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Having a thing for dilfs and NOT having a daddy kink is like the fanfiction equivalent of being gluten intolerant. Gotta read through the tags like a fucking allergen list.
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arranged marriage w/jack abbot x f!reader
the one where you move in with him
wc: 1.3 k
warnings: forced proximity
< prev . next chapter (on the works) >
You spent your day off packing. By the time Jack arrived, you had already said your goodbyes to your roommates, condensing your entire life into a single suitcase and two boxes.
“That it?” Jack asked, tossing the boxes into the back of his truck.
You shrugged. “I’ve always rented furnished apartments.”
You caught the way his mouth pulled sideways, his gaze dropping to the pavement. “Not even a lamp?”
Your gut twisted—the softness in his voice scraped against your nerves. “Don’t pity me” you barked, before climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door.
.
Jack’s apartment was aggressively functional. It was ironic that he’d questioned your lack of belongings when his own home looked like an IKEA display. There wasn't a single photograph on the walls, no decorations, not even a houseplant to suggest a human lived there. Perhaps that was his personality.
He led you to what would be your room. It was sparse, featuring only a double bed and an attached bathroom. Once he set your suitcase down, the silence in the room became deafening, and you felt an urgent need to break it.
“So, I was paying seven hundred dollars before,” you said, the words rushing out in a jagged stream. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and your hands trembled. The terrifying reality began to settle in your bones. “I assume yours is more than that. When do you need the money, and what’s my share?”
Jack looked at you, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “What?”
“I can pay my part of the rent,” you repeated, feeling smaller by the second.
He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his expression hardened. “I don’t pay rent.”
He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you alone in the quiet, sterile room with nothing but your anxiety.
.
You spent the evening in the kitchen, preparing a simple tomato soup. The apartment was deathly quiet; Jack was either out or deeply asleep behind his closed door. Through the living room windows, you watched the last of the sunlight bleed into dark, bruised purple across the skyline.
You plated a bowl, leaving the rest on the stove, foolishly hoping he might want some when he woke. But he didn’t. Instead, his door opened, and he stepped out, already in sweats and a tee, a sweatshirt slung over his forearm.
“Going to the gym,” he said, leaning against the counter, his eyes tracking you. “Wanna come?”
“Uhh,” your words stumbling over the offer and the sight of his biceps. “Not today. Thanks.”
“I have friends there,” he pressed. “You should meet them, too.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” you said, your teeth catching on your lip as you shivered. “It’s chilly today.”
He nodded, glancing toward the kitchen.
“There’s soup if you want,” you offered shyly, a thumb pointing at the stove.
Without looking at you, he walked to the door. “Later, thanks.”
He reached for the handle, then stopped. He turned back. “The heater’s in my room. You can adjust it if you want.”
“Thanks,” you murmured, and he was gone.
You cleaned your bowl and retreated to your room, attempting to unpack. You were just lining up your photographs on the dresser when the lights blinked once, twice, and died. The apartment plunged into darkness.
You flicked the switch, pointlessly, then sighed. You lit one of your Bath & Body Works candles, the scent of Warm Vanilla Sugar doing little to lighten the apartment or fight the chill settling into the walls. You layered on a sweatshirt, then another, but it wasn't enough. The november temperature was not going to stop falling just for you.
Minutes passed, then an hour. You climbed into bed, shivering so violently your teeth rattled. You curled into a ball, pulling the duvet over your head, but the cold had seeped into your bones.
The front door clicked open. You heard the heavy thud of Jack’s gym bag hitting the floor, followed by the silence of the power outage.
“Hey,” he called out, his voice deeper in the dark. “It’s freezing here. Did you mess with the heater?”
You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your body was shaking with such force it felt like you were vibrating against the mattress.
He walked closer, the floorboards creaking until he stood at the threshold of your room. The hallway light didn't exist to guide him, but you saw the silhouette of him standing there.
He repeated your name in the darkness, an edge of fear in it. He walked in, his footsteps pausing when he heard the frantic chatter of your teeth. “Jesus.”
Jack was at your bedside in two strides. He pulled the duvet back, and the sudden exposure to the air made you whine pathetically.
He touched your shoulder, and his hand was a furnace against your skin. He didn't ask questions; he just stripped off his hoodie and shoved you toward the center of the mattress. “Move over.”
“welcome home, honey” you managed to tease him. A menace through and through.
“Move over,” he commanded again. He climbed in behind you, pulling you against his chest and dragging the duvet up to cover you both. His immediate warmth had you sighing in relief.
He pressed his chin to your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to stabilize your shivering.
“I wasn’t built for this weather,” you whispered, your voice cracking against the silence.
He didn't laugh. He just tightened his hold on you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I know,” he murmured into your hair. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
You were hyper-aware of everything—the scent of him; the terrifying speed of your own heart; the way his stubble grazed your neck when he shifted. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force your body to stop the violent tremors, but as your temperature rose, your anxiety kicked in.
“You’re still freezing,” he noted, his tone kind and attentive. He pulled the duvet up higher, tucking the edges beneath your sides.
“This happens often?”
“Not really.” He shifted beneath the covers and pulled out his phone. The brightness of the screen illuminating his features. You saw how his brows pinched and the firm line of his lips spread open. “Oh.”
“What?”
He locked the phone and put it in the nightstand behind him. His hand, however, returned to your back afterwards. “There is an email from the building administration about this outrage. It’s for maintenance and it’s scheduled to last until 10:30 pm.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine”
“Oh”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t check”
“‘s alright. We can always go to my place” You joked.
“No, thanks. I choose freezing.”
You chuckled.
“Wanna go have dinner somewhere nice and with heating?” He shook you softly and your eyes opened, catching his in the dark room.
You shook your head. “I’m sleepy.”
“Yeah, you are.”
You clinged yourself closer to him, to his chest that radiated warmth. “You’re so hot.” You mumbled, “I mean, your temperat—.”
Jack chuckled against your hair. “I got that. But I’m all sweaty and gross.”
You shook your head against his chest.
“We’re changing these sheets in the morning.” He murmured.
You huffed a laugh. “Deal”
He didn't pull away. Instead, he reached down, finding your hand under the covers and interlacing his fingers with yours.
“Thanks” you mumbled.
His hands shifted, moving to hold you even tighter. “Don’t.” A single order that you had no intention of challenging.
As you stopped shivering you waited for him to move, to leave, to remind you of the nature of this arrangement, but he stayed perfectly still.
The exhaustion of the day finally began to win. The adrenaline of the move, the anxiety of sharing a space with him, and the sheer physical effort of trying to stay warm drained out of you, leaving you heavy.
You felt his breathing even out, slow and rhythmic. It was hypnotic. You tucked your nose into the crook of his neck, your hand still locked securely in his. You were exhausted, and for the first time in weeks, you felt safe.
The last thing you registered before sleep pulled you under was the feeling of his thumb tracing lazy, tender circles over the back of your hand. You drifted off, held fast by the man who was currently your roommate, your husband-to-be-on-paper, and your only source of heat in the dark.
jesse van horn it seems that i’ve grown quite fond of you though there are no sexual urges or desires you come to me as a long lost friend whom i once picked apples with in papa’s orchard
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synopsisDr J makes the hospital famous with her tiktoks and, especially robby and jack. robby has something to say about what everyone thinks of him. (4.8k words)
warningsheavy smut. MDNI. This is all about this man eating pussy. oral (f receiving) slight fingering, robby's got something to prove, face sitting, come eating? if you squint, language, slight jealous robby
authornotes this is completely based of that meme i saw that i'll put below because i know what its trying to say but as a Robby girl I've got to defend my man (jack abbott though can also get it anyday) i dont know if i'm proud of this, i just have so many ideas that they all clump up and come out as barf but i hope you like (gif credits to @timothyolyphant :)
pitt masterlist! Another Robby fic!
Robby went to you first because he didn’t understand what it meant and if he were to go to any of the younger residents or students they’d make fun of him. He didn't know what he had been staring at but he knew his residents.
You might tease him to but your teasing he could take, and if he really felt like it, make you regret in his bed later. After all he all but signed up for it when you started dating six months ago.
Guy who berates you for not making dinner, vs guy who eats it for dinner? Robby didn’t get it- at least he hoped he didn’t.
“Hey,” he said, sliding up next to you.
You didn’t bat a lash. “Hey yourself.”
“I need your opinion.”
You were still distracted on your charting, even as you said: “Yes, Robby, green does bring out your eyes.”
“What? No,” he said with a frown. He caged your body in, leaning is arm over you at the counter. “You're young.”
“That's why you like me, right?”
Robby hummed. He looked over you, making a mental list of all the reasons he loved you. “Yeah, sure, one of the reasons, so what do you think this means?”
He handed his phone over to you and finally you looked away from the charting to consider it. He watched as you read the text and saw the grainy pictures, one of him and another of Abbott, screenshots of them in backgrounds.. You didn't have to slide on any glasses or pull the phone away from you to see clearly.
Slowly, a grin broke out.
“Oh,” you chuckled.
Robby wasn't laughing and when you looked at him you realised that.
“It's nothing, it's just some meme,” you said, handing him back the phone.
Javadi had been gaining more attraction with her TikTok. She gave health advice with the background of the Pitt as her scene. It wasn't her fault- not really- if followers caught wind of the drama, friendships and hot men that worked there.
Her loyal followers had already deemed Santos as 'a hard exterior but caring soul', Whitaker with a 'heart of gold', and you 'the eldest daughter type.'
And they labelled attendings Robby and Abbott as DILFS.
Apparently they'd already explored how the two doctors would be in the bedroom.
“Okay,” he said, slowly sinking down to his knees in front of you as you swivelled your stool to face him. “But what does it mean?”
There was something hesitant in your gaze. The amused purse of your lips as you tried to stop a laugh and the light in your eyes. If you found it funny at his expense- which he had a feeling you were- he at least wanted to know what it meant.
You clearly thought he was joking. “You want to know what it means?”
He nodded.
“I can tell you at home?”
Robby let the words sink in, the fact you were undoubtedly referring to his place as home. But he didn't want to go home with you and this terrible feeling that everyone was laughing at him for reasons he didn't know why.
“Okay,” you said, holding his hands as if you were delivering bad news. “It means- and it's just Javadi's followers that think this and have clearly made this- that they think Jack is .... a more attentive lover.”
You chose your words carefully.
“ 'Eat it for dinner',” you continued. “Is a reference to how guys-”
Instead of saying anything you gave him a look and he gave you one back.
You sighed. “They think Jack eats pussy better than you.”
Robby didn't know what he was thinking but he wasn't sure it was ... that.
“I have a patient that's diaphoretic so I should probably-”
With little else to say you left your boyfriend kneeling, patting him on the shoulder as you went.
You could practically feel Robby distracted all day.
Every time you passed by the nurses area to go from one patient to another, he was there. Either sitting at the counter, head in hand and mindlessly looking through the computer or he was standing and listening to anything the one next to him was saying but you had a feeling he wasn't so much paying attention.
“Is Doctor Robby, okay?” asked Javadi. She was presenting a case to you, typically she went to you or McKay. You were sure she only went to you now as Cassy had the day off.
“Oh yeah, he's fine,” you said. It was no secret to anyone that you and Robby were dating, though you kept it professional around the ED. “Just TikTok, you know.”
Javadi smirked. “TikTok?”
“Yeah, yours.”
The smirk dampened and her eyes widened in the sort of frightened puppy way. She started stuttering over her words.
“Relax, he's not angry. At least not at you just what people are saying,” you said.
“What-what people are saying?” asked Javadi. “But everyone thinks he's hot. Really! They-they love Abbott and Robby. Seriously, people even ship them. Not that they don't like you and Robby, no they're obsessed.”
For a second you were intrigued.
In a way, maybe that should have have made you jealous or annoyed that everyone was finding him to be handsome and wanting a piece of him but if anything it made you proud. It made you want to hang off his arm.
“Some people are saying some things, nothing harmful.”
And also certainly none of their business how he ate you out at nights.
“Oh my god, I can totally tell them to stop, I can take the videos down, and I'll-I'll stop filming in here-” she stammered out.
“It's okay, don't worry,” you assured with a smile. “Get a CT and run blood toxics and come find me with the results.”
You found Robby exactly where you expected to find him, staring at the patient board without reading.
You didn’t even have time to greet him before he was speaking.
He jerked his head. “Come see a patient with me.”
So Robby led you off to exam room three, where an empty bed was made and no monitors were on. Even the lights were dimmed down low.
Robby pulled the curtains over and closed the door.
“Is the patient invisible?” You turned to Robby but hardly had time to see him before he was on you. His hands were on your hips, keeping you into him and his head ducked as he kissed you. He groaned into it, the forceful nature of his kiss having you stumbling back.
You couldn't help but kiss him back. When he started, there was no stopping. Even if you were in the hospital and desperate to keep it professional.
You shook your head, his lips moving with the movement. “Nu-uh.”
“What?” his hands came up to cup your cheeks, voice muffled with his not letting go of you.
“You're not kissing me cause people think Jack gives better head,” you said against his lips.
There was a noise of protest in Robby's throat.
“Cruel woman.”
Your hands slid up to his chest. “Wait- Michael.”
He brushed back. “What?”
“We are not getting it on here just because of some meme.”
You knew it to be the reason why almost at once. Robby was the one who had set certain boundaries in the work place. Like no making out. Yet he was the one huffing in frustration and surrendering, holding up his hands where you could see them.
“It's just some things people are saying on the internet.”
“I just don't get why,” he said, honestly. His head was tucked into his chest as he shrugged.
You were almost convinced he was upset. “I dunno. You're stern, sometimes, here,” you explained. “Maybe people saw that in the back of Javadi's TikToks and thought you had.... a hard exterior.”
“They think I'm un-caring?” he asked
“I didn't say that.”
“And Abbott?”
Quickly, you realised it was more than just feeling bummed about people thinking he gave bad head.
You smirked. “Jealousy looks good on you, Robinavitch.”
Slowly Robby sank down on the edge of the bed, sighing heavily as if this situation was weighing heavy on him.
You followed suit, sitting on the stool and wheeling close to him, treating him like he really was the patient. You knew how Robby got in his own head more times then was good for him. He didn't worry what people thought of him ever, but this was different.
“ What else is it?” you asked, softly, voice dropped low.
“Have I ever,” he began, shoulders high in tension and head low. His hands were braced on his knees. “Have I ever left you... un-satisfied?”
You wanted to laugh.
Robby and un-satisfied didn't belong together.
The nature of your jobs meant the two of you were exhausted more times than you were energised but that never stopped the two of you. If you were wanting you weren't left wanting, in fact, you'd be left thoroughly satisfied.
“Never,” you said.
He peeked at you with a little smirk.
“Those people don't know you, Robby,” you carried on, fingers circling his wrists and slowly holding him there. “They don't know what you do to me.”
Seconds ago you were berating him for kissing you in an exam room. But you leant into him and kissed his lips slowly.
“What I do, huh?” he mumbled against your lips.
“Uh-huh, things that Abbott could never.”
Just at the name of his friend had Robby grabbing you and all but pulling you over him. He leant back on the bed and slot you between his legs as he kissed you, hard. His hands couldn't find purchase as they sort every part of you, pulling our your scrub top and finding the skin there, running the back of his knuckles over.
Your hands wound in his hair, pulling until his mouth was opening up for you.
There came a sharp knock at the door before it opened. The curtains weren't pulled back but Dana's voice called out.
“Break it up in there! We need the room!”
Robby groaned, head throwing back on the cushion before you climbed off him. He didn't move even as you did.
“Aren't you coming?”
“Just... just give me a minute,” he said.
You chuckled to yourself, letting your eyes linger over all of him and left him there with the curtain drawn.
Dana was at the door, shaking her head with a chuckle.
You feigned innocence as best you could, working quick to tuck your scrub top back in and brush back your hair. “What?”
“The two of you, at it like rabbits.”
“We were not.”
“Not what I saw.”
“You didn't see anything.”
“Okay, not what I heard,” she said, lips smacking from the nicotine gum you slid onto her desk every morning.
“He was upset.”
“About that TikTok stuff?”
You looked to her. The last thing Robby needed was thinking everyone had seen the meme, that people thought he wasn't a good enough lover or whatever else he thought it meant.
“Is it bad?”
Dana shrugged. “It means nothing to me but you know guys, hurts their ego that kind of stuff.”
You nodded. You would say something in Robby was hurt. Whether it was that people thought he was a tough guy to work with or something about him that provoked the idea of selfishness.
But then they seemed to deem Abbott a capable lover, something you couldn't count on due to the fact you'd never gotten the chance to know.
Not that you wanted to.
(Except that one time in a dream before you were dating Robby)
Victoria rushed up to you and Dana excused herself. “I've just seen the post, Santos showed me,” she rushed out her words, panic evident. “Does he hate me? Oh my god, he hates me. My attending hates me.”
“He doesn't-”
“I mean it's so inappropriate, like, he saves lives you know maybe he just wants a meal cooked sometimes, not saying like- no- not that he'd ever get mad at you- or anyone for...”
You let Javadi trail off.
She blushed. “I should walk away shouldn't I?”
“Probably for the best.”
As soon as Jack walked in an hour before his shift was supposed to start, Robby stood, ready to leave.
It was rare he ever got out on time, let alone early but he hadn't been doing much work anyway, only thinking and being stuck in his own head. And sometimes with how much he thought about you: Yours.
“Thank you, brother, thank you,” he said.
Jack's gaze levelled on him. “Is everything okay?”
No, not at all. People on the internet speculated he was an asshole who'd get angry if you didn't have dinner on the table. As if he wouldn't live between your thighs if given the choice.
Robby bit his tongue and nodded.
“Hey Jack,” you greeted, coming by.
Robby's eyes followed you at once. He thought of all the plans he had in his head.
“You're here early,” you noted.
“I asked him to come by, listen, I got some errands to run. You think you're okay coming home by yourself tonight?” he asked.
There was a hint of confusion in your gaze but you didn't prod. You never did push him, always letting him come to you when he was ready. He'd never been so thankful for it.
“Er yeah, sure.”
Robby kissed you quick and hard, his hand cupping your backside and squeezing before he left you.
He only caught a glimpse of Jack digging into his phone to show you something funny. He dread to think what it was.
The last hour of work without Robby felt like a whole other twelve. Every patient answered questions too slow and chairs piled up with more minor problems. It felt like everything irritated you. Which it had.
By the time you were getting home, climbing up the stairs because of cause the elevator was broke you almost forgot all about the meme that had Robby so worried earlier.
That was until you pushed open the door.
You expected the tv on low, the lights on, maybe the sound of the shower.
You were greeted instead by a dull orange glow from the dozen or so candles lit around the living space. There was a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table and a sleek box tied off with a ribbon.
Hands landed on your hips and the soft belly of your boyfriends pressed against you.
“Robby,” you grinned, raising a hand to fall on the back of his head and stroke his hair there.
The stretch gave him perfect opportunity to pepper kisses over your neck. His other arm circled your waist, pulling you into him.
“What is all this?” you asked, eyes closing in the bliss of feeling him everywhere.
He hummed into your neck. “I just don't think you know how much I love you.”
You bit down on your lip as his hot tongue swirled over your pulse. “Oh, I think I know.”
His nose brushed over your jaw as he guided you forward, his toes clipping your heels as he didn't let you go or turn you around. He dragged you to where the present sat on the table, below the roses. His hands were large as they palmed and moved around your stomach. He breathed against your ear, your body waking in shivers as he uttered against you. “Open it.”
It was tough to do so- even to bend down and grab it- as Robby was adamant in letting you go. Eventually you got a hold of the ribbon and pulled.
He let you go enough for you to pull out the garment inside. Or the lack of garment.
It was a small set of lingerie, red and black- his favourite colours on you. The colours of seduction. There were ribbons and straps that upon just looking at you weren't sure how they were to go.
“I want you to put it on,” said Robby, head resting on your shoulder and looking. “And then I'm going to make you come on my tongue until you're begging me to stop.”
Your knees weakened but Robby still held you.
“You think you can do that?” he asked.
You nodded and gasped, smashing your lips into his. You turned in his arms, tongue's battling and arms circling him. You pressed your body into his, practically throwing yourself onto him.
The attentive lover he was he allowed it for a moment before he pulled away.
“Put it on.”
In the bedroom you stripped and with the help of the mirror figured out where everything was supposed to go. The panties did little to hide your ass but clad away your pussy, straps at your tights and bows there. The bra pushed your chest up, lace dancing over your chest.
It was sexy and sensual, knowing Robby had brought it for you and demanded you wear it. All the same, you couldn't wait for him to tear it off you.
Stepping back into the candle lit room Robby was already shirtless, sitting on the sofa with his legs wide and cock hardening.
When you stepped out, he smirked, arms stretching along the back of the sofa.
“I think I like when you have something to prove,” you said, slowly walking over, letting every step linger and make him wait for it.
Or drawing out whatever he had planned.
“I have something to prove?” he asked.
You dropped to your knees in front of him, between his legs as Robby's eyes trailed to watch you. “Don't you?” You were desperate to touch him, knowing he didn't have that planned but needing him anyhow. Your hands had only smoothed up his thighs before he grabbed your wrists.
Robby stood and pulled you up with him.
Without words he sat you down the sofa, stretching you out while he sank to his knees.
“Nu-uh,” he tutted, fingers wrapping around your legs and prying them apart, slowly. Your panties slipped and your pussy was slowly displaying itself. “You know what I want.”
“Michael-”
“What do you want?” he asked, but tonight was more about him than you. If it was about him proving something, you'd be his practise. If he was an artist you were going to be his canvas.
Your mouth just opened to speak when his thumb pressed down onto your panties. He rubs, slowly, pressing down harder till you grew wetter. Till he could feel it through the material.
His beard scratched at your thighs in the way that made you wither as he kissed at your thighs. His fingers pushed into your skin, kneading the plump of it.
“Have I ever told you, I love the way you smell.”
You gasped as he slid his thumb up and down, circling it slowly over your clothed clit.
“Have I?” he asked again, craving an answer.
“No.”
Robby was watching the space between your legs as he put his head there and inhaled.
Your back arched as his nose pressed into you, smelling and inhaling and groaning out when he was done. His fingers were pressing hard enough into your thighs to bruise. You wanted it to.
You watched as Robby darted out his tongue and ran it up and down you panties. He got a taste of you through the panties he brought.
Robby started off slow but he could never go slow. It was the way he did procedures, marking off everything first then moving around the room in seconds. It was the way he kissed, getting the same taste of your lips before sliding in his tongue and getting a taste of your spit. It was the way he fucked, slowly moving into you till your walls pulsed around his cock then he was moving like an animal.
They were small presses of his tongue then he was making out with your pussy through the cloth. He drooled against you, moaning and prodding his thumb, pressing in and out.
“God, I wanna get you naked,” he said against your core.
You didn't know if he wanted you stripped or just your core.
You chuckled breathless. “Then why dress me up?”
Robby pulled away to look at you. His thumbs hooked into your panties. “I like to un-wrap you.”
He dragged your panties down slow, grasping your legs and helping you out of them all the while keeping you limp on the sofa for him.
You expected Robby to ditch them, throw them aside but instead he shoved them in his face and inhaled again. “Oh my god,” you groaned, head landing back on the sofa.
“You're so wet and I haven't even touched you,” he said.
Finally he ditched the panties and faced your pussy.
His gaze flickered up to you and you felt exposed. A sudden need to hide came over you but Robby shook his head like he knew. Keeping your gaze he darted out his tongue and flicked it against your clit, circling your bundle of nerves.
At the devout attention your eyes fluttered shut in pleassure.
Robby sucked your clit in his mouth and pulled back with a pop. “Look at me, look at me.”
You looked at him.
His eyes were dark and wicked with want. He licked his lips and kept your gaze as he went in. He forced your legs up and apart, bending you as he shoved himself into you. He was there quick and heavy, licking and kissing till his slurping was heard around the apartment.
“Robby!”
He chuckled into you, sending vibrations up through you.
“I need your fingers inside of me, please.”
He hummed and shook his head, still occupied with dragging his tongue over you. “Not my fingers people criticise.”
You groaned.
Robby sucked some more, swallowing up your want, driving parts of your soul away while he was at it. “Spread yourself open, baby- just like that- there we go-” he guided your hands to your own core and helped you hold open the lips of you.
Then he went in with new reverence. The tip of his tongue ran miles and as you were left gasping for him, making a mess he cleaned it up from your hole to your clit and ran circles around it.
“Oh shit, Michael.”
“Feels good?”
“Yes!”
“Am I gonna make you come?” he asked, dropping his spit against you and working it in. When your fingers slipped he took over, holding you open.
Your hands went to his hair, stroking it back.
You knew your hands in his hair, or fingers threading through, drove him insane.
“Yes!”
He shoved his face in again, like a man addicted.
Sweat was starting to from along your body and the hand that wasn't in his hair groped at your own breast until you were humping up your hips to his-
“Get up,” said Robby suddenly.
He stood, his cock stretched against his pants. Robby brushed the back of his knuckles against the hard line of himself and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Up.”
On shaky legs you did so, feeling the want but the coil of release slowly eased.
Robby bent you over and continued cleaning up your mess.
It was a new angle, the sort he'd never tried and as you felt his tongue in places you'd never felt you wonder how long he'd been thinking of this. How long had he wanted you bent over, ass up in his face.
With your back up to him he easily un-hooked your bras and threw it aside.
“You think Abbott could eat you up like this?” he asked, voice only above a growl. “Huh?”
“No,” you gasped, slowly turning to jelly.
The new position didn't last long as Robby stood tall again, pressing the hardness of his cock against the curve of your ass.
You arched yourself back into him. “Please, please, please.”
“I know baby, I know,” he cooed in something that could have been sympathy in a mocking tone. “God, you feel what you do to me? Like I feel what I do to you.”
Robby turned you around and kissed you, the trace of your essence on his tongue and shared between the two of you. He let his tongue dance over yours like he wanted to share it, a hand creeping to the back of your neck and keeping you in.
You were so wanting, so needy for any part of him.
“I'm gonna lie back now,” he said against your lips. “And you're gonna sit on my face.”
You pulled back, wondering if you'd heard that right.
Robby nodded slowly, not even trying to hide as he watched your lips. His thumb came back down to your clit, circling enough to keep you like putty in the palm of his hands.
“Michael-”
He was already pulling away, popping the buttons of his trousers and making himself comfortable on the sofa.
You were standing, hesitant. “I can't sit on your face.”
He smirked and patted his stomach. “Yes you can, c'mon.”
“I'm serious.”
Robby smirked, nudging you up. “So am I.”
He was looking at you with such wide eyes, though dark. The same way he looked at you when you got something right in work. When you pleased him, when he was so proud of you.
This was for him, you told yourself as you climbed over him, allowing time to run your hands up and down the hairs of his round belly.
You watched his gaze follow yours as you trailed up and up his face, over his beard until all you saw was his eyes.
Lingering on your knees you tested how low you could get.
The tip of Robby's tongue found your centre and slowly worked you open again.
His hands wrap around your thighs and he yanks you down till you're sitting on his face with a heavenly groan.
There was no time for protests as he got to work, his tongue burying inside of you. He was so close he could hardly move, only keep himself there and suck and slurp. At every tiny move his nose brushed into your folds, nudging your clit and dragging out the need.
“Ohhh fuckkk,” you whined.
Robby groaned into you as he tried to speak, something like 'beautiful' caught between your pussy. His hands were messaging your ass and grinding you into him.
“S'too much, oh my god.”
He shook his head, wetting your core with his saliva and your need mixed.
“Robby, I can't-”
“Yes you can,” he spoke finally, pulling away enough that you could hear his voice.
Your lips pursed together as you shook your head. The coil of tightness in you grew hotter, burner brighter. It felt like your first time with him over and over again. The way his body bounced off of yours with every thrust, the moans he couldn't help let out into your neck, marking himself there for weeks.
“Please come,” he said against you now. “I need you to come on my face, baby, please.”
Perhaps the world would have liked to know there was only one thing in this word that could get Robby begging. Your pussy.
“There, huh? You like it just there?” you could hardly make out his words, like he was speaking into your very being.
Your hand fell back into his hair and you leant back, riding his face with a new passion and fever. He moved his head along with your movements and it became a frenzy of passion and need and want, the both of you moaning and uttering any words of encourganemt.
“Yeah baby, there you go- there you go-”
“Robby! Robby! Shit!”
“All over me, c'mon, c'mon.”
You still couldn't believe it, your want all over his beard, smearing down his neck and chest.
“Only making you come, making my girl come, that's right.”
In seconds you had grasped his hair, shoving him in as you let go into his mouth. He strained his neck up and kept himself open on you as he inhaled and exhaled in groans and grunts.
“Oh yes, please... yes- fuck baby,” Robby whined, spreading your cheeks to get every drop licked up. You'd think it was his own release washing over him with the noises he made and sucked out of you.
By the time you'd both calmed down and he'd caught his breath and tapped your thigh you fell lower down onto his stomach.
His breath smelt of love and sex as you lingered over him, letting Robby brush back stray parts of your hair. “Satisfied?”
“Very.” You might have seemed drunk with the way he had you coming but you didn't care. “One of the best orgasms of my life.”
He smirked at you incredulously. “Change it to best of the night. We haven't even begun.”
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summary: coming back to your hometown and seeing how your father interacts with his younger coworkers already made you wish your relationship was different. But having him constantly remind you of such really made it hard to heal, especially on your birthday.
warnings/tags: angst, this is purely me projecting my daddy issues onto the general public, michael robinavitch is his own warning, robby is mean, and reader isn't necessarily right in how she goes about things either but he's much worse at reacting, i'm so sorry y'all... it's not getting any better for anyone any time soon, reader is mentioned to be 25 like- once or twice but just ignore that if it's hella inaccurate, not proofread
wc: 13.1k
"When my weight left the room, did you take a deep breath?"
You started hating your birthday around 12 years old. You parents had already been separated for a few years, and for a while that meant you got two birthdays. But that rapidly came to an end when your dad overbooked himself at the hospital one year, not leaving any room to make it up to you. And then of course, your mother passing the following year.
It stopped being something you celebrated entirely when you left for college. Your friends had asked in passing a few times, but you always managed to allow it to slip through the cracks for the most part, avoiding any sort of celebration and meeting the continuous texts and posts with polite thank-yous.
That's pretty much all you'd get from your dad. Even before you left, even before your mom died, it was almost always just a card and a wish. You knew he loved you, but Michael Robinavitch didn't know his daughter.
And maybe that's why you were absolutely dreading walking into the ED today. Because it was already hard watching him fawn over Whitaker 24/7. And it was hard watching him be gentle with Mel and Santos. And it was hard watching Dana's eyes fill with pity as she perceived your interactions with Robby.
You knew someone was going to say something, and it was going to become a bigger deal than it ever needed to be. It's just another day- I'm not anyone special. Is always what you argued. No one ever really accepted that response.
The first person to make it a thing was Mel. You'd barely made it to the lockers before she appeared beside you and pressed a coffee into your hand- your exact order.
"Happy birthday." You stopped in your tracks. Her sweet smile and adorable sparkle in her eyes stopped your heart for a moment. You stared at the cup.
"You don't even drink coffee..."
"No," she agreed. "But you do."
"How'd you know my order?" You gave her a teasing brow raise and small smile. She shrugged, "I asked Dana."
You winced jokingly, "Mel..."
"It gets better." Your eyes narrowed, and she grinned. "There's a cake in the break room."
You threw your head back with a groan. "It's only a small cake!"
"Mel-" "A very small cake." You couldn't help the tiniest smile on your lips, ever endeared by the blonde. The ache in your heart persisted- touched by her small gift and the likelihood that Dana had made everyone aware of today being your birthday.
"Thank you." You tilted your chin down slightly, shyly holding her gaze. "You're welcome!"
The second person was Santos- you didn't really know what to expect from her, but what you got felt pretty manageable and on brand. She nearly tackled you during a lull between patients, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and shoving a granola bar into your scrub pocket.
"Happy birthday, Tweety- you're like- so old now?" she sarcastically drew out her words, a teasing smirk pulling at her lips as you rolled your eyes
"Aren't you only a couple years older than me?"
"Exactly. Which makes us ancient."
The third was Whitaker. You and him hadn't interacted as much as you initially anticipated, since he seemed to be attached to your father's hip, and you preferred to stay as far away from Robby as possible.
Dennis appeared out of nowhere, carrying a chart, throwing a gentle smile your way, "Happy birthday."
"Thank you." Then he disappeared again. The interaction lasted less than three seconds, somehow, it still counted for something.
By noon, you had accumulated enough birthday wishes to make your skin crawl. Texts from college friends. A voicemail from one of your former professors. Even a card from Dana that she'd somehow gotten half the department to sign.
Every single one made your chest feel a little tighter. Because every time someone remembered, it became harder not to notice who hadn't... You felt terrible for keeping track.
But every time Robby walked past, some pathetic part of you still waited. Maybe now. You haven't had much time to interact today. Maybe he's just had a rough morning. Maybe he's busy. Maybe-
"Whitaker!" You looked up instinctively upon hearing his voice. Robby was standing across the department, laughing at something the younger doctor had said, his hand landing briefly on his shoulder. Easy and affectionate, their familiarity read clearly to anyone who looked
Something ugly twisted in your chest.
It didn't feel right to call it jealousy- it was something a little more than that- something that was slightly off from being jealousy. Grief felt like a more appropriate term. Grief for all the versions of your relationship that never existed. For all the conversations you never had. For the fact that your father could tell Whitaker's favorite takeout order and probably couldn't remember what kind of cake you liked as a kid. You looked away before he could catch you staring.
"Look at you leaving again, it's all you know how to do"
You should've known Dana was the first domino- once one person remembered, everyone seemed to remember or be notified. Just little things like Mel's coffee, Trinity's granola bar, stuff like that. You spent most of the morning pretending to hate every second of it, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"You know," Santos said as she leaned against the nurses' station, "most people would just say thank you."
You kept your eyes on your work as you continued charting, "I did say thank you."
"You sighed first."
"It's exhausting being born." She rolled her eyes and watched you continue your charting. A second later, Santos' smile softened.
"Seriously, though." You finally glanced up. "Happy birthday."
Something in her voice made your chest ache. It's not like she said anything life-changing, but that was exactly what made it hurt. It was easy, so easy, for her to say that. She talked like it wasn't hard to care about you- like remembering wasn't some monumental task.
"Thanks," you said quietly. Santos nodded once before pushing away from the desk and walking off. You wished the ache would go away with her, but it remained.
You hated that every well-meaning interaction somehow circled back to your father and what was missing. To the fact that you kept catching yourself looking across the department, not even conscious of it at first.
You felt ridiculous seeking out your father and yearning for his attention like you were 12 years old again. You were a grown woman for Christ's sake- a doctor even! You had your own apartment, your own career, your own life that had stopped involving your father years ago.
And somehow, one forgotten birthday had you acting like a child. You shoved the thought away and focused on your chart, like you'd been doing for the last 20 minutes.
The truth was, part of you just wanted to leave. You started thinking about how much easier it would have been if you just stayed away. At least that way, if Robby forgot your birthday, you'd only be missing a text, and you wouldn't have to worry about seeing him get along perfectly fine with his shiny new doctors.
The failed attempts at reconnecting. The constant comparisons between who your father was to everyone else and who he was to you. Trying so hard to stop yourself from thinking about it so much over the last few weeks.
You winced at the acknowledgment- it all sounded suspiciously like something your mother would've said. Not cruelly, of course, just honestly. She'd always had an irritating ability to call you out in the most supportive way possible. You could practically hear her voice now. Running away before anyone has the chance to disappoint you still counts as running away, sweetheart. You frowned at your computer.
"Don't start." You nearly jumped, turning over your shoulder to see Dana leaning her weight on the desk, her other hand on her hip as she hovered over you
"What?" she chuckled softly
"Jesus Christ." Dana looked delighted. "You were talking to yourself."
You stared at her, eyes widening slightly in humiliation, while Dana stared back with a slight raise of her brow. She narrowed her eyes. "...You're thinking too hard."
You groaned immediately, and she chuckled again, inching closer to pat your head, then leave her hand resting atop it. "So glad to see you're in that classic birthday mood of yours."
You jerked your head slightly out of her hold and gave her a look, "Oh, c'mon, I do not have a look."
Dana leaned back against the desk again, arms crossed over her chest, "You get extra sulky."
She mocked your pout and scrunched brows, while you stared back at her with a deadpan expression. "Go away."
Dana laughed, but didn't go very far as she sat next to you and began her own work. You enjoyed the few moments of silence before she spoke up one last time, "Don't go disappearing on us again, kid. You got it?"
Your movements stilled at that, your heart rate spiking at her ability to read you like an open book. You tried to rid yourself of the guilty expression you were sure was presenting itself clearly. You didn't have the heart to say anything after that.
"They all say you're a light, all I see is a shadow"
Your current conversation with Whitaker started because of a patient, as most conversations did in the ED. You were reviewing a chart when he dropped into the chair beside you with a sigh.
"I would've admitted him." You glanced over. "The chest pain guy?"
He nodded, pursing his lips, "Yeah."
You shook your head slightly, a small crease of confusion forming between your brows, "He didn't need admission."
"I know that now." Whitaker rubbed a hand over his face. "I just didn't see it."
You hummed. That was residency in a nutshell, not seeing it until somebody else pointed it out.
"Robby caught it in like thirty seconds." You kept your eyes on the screen. "Yeah, well, he's been doing this for thirty years."
"Still." Whitaker shook his head. "I swear he looks at a patient once and suddenly knows everything."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Trust me. He doesn't."
The blonde grinned and tilted his head toward you. "You know what I mean."
Unfortunately, you did. Across the department, Robby was standing at a workstation, explaining something to Javadi while simultaneously signing orders and answering a question from a nurse.
It should've looked chaotic, instead, somehow, it worked. He made it look effortlessly smooth, the years of experience ever present and noticeable in his energy.
People trusted him, listened when he spoke, and maybe that was the part that got under your skin. Because everybody saw the same thing- an attending who stayed late, a mentor, a man who somehow remembered details about patients he'd treated months ago.
But you saw a man who couldn't even remember his kid's birthday. A man who'd prioritized others so much that he'd forgotten important details about himself and those who were supposed to be closest to him.
"He's probably the best attending I've worked with," Whitaker casually carried on. You knew it was a thoughtless comment, not intended to mean anything or carry any specific weight. Still, something in your stomach tightened.
You knew he was talking about Michael Robinavitch, the doctor, obviously not Michael Robinavitch, the father. Which is fine, because they now have to become two completely different people to you.
"Yeah," you heard yourself say. Whitaker looked surprised at your lack of backup.
"Yeah?" You shrugged. "He's good."
Good. Understatement of the century.
Whitaker laughed. "That's all you're giving me? You got to have your own personal doctor growing up and you don't have any more details to give but "good"?"
Not wanting to get into the details of your childhood trauma, you fixed him with a politely unimpressed look, then returned your attention to the chart. "That's all you're getting from me."
Whitaker shook his head and went back to his notes. The conversation ended there, but the feeling lingered. Everyone always talked about Robby like he was a source of warmth and steadiness. Like he was someone you could rely on in moments of doubt. The person you wanted in the room when everything went wrong.
And maybe that was true, maybe that's exactly who he was. You just weren't sure you'd ever met that version of him.
Your eyes shifted above your screen, finding Robby where he was still talking to Javadi. Whitaker followed your gaze for half a second before returning to his chart.
"You know what the scary part is?" You sighed. "That you're still talking about it?"
"I'm serious." You sighed, folding your arms underneath you as you rested against them, then made a vague motion for him to continue. "He catches things I didn't even know I was supposed to be looking for."
"That's generally how experience works." Whitaker rolled his eyes.
"You're impossible." You shrugged and pursed your lips, casually.
"So I've been told." He laughed before turning back to his computer.
The conversation truly ended there, and you should've been able to return to your work. Instead, you found yourself watching him for a moment.
Whitaker had been one of the first people you'd met when you started at the hospital. Back then, you'd thought you'd probably become friends. You were around the same age, seemed to have similar senses of humor, both survived on caffeine and bad decisions- and of course, the fact that you both lived in Nebraska for a period of time
It would've made sense.
Then it never really happened. You got along and joked around every now and then. You'd even grab lunch if a shift lined up right. But there was always something that kept you at arm's length.
For a long time, you'd blamed him- or at least, you'd pretended to. Told yourself he reminded you too much of your ex (which just wasn't true in any way), that he was too awkward for it to be endearing (you were still annoyingly endeared), and numerous other excuses so you didn't have to face the real reason you couldn't quite allow yourself to get close with him.
To put it plainly, you were jealous of Dennis Whitaker.
He always seemed to be with Robby- learning from him, talking to him about god knows what, following him around the department- The eager resident and the attending everyone wanted to impress.
And every time you'd tried getting closer, some ugly, irrational part of your brain had whispered the same thing. Why would he want to be friends with you? Your dad already likes him, so getting close to you would only get in the way of that.
The thought embarrassed you now, especially because it sounded so childish. It wasn't even fair. Whitaker had never done anything to make you feel unwelcome or that he was more concerned with staying on your father's good side than becoming your friend. If anything, he'd always been kind.
The problem was that every conversation somehow became another reminder of the relationship you didn't have. Another reminder that people found connecting with Robby easy.
You finally looked away and, unfortunately, immediately thought of Santos. Trinity Santos, who also adored Robby. Respected him. Talked about him like he hung the moon whenever the conversation drifted toward medicine. And somehow that had never stopped the two of you from becoming friends... If anything, it happened frighteningly fast and that was WITH her acknowledging that he seemed like a shit dad.
A few shifts. A few lunches. A handful of conversations that accidentally became personal. Now she was one of the first people you looked for when you walked into work.
So clearly that wasn't it. Clearly, your problem wasn't people liking Robby, or looking up to him, or wanting his approval- otherwise, Santos would've ended up in the same box as Whitaker.
The realization sat heavily in your chest.
Because if that wasn't the reason, then maybe the issue was simpler. Maybe Whitaker had never actually done anything wrong, or even come close to it. Maybe you'd just looked at him and seen another person getting something you'd wanted your entire life.
And that wasn't his fault. It wasn't Robby's, either- at least not entirely. The thought was uncomfortable enough that you immediately shoved it away.
You hadn't even realized that Whitaker had gotten up to seek out Robby again until you glanced back to where he had been talking to Victoria a few moments ago, only to see Dennis in her place. You returned to your chart.
A second later, Santos appeared beside you, carrying a cup of coffee. "You look annoyed."
"I'm charting."
"You look emotionally annoyed." You sighed deeply and bit your cheek as you spared her an irritated glance. Unfortunately, she took that as confirmation and turned the other way.
"Cause if I call you out, I'm an asshole"
The day rolled on- patients came and went, labs resulted, someone stole your favorite pen- very normal. Almost normal enough to forget what day it was.
You were restocking your pockets outside the supply room when Dana caught up to you. "So."
You immediately sighed. "I already don't like that tone."
"What tone? I don't have a tone-"
"You do- you get this particular tone when you're about to ask me something personal and possibly sensitive." you tried to seem playfully annoyed, but were tired and couldn't help the affectionate smile pulling casually at your lips. Dana's smile matched yours as she nodded, acknowledging your callout before continuing
"I was just wondering if you and your dad had plans after the shift."
Your hands stopped moving more a brief second, as you side eyed her with a raised brow, then immediately resumed.
"No." you breathed out, trying to hide the bitterness and seem as unfazed as possible
"No?" Dana watched you purse your lips and shake your head as you avoided eye contact "No."
She frowned slightly. "I figured maybe dinner or something-"
You laughed before you could stop yourself. It came out sharper than you intended and you immediately felt bad, but unfortunately couldn't bring yourself to keep the outward manifestation of your resentment entirely reeled in
"Dinner. You seriously think Dr. Robby's gonna take me to dinner after this?" Dana's expression shifted immediately. You always had an underlying venom laced through your tone when you called him "Dr. Robby", and made things very clear to everyone that you were in no mood to keep talking about him. But that of course meant nothing to Dana
"You could ask him." she shrugged, reasonable and casual as she tended to be. It was perfectly logical, in the way that most things Dana said were. You stared at the box of IV flushes in your hands. Ask him what? To dinner? Why he forgot? Why it was so hard for him to put in even half the effort he put into this hospital, into your relationship? How exactly was that conversation supposed to go?
Hey, Dad. Happy birthday to me. By the way, do you know it hurts watching you become the father I always wanted for people you've known less than a year?
Ridiculous. Cruel. Selfish. Because if you called him out... You were the asshole. He'd spent decades saving lives, working nights, missing holidays because someone else's emergency couldn't wait, and dealing with the trauma of it all on top of that.
You knew why he'd missed things, you understood it better than most. Hell, you'd chosen the same career and are walking the exact same path. So what right did you have to make him feel guilty for it now?
You set the box back on the shelf a little harder than necessary, with Dana still watching you.
"I don't know," you said finally. The older woman raised a brow, "About?"
"Anything." She nodded slowly, but didn't push. One of the things you appreciated most about Dana was that she usually knew when to stop asking- usually.
"You know..." she said carefully, "I don't think he'd be upset if you asked."
You looked down the hallway- Robby was halfway through explaining something to Whitaker, using his hands the way he always did when he was teaching, to which Whitaker listened intently. Santos wandered over halfway through the explanation without anyone inviting her, and within seconds, the three of them were laughing about something. Your chest helplessly tightened.
"No," you murmured. "I don't think he'd be upset."
Dana followed your gaze. She didn't say anything- she didn't have to. Because the problem had never been whether Robby would be upset, it was whether or not he'd understand why you were.
"So come home, let's fight 'bout the childhood lie, we don't care what the other one thinks"
The opportunity came almost by accident- You were reviewing imaging when Robby stepped up beside your workstation. "Did you see bed twelve's repeat troponin?"
You pulled it up. "Negative."
"That's what I thought." He leaned over your shoulder for half a second, scanning the screen, close enough that you caught the familiar scent of hospital soap and stale coffee.
He nodded once. "Good catch on ordering the repeat."
Your stomach twisted ever so slightly. "Thanks."
You waited patiently as he reached for the mouse and clicked through the rest of the labs. He'd seen you now. He'd spoken to you. There was no way to excuse his forgetfulness this time.
"Can you put in a cardiology consult before you pick up another patient?" Your heartbeat sped up. If you were gonna say something, now would've been the oppurtunity. Surely... surely now was a good time-
"Thanks." Robby took a step back and turned to leave. That was it. Something inside you snapped.
"Anything else?" He looked back.
"What?" You folded your arms.
"I don't know," The words came out before you could stop them. "Seems like you're forgetting something."
His brow furrowed, genuinely confused. "I am?"
Your face dropped for a brief second as you gelt your heart squeeze painfully inside your chest. You burried the feeling and lowered your head for a short moment as you huffed out a humorless laugh
"You tell me." For a second, he just looked at you, trying to figure out where the conversation had gone sideways. Then his expression shifted. "What's with the attitude?"
Your jaw tightened at his cluelessness- his even tone and professionalism just about sending you over the edge. "We're in the middle of a shift."
"I know that."
"Then whatever this is..." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "...it can wait until we're not standing in front of three nurses and a trauma room."
The words landed like a slap, even though there was no harshness to them. It was clean and dismissive, as Robby always tended to be toward people and interactions that he saw as nothing but a mere waist of time.
You glanced around, eyes landing on Perlah and Princess, who were barely pretending not to listen. Whitaker was thankfully nowhere nearby, but the heat of humiliation crawled up your neck. Robby gave you one last look, the kind that said I'm not doing this here. Then, just as another monitor started alarming, he was gone.
You stared after him, not realizing you'd been doing so until Santos walked directly into your line of sight.
"Earth to Mini Ronby." You blinked back to focus, immediately grimacing, "Oh god, don't call me that-"
"Well you're moping around like him, so i thought it was a little more fitting today- besides, I asked if Bed Sixteen was yours."
You glanced down at the tracking board and sighed. "Oh. Yeah."
"You okay?"
"I'm charting."
"Right. Charting. Still as aggressive as before- maybe even worse now."
You looked down, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unmoving. "...I was thinking."
"I noticed." Santos lingered for another second, long enough that you knew she wasn't buying it, long enough that she almost asked another question. Then a call bell went off, and she peeled away with an absent, "We'll revisit whatever this is."
You were grateful for the interruption, mostly because you had no idea what you would've said. You liked Trinity. She had some idea of your relationship (or lack thereof) with your father, but you never gave her too much information for a multitude of reasons. One, it seemed unprofessional to open up about your daddy issues to your new coworkers, especially when your second reason is because your father just so happens to be everyone's boss. There's also a third reason- that you are just too scared to let someone look at you that close, knowing that it will only a can of worms that you've learned to manage much better on your own.
You picked up the next chart, read the chief complaint, forgot it immediately, then read it again. Chest pain. Right. Focus. Patient first- always. You forced yourself through the HPI, trying to drown out the conversation replaying in your head.
"Seems like you're forgetting something." "I am?" He'd looked genuinely confused. That was the part you couldn't stop thinking about. Like the possibility hadn't even crossed his mind, which somehow hurt more than if he'd forgotten on purpose and was just avoiding saying anything out of awkwardness or just being an intentional asshole.
Because forgetting on purpose at least would've meant he'd made a choice. This... this was just thoughtlessness. This felt like you meant so little to him that he couldn't even be bothered to keep one day in mind.
You hated that your eyes kept drifting toward him. He was already three patients removed from the conversation. Talking with a nurse, checking imaging, stepping into Trauma One- completely absorbed in his work, like nothing had happened. And maybe to him, nothing had. To Robby, it had probably been another brief exchange with his occasionally irritable daughter. Another misunderstanding. Something that would pass.
You wondered how many moments in your life he'd filed away like that. How many times you'd needed him to ask one more question- What's wrong? Talk to me. Why are you upset? -and instead he'd assumed you were just being difficult...
Your pager vibrated- bed sixteen. You exhaled slowly. Maybe you should've started acting like your father (again). Detached from anything personal, focus entirely on your work, and drown yourself in it until it inevitably drives you to the brink. That seemed much easier than dealing with your family at this point.
"Damn." You looked up to see Dana standing on the other side of the desk, watching Robby disappear around the corner, then she looked back at you. She hadn't heard the conversation, she didn't need to, one glance at your face was enough.
She walked over quietly. "You want the good news or the bad news?"
You let out a dry laugh. "I have options?"
"The good news is nobody noticed." You looked toward the other end of the nurses' station, and Dana followed your gaze. "...Nobody who matters."
"And the bad?" She gave you a sympathetic smile. "You look like you're trying really hard not to cry."
Your throat tightened immediately. "I'm not."
"Sure." Before you could answer, a trauma alert echoed overhead. Dana squeezed your shoulder once as she hurried toward the ambulance bay.
"If you wanna kick this rock around, if you've got a bone to pick with me"
Robby noticed your avoidance. Not immediately, of course- why would he? You hadn't raised any concern to him or seemed particularly off. The only reason he even started paying attention was because, after all these years, the one thing he'd gotten pretty good at recognizing was when his daughter was avoiding him.
It wasn't exactly a skill he'd ever wanted to develop.
He caught it the third time you rerouted yourself around the nurses' station. The fourth time you asked Dr. Al-Hashimi a question you normally would've brought to him. The fifth time you looked up, saw him, and immediately buried yourself in a chart.
He frowned. "Everything okay?"
Whitaker glanced up from the computer. "Hm?"
"With Y/n." Whitaker followed his line of sight. You were halfway across the department talking with Santos.
"Seems fine." Robby nodded absently.
He wasn't convinced. You didn't look upset. Maybe irritated, and if that were the case, you were definitely irritated with him... again.
He replayed the exchange from earlier- the first time the two of you really had a moment to talk all day.
"Seems like you're forgetting something." What had you meant? He came up empty. If you had a problem with one of his decisions, you usually just came out and said so. If you thought he'd missed something medically, you'd tell him. If you wanted to argue... well.... you'd never exactly struggled with that.
His mouth twitched despite himself. Some habits never changed.
Yet, others certainly had. There'd been a time when the arguments ended with tears and slammed bedroom doors and twenty minutes later he'd find you in the kitchen making yourself a sandwich like nothing had happened. A time when he'd knock softly on your door before bed and ask if you were still mad, you'd shrug. He'd tell you he loved you anyway.
Nowadays, there weren't many arguments. Just long stretches of polite conversation... holiday phone calls... careful dinners that never quite ventured beyond work, the weather, or whatever medical journal one of you had read recently.
Somewhere along the way, the shouting had stopped, and most of the reflection Robby saw of himself in you had faded. He wasn't sure when silence and absence of pushback had become worse than the constant bickering.
He'd spent years wondering if things would get easier once you grew up. Instead, it sometimes felt like the older you got, the less either of you knew how to reach across whatever distance had settled between you.
He hated it, like any father who loved his daughter would, he just didn't know what to do about it. Every attempt seemed to land wrong- call too often, and he worried he was intruding. Give you space, and it felt like neglect. Offer advice, and he sounded like your attending instead of your father. Stay quiet, and he sounded like neither...
So he settled into the uncomfortable middle- close enough to convince himself he was trying, far enough away that he couldn't make things any worse. Or so he hoped.
He looked back to where you were laughing at something Santos had said now, completely at ease. The sight was oddly reassuring- at least someone was making you laugh. He was glad you weren't alone here- Robby always worried about you making and keeping friends (you were always such a sensitive and genuine kid, and people took advantage of that), and I guess that's one thing that will never change.
So maybe it wasn't that serious... maybe you'd just had an odd moment. Maybe it has just been a long shift and you were stressed and tired. He let himself believe that, not because he was certain it was true, but because the alternative- that there was something bigger he'd missed again- sat like a stone in his stomach.
He let the thought go. If you really had a bone to pick with him... you'd tell him. Wouldn't you?
Across the department, you happened to glance up, your eyes meeting his for half a second. He was about to walk over, but Robby looked away first, answering a nurse's question then moving quickly to tend to another patient. The moment dissolved before either of you could do anything with it.
Just another almost-conversation, another thing left unsaid. Another day he told himself there would be time to fix it later.
"Oh, we can fight like we used to fight"
You ducked into the medication room mostly for the silence- the fluorescent lights hummed steadily overhead, the sterile smell of alcohol wipes and disinfectant settling heavily in the air. Shelves lined every wall, stacked with neatly labeled bins and medication drawers that somehow always looked untouched despite the constant traffic through them. It was one of the few places in the department where the chaos outside felt muffled, reduced to distant monitor alarms and the occasional overhead page bleeding faintly through the walls.
You leaned against the counter, squeezing your eyes shut as you let yourself breathe for exactly three seconds. One in, one out. One in, one out. One in-
The door opened again, and you almost laughed as you dropped your head. Robby stepped inside, letting it swing shut behind him with a soft click. The room suddenly felt smaller. "There you are."
You busied yourself reorganizing a drawer that definitely didn't need reorganizing. "Need something?"
He watched you for a moment before answering. "I wanted to make sure we're okay."
Your hands stilled, and you took one slow breath before answering, carefully schooling your expression into something neutral despite the fact that he couldn't even see your face. "We're at work."
"I know."
"So we're fine."
"That's not how that works, nor is that what I asked." You shut the drawer a little harder than necessary, finally turning around to face him with your arms crossed, "What do you want me to say?"
"The truth would be a good place to start." He quipped, his typical already-about-to-explode sarcasm dripping from the words. You laughed quietly, "Sure..."
His brow furrowed at your attitude. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." you shrugged, clearly bothered by something. Robby glanced around incredulously, jaw ticking once his gaze landed back on you.
"You've been avoiding me all day." You barked out a laugh at that, eyed wide with disbelief, "I've been avoiding you?"
"Okay- maybe not at first, but after our little conversation, ya definitely have been"
"yeah, cuz I need to do my fucking job-"
"Watch your mouth." His response was automatic. Not even particularly stern, just parental. The same tone he'd used when you were fifteen, when you'd tracked mud through the house after practice, when you didn't do the dishes within the first ten minutes of him asking. The familiarity of it irritated you more than it should have.
"Whatever- I've been working."
"You've been doing both." The room fell quiet. Robby crossed his arms, studying you with that infuriatingly patient expression that made him such a good attending. "You've been snapping at me since we talked earlier."
"I snapped once."
"You snapped once out loud." The words landed before either of you had time to soften them. Your jaw tightened, and your brows furrowed.
"What, so you've been keeping score?" You knew your attitude was not one you should be having with your father, and if you were in a better mood, maybe you'd give him some credit for seeming more patient than usual.
"No." he shook his head, mouth already open for the next sentence, but you cut him off, "Could've fooled me."
"I'm trying to understand what's going on here, Y/n."
"Why?" The question came out sharper than you'd intended. "You haven't seemed particularly interested all day."
Something flickered across his face- confusion, then hurt.
"What is that supposed to mean?" The room suddenly felt too bright. You looked away. "Forget it."
"Nope." His voice stayed calm, but firmer now. "You don't get to throw something like that at me and then tell me to forget it."
You let out a slow breath through your nose, pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek. "This is exactly why I don't say anything."
"Because I ask you to explain?"
"Because you don't hear me until I finally get frustrated." Robby stared at you, shoulders sagging just enough to be noticeable. "I've been standing here asking what's wrong, honey."
"Now you are." A wave of silence fell over you as the energy began to shift. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, exhaustion written plainly across his face now. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed deeper than they had this morning.
"If you've got something to say to me kid, now's the time to say it... I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, but you know how things get here. I'm giving you the time to let me know what's going on..."
The challenge wasn't angry, it was tired. Very tired. For just a second, he wasn't your attending, or even Dr. Robby. He wasn't the respected department chief everyone looked to for answers. He was just your dad. He was looking at his daughter and realizing he'd somehow lost the thread of the conversation hours ago.
"I'm here."
Your eyes met his and you felt your defenses drop concerningly fast. Your eyes widened and stung as tears began to film over. Your heart clenched again- you felt a little sick. For one dangerous second, you considered it- telling him everything. How every missed recital, every empty seat, every birthday uncelebrated took a bigger toll on you than you ever fully realized until now. How every time you'd watched him give someone else the version of himself you'd spent your childhood wishing for, you had to fight yourself not to act out.
The words rose into your throat, then died there. You didn't even know where to begin... The words climbed into your throat. One sentence, that was all it would've taken.
But where did you even begin?
With your mother- the divorce? With Jake? With the birthdays? With the fact that you weren't even sure if you were angry anymore, or just… sad? The weight of twenty-something years couldn't fit into one conversation... so instead, you shook your head.
"It doesn't matter." His shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. "It clearly does."
"It doesn't."
"You don't believe that."
"No," you admitted quietly. "I don't."
The admission hung between you as neither of you moved. A knock sounded against the door.
"Dr. Robinavitch?" one of the nurses called from the hallway. "EMS is two minutes out."
Robby closed his eyes for the briefest second.
"Coming." He looked back at you. "We're not done with this."
You bit your cheek, biting back the tears and overflow of emotions that were threatening to pour out of you. You nodded and raised your brows slightly, acknowledging Robby's words.
"We're not." he reaffirmed, then opened the door and disappeared back into the controlled chaos of the department. You waited until his footsteps faded before following.
"I wish you could know me"
It was probably close to an hour later when the hallway emptied as transport rolled your patient toward CT. For the first time all day, neither of you had somewhere you needed to be.
Robby sighed as he approached you, observing as you avoided eye contact, your body language giving that of an animal with their guard up, ready to run at any sign of danger. "I'm not looking for a fight."
You laughed under your breath. "Could've fooled me."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He rested a hand on his hip, visibly searching for the right words. He wore the same careful expression he wore with difficult families- nervous residents- patients he knew were about to hear bad news. It irritated you immediately.
"Can we just..." He exhaled. "Reset?"
You blinked. "Reset."
"Yeah."
"As in pretend none of this happened?"
"As in start over." You stared at him. It sounded so easy when he said it- like whatever had been building between you all day was just another misunderstanding, something that could be wiped clean with a deep breath and a different approach.
"You've always been stubborn," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough that he was trying to lighten the mood. "I know how you get."
Something in your chest snapped taut, and your semi-irritated expression shifted into deeper, more visible distress. Robby clocked it, and his smile faded. "What?"
"You think you know me."
"I do know you."
"No." The word came faster than you meant it to. "You know who I was, and even then, you didn't know that person either."
Silence. He frowned. He looked genuinely taken aback.
"I don't..." He stopped himself, then tried again. "I've known you your whole life."
"You've known of my whole life." His face changed immediately. It was all the subtle cues that felt massive to you- his shoulders dropped just a fraction, his jaw tightened, like he'd physically felt the words you launched at him.
"That's not fair..." his voice came out much softer, "You don't get to say that."
"I don't?" You searched his face, your own expression caught somewhere between disbelief and heartbreak. "Why not?"
"Because it's not true." Your lips parted, but for a moment nothing came out. You studied him instead- the lines around his eyes, the streaks of gray that hadn't been there a decade ago, the exhaustion sitting heavy across his shoulders after hours of running an emergency department.
You knew this man. At least… you knew pieces of him.
The physician. The attending. The father who remembered to call when your car broke down but forgot to ask how the vacation you'd been planning for months had gone. The man who loved you with every part of himself... and somehow still felt like a stranger.
"Isn't it?"
Robby searched your face, looking for some indication that you didn't really mean it. He found none.
Instead, he took another slow step toward you, leaving only a few feet between the two of you. Close enough that he could see the shine of tears gathering in your eyes. Close enough that you could see the uncertainty beginning to creep into his. "I was there."
"Were you?" The question hung between you. You weren't loud or even dramatic with your delivery, the weight of it all coming from how genuinely you asked. Like you sincerely wanted to know whether the two of you had somehow lived completely different versions of the same life.
"I was there when you were born." You almost laughed, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, the corner of your mouth threatening to curl into something bitter.
"When you broke your arm after doing gymnastics for only a month." His voice remained steady, measured. As though walking back through your childhood might somehow help you find each other again.
"When you graduated high school." his eyes stayed fixed on yours, not even noticing the resignation starting to waft off of you. "When-"
"You can list milestones all day." You cut him off before he could finish. "That doesn't mean you know anything about me."
His mouth opened, then immediately closed again. You hated the look on his face. Not because he looked angry, but because he looked confused, like he was mentally flipping through years of memories, trying to understand how they had somehow become insufficient.
"I know you're stubborn," he said quietly. The certainty returned to his voice just enough that you knew he'd found something to hold onto.
"I know you overwork yourself."
"I know you hate asking for help- and I'll admit, that is definitely my fault." A sad smile ghosted across his face before disappearing just as quickly.
"I know you overthink." He looked directly at you again. "Everything."
"Not because you're scared of what people think of you…" His voice softened, "but because you never want to hurt someone. Even if it's an accident. Even if it's not your fault."
Every sentence felt like another tiny cut. None of the statements he said were necessarily wrong; they were just incomplete.
Surface-level observations, things any attending who'd worked with you for six months could tell you. You wanted him to say something only a father would know.
Anything.
Your favorite book. The band you'd been obsessed with in college. The way you still called your mom's sister every Sunday. The fact that you'd switched specialties three times before landing in emergency medicine because you were terrified of becoming him.
Anything.
"I know my daughter." You swallowed hard. It always hurt so bad to hear him call you that. My daughter. Not your name. Not the woman standing in front of him. Just the role you'd been assigned before you'd ever become your own person. You wished hearing him call you that filled you with pride and joy... maybe it's time to give up on that dream.
The realization was so sharp it almost made you laugh. He really thought that was enough. He really believed knowing who you'd been at seventeen meant he knew who you were at twenty-five. And somehow that hurt more than him forgetting your birthday ever could.
Because birthdays were dates. This was you.
You looked at him for a long moment. And all you could think was I wish you knew me. Not your daughter. Me. Before you could say anything else, a voice echoed from down the hall.
"Dr. Robinavitch!" Both of you turned instinctively. Dana was waving from the nurses' station. "We need both of you."
The moment shattered. Robby looked back at you. "We are finishing this conversation later."
You gave a humorless smile. "Maybe."
But for the first time all day, you weren't sure you wanted to.
"And I wish I could know you much more sometimes"
Dana found Robby first, standing alone in the physician workroom, staring at a chart he'd already signed. "You've been reading the same page for about three minutes."
He looked up, almost startled, but said nothing as he stared owlishly at the older woman. "The chart."
"Oh..." He glanced down at it before setting it aside. "I guess I have."
Dana stepped farther into the room, letting the door drift nearly shut behind her. She leaned casually against the counter, arms folding loosely across her chest.
She'd known Robby long enough to recognize when he was hiding behind work. And she'd known him even longer than that. "You wanna tell me what happened?"
Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. "It was nothing."
"Mhm."
"It was." She didn't argue, didn't call him out, didn't tell him she knew he was lying. Dana simply waited. Silence had always been one of her greatest strengths- she understood that people were remarkably uncomfortable with it, especially Robby.
"I don't know what I'm missing-" There it was.
"I feel like every time I think we're making progress..." He shook his head. "I say the wrong thing."
"You and Y/n?" He nodded once, barely anything.
"I don't even know what we were arguing about." The admission sounded almost embarrassing.
"I know she was upset... I know it was about me. I just..." He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "I don't know why."
Dana watched him carefully, studying him for a long moment. Not with judgment, but with quiet concern. "Did you ask?"
Robby sighed, shaking his head again, "I tried."
"And?" A sad, humorless laugh. "Apparently, I don't know my own daughter."
The words settled heavily between them. He stared at the floor for a long moment afterward, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the edge of the countertop as though he needed something to ground himself.
"I keep thinking if I just give her enough space, she'll come to me." He shook his head almost immediately afterward, frustrated with himself. "Then I try getting closer, and it feels like I push her even farther away."
The helplessness in his voice was unmistakable now. He wasn't asking Dana for advice or looking for reassurance, he was simply exhausted. His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
"I don't know how to be her dad anymore." Dana's expression softened. "You never stopped being her dad."
He smiled sadly, shaking his head. "No... I'm starting to think, at some point, I did..."
Silence settled between them. After a few moments, he spoke again, "I know she thinks I don't care."
"I know she probably thinks work always came first." He swallowed.
"The truth is..." He searched for the words carefully, almost as if saying them incorrectly now would somehow make the past worse. "I spent so much of her childhood trying to build a career that would make her proud- something that could guarantee she was taken care of."
His eyes drifted toward the department.
"I thought if I worked hard enough, she'd understand someday." A quiet, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. "I put a lot of faith in 'someday.'"
Dana didn't interrupt. She knew better.
"I kept thinking there'd be more time." His voice became distant, like he wasn't talking to Dana anymore, like he was talking to every version of himself that had made the same promise.
"When she graduated, when residency was over, when she wasn't so busy... When I wasn't." He shook his head slowly, his gaze lingered on nothing in particular.
Almost too quietly, he continued. "There was always another milestone we'd get through first."
Another long silence, then, almost too quietly, "I think what she saw..." He looked down at his hands, "was me making time for everyone else."
"Jake," The name alone seemed to hurt him to say in this context. "I coached his rec league team one summer."
His voice was full of disbelief, like he still couldn't reconcile the memory.
"I was there- I knew his friends, I helped him with homework." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Y/n was already a senior by then, I'm pretty sure."
"I told myself it was different- she didn't need me in the same way." The words sounded hollow even to him as he looked back at Dana.
"She was independent... had her own life." Even as he said it, he could hear how empty the justification sounded.
"I thought giving her space was what a good father did." He laughed once, no humor in it. He stopped, his eyes glassed over. "And then one day I looked up and realized I'd learned more about someone else's kid in six months than I'd learned about my own daughter in six years."
Dana's heart sank. She knew he wasn't exaggerating, wasn't trying to make himself look guilty. Robby had an epiphany, simply reaching a conclusion he'd spent years avoiding. He sat quietly with it for another few seconds before speaking again, almost like he was thinking out loud.
"I don't think she ever cared that I was there for Jake..." He paused, processing something in real time. "I think she cared that I proved I could be."
Dana found you almost forty minutes later. You were pretending to organize the supply cart. She knew you were pretending because you'd been holding the same box of gauze for at least two minutes, flipping it over every few seconds
"You planning on counting every q-tip?" You looked over your shoulder. "...Maybe."
Dana smiled faintly. "You okay?"
"No." The honesty surprised both of you. She stepped beside you, and neither of you spoke for a while.
"I always feel guilty after we fight." Dana stayed silent, as she had for Robby, knowing just how alike you truly are.
"I know he loves me." Your voice cracked around the words. "I know that- I've never questioned that."
You stared down at the unopened box in your hands. "But loving someone and knowing them aren't the same thing."
Dana nodded once, humming softly.
"I don't want a different dad." You blinked hard.
"I just..." The words caught in your throat. "I want him to be curious."
Dana frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." You laughed at yourself. "I get so excited when I learn something new about him."
The books he was reading. The music he liked. The stories from residency he'd never told before. The weird fact that he couldn't stand olives but always picked them off pizza instead of just getting a frozen pizza without them.
"They're stupid little things, but I feel so special when he tells me about them... He gets so excited, and I just feel like the coolest person ever when I'm the one he decides to share things with- especially when they're little things."
Your voice cracked throughout the explanation, your sad smile dropping into a frown as you barely contained your tears.
"But every time I find one out, I think..." I think you actually like me. I think you like me as an individual and don't just love me as your kid. "Like I'm meeting him again as someone else."
You glanced up at Dana. "I want that from him."
You swallowed. "I want him to ask me what I'm listening to."
"What I do when I'm not here. What I like to cook. Who I spend time with."
"I want him to know me because he wants to." Not because he felt obligated. Not because you shared a last name. Just... because you were you. Your eyes filled despite your best efforts.
"I still get excited when he asks me anything that's not about medicine." You laughed through tears that had begun to overflow. "Do you know how pathetic that is?"
Dana reached over, taking the box of gauze from your hands before you crushed it completely.
"No." She spoke quietly. "I think it's incredibly human."
You looked away. The department buzzed around you. Patients arrived. Phones rang. Someone laughed somewhere down the hall. Life kept moving.
"I just wish..." You stopped, and Dana waited, patient as ever. You shook your head. "...I wish I could know him more sometimes."
"And I wish..." Your voice was barely above a whisper now, "he wanted to know me, too."
"Wish I could do nothing with you"
As much as you claimed to hate your birthday, you knew that wasn't entirely true. You hated what birthdays represented- the expectation, the waiting, the tiny, childish hope that maybe this year would feel different. Because some embarrassingly stubborn part of you still wanted to be celebrated... to be seen. Not with balloons or cake or some elaborate surprise. Just... known.
The problem was that admitting that out loud felt infinitely more humiliating than pretending you didn't care. Because then you'd have to explain what you wanted. You'd have to tell people how to love you... how celebrating you didn't have to mean going all out on an expensive gift or a massive party, but rather something thoughtful and that showed some effort.
The thought alone made your stomach turn, so you never asked. You shrugged off birthdays, not daring to even mention the date just to be safe. You rolled your eyes at cards even though you knew it was going straight into the box of notes and cards from everything else you refused to get rid of, thanking people with a soft, embarrassed smile.
"You should ask him." You looked up from the chart you'd been reading to where Dana stood across from you with two coffees in hand.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She held one out. "You've spent the last hour staring at him every time you think he isn't looking."
"I have not."
"You have." You accepted the coffee anyway, a slight raise to your brow.
"I don't know why you're acting like he's the one who has to make the first move."
You laughed quietly. "Because he forgot my birthday?"
Dana's expression softened. "I'm not talking about your birthday."
"'kay, well I am."
"I know, sure..." She leaned against the counter. "But I really don't think you are."
The words settled somewhere uncomfortably deep. Before you could answer, Dana spoke again, "Ask him to dinner."
You stared at her. "...What?"
"After shift." She shrugged. "Just dinner."
The idea was so absurd you almost laughed. "Dana."
"What?"
"He'd think I was dying." She smiled. "See? That's exactly my point."
You looked across the department. Robby was finishing a conversation with Whitaker, rubbing absently at the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted... older than he had this morning.
For a second, you tried to picture the two of you sitting across from each other at some diner. No pagers. No patients. No charts. Just dinner. The image hurt more than you expected.
You honestly couldn't remember the last time you had dinner, just the two of you. What would you even talk about? Would he even care to talk to you about anything that wasn't related to medicine? What would he order? Did he still drown his fries in pepper? Would he still let you steal a bite off his plate without asking, or would he scold you instead of laughing and stealing a bite off yours?
You wanted to tell him about your apartment and how you'd finally started decorating. About the herbs you'd somehow managed to keep alive for six months. About the niche anime Mel had gotten you hooked on.
You wanted to know what he'd been reading lately. Whether or not he was sleeping any better. If he still listened to that old jazz station on his drive home when it rained.
You wanted all the little things. The things people learned accidentally when they loved each other loudly. You wanted to do absolutely nothing with your dad and know absolutely everything.
That felt impossible.
Dana nudged your shoulder. "You don't have to solve twenty years tonight." You looked down into your coffee. "Just ask him to dinner."
You took a slow breath, then another. "...Okay."
The word came out so quietly it barely sounded like you. Dana smiled, clapping a hand on your shoulder hard enough to make you flinch.
Across the department, Robby looked up just as you started walking toward him. He offered a tired smile when he saw you coming, your heart immediately started pounding.
Maybe this could be different. Maybe this could be the start of something. You had no idea that before the night was over, it would become the worst fight either of you had ever had.
"Leave it all on the table"
You almost turned around twice. The first time was because you caught sight of Whitaker asking Robby something on the other side of the department. The second because you convinced yourself this had been a terrible idea from the start.
Dana, who'd apparently decided she was emotionally invested in this now, caught your eye from the charge desk. She made a tiny motion with her head, telling you to go. You shot her a look that very clearly communicated I'm going to kill you later, and she just smiled. Traitor.
You waited until Robby had stepped into one of the empty consult rooms to finish a phone call before following a minute later, lingering awkwardly in the doorway until he noticed you.
He took in how you tried to contain your anxious fidgeting and doe-eyed, patient stare, and his own expression softened. "Hey."
"Hey."
He tucked his phone into his pocket. "You need something?"
Your stomach immediately tightened, not necessarily affected by the words themselves, but by how casual he sounded. How gentle he seemed to be trying to be.
"I, uh..." God. Why was this so hard? You cleared your throat. "I was wondering..."
He waited patiently, which was quite uncharacteristic- especially when he was working- especially when it came to you.
"...if you wanted to grab dinner after shift." For a second, he just looked at you, then he smiled so softly it hurt your heart.
"Yeah." The answer came easily. "I'd like that, sweetheart."
Your shoulders loosened before you even realized they'd been tense, your eyes stinging with emotion you didn't even acknowledge had been bubbling in your chest. "Okay."
"Okay." Robby nodded as an awkward silence settled between you. Neither of you moved. It almost felt... Normal. Like what you assumed a good relationship between a parent and their child would feel like. Robby rubbed the back of his neck.
"I know today's been..." He searched for the word. "...weird."
Your smile faded. He noticed. "I didn't like how we left things earlier."
"I don't either." Another brief moment of silence hung between you, as if you were both still scared of saying something that could set off a land mine.
"I figured maybe we could just..." He shrugged. "Talk."
The word lodged somewhere behind your ribs. Talk. Finally. You nodded. "Yeah... yeah, I'd like that."
He let out a small breath. "Good."
Then, trying to lighten the mood in the way fathers often do when they're uncomfortable, he smiled again. "Maybe after we've both had something to eat."
You huffed a quiet laugh. "Probably."
"You're always in a better mood after food."
The comment should've been harmless, you knew he meant it as such, but something about it cracked open the frustration you'd been trying to keep contained all day. You should've just let it go... you knew he was just joking. But part of you thought maybe he was trying to drive you insane at this point. That he was acting clueless and throwing out harmless jokes that he knew would send you over the edge.
Of course, he thought you were just hungry. Just tired. Just irritable after a long shift. Just like every other argument you'd ever had. You stared at him for a second longer than you meant to, and he noticed immediately. "What?"
"You really think that's what this is?"
His smile faltered. "What?"
"This." You gestured vaguely between the two of you. "You think I just need dinner?"
Confusion settled across his face, hands coming up in defense. "I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"I was making a joke."
"I know." Your voice was soft and breathy, filled with disappointment. Disappointed in your father for not getting it, and disappointed in yourself for being so sensitive.
"You alway make everything smaller than it is."
Silence lingered as Robby blinked. He shook his head slightly, clearly confused again, but aware that this was a touchy conversation again, "I wasn't trying to."
"I know." And somehow, again... that made it worse. Because if he wasn't trying, then this was just who the two of you were- a father who thought a meal could smooth over years, and a daughter who couldn't stop hearing dismissal where he meant comfort.
The room suddenly felt too small.
“You haven’t even said happy birthday to me yet...” Your composure cracks slightly- not anything noticeable to the general public, but the most obvious shift to a man who has watched you crumble many times over the years.
Robby’s face turns red, morphing from irritation to confusion and slight horror, “what’re you talking about?”
You let out a defeated sigh and glance away briefly, clenching your jaw and biting your cheek “it’s my fucking birthday, Dad…”
His brain short-circuited for a moment, practically resetting as you frowned in front of him, actively trying to push back a persistent wave of tears. It absolutely broke his heart.
“I know that- you think I don’t know that?” He closed in on you, lowering his chin as if making himself smaller would minimize the impact of the conversation.
“You’ve watched every other person in this hospital say something and all you did was give me a weak ass side hug! You didn't even say happy birthday to me...“ you felt like a child again as you began to break down in front of your father, the last bits of your tough exterior slipping away.
You really thought you’d have a better grip on your emotions when it came to him now, after so many years of rewriting your brain and spending time with people who actually put effort in knowing you. But it seems like you’ll always be that little girl who just desperately wants to be seen and understood by her father…
"Y/n, I knew it was your birthday the second I saw you this morning."
"Then why didn't you say anything?"
"I-" He stopped, brows pinched together as he replayed the day. The hug. Talking about dinner. The conversation outside CT. The argument. His stomach dropped. "...I thought I did."
"You didn't."
"I..." He swallowed. "I meant to."
You stared at him. "You meant to."
"I hugged you." He immediately felt shitty after saying it. I hugged you. And that should've meant something because we never hug anymore. What the fuck Robby?
"Okay?" you threw your arms up
"I figured I'd say it when things settled down." Your laugh was hollow. "We work in a hospital"
"Exactly- It got busy." You cut him off, "It always gets busy."
He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "I don't know what you want me to say right now except that I'm sorry."
"You're apologizing because you forgot to say the words-" You shook your head.
"I'm upset because if you actually remembered..." Your voice cracked. "...then that means you made a hundred different choices today where you still didn't say them."
Silence hung in the air as he floundered, trying to find the best thing to say, "I wasn't choosing not to..."
You let out another disbelieving laugh. "Dana made sure everyone who worked here knew it was my birthday..."
There was another long, guilty pause before you continued, "Mel brought me my exact coffee order, even though she doesn't even drink coffee so she would've had no reason to stop otherwise"
"Santos has been shoving birthday cake protein bars in my pockets all day, knowing I'm only gonna take a bite of one every two and a half hours"
"Whitaker got me a card and we're not even friends!" You looked him dead in the eye. "They didn't have 20 something years to remember me, and they still did something."
The words landed hard. "I remembered you."
The conviction returned to his voice for the first time in several minutes, like he was so sure you couldn't take this away from him.
"did you?"
"I remembered my daughter's birthday-"
"But not your daughter." Robby physically recoiled, the movement so instinctive it looked as though you'd shoved him backward. His jaw flexed once, then again, his lips parting before he could think of anything to say. For a brief, awful second, he simply stared at you, searching your face for some sign that you'd take it back. Instead, all he found were tears.
"That is not what this is." His voice had become firmer now, steadier, like he was trying to hold onto the conversation before it slipped completely out of his hands.
"Then what is it?"
"It's me making a mistake, Y/n." You shook your head at the rise in his tone. "It's you making the same mistake that you've been making."
His expression shifted. The guilt that had been sitting plainly on his face all morning slowly began giving way to something else. No matter what he said, Robby knew it wasn't reaching you, and he unfortunately could breathe through his own frustrations for so long.
"I said I was sorry."
"I know."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
"You don't know?" your voice cracked with disbelief
"No, I don't!" His voice came up for the first time. "Because every time I think I understand why you're upset, you tell me it's actually about something else."
"It is about something else!" The words ripped out of you before you could try to calm yourself down, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you'd been trying to keep buried.
"Then tell me what it is!" His own voice climbed to meet yours. Even though he hadn't changed much, he had gotten better about yelling- but old habits die hard. His hands came up for only a second before dropping back to his sides, fingers flexing against his scrub pants.
There was desperation there now, replacing the measured patience he'd walked into the room with. He was carefully balancing the need to win and the want to understand.
"I HAVE BEEN." Your answer echoed off the walls, louder than you'd intended. You could feel your throat burning already, your chest tightening with every breath. Tears blurred your vision again, but you refused to wipe them away.
"You keep talking in circles!"
"Because you keep missing the point!" You took an involuntary step toward him, the space between you shrinking without either of you realizing it. It wasn't threatening. It was pleading.
"You won't let me fix it!" The words came out sharper than he'd intended.
"You can't fix something you still don't understand!" The words echoed between you, neither of you noticing how loud you'd become.
Robby took one slow breath, forcing himself back down. "Help me understand."
You looked at him- really looked at him- and for just a second... you almost opened up. Almost told him that it wasn't about birthdays, that it was about years of feeling invisible. About every little girl moment that had quietly accumulated into this one. But then he beat you to the punch
"I can't fix twenty years in one conversation." Something in you hardened immediately. "I didn't ask you to."
"No?" His own patience was beginning to fray now. "Because that's what this feels like."
"You don't get to decide what this feels like for me."
"And you don't get to decide that nothing I've done since then matters." The room fell silent. "I have spent years trying."
"You think so?" You laughed bitterly. "You have no idea who I am."
"I am standing here trying to know you!" Robby was practically pleading at this point, his tone shifting from begging to anger, giving you emotional whiplash.
"No, you're trying to stop feeling guilty!" The words hit harder than you intended. Robby actually flinched and froze in his place, as if your words had tranqulizised him.
"I am trying to be your father."
"You had twenty-five years to do that."
"I had a job!"
"You had plenty of time play house with someone else's family!" There was a chilling silence. You knew it was a low blow- it was a sore subject to this day, though it was much worse back when it was active and fresh. However, you didn't even let Robby try to defend himself from that one, "Every other parent in this hospital was just as busy-"
"I was trying to keep a roof over your head!"
"I would've traded the house for you!" The sentence hung between you like smoke. Robby looked at you as though you'd slapped him. His voice, when it came, was quieter than it had been all day. "I don't think you mean that."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I absolutely do." He shook his head. "No. You don't get to rewrite your childhood because you're angry."
Your eyes widened. "Rewrite it?"
"That's exactly what you're doing right now."
"No, I'm telling you how it felt." "And I'm telling you that's not the whole story."
"You think I don't know that?" Your voice cracked. "I know you loved me, Dad... I know you worked hard. I know you thought you were doing the right thing- but none of that changes what it was like to be your daughter."
Robby dragged both hands over his face- he looked truly exhausted. "I don't know what you want from me anymore, Y/n. I just don't know-"
"I want you to stop defending yourself long enough to hear me."
"I have been hearing you."
"No-"
"I have-"
"No, you've been waiting for your turn to explain why none of this is actually your fault." Something finally snapped.
"ENOUGH" The single word cut through the room. "I have apologized. I have listened. I have admitted I made mistakes."
His breathing had quickened now. "But every time I take one step toward you, you move the finish line."
He looked at you with tears gathering in his own eyes, voice breaking as he spoke "So tell me...what exactly would ever be enough?"
You opened your mouth, but were left without an answer. There unforutnaltey wasn't anything he could give you in that moment that would ease the heartache you've been harboring.
He nodded once, slow and defeated "That's what I thought."
He turned toward the door. "You know what I think?"
He didn't look back as his hand settled on the doorknob. "I think you've spent so long defining yourself by everything I got wrong... that you've forgotten to leave room for anything I've tried to get right."
Another beat. "And that's not all on me anymore."
The words landed like a knife. "You don't have to forgive me."
His voice was almost hollow now. "But at some point, you have to decide whether you actually want a father..."
Finally, he looked over his shoulder. "...or whether you'd rather keep punishing the one you've got."
It was cruel, Robby knew that. He knew the words would hurt you, especially because they weren't true and especially because you'd already been harboring the guilt of a child who felt responsible for the feelings of every adult in her life.
He saw it on your face and immediately regretted letting the words slip out. The devastation dragging your lips into a permanent frown, and you eyes into the saddest, most disappointed gaze. The way your shoulders caved inward. The tears that stopped looking angry and started looking heartbroken.
For one impossible second, he almost took it back. Instead, he looked away. More tears fell freely as Robby turned around and took a few steps toward the door. His hand twisted the knob, about to pull it open.
"Yeah?" you sobbed, sniffling and taking a deep breath before shouting with your whole chest, "WELL, YOU'RE NOT THAT FUCKING GREAT EITHER"
Your throat hurt, raw from a combination of the crying and screaming, and sore from the tension of holding everything in for so long. Your father stilled, practically frozen. He didn't flinch, didn't sigh, he didn't even tilt his head back in your direction. Robby just opened the door and walked out.
The click of the door echoed far louder than it should have, and then there was nothing. No hospital chaos or background noise, just you.
Your knees gave out before you even realized they were shaking. You caught yourself on the edge of the counter, your breathing ragged as another sob tore its way out of your chest.
How had dinner plans turned into this? How had wanting your dad to care somehow become telling each other the worst things you'd ever thought?
You squeezed your eyes shut. You'd finally done it this time... You left it all on the table- every moment you'd spent wondering why everyone else seemed to know him better than you did. every awful, ugly thought you'd buried because saying them out loud made them real. And yes, you still didn't feel any lighter, just hollow.
A quiet knock sounded against the door. You didn't answer. It opened anyway. Dana's face fell the second she saw you. "Oh, sweetheart..."
She crossed the room in two quick steps, wrapping you in a hug before you could protest. You folded into her, sobs immediately picking back up.
"I ruined it," you whimpered into her shoulder.
"No." you felt her shake her head
"I did- I did. I ruined it." Your voice cracked. She shook her head again, gentler this time, "You had a fight."
"I said horrible things."
"So did he."
"I don't know if he even wants me around anymore." Dana pulled back just enough to look at you. "I have known your father for a long time, Sweetheart... he's not leaving you behind cuz of one bad fight."
You sniffled. "He walked out."
"I know."
"He just..." Your breathing hitched again. "...he walked away."
Dana's expression softened with something that looked almost like sadness. "He walked away because if he'd stayed another minute, one of you would've said something neither of you could survive."
You crumpled in on yourself even more at that, devastated by his lack of patience and understanding. For his lack of wanting to be better and kinder.
She brushed a tear from your cheek with her thumb. "Leaving wasn't the worst thing he did today."
"No."
"It wasn't."
"But I don't think it was because he stopped loving you."
"I don't think he ever will..." You looked down at your shoes, "I just don't know if he likes me."
The confession was so quiet Dana almost missed it. It wasn't the kind of fear a twenty-something-year-old should still be carrying. But there it was- small and fragile, waiting years to be spoken. Dana's heart broke all over again.
"Oh..." She pulled you into another hug. "I think he loves you so much that somewhere along the way he forgot you needed him to show it."
You cried harder, because that was somehow much worse.
Down the hall, Robby stood alone outside the staff exit. His keys sat uselessly in his hand, he couldn't even make himself walk to the parking lot.
The words replayed mercilessly. I would've traded the house for you. You have no idea who I am. But not your daughter. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and when he finally lowered them, they were wet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried at work.
A nurse walked past, offering him a polite nod, he returned it automatically, then leaned against the wall once she was gone.
He'd forgotten to say happy birthday. Two words. Two stupid words. And somehow they'd unearthed twenty years of grief he hadn't realized his daughter was still carrying.
He thought about turning around, going back, apologizing again, maybe finally saying it the right way. Instead, he pictured your face after the last thing he'd said. The way you'd looked at him... You weren't angry, you were heartbroken and devastated.
His own stomach twisted.
Some apologies were too small for the damage already done. He couldn't apologize again tonight. Tonight, anything else he said would only make it worse.
So, for the first time in his life, Michael Robinavitch did the one thing he had always hated doing... he admitted to himself that he had absolutely no idea how to fix the person he loved most.
Long after the department had quieted, long after the birthday cake had been wrapped in foil and forgotten in the break room refrigerator, long after the night shift had settled into its own rhythm...
There sat an untouched dinner invitation between a father and a daughter. Neither of them hungry anymore. Neither of them knowing that wanting to be known had felt impossible only because neither believed the other person still wanted to learn.
And somewhere beneath all the anger... beneath every accusation, every missed birthday, every word they wished they could take back... that was all either of them had ever really wanted.
3 times the pittlings suspect Robby is married and the 1 time it’s confirmed
cw: married!robby, robby and reader have a kid, godfather!jack abbot, medical inaccuracies (trying my best), age gap (unspecified)
wc: 4.7k
a/n: i couldn’t decide a name for their daughter so i just used a nickname ‘bug’ for her!
Doctor Michael “Robby” Robinavitch was not a married man.
Or so his residents thought.
The Chief Attending Physician never mentioned being married, kids, or any other indicators that typically pointed to a relationship.
Besides, while Robby was brilliant, he was also incredibly cynical. They weren’t quite sure that trait screamed husband material.
That was until one by one the ‘pittlings’ as they were called slowly uncovered aspects of Robby’s life that were more than meets the eye.
1. The Rings
Robby didn’t wear a ring.
His left hand was left completely barren during the duration of his shift.
He dodged questions about his love life left and right, especially from the older patients who learned of his last name origins and wanted his whole life story.
Never denied having a wife, just danced around the topic.
Even Abbot who was widowed still wore his wedding ring
Naturally, those who saw his left hand (including those who worked at PMTC), all assumed he was unmarried.
The Emergency Room today is scarily quiet. Not quiet necessarily, just not the typical rush of screaming patients and understaffing issues.
Robby stands by Dana at the central hub, typing away at the tablet to update charting information. Dana works by him silently, clearly savoring the moment of calm before the inevitable storm.
And then the peace is broken by two paramedics bursting through the ambulance bay doors.
Robby discards his tablet immediately and slings his stethoscope back around his neck.
“What do we got?”
“42 year old male. Experiencing chest pains and shortness of breath. Likely a stemi. EKG has been applied.”
“Whitaker! Jesse! You’re with me,” Robby demands.
The two men follow him right into Trauma 2, gloving up immediately and awaiting further instructions.
They know the procedure at this point. Stabilize the patient, call surgery, don’t lose the heartbeat.
Of course that last one is a lot harder to ensure.
But when they lose the heartbeat, Robby immediately springs into action. He rambles off something about the proper number of compressions.
Robby places his hands on the patient’s chest and began the familiar rhythm of CPR.
Whitaker takes over securing the airway while Jesse preps the defibrillator.
They’ve seen many stemi’s in Trauma 1 and 2 but each time it’s a stressful race against the clock.
Robby pauses his compressions, waiting on his internal clock before he starts again.
Still no pulse.
He places his hands once more, applying slightly more pressure as he begins his second wave.
Whitaker stands on deck, fully ready for Robby’s next set of instructions. The endotracheal tube was successfully inserted into the trachea. All he could do now was wait.
And even something catches his attention.
A shiny piece of gold slips out of Robby’s shirt, hitting his chest as it’s stopped by the chain it’s connected to.
Whitaker probably wouldn’t have noticed if the ring hadn’t caught the fluorescent emergency room lights. And then it hits him. Robby has a wedding ring around his neck.
“Whitaker!”
The resident doesn’t respond immediately. He’s too focused on the newest gossip point he may have just uncovered.
“Whitaker!” Robby yells again.
“Right! Sorry!” He rushes out before rambling off the patient’s vitals.
And then…..
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Robby removes his hands, a sigh escaping his lips as he allows the others to take over with the proper procedures.
Whitaker watches as he reaches for his exposed necklace. The attending runs his finger around the band before tucking it securely under his scrubs.
Like wearing a wedding band was nothing at all.
Whitaker doesn’t wanna ask. It isn’t the time, place, or status to question if Robby was married. Just morbid curiosity.
He’ll have to mention it to Santos if he remembers.
Robby shoots two thumbs up as the stemi patient is moved out by surgery.
“Good work everyone,” he announces before slipping out to see where he’s needed.
Huh.
Maybe Dr. Robby is secretly married.
2. Stitches
You don’t expect to end up at the Pitt, truthfully you never had.
Frankly, if you had a choice you would rather head to Westbridge. Okay, maybe that was a stretch but something about going to the Pitt felt like teetering in your husband's territory.
But now your hand is bleeding bad and if you were able to look past the blood, you swear you could see bone. You cursed yourself out for causing such a disastrous scene from simply trying to cook dinner.
You were incredibly grateful your daughter was being watched by your parents for the night.
You drive to PTMC in a haze. Your hand is throbbing and the blood has already started seeping through the thick towel you wrapped around. Should you be driving? Maybe not. But calling an ambulance for a deep wound wasn’t realistic.
In your dazed state, you don’t even think about texting Robby.
It must be your lucky day when you walk into the emergency department and there’s actually empty chairs available. Robby had come home many nights complaining of being understaffed and overrun.
Check-in went smoothly and when the triage nurse saw your hand, she called right for a nurse to bring you back.
You didn’t see Dana at the nurses station and you knew Jack wasn’t due in for another hour or so. Robby also seemed MIA, probably back with a patient.
Instead, a nurse named Sam shows you to your room. “You can have a seat on the bed. Someone should be with you momentarily.”
The pain in your hand continued to increase. Maybe it was the blood loss or the adrenaline fading but you let your eyes shut until there’s a knock on the door and the curtain slides open.
You're greeted shortly after being shown to North 14 by a dark haired doctor.
You squint your eyes to read her badge. Doctor Trinity Santos.
Ah. So that was Santos.
Robby subtly talked about almost all of his coworkers at home. You knew Whitaker was resilient, Javadi was young but highly gifted, Mel was brilliant, and lastly you knew that Santos, begrudgingly, was a lot like Robby.
“I’m Doctor Santos and I’ll be taking care of you today,” she starts. “What’s going on?”
You lift your band up weakly to show the blood stained towel. Despite all, you manage to force out a laugh.
“Kitchen accident. Knife slipped right down my palm.”
Santos sits in a stool and slides over to the edge of the bed.
“Mind if I take a look?”
You nod, only wincing slightly as she unwraps the towel.
“Yeah you got a nasty cut here. I’ll clean it up and we’ll probably need to do a few stitches. How’s the pain?”
“Not great.”
Santos stands up. “I’ll get you something to numb your hand. You should be in and out.”
You give her a warm smile. “Thank you Dr. Santos.”
She’s gone for another few moments before entering the room with the proper supplies. You swing your legs over the bed and rest your hand on the table and bring it over.
Robby is taking a lap around the floor when he double takes at one of the hospital's newest admitants.
Santos is at your bedside, saline flush in hand as she works to clean out the blood from your wound.
“Doctor Santos? What do we have here?” An all familiar voice enters the room.
Your eyes shoot up. Busted.
“Uh,” Santos starts. “Just a deep hand laceration. Kitchen accident. I gave a low dosage to numb the area. Should be good after I finish cleaning and stitch it up.”
The young doctor doesn’t seem to notice the intense eye contact between you and Robby. There’s a silent conversation between you and him. Something between an are you okay? and a why didn’t you ask for me?
“I’d like to take over here if you don’t mind Dr. Santos.”
There’s a long pause of silence in the room.
“Are you sure?” Trinity draws out each word.
“Yeah, I got it,” Robby starts. “Haven’t done some stitching in awhile. Need the practice.”
“I watched you stitch up someone this morning.”
You stifle a laugh, though clearly not well enough for Robby and Santos to not hear.
Santos stands. “But she is all yours. I’ll be back to discharge her when she’s ready.”
Once Santos leaves, you finally have the courage to look your husband in the eye.
“Michael-“ you start.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine. I was just being stupid in the kitchen.”
Robby sighs. “Accidents happen. I just wish you called me. Or texted.”
The saline continues to clean your hand as silence overtakes you.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble after a moment.
“Bother me?” Robby quietly laughs. “Honey, I'm your husband. You’re allowed to bother me when you're hurt. I’d actually prefer it if you did.”
It feels stupid to you now. You were married with a child for god's sake and you still felt guilty asking for help when you had a huge gash down your hand.
“I was trying to make you dinner,” you winced as Robby began his stitches. “Since my parents are watching Bug I wanted us to have a romantic night.”
Robby laughs. Not in a mean way but simply at your kindness.
“We can still have a romantic night. Just gotta be careful of these stitches.”
“Yeah without dinner I guess.”
“I’ll grab something on my way home,” Robby responds to your quip without missing a beat.
He says it so casually too that you can’t help but smile.
“I like seeing you in your scrubs.”
“Oh yeah?”
You loll your head to the side so it’s resting on your arm. “Sorry, I just find my husband looks too good taking care of me.”
“Careful,” he warns.
“Always am.”
Robby’s mind is still in doctor mode. You managing to flirt with him despite your hand was a good sign.
You grimace one final time as Robby makes the final knot.
Your hand already looks miles better.
“Once I wrap it up for you you’ll be all set.”
Robby turns your hand over and wraps his fingers gently around yours. Still careful of your pulsing wound, he brings your hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss.
His lips linger for a moment, just long enough for Santos to go wide-eyed as she walks past the room. Despite Robby taking over your stitching, you were still technically her patient.
Now, instead of entering your room, she turned on her heel and made a mad dash for where Whitaker sat charting.
“Huckleberry,” Santos sharply whispers.
The boy looks up at her. “What’s up?”
Santos looks behind her back, clearly afraid that her attending could sneak up and hear her gossiping about his personal life.
“My patient in North 14, the one that Robby hijacked?”
Whitaker’s brows furrow in confusion. “Yeah?”
“I swear Robby just kissed her.”
This immediately grabbed Whitaker’s attention. Chart now forgotten, he peers over Santos’ shoulder to see if he can catch a glimpse of the room. No luck.
“What? There’s no way.”
Santos pushes her stray hairs back. “I am so beyond serious you have no idea.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
They’re both silent for a moment before Whitaker speaks up. “You know maybe that’s just his girlfriend?”
“No,” Santos shakes her head. “She had wedding rings on. A massive one too.”
Whitaker finally scoffs. “Huh. Maybe Robby does have a secret double life. You know he wears a necklace with a ring on it?”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered until now!” He defends himself.
“So you’re saying I may have just taken Robby’s wife as my patient,” Santos starts.
“Yup.”
“Oh wow. Huh.”
Silence once more. Santos stays deep in thought as Whitaker goes back to charting. She can’t help it, she’s behind nosy.
“Do you think I should just ask?”
“Absolutely not,” Whitaker replies immediately.
Santos rolls her eyes. Curse her roommate for always being the voice of reason.
After checking up on her kid with severe road burn and an older man with chest pains, Santos decides it’s time to check in on you. That is until she sees Robby by the hand sanitizer station.
“Hey Dr. Robby!” Santos calls after her attending.
Robby promptly stops in his tracks and spins around.
“I’m about to go discharge North 14 and then I’ll need a consult in South 6,” Santos explains.
“No need, I already took care of discharge.”
Oh. Robby discharged her patient. Her patient. While Santos was getting better, she still struggled with when to stand up for herself or step down.
“You discharged my patient?”
“Is there a problem Dr. Santos?” Robby inquires.
Oh shit. Santos knows immediately that’s his tone of voice saying are you questioning my authority?
She backtracks immediately. “No, not at all. You are the boss.”
“Good. I’ll meet you at South 6 in a few.”
Santos stays glued to her spot for a moment after Robby walks away.
“Huh,” she thinks to herself. “Maybe I did just stitch up Mrs. Robinavitch.”
3. Little Bug
Jack Abbot walking in the E.R. is an immediate sign that shift change had begun and day shift was finally off the hook.
Jack Abbot walking in with a child on his hip, however, was a totally different story.
Plus, the Paw Patrol backpack he had strung across his shoulder.
Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi sit around their desks. All three are frantically typing away at their charts, desperate to get out of the hospital at a seemingly normal time.
It’s Javadi that spots the scene first.
“Holy shit,” she starts. “Is Abbot holding a kid?”
It felt like the entire E.R. at that moment noticed the attending.
It’s a silent game of if anyone needs to react or not. On one hand, a child in an emergency room is a clear red flag. On the other hand, that kid was with Dr. Jack Abbot.
Jack is unbothered by the wandering eyes.
He heads right to the central hub. Dana spotted them minutes ago and already circled around to greet the pair.
“Day-Nuh!” Bug annunciates both syllables in the nurse's name when she spots the charge nurse.
“Hi Jellybean,” Dana beams, accepting the transfer from Jack and fixing the girl to sit on her hip.
Bug’s hands grasp at Dana’s stethoscope.
For your daughter's birthday, you and Robby had gifted her a play doctor set. She was familiar with the basics and was clearly interested in the real-life thing.
“You have fun with Uncle Jack today? Dana asks.
The girl nods.
“Pirate Jack,” Bug corrects as she points down.
“Pirate huh?” Dana chuckles.
“She learned about my leg a few weeks ago. Started calling me a pirate once she stopped crying,” Jack spoke.
Dana boops the girl on her nose. “Well aren’t you the cutest.”
The attending and charge nurse chat for a few minutes as Bug grabs at everything in her reach: Dana’s badge, her cross necklace, and even the pen that’s clipped to her pocket. Dana, of course, doesn’t mind in the slightest.
Bug quickly gets distracted and wiggles out of Dana’s arms the second she spots Robby in her sightline.
“Da-da!” Bug exclaims. It takes Robby only two quick strides to get to her.
God knows he doesn’t want his daughter running around this place.
Robby, as if he had already sensed his daughter's presence in the E.R., had gathered his things from his locker.
“Oof. Hi Bug,” Robby grunts as he’s hit full force in the legs by the toddler.
The second he picks her up, it’s like his entire demeanor changes. The tension in his shoulders eases and for the first time all day, he doesn’t look steps away from a breakdown.
Robby takes note of his daughter’s outfit that was certainly not the one he dressed her in this morning.
A jersey meant only one thing.
“You took her to a Pirates game?” Robby questions his friend.
Jack nods. “Yeah. They won.”
Robby slides a hand down his face. “So let me get this straight. You took my daughter to a 1:35 start game and are now here to work a 12 hour shift.”
Jack nods again like this isn’t difficult to comprehend. “I’m a shoe-in for uncle of the year.”
That gains a laugh from Robby.
“You’re insane,” he begins. “I’m assuming the jersey was a new addition.”
“Of course. Her cleaned ice cream helmet and hat are in her backpack.”
Javadi turns to their little group who has long abandoned their charting to watch the two men interact.
“You think that’s Robby and Abbot’s love child?’ Javadi inquiries.
That elicits a laugh. The new sound causes Bug to immediately lose her attention on her dad and look over towards the three doctors. Her little hands grasp at the hems of Robby’s scrubs as she focuses mostly on Javadi.
“Looks like she chose you,” Santos says quietly.
Javadi raises her hand tentatively to wave, clearly not wanting to overstep any boundaries with the dynamic most of the emergency department just learned about.
Bug shows a toothy grin as she waves back.
Robby feels Bug shifting around and turns to face the group who suddenly look like deer in headlights. Like Bug when she gets caught pulling puppy dog eyes on Dana for another cookie.
To the pittlings shock, Robby laughs.
“You guys are allowed to say hi.”
Robby points to Santos first. “That’s Trinity.”
“Trin-ty!” Bug repeats.
“Dennis.”
“Dennis!”
“And Victoria.”
Bug’s face scrunches up in concentration. More than two syllables were rough. “Vic-tora!”
Robby shrugs. “Eh close enough, Bug.” He then turns his attention away from the girl. “We’re working on phonics right now.”
Santos holds her hands up. “Alright I’ll bite. You have a kid? And it’s not yours and Abbot’s?”
Dana bumps Jack with her shoulder. “Told ya people would say something.”
Robby glares at the two before turning back to Santos.
“Yes, I have a kid. Yes, I am married. Yes, Jack has been helping me while my wife is out of town. Any other questions?”
Whitaker clocks Santos’ look immediately. So their suspicions were correct.
“Was your wife my patient that you stitched up?” Santos bursts out. She can’t help it. The curiosity has been eating her up.
“Yes it was. She didn’t want to bother me for help.”
“Aw. No wonder you two get along.”
Bug is growing not just tired, but restless too. A bad combination for a toddler.
“When does the missus get back?” Dana asks.
“Tomorrow night,” Robby starts. “Can’t thank you guys enough for everything.”
To everyone in the room, this made perfect sense. Two of Robbie’s close support systems helping him out with his daughter.
“But this little one seems pretty tired from romping around with Uncle Jack. Can you say thank you, Bug?”
Bug turns her head to her uncle. “Thank you pirate Jack!”
Dana squeezes the young girls cheek and with a final wave goodbye, Robby is out the door. Probably the earliest he has ever left PTMC.
Safe to say he left the Pittlings in shock.
+1. Meeting
Your hand takes a bit to heal. Given how deep the cut was, you were fully expecting a long road to recovery.
Robby checked over the wound almost daily. He explained in simple terms to Bug that “mommy’s left hand was hurt right now” and that “she needed to be extra careful.”
Of course Bug was determined to kiss it better. Just like her dad had done to you.
Robby insists that you set up a 3-week checkup.
He told you that the surface skin should be healed by three weeks (sometimes longer with it being such a utilized area), but there would be a road ahead for deep tissue recovery.
Your phone pings as you’re packing your purse.
What time are you coming in?
About to leave! Need anything?
All good. I let the triage nurses know you’re coming so you should be able to come right back. See you soon. Love you
Love you too!
After your initial incident, PTMC didn’t feel as scary. Also probably given the fact that you and your husband had a long conversation about it being okay to ask for help.
The irony was there best believe it.
You’re waved through once you enter the waiting room. This time, thankfully, you spotted Dana immediately at the central hub.
“Well look who’s back!” Dana exclaims.
You hold your wrapped hand up. “Michael insisted I come for a checkup.”
Dana rounds the hub and wraps you in a greeting hug. “Sounds like him.”
She pauses to notice there is no toddler trotting in with you. “No Bug?”
You roll your eyes playfully. “You know I do have a life outside of my daughter.”
“Eh. Debatable.”
You glance around the bustling emergency room. No signs of Robby. “Is my husband around?”
“Let me page him.”
Robby appears just moments after being paged. He looks tired and worn. You can’t imagine what the day has already thrown at him.
But when he sees you, he slaps on a tired smile and walks like the day hasn’t beat him down.
“Hi honey,” Robby greets you, shocking even you as he places a soft kiss to your forehead.
You know he prefers private displays of affection. Can’t live without it actually. In public, however, holding your hand suffices for both of you.
“I can get you set up in a room so we can look at that hand. In and out promise.”
You wave him off. “Take your time. I know you’re busy.”
Dana scoffs and laughs. “When is he not.”
“Tell me about it.”
Robby shoots both of his hands up in the air as an ‘i’m innocent!’
“South 10’s open.”
You’re so close to stealing your husband away to do your checkup when the phone rings and Dana’s face falls.
“Car pileup on 376. Incoming in 5 minutes.”
Robby slides a hand down his face. You squeeze his arm.
“It’s okay Mike. I can wait.”
Robby shakes his head as his eyes dart around the emergency room.
“Santos!” Robby calls. The young resident’s head snaps up, eyes immediately locking on you. “You free?”
She stands up. “I can be.”
“Mind doing a three week checkup? Since I hijacked it last time.”
You chuckle. “Don’t worry, I chewed him out for it.”
You and Robby can both tell Santos is treading in uncharted waters.
“I’m assuming this is your wife?” Santos asks.
You stick your uninjured hand out for her to shake. “Yes I am and Y/N is fine.”
Oh she can’t wait to tell Whitaker.
“Sorry about last time,” you apologize.
Santos shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Nice to meet you.”
Dana looks at the group and repeats. “South 10.”
“Right,” Santos presses her lips together.
You can sense that Robby is on edge about the incoming trauma. “I’ll be okay Mike. It’s just a checkup. Besides, based on what you’ve told me I’m in good hands.”
Santos tries not to glow with pride.
“Okay okay. I’ll swing by when I can.”
Santos guides you to South 10. You take a seat in the chair before she slowly unwraps your bandage. While Robby’s stitches were flawless, it was still a nasty injury to heal from.
“I’m gonna do another cleaning and then test your movement,” Santos explains. “Just gotta grab the stuff and I’ll be back.”
True to her word, Santos is back but this time she’s accompanied by Robby.
“Thought you had an incoming trauma?” you inquire.
“Got re-routed to Westbridge.”
You nod, winching only slightly as Santos begins poking the area for tenderness. Safe to say she found it!
“Do you want to remove your rings?” Santos asks
You nod before sliding the two bands off. “Don’t want them in the way for either of us.”
Robby steps forward and opens his palm. You drop them down as he unclips his necklace chain and slides them on. They hit his respective wedding band with a satisfying clink.
“Want me to stay?” Robby offers.
“Not if you’re going to terrorize Santos,” you fire back.
Santos is enjoying this a bit too much.
“I will go see if someone else needs help then. Please call if you need anything.”
The young resident works in silence. Despite Robby not being in the room, his presence lingers over. If she fucked up working on his wife, she was screwed.
But surprisingly, you’re the one to break the silence.
“Robby told me you’re interested in general surgery,” you speak.
Once again, Santos is taken aback. Robby doesn’t just talk about her outside of work but he talks highly of her outside of work.
“Yeah I think so. I’m still figuring it out.”
“Eh you have time. Don’t tell him I told you this but he thinks you’ll be a great fit.”
Santos smiles. “I think I’m just in shock to be treating you now that I know who you are. And your daughter too.”
“Don’t worry about me. I have no problems telling Robby off,” You laugh. “Just didn’t want to make a big deal last time.”
“I get it. How long have you to been together?” Santos asks and then immediately freezes. “Oh I’m so sorry I don’t mean to interrogate.”
What has Robby been doing to these poor residents to make them so scared?
“We’ve known each other for 10, married for 8, and we’ve had Bug for three years now.”
“She’s adorable. She waved to us when Dr. Abbot brought her in.”
“Yeah she likes Jack more than me sometimes,” you grin.
Your checkup doesn’t take much longer after that. Santos wraps your hand up once more and goes through aftercare instructions. “But I’ll let Dr. Robby know as well,” she finishes out.
You walk back to the central hub as you make small talk with Santos. She tells you about how she used to be an athlete and how she’s fluent in Tagalong. You, in turn, tell her about your own work and all the details that come with that.
Robby strategically positioned himself to be waiting with Dana when you’re done.
“Dr. Santos is fantastic,” you praise when you find him. “Everything looks a-okay.”
Santos slides past you to sit down at her desk with Whitaker and Javadi.
“Just treated Mrs. Robinavitch,” she whispers. The other resident and student doctor lean in close. “She’s so nice. Like scary nice. And smart too.”
And just like the pittlings feared, Robby appears behind them to interrupt their gossip session.
“Well I’m glad you find my wife nice and smart,” Robby muses.
Then you’re popping up right behind them. “Cut them some slack, Mike. They’re just curious.”
It’s like you have him under a spell with the way he relaxes at your touch.
“Wanna walk me out?” you offer.
Robby points at the group of three. “Any of you need anything?”
It’s amusing so see how quickly they shake their heads no.
“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”
As Robby turns to leave, you grab his arm to stop him.
“It was nice to meet you guys! Thank you again Dr. Santos for all your help.”
Dana laughs loudly at their shocked expression. It was definitely weird to see their strict attending doctor be so relaxed around his wife.
“So you do have a wedding ring,” Whitaker points out.
Robby reaches under his scrub top to pull out the chain. “Eight years.”
“And a child together,” Javadi jumps in.
“Three years,” Robby adds.
“I’ll have to bring her back sometime. She’s been asking about you guys non-stop,” You laugh.
Your phone pings. It’s daycare sending you and Robby Bug’s report of what she did today.
“Well duty calls. See you guys!”
Robby wraps his arm around your shoulder as he steers you out of the emergency room.
Santos, ready as ever to pounce on an opportunity to hype herself up, looks at Whitaker.
“Y/N told me that Robby thinks I’d thrive in surgery.”
She pushes away from her desk, laughing loudly and ready to go check up on her next.
Whitaker and Havadi follow immediately, a chorus of “What!” and “Did she say anything about me!” fall from their lips.
Santos gloats.
“You’ll just have to find her next time.”
And just like that she escapes, still riding on the high of Robby’s praise.
And above all, the emergency room feels a little lighter.
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