“You were right…”

Those three words slip out of Y/N’s mouth easily. The alcohol in her system really helped lube her up for it. Jack turns his head to face her. He had a nice buzz going, but Y/N… She was boarding on tipsy. Jack slowly reaches for her drink. He wanted a coherent drinking buddy tonight.

“Me?” He asks softly as Y/N stares at the gravel ground of the park, allowing him to take away the half of can left. Everyone had left sooner or later. And Jack had made a joke about not wanting the last few beers to go to waste. So here is where you two sat. The now 11pm air helping wash away the sweat and tears of the day.

“This morning? When I said I was happy to be here?” Y/N mutters softly as Jack is instantly reminded of the moment. Being at his desk, head still reeling, Robby introducing her to him. Him barely looking at her as he grumpily muttered ‘that won’t last’.

“Oh. Y/N…” Jack mutters quietly as he shakes his head a bit. “That wasn’t… I wasn’t..” He pauses slightly, not knowing what to really say in this moment.

“No, it’s okay. You were right..” Y/N assures.

“No.” Jack says bluntly, watching Y/N with tender eyes. “I was wrong. And… Not in my right head..” He states as she finally looks at him.

“Look at what you did today, Y/N. Look at how many people you helped. How many you saved. Tonight.. Pittfest..” Jack trails off. “It was like a battlefield. And you held your own.” He states as she eyes him a bit closer now..

“You’re a damn good doctor.” Jack continues on, voice quiet now. “And it’s gonna be a privilege getting to work with you some mor-“ He is instantly cut off by Y/N grabbing him by the back of his neck, kissing him passionately.

Now, Jack knows what he should do.

He should pull away.

He should tell her they can’t.

He should value his friendship with Robby a lot more than that thing she’s now doing with her tongue..

Fuck, he should do a lot of things. But… He doesn’t.

Because damned if it isn’t the first time Jack’s been kissed like this in almost 10 years..

And he’s melting into it, into her without a care.

Without a second thought.

Without a prayer..

*

*

*

“Boo!”

Y/N squeals, jumping and almost dropping her donut on the ground as a result of that sudden noise and hands on her waist. She spins around fast to see a smirking Jack Abbot.

“Jack! I almost dropped my donut. You would’ve had to get me another one…” Y/N fusses gently before looking around to make sure they were alone in this break room. Jack holds her study, still a sweaty mess from the Fourth of July heat..

“Saw a chance. Can’t blame a guy for-“ Y/N quickly cuts Jack off by grabbing him by his SWAT Medic vest so she can plant one on him. He eagerly kisses back with no complaint in sight..

When the two slowly pull away, Jack smiles wide. “Well. Hello to you too..” He murmurs softly. Y/N playfully rolls her eyes at this 50-year old dork..

“Mm… That was to make up for this morning…” Y/N mutters quietly as she slips from his grasp, walking over to the break room table to settle in for a quick 5 minute break..

She had woken Jack up early in the morning to try and kiss him goodbye. It was a rule they had. Even while half asleep, he’d rather kiss her goodbye than wake up to her gone without a word. It hadn’t been a proper kiss.

It never really was.

‘But that’s what happens when you slip out of your lover’s apartment at 4am so you can get to your place for the 7am ride your dad promises you every morning into work..’ Y/N rolls her eyes mentally at the little smug voice in her head that just loved to watch her suffer while balancing both an attentive boyfriend and a very much present father..

Jack sighs softly as he walks over to sit across from Y/N, reaching over to grab her free hand and kiss it. “Just think about it like this..” Jack begins. “Three months. Robby away on some cross-country, soul-finding, retreat. You don’t have to run away so early…” He mumbles lovingly as Y/N blushes a bit, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“Mm… Three months of playing house..” Y/N groans playfully, as if that sounded amazing to her. Jack chuckles and then looks somewhat down at the table.

“You know… The whole.. ‘Playing house’ thing can get a continuation. If we told Robby-“ Y/N is quick to put a chunk of donut in Jack’s mouth. He begrudgingly accepts it.

“I will find the right time to tell him. Believe me. But.. Right now? With his whole.. Mid life crisis, ‘I wanna ride a motorcycle and casually date my coworkers’ thing? I just want him in the right state of mind…” Y/N whispers. Jack hums quietly, grabbing her hand that’s still on his cheek so he can kiss her palm.

“I get it. I do..” He says tenderly before playfully sighing. “I’m just… A piece of meat you like to use..” He adds dramatically, making Y/N giggle.

“That’s the spirit..” She teases before leaning over the table to kiss his nose. She then gets up to leave the break room. Jack frowns a bit to himself.

“Yeah. By the way, baby, I got shot at this morning and it got me thinking about… Forever with you…” Jack mutters to himself, reciting what he had originally followed Y/N into this break room to say. He shakes his head.

It came out so much easier when he wasn’t lost in her scent…

*

*

*

“I love you, dad..” Y/N sighs as her father grips her a bit tighter.

“Make sure this place doesn’t fall apart, Bug…” He mutters against her shoulder, making her chuckle as she stands on her tiptoes to hug him back.

Some things just never change..

“It won’t. As long as there’s a Robinavitch walking the halls, the Pitt is more than stable..” Y/N teases quietly as Robby smiles warmly at the decree. He slowly pulls away and strokes her hair tenderly, putting every strand in its rightful place. A habit he’s never outgrown.

“I am… So proud of you..” He says softly, making Y/N somewhat look down as to not get teary eyed. She liked to think of herself as a vault. A strong oak, if you will. But.. At the end of the day, she was just like her father.

A big softie with an iron shell.

“Your mother would be too.” Robby continues after a moment, letting those words really hang in the air. Y/N feels her heart tug with guilt. When Robby was her age, he was juggling being a young resident and a newly appointed single father.

Now all these years later, Y/N stood in front of her dad with her shoulders square and head held high. The attire of a young doctor on her body just as he knew it would be. “Go, hit the road. Before I take away your keys and make you stay..” Y/N fusses gently. Robby chuckles.

In the Pitt, Robby was hard on his daughter. Sure. He had to make sure no one saw her as a nepo baby. She had to show people she got here for her smarts only and not because her dad was head of this ED. And according to Dana, sometimes Robby took his lectures of Y/N a little ‘too far’. But away from the eyes of coworkers, Robby was more than open with his love and pride for his ‘little girl’.

“You sure you don’t need a ride home?” Robby asks to make sure for the hundredth time tonight.

“Yes, dad. Really, I’m gonna uber.” Y/N states. She just leaves out where exactly she’ll be ubering to..

“Uber. Gonna waste all that money when I can just..-“ Y/N happily grabs her dad’s helmet and playfully sets it on his head, having to reach up to do it because of her father’s height.

“Bye, dad..” She sings playfully. Robby grumbles a bit but lets it go. This could be a lecture for another day. While he puts on his helmet, Y/N steps back on to the sidewalk. She eagerly waves bye to her dad, watching as he zooms away.

With a heavy sigh, she pulls out her phone to text Jack..

Cookies: ‘Papa Bear has left the den. I’m heading to yours..’

Jack eyes the message, a small smirk playing on his lips as he can’t help but be filled with anticipation. Especially after the Fourth of July the ED has had. He definitely was gonna call it an early night. He’d already bribed both Ellis and Shen to cover for him..

Y/N’s phone buzzes as she enters the uber. She checks her phone eagerly.

Cream: ‘I expect you in something sexy when I get home…’

She giggles, mind already racing. She’d head to her place tomorrow to get an official overnight bag. But for tonight, she’ll steal from his clothes and use a spare toothbrush..

Let operation ‘Playing house’ start now..

*

*

*

Robby got maybe halfway to the freeway when it sunk in that he hadn’t gotten back his hunting knife from Jack.

He’d let him borrow it almost a year ago, and every time it was brought up, the two would make plans to rectify this. Yet, they’d always end up forgetting. If Robby was gonna have any luck camping for the next week or so, he needed that damn knife.

Pulling over to the side of the road, Robby pulls out his phone to call Jack only to have it go straight to voicemail.

Of course. Dead phone.

What else was to be expected from his forgetful friend?

Calling the Pitt instead, Robby sighs when Lena answers. “Hello?” She asks, voice pleasant enough for it now being almost 8pm.

“Hey, Lena. Where’s Jack?” Robby asks.

“Eh… Called it an early night. He actually just left…” Lena answers. Robby sighs before thanking her. He’d have to drive to Jack’s place. Hopefully he’d left work just to spend the night inside. Worst comes to worst, Robby would just have to use his copy of the front door key to get in…

The ride to Jack’s place was calming and simple enough. He parks his bike and then heads up to Jack’s apartment, deciding to use the stairs for that extra exercise. When he gets to the apartment, he knocks firmly. He takes a deep breath in through his nose just as he hears the elevator ding from down the hallway. Looking over, he’s surprised to see Jack getting off the elevator. He smiles, opening his mouth to call over to him when the apartment door opens…

Y/N wants to pass away in this moment.

Robby freezes as he eyes his daughter in his best friend’s apartment. In his best friend’s old and grey t-shirt.

And nothing else.

Jack slows his footing as well, cursing quietly as Robby rubs his face a bit. He didn’t know what to feel first. “What…” He looks from Y/N to Jack again.

That was a mistake.

Looking at Jack made anger surge through him.

“What the fuck?!” Robby snaps, moving towards Jack. Y/N gasps, quickly rushing to get between the two men. Jack tries moving her out of the way but she refuses to budge.

“D-Dad! Dad! Just.. Breathe..” Y/N tries fast.

“My daughter?!” Robby snaps at Jack.

“We can explain!” Y/N tries as Jack firmly grabs her hips now.

“Y/N. Move..” He says quietly. Y/N tries to ignore Jack. “Y/N.” He says once more. Y/N sighs shakily and slowly does as he says, moving away from the two men. Jack nods at her, silently telling her to let him handle this.

She hesitates some more before taking a deep breath. “If you hurt him… I will not forgive you.” She finally whispers to Robby before leaving them alone.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind, man?! My daughter?!” Robby hisses at Jack, anger still in him.

“I didn’t plan this. You… You just gotta believe that, Robby.” Jack sighs. “Her and I… It just… It happened-“ Robby cuts him off.

“How long?” He asks sharply.

“Really, I want you to understand that Y/N and I, we just-“ Robby cuts him off once more.

“HOW!” He snaps louder before shakily forcing his voice to be low again. “Long?” He whispers. Jack sighs at that.

“Three months. Almost four…” He says softly. Robby paces the hallway, laughing humorlessly at how quickly this night has changed into pure crap..

“We were gonna tell you. It just… It was never the right time, and… Robby, I know this is a lot to take in, but I… I love her..” Jack says gently, keeping his voice calm and soft. Robby’s hands instinctively ball up into fists before he forces them to relax.

“I don’t… Fuck you, man…” Robby huffs out, stepping away from Jack because he doesn’t trust himself at this moment. Even while pissed, Robby wouldn’t want to do anything that would result in hurting Y/N..

“Hit me.” Jack finally says, slowly slipping off his backpack. Robby pauses, looking at him.

“What?” He asks, voice carrying an edge to it.

“You wanna hit me. I get it. I deserve it.” Jack says. “So you… You hit me. You get one good swing on me. Give it all you’ve got..” He says as he puts his hands behind his back. Robby eyes him before shaking his head, looking elsewhere.

“I’ll tell Y/N that I asked for it. It’s no fault of your own.” He continues.

Robby watches him closely, as if debating it now..

Jack straightens his shoulders. “Deck me. Get it out of your system.” He nods at him to do it.

“Because…” He breathes that word out. “Robby, I’m not gonna stop seeing her.” He whispers, looking his best friend in the eye.

“I love her..” Jack confesses quietly as Robby rubs his forehead, trying to take this all in now..

“Out of all the girls that have thrown themselves at you..” Robby finally mutters. “My kid? My daughter?” He asks quietly, pressing his hand into his chest. His tone of voice shows his betrayal.

“I never wanted to hurt you, man. You have to believe that. But you know what I’m saying is true. You know, I have not loved… In so long. I have not felt this way… In so fucking long. Robby, I’m sorry we hid this. And I’m sorry you feel betrayed..” He says slowly.

“But I’m not sorry I found another shot at happiness.” He confesses quietly. “And I’m sorry it’s with your daughter.” He states. “But she’s also… Y/N. She’s a smart and funny and bright soul. She’s kind and soft and warm and she’s… Everything I’ve always denied myself. And in 10 years of me being… Comfortable in the darkness.. She’s made me want sunlight again.” Jack says quietly.

Robby watches him wordlessly before slowly blinking away the tears that had begun to form. Maybe it was from the anger. Or maybe it was him realizing just how much his daughter was loved. He storms past Jack though, heading for the stairwell again.

Jack sighs and finally realizes Y/N had been listening from the apartment door that was still open. He opens his mouth to speak, but she slowly walks over to him, gently grabbing his face to kiss him sweetly.

“I love you too…” She whispers, resting her forehead against his.

*

*

*

Robby sits outside the apartment building on the entrance steps when Y/N steps outside to sit next to him. She’s now in sweats that she had to tie tightly in order to stay on her, and still in the damn shirt. Robby gives her a once over before looking back at his bike that’s still parked in the same spot.

“You’re still here.” Y/N says softly to break the silence.

“Yeah, well… I needed air..” Robby mutters. It’s quiet again. It fills Y/N with slight shame.

“I’m sorry…” She whispers, voice timid. Robby frowns and eyes her closely.

“Are you?” He asks gently, knowing she probably just said it because it seemed fitting. She hesitates for a moment.

“No..” She admits tenderly, looking down at her lap now.

Robby shakes his head slightly as he rubs his beard, something he does when he’s overstimulated. “I am… Angry..” He says after a moment longer.

Now, it’s Y/N’s turn to eye him..

“Are you?” She asks gently. Knowing he’s probably just saying that because it seems fitting.

Robby hesitates for a moment. “No.” He says finally, being honest about these complex emotions. On the one hand, he is angry. But on the other hand… He knows how respectful, attentive, and sensible Jack Abbot can be.

On paper.. Jack was the perfect candidate to date his little girl..

“I’m only sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.” Y/N tries, watching his face closely.

Robby breathes out some air at that, arms going around himself as he really weighs it. Would there have ever been a good time to tell him something this big?

“Are you… Do you hate me?” Y/N finally asks, letting her fears slip now. That seems to break Robby out of his jumbled mindset.

“What? Bug…” Robby whispers as he instantly moves to hold Y/N. No matter how old she got, Robby always coddled her whenever she was upset. It was one of the many habits he never let die..

“I’d never… Ever.. Hate you, Bug.” Robby whispers as Y/N instantly snuggles into him. “I think I just… I’m shocked. Him?” He asks quietly, moving to nuzzle a bit into her hair.

“Dad…” Y/N grumbles gently as if to say ‘be nice..’. “I love him.” She whispers certainly. Robby sighs. He’s never heard his daughter act this way about anyone…

“I get it. Just… Really? Him?” He clarifies, half joking now as Y/N lightly swats at his chest. He smiles slightly at her giggling.

“I just want you happy, Bug. And… If he’s that for you, then…” Robby sighs as he moves back slightly to look down at the girl snuggled in close to his chest now. “I… Support you..” He says softly. She smiles wide and hugs him tight.

“Thank you, dad…” She sighs in relief. He kisses the top of her head as his arms wrap tightly around her shoulders to hold her close to his chest. His chin rests on the top of her head. He could use these three months to get over this shock..

“Just know, if he breaks your heart, he’s out of a job..” Robby finally mutters, making Y/N giggle. The two enjoy the peaceful silence before Robby shakes his head.

“Jack Abbot..” He mutters. “You know, his charm wears off..” He states warningly. Y/N giggles.

“No, it doesn’t…” She smiles up at him as she shakes her head simply…

!!The End!!

Thank you so so much

for 730+ followers.

Grateful for all of you!!!

You were rushed to the ER, unconscious and pulse fading quick. Paramedics pushed epinephrine, trying to get your pulse back up.

Dana was the first to spot you as you were wheeled in on a stretcher.

“Robby!” She yelled before rushing to your side to aid the medics. “Someone get Robby!”

You woke up in the ICU. The bright lights made you wince pathetically, screwing your eyes back shut as soon as they’d opened.

“Baby?” A familiar voice murmured. “Hey, I need you to open those eyes, sweetheart.”

Your dad, Michael Robinavich.

Your eyes fluttered open again to see him over you, gently stroking the side of your face.

“Dad?”

He smiled, pressing the call button next to your bed.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How ya feelin’?”

You couldnt fathom an answer for some reason. So, you looked at your surroundings instead.

Bright, sterile.

“Hospital?” You slurred.

Robby nodded, squeezing your hand. “You got in an accident,” he said. “Someone asshole t-boned you.”

“‘S my car okay?” You squeaked.

He chuckled, shaking his head at the absurdity of the question.

“It’s uh- it’s totaled,” he sighed. “But you’re alive, which is good.”

You were checked out by multiple doctors and nurses before being cleared to go home.

Robby took out some of his PTO to take care of you.

You argued that you were fine, that the head injury didn’t even hurt that bad.

You didn’t tell him when you started getting horrible headaches and shocks of pain throughout your body. You didn’t tell him when you began throwing up every day, either. Or when you started forgetting simple facts.

Dr. Michael Robinavitch's shift ended at 1900, but he's still at the nursing station at 1948, finishing out a chart note with his thumb on the edge of the keyboard. The station is a bright pool of fluorescent light, the hospital's nervous system slowing for a short time before the next rush of patients flood in. The sound of a printer spitting out discharge papers, someone's low laughter from a few chairs over, the soft clatter of a med cart. These are the leftovers of chaos, the bones of the day shift, the things Robby has learned to find comfort in.

He signs his last order and lets his hands fall flat against the counter, palm down, like maybe he's bracing himself against a wave that isn't coming. His badge dangles from his lanyard, photo askew, a tiny version of his own tired face staring up at him with its best attempt at a smile. The new nurse, Carly was it, gives him a sidelong glance as she stacks labs, then slides a sticky note toward his elbow.

"A nurse from peds called and asked for you by name. Twice," she says, as if he isn't acutely aware of the phone in his pocket and the text that vibrated an hour ago and again ten minutes later.

He's learned to nod without making promises.

"Thanks," he says.

He plucks the note, reads the extension number even though he knows it by heart, and pockets it. For a second, he lets his thumb hover over his phone screen. Nina's name bright against a black background. He knows what the text will say. Or more accurately, he knows what it won't: nothing about frustration, nothing about how he was supposed to be on his way home by now. Just a gentle question: let me know when you're leaving. Which is her way of saying she misses him without making it a big deal.

"Hey Robby," Whitaker calls from the other side of the desk. "You got a second to check the vent in four?"

He has more than a second, or that's what he tells himself, so he nods and heads down the hallway. The hospital is quieter than it was a few hours ago: fewer voices, more machine noise.  They pass the pediatric pod, where a cartoon lion on the wall is missing half its mane. Nobody's fixed it, and maybe nobody cares enough to, but Robby notes it every time. He steps into the room and glances at the baby, at the vent, and at the sprawl of wires and tape.

He can do this with his eyes closed. But he doesn't. He never does.

"Settings are good," he says after a quick review. "She'll hold until rounds."

Whitaker grins, relief flooding his face, and for a second Robby sees the echo of himself twenty-five years ago, when each decision felt like life or death instead of just routine.

"You're a machine," one of the nurses say. "Don't you ever go home?"

Robby shrugs, a maneuver he's perfected. "Only when they make me."

Another nurse in the room looks up and adds, "His girlfriend must be a saint for putting up with him being gone all the time."

It's a nothing comment, a throwaway, but it lands sharper than intended. Not because it's untrue, but because Nina would probably laugh and say she is. Because Robby thinks she actually is sometimes, and it makes him want to go home and also want to stay here, in this humming, antiseptic place, where nobody asks him to be better than he is.

He catches himself, stares a second too long at the oxygen saturation numbers, then leaves the room with a "Call me if anything changes."

He walks slower back to the station, feeling the drag in his calves and the grit in his eyes. He tells himself he'll finish his note and then go home. But when he sits down, his hands hesitate over the keyboard.

His phone vibrates again: another text from Nina. Asking if he's left yet. He doesn't answer.

A pair of nurses at the far end of the desk are trading stories about their kids, one of them showing a photo on her phone. The other says, "You've got to have one, Dr. Robinavitch. The way you hold the babies? You're a natural."

She means it as a compliment. She doesn't know the hell he and Nina have gone through to have one.

Robby grins, but it's thin.

"I like giving them back," he says, which is partially the truth and also partially not the truth.

He waits until their backs are turned, then deletes the last three lines of his own note and rewrites them. He checks Nina's text again. 

He should get up. He should put on his jacket, peel off his badge, drive home to the warm light in the front window and the smell of home.

Instead, he sits, hands loose in his lap, letting the hospital's low electric hum fill the space where his brain should be. The screensavers flicker. A code blue echoes from down the hall, but it's distant and muffled. He waits for his pager to go off, to be needed. He waits for any reason not to go home.

By the time Robby remembers to check the clock again after being flagged down several times, it's 2056 and the halls have gone from dim to nearly deserted. He can hear his own footsteps as he rounds the corner to the locker room, echoes pinging off the tile.

He's the only one in the men's side, which suits him. Robby likes the hush in here after a shift, the way the air is thicker and somehow less urgent. The space smells like hand sanitizer and something vaguely metallic. He sits down heavily on the bench, stares at the metal lockers lined up.

He goes through the ritual: peel off the scrub top, unclip the badge, then finally, the stethoscope, which he coils carefully and tucks into his bag.

He rolls his shoulders. He takes a second to just breathe, eyes closed, letting the clamor of the day recede to a faint white noise. But then the silence settles in, and it's too much. He opens his eyes, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular.

His phone chirps. This time he checks it. Just a "?" from Nina.

He can picture her expression, the one she wears when she's trying to be patient: eyebrows arched, mouth drawn, not angry but not amused. He closes the notification and pulls up the messages she sent earlier. She's trying, he knows. He doesn't know why he finds it so hard to reply.

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and stands, staring at his own reflection in the metal locker door. The light overhead shows all the gray he's accumulated over the last few years, and highlighs the lines at the corners of his eyes. He looks tired, but not old. At least he doesn't think so. He wonders if Nina would say the same.

He rememberssuddenly and with a sharpness that borders on pain, the way Nina hand shook at their last appointment. It was nothing, the doctor said. Just nerves. But Robby's never been good at not noticing things. He'd wanted to reach for her hand, to say something comforting, but all he could do was nod and let the silence fill up the exam room like anesthetic gas.

He snaps his locker shut with more force than necessary. There's no reason to linger in the hospital now. But he does: re-checks his bag, double checks he has the badge, smooths the inside of his jacket even though he won't wear it out. He moves with the precision of a man stalling for time.

If he goes home, it's just him and Nina and the million things they never say out loud. He knows the feel of their kitchen table, the shape of their silence. He knows how Nina asks about his day, how she waits for him to bring up the next step, the next hope, the next round of something. Sometimes he imagines telling her he wants to quit, to run, to do anything other than try again, but he can't.

He's the guy who fixes things. Or he used to be.

His hand tightens on the locker handle.

He should go home.

Robby lets his feet carry him, not thinking about where he's going, just following the rhythm of the place. He passes the closed doors of patient rooms, some with nightlights glowing behind privacy glass, others completely dark.

In one, he glimpses a woman sleeping upright in a recliner, blanket pulled to her chin, hand resting on the rail of the bed beside her. Her kid is out cold, mouth open, hair stuck to his forehead in damp little spikes. Robby feels a pang he can't name. He moves on, footsteps muffled by linoleum and fatigue.

The farther he gets from the main hub, the quieter it becomes. It's like walking underwater, pressure building around his ears. He thinks of Nina, the things they don't say, the way she sometimes watches him with this hopeful dread like she wants to believe him when he says it'll be okay, but she's old enough now to know that sometimes it won't be.

Then he stops in front of a door. One with just a single bassinet occupied. Baby Jane Doe. He reads the whiteboard despite knowing all the information already. Female, estimated 6 weeks, no known allergies, surrendered via Safe Haven.

He stands there, hand on the doorframe, not moving. She's not his patient, not anymore. But she's still here, a loose end he keeps circling back to.

He should go. He knows it. The night is almost over, and there's nothing here for him for the next three months.

But he stands there anyway, watching through the glass as the baby shifts in her sleep, her tiny hand curling into a fist before relaxing again. He lets himself rest his forehead against the door for a second, just long enough for the cold to seep through his skin and into his head.

He doesn't know what he's waiting for.

Maybe just a sign.

He opens the door quietly, letting it click shut behind him. The air inside is warmer than the hallway, thick with the scent of formula, latex, and the indefinable powdery smell of newborn. The overheads are set to a low, amber night mode, and the only sounds are the hum of the machines and the faint wheezy exhale of the baby.

Despite him opening and closing it softly, the movement of the door wakes her. Her little eyelids flutter open, tracking him as he moves into the room, every movement exaggerated by the stillness. Robby stands a moment just inside the threshold, waiting for her to cry or to close her eyes. She does neither. Instead, her gaze follows him, steady and unblinking, as he approaches the bassinet.

He checks the chart out of reflex. Vitals logged, last feed recorded. She's stable. He sets the tablet down and looks at her. Really looks.

Up close, Baby Jane Doe is less remarkable than most of the infants he's seen in his ER. No tubes. No burns or bandages. No obvious signs of trauma. Just a baby, too small for her onesie, fists like dandelions at her chest. Her hair is a darj shade of brown, glossy and wild. Her skin is slightly mottled, but otherwise clear.

He reaches down and lays two fingers on her sternum, gentle as a breath. Her heart flutters under his touch, a syncopated percussion. He counts, not because he needs to, but because it's something to do.

She stares back, lips parted, a single string of spit bridging her lower lip to her chin.

"You're not even trying to make this difficult for me are you," he mutters.

She kicks her legs once, then settles. He slides his fingers away and watches as her eyelids drift down, then snap open again, indignant at the threat of sleep.

He's not supposed to pick her up. Not unless she needs it. But after a minute, she lets out a high, breathy whine, an indignant complaint, nothing urgent but enough to set him moving. He scoops her up with more hesitation than he'd ever admit. Left hand behind the head, right under the butt, a move so ingrained it's automatic.

She weighs nothing. The warmth of her soaks instantly through his sleeve. He holds her at arm's length for a beat, then draws her close, settling her against his chest.

She fusses for a second, a twist of legs and a sniff, then goes completely slack, her cheek pressed against the fabric of his top. She smells like milk and antiseptic and the ghost of whatever detergent the hospital uses.

He stands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and lets the minutes stretch. He feels the rise and fall of her breaths, hears the little noises she makes: a click in the throat, a barelythere wheeze. He's cataloging, he knows. It's what he does.

But there's a point when he stops thinking about her lungs and her pulse and the fact that no one is coming to pick her up and take her home. Instead he just thinks about how small she is, and how she fits against him like she's always belonged there. Like maybe she recognizes something about him, something he's forgotten how to give.

He isn't sentimental, not really. He's never been the type to get choked up by the sight of a baby, not even in residency, when the other interns would get glassy eyed over the success stories of the NICU. But he stands there, rocking gently, and feels something thud heavy and insistent in his chest.

He knows what this is. He knows why he's here, and why he's stayed so long.

He thinks of Nina, of the two of them sitting at their kitchen table after the last appointment. The way she stared at her mug, not drinking, not talking, just tracing the rim with her finger. The way the silence pooled between them. The way he tried to fill it with jokes, with medical statistics, with anything but the truth.

He looks down at the baby again. She's asleep now, mouth slack, one hand curled around the collar of his shirt. He puts his palm over her back and just holds her, the way he wishes someone would hold him.

He stays like that for a long time. Longer than he should. When he finally puts her down, she doesn't stir. He tucks the blanket around her, smoothing it with a careful hand. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

On his way out, he dims the light even further, until the only illumination is the soft green from the monitor and the pale halo from the hallway. He stands in the doorway and watches for a second, as if waiting for her to wake up and demand something of him.

He circles the hallway once, twice, like a satellite unable to break orbit. He tells himself he'll go home after this. He'll let Nina know he's on his way, pick up something for dinner on the way, and go home.

But then his feet carry him back. He slips back into the room. The baby is awake again, this time more alert, eyes black and shining as beetles in the low light. She doesn't make a sound as he approaches, just watches, lids heavy but determined not to close.

Robby hesitates a moment, his hand on the edge of the bassinet. He could leave. He could walk away and she wouldn't remember any of it, wouldn't remember him.

Instead, he scoops her up again, this time slower, almost reverent. She fits into the cradle of his arm as if she's always belonged there. She's so impossibly light. He doesn't understand how someone could just leave her like that. But then again he can only imagine what a person must be facing in their own life to surrender such an innocent child.

He sits in the ancient rocking chair wedged against the far wall. The vinyl is cracked, the armrest sticky with years of gentle abuse, but he hardly notices. He settles her against his chest, palm pressed firm to her back, and lets his own head tip back.

He thinks about all the times he's been handed a newborn: delivery rooms, NICU consults, friends at dinner parties shoving a wrapped bundle into his arms and saying, "You're a natural, Robby!" He thinks about the way he always held them like borrowed property, like something he'd have to hand back before it broke or soiled itself or reminded him too much of everything he didn't have.

This is different.

He realizes his thumb is stroking the baby's head, slow and rhythmic, the way Nina pets their cat when she can't sleep. The baby sighs, a soft, snuffling exhale, and fumbles her fist into the crook of his neck. He smiles, not because it's funny, but because it's the only thing left to do.

He wants to tell her something—something real, not the usual doctor patter, not the jokes he uses to fill up the space at home. He doesn't know what, exactly. She wouldn't understand, anyway.

So he hums. Low, under his breath, the first tune that comes to mind: "Oyfn Pripetshik," the lullaby his grandmother used to sing when he was sick or scared or couldn't sleep. He hasn't thought of it in years, but the melody arrives whole and undiminished, old words clinging to the music like dust to wool. The baby stirs, just a little, then settles again, her breathing syncing to the rhythm.

He hums until he runs out of melody, then just sits, listening to the silence. It feels like something inside him is rearranging itself, quietly, cell by cell.

He checks the baby's face one more time, memorizing the shape of her nose, the quiver of her lips, the improbable lashes dusting her cheeks.