bar, I meant it.”

“I am personally concerned you’ve neglected yourself for too long.” You earnestly shared, clear as day. The professional mask slips on easily. It was almost intimidating to be seen under your gaze.

Every effort he made to not alarm anyone had let him down. That last person he expected to notice or care enough to address it with him was speaking as if he were a patient. He didn’t like being objectified in that light. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” You questioned, striking a nerve in Robby.

There was no mistaking the shift in Robby, gently grinding his jaw as he stared blankly at you. His crooked smile was an impersonation of pleasantry. He wasn’t pleased with your hyper awareness of him. “Look, it must not be easy to handle an entire department. Even Caleb struggles from time to time.”

“Are you doing anything for your stress? Or giving yourself a break?”

Robby could scoff. It was hard to squeeze in a break of any kind while running the emergency department of a trauma-1 hospital. It was like asking a marine to let go of the hyper vigilance when deploying back home. It seemed futile and perhaps his more intimate circle, like Jack, would describe it as cynical. But there was no point in beating a dead horse.

“I’m rebuilding a motorcycle. Plan to take a sabbatical in the summer. Just me and the open road.” Robby coolly shared. Was it a dream resort? Not for many, but it meant stepping away from the chaos.

He had yet to tell everyone he was planning on disappearing. A small part of him found an appeal of waiting a month from his departure. Leaving without a big rollout of his three-month absence would be an ideal exit. He didn’t need to hear the ‘best travel’ and warning of staying safe. He knew some would even have a thing or two to say about road tripping on a motorcycle from the cases they’ve worked on.

You raised your eyebrows at him, “And that’s a break for you?”

“The longest I’ve been away from the Pitt was five days, and that was cut from the original 2 weeks I had planned.” Robby’s hoarse chuckle was rhythmic, hitting all the right decimals to sounds engaged. You couldn't help but think it felt staged. Practiced. “They granted me three months.”

“Think you’ll be able to handle it?” You followed up, and the question was vague, enough so that Robby’s eyes twitched. Only someone who replayed all the possible conversations that could emerge from his spontaneous rendezvous could interpret in-between the lines you had set. “Three months of solitude and self-reflection is a lot for people in our line of work.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

You tried to contain the discomfort you felt from his statement. It fell flat from his tongue. It felt reminiscent of some of the patients you spoke to, those coming in with cuts and burns and other superficial wounds that scarred too deeply. Too intentional. You were acutely aware of when someone was crawling towards an edge of no return.

There was an undeniable vastness in his eyes. Sometimes, when shadowing over you with a flame, you still didn’t see the desire there, waking every day wanting to be in a place filled with havoc. If you had to describe what you saw while staring him in the eyes, you’d say he was a lost soul inhabiting a tired, ran down body.

A part of him was giving up. You knew what resignation looked like, and you had a responsibility to stop it, right?

You lifted your glass, holding out to him, eyes sparking under the light and a smile curling upward. “Well, I suppose you and I have a lot of bonding to do till then.”

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