It was 11 votes to 8 and angsty won - so here's Donnie having a panic attack. I drew this as a vent after having one myself. I wasn't going to ink and colour it but after looking at it again a bit later on, I really liked how it turned out.
DW guys Raph's helping him out. He's gonna be okay.
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gn reader, angst + hurt/comfort. caleb is a bit mean.
wc: 1.4k
am i the only one who frequently thinks about begging caleb not to leave?
tw: anxiety and panic, negative thought spiral
"Caleb, wait," you beg, lifting your weary body from the couch to weakly grip the bottom of his long coat, eyes wide with panic and fighting back tears. He turns back to look at you, tilting his head slightly as he pulls on his gloves. You can't help but see a bit of the colonel who interrogated you on the day you saw him resurrected. Perhaps a cold mask was part of his uniform as well.
"Please don't go," you plead, resting your forehead in the crook of your elbow as you lie your torso flat against the couch, your legs folded beneath you, your body tense and trembling. You can taste bitter acid in the back of your throat. Every little thing seems to send a new wave of panic through your system, starting at the center of your chest and traveling down to your feet. "C-Caleb, please, stay home today,"
You weren't the type to do this; you always do your best to avoid imposing on him. As much as he wants you to ask him for anything and everything you need, you still have the urge to avoid being too much, making sure you stay firmly in the 'low-maintenance' category. You know you won't be thrown away and replaced as long as you're easy to deal with and forgettable when it's convenient. But this is the exception. You'd do almost anything to avoid going through this alone. You're not above begging on your hands and knees, especially now that you finally have him back.
You feel his hand gently reaching into the crook of your arm, lightly gripping your chin between two leather-clad fingers, and raising your chin so that you meet his eyes. They're concerned, a bit warmer than before, but still retaining that analytical quality, as if he's a doctor trying to diagnose a patient. You can feel the sting of tears welling in your own eyes. "Caleb," you beg, your voice hoarse. It's hard to even talk.
"Pips..." Caleb's eyes are firmly fixed on your face, not giving you even a second of respite from his scrutiny. You hate it when his voice gets all cold like this, when he talks to you like you're everyone else, like you're not his. He sighs. "I told you, I can't take off work today. The higher-ups are flying in for a conference. This isn't a meeting I can miss."
You fight off a surge of nausea at the thought of Caleb leaving, of being all alone in his barren Skyhaven apartment. For a second, you wonder if you're actually going to throw up on his nice fancy carpet. Maybe if you do, he'll take you seriously.
You cough out a sob, unable to hold back the flood of tears as they well up in your eyes and start to drip down your cheeks. How humiliating. You really don't want to look like you're childishly attempting to manipulate him with exaggerated cries, but you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube. You lightly tug your chin back from his hand, wordlessly asking for permission, and he lets you go. You bury your face back in your arms, your frame trembling with sobs and panic.
"Sorry, m'sorry," you sniffle, your voice wobbly and muffled from your face pressing into your sleeve. "I can't- I just, I can't," The words just won't travel up to your brain fast enough, stalled by your despair. You're losing time to persuade Caleb to stay while also giving him a meaningful apology. Words were never your strong suit.
You keep speaking without looking up at him. Having escaped from the hypnotic effect of his intense stare, you need to make use of the time you have before your brain inevitably stutters to a stop again. "D-Don't wanna mess up your job, or your meetings, I just- please don't leave me, I'm so scared, Caleb, please, I-I tried my meds and they didn't help and I- please stay Caleb, please, I'm sorry, m'sorry," You hiccup, snot clogging your nose as your heart starts to accelerate until it becomes painful, your breath shuddering. You've never begged him like this before; you hope he realizes it's a last resort. You wouldn't be doing this if you were okay alone.
Caleb is silent as you curl up into a ball, quivering like a frightened animal as you try to quiet your sobs. Is he angry? Has he finally had enough of you? Has he realized that he's been wasting his time on someone who really wasn't worth the effort? Did he-
"Hey, hey, pips. Breathe." You feel the side of a finger beneath your chin before it gently guides your head up and out of its hiding place. Caleb had removed his hat and gloves and crouched down to meet you at your eye level. Though your vision is blurry with tears and your awareness is shaky at best, you can tell that the affection has returned to his gaze.
Once he got your eye contact, he spoke again. "Touch okay right now?" When you nod weakly, he gets up, and before you know it, you've been scooped up into his arms. He sits back down on the sofa, anchoring you in his lap. His colonel's uniform is a bit stiff and uncomfortable to lie against, but you're not bothered much. You're just grateful to have his touch at all.
You feel the firm weight of his palm on your back, subtly guiding you forward until your chest is flush with his, your face buried in the crook of his neck. You press your forehead against him, your pitiful sobs starting to slow as he begins to rub your back in the way you've liked since you were a kid. All the way up, then all the way down, gently scratching with his nails to make you melt into him.
"There you go, that's it." He coos, expertly calming your overworked heart, taking care of you like he always does. "Don't worry, pipsqueak. I messaged my boss and told him I wasn't feelin' well. I'm all yours for today, okay? I've got you. Caleb's got you." He places his lips against your temple, giving you a few delicate kisses as you nod for him.
"T-Thank you, 'leb," Your voice is raw and difficult to force out of your throat through the cloud of panic obstructing your every movement, but you speak anyway. You sniffle, tightly gripping his coat. You're dirtying it with your tears and snot. It must be expensive to dry-clean. You're just making more work for him, adding more onto his already overwhelming and stressful life. You're just being selfish and entitled, expecting him to ditch all his responsibilities because you're panicking over nothing. What if he just decided to stay because-
"Baby," Caleb murmurs, drawing your attention back to him with a soft stroke of his thumb against your jaw, catching your eyes. "Focus on me. I'm not goin' anywhere. You're stayin' right here in my arms until you feel better."
"'m really sorry," Your voice wobbles as you try to apologize, but Caleb is having none of it.
"No, pips. No apologizing. I chose to be here, yeah? And trust me, hangin' out with you is much more fun than being stuck in a three-hour board meeting." He ruffles your hair, earning him an unsteady smile from you. You're sure he can tell it's forced. The guilt from unintentionally manipulating him to stay home with you still lingers heavily. And while your panic has subsided a bit, you still feel it nearby, like a dark storm on the horizon.
Caleb had a solution for that, though. Somehow, he always does. He pulls out his phone, typing in his passcode and adjusting you slightly in his lap so that you can see the screen better. He supports you with his left hand on your lower back, while his right navigates through the screen. "I saved some videos I wanted to show you, but we never got the time. I think this is the perfect opportunity."
After a while, you start to feel normal again. Caleb's grin is radiant as he proudly shows off how well he knows your taste in short-form content, and quickly has you laughing along with him. He is the sun that chases away the dark clouds populating your psyche. You can tell, from how his grin widens upon seeing yours, that you're his sun too. Two broken people, combining their shards to try to form a whole person again.
Series summary: Robby left for his sabbatical without a thought and you’re left to pick up the pieces. But now he’s back at PTMC and trying desperately to reconnect. Robby learns the truth of how long a year really is.
WC: 4.7k
Tags/Content: unexpected pregnancy, motherhood, past relationship, second chance relationship, slow burn, implied age gap, hurt, angst, reader is high key avoidant, no use of Y/N, possible OC ish, Robby calls reader baby, mental heaviness, hospital inaccuracies, this one is tough guys fair warning, they’re really bad at communicating, lot of swearing, therapist
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The morning came sooner than you would have liked. Pale grey light filtering in through the windows and the sound of your zoom call ending. Mason was still asleep in his crib when there was a knock on your door.
Ugh. Maybe if you ignored him, you wouldn’t have to do this scheduled breakfast. Wasn’t last night torture enough?
This was premeditated, you were sure of it.
A way to get in your head.
Your therapist would say otherwise.
Yeah well, fuck him and his four eyes.
You pulled your robe tighter as you shuffled to the door. Robby stood there in a pair of scrubs with his signature zip up hoodie. The odd thing was the pressed white coat over top the hoodie, with his name precisely sewed into it with blue thread.
Yep, this is a terrorist attack.
It was ridiculous really. Who puts their white coat over a hoodie. And since when did Robby know where his white coat was? Why did it kind of look good?
“Please, don’t make me feel any weirder than I already do,” he grumbled, looking everywhere but you. “Admin has been on my ass about ‘looking professional’.”
Robby shifted his weight but didn’t step inside. You both stand there, waiting for the other to make the first move.
“You can come in-“
“Is Mason awake-“
You both say at the same time. A blush creeps up Robby’s neck as you suddenly find the door across the hall very interesting.
“Sorry,” he mutters, sagging his shoulders in the way he did when he wanted to seem less imposing.
“Oh shut up.” You grumble as you take multiple steps back, leaving the door open for him to enter.
The two of you were acting like two cats who had just been introduced. Hackles raised and ready to bolt at any sudden movement. Maybe it was just you though.
Robby takes a tentative step inside, careful, like he’s waiting for permission to be revoked halfway through. He keeps one hand hooked tightly through the strap of his backpack. He doesn’t set it down, just holds it.
Your eye twitches.
“For fucks sake,” you huff, turning towards the kitchen before you can think too hard about why that bothered you so much. “Be normal.”
You immediately move for the coffee pot, needing to do something that didn’t feel like avoiding landmines.
“Coffee?” You call.
“Yeah, sure.” He says as he takes a seat at the breakfast bar, “Do you have that-“
“Why wouldn’t I have the vanilla creamer?” You cut him off. Your tone definitely harsher than intended, but FUCK!
He was being weird. This is his fault.
You’re met with inhumane silence.
“Sorry,” you mumble when you see the way he shrinks. Your therapist told you that you were projecting your insecurities onto Robby. It might have had some validity.
You carefully carry the mug over to the counter and place it in front of him. You both watch as the coffee sloshes in the chipped cup.
“Two sugars and more milk than coffee, right?” You say, avoiding his eyes. You could feel his eyes watching you. Warm and steady in a way that made your skin itch.
God, it pissed you off.
Why? Whatever.
“Yeah,” he nods too quickly, swallowing to try to mediate his suddenly dry throat. His large hands engulf the coffee cup. “Don’t tell anyone though, it’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Okay.” You say immediately, turning back towards the coffee pot. That was a landmine and you had almost fell face first onto it.
Dangerous.
Your eyes dart over to the door of Mason’s nursery. Wake up, please. Instead, you busy yourself with the repetitive nature of making breakfast.
Crack the egg.
Whisk.
Pour into the pan.
Behind you, the barstool creaks softly.
“Would you like some help?”
“No.” You say automatically.
Silence stretches again.
You hear movement from the other side of the kitchen. A cabinet door opens halfway before immediately clicking shut again.
Robby freezes like he’s been caught committing a crime.
Your shoulders tense instinctively before you glance over. He’s standing there awkwardly beside the cabinets, one hand still hovering above the handle.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I was going to grab plates then realized-“ he cuts himself off with a tight shrug.
Realized what?
That this wasn’t his kitchen?
That last night changed something?
That he didn’t know what he was allowed to touch anymore?
The knot in your chest twists painfully.
“What the fuck,” you mutter, turning back to the stove before your expression can betray you. “You know where the plates are.”
For a second, he just looks at you.
Then quietly, “yeah.”
The cabinet door opens again, slower this time.
For a moment, it’s like you’ve fallen into an old rhythm. Robby starts the toast and spreads peanut butter onto the slices, while you scoop the eggs onto the plates. He doesn’t ask anymore.
That should probably bother you more than it does.
Everything is going as well as to be expected until he reaches around you to pop a bottle into the warmer.
Your entire body locks.
The smell of his cologne and soap his first, clean and familiar enough to make something stab sharply beneath your ribs. Heat radiates from his chest for barely a second before he seems to realize what he’s done.
Robby jerks away so fast his elbow knocks against the counter.
“Sorry,” he says immediately.
Again.
God, you were going to lose your fucking mind if he apologized again.
A cry sounds from the nursery. Not a painful one, just one to let you know Mason was awake. You both move to go get him. You both lock eyes for the first time today.
It’s a stand off.
“Fine,” you relent. “Go, I’ll get his breakfast ready.”
Robby disappears behind the nursery door like a man on fire. Meanwhile, you grab Mason’s high chair and the baby food from the cabinet.
You both try to get Mason settled. Hands batting the other out of the way. Robby gives you a weird look when you finally thrust the baby food and spoon at him.
“His pediatrician said it was fine to start him on soft foods,” you say, rolling your eyes as you hop up onto the counter.
Robby turns the tiny spoon over in his hand like it might explode, “Already?”
“He’s four months, not a Victorian orphan.”
His mouth twitches despite himself. “I didn’t know… I missed a lot apparently.”
And there it is again.
That guilt.
You regret softening enough to notice it.
“Well,” you say bristly, “you’re here now, so congratulations. Today’s lesson is applesauce.”
He hums at that and scoops a small amount of applesauce up.
You finish your breakfast before switching with Robby so he can eat his rapidly cooling eggs. Mason immediately starts fussing at the betrayal.
“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “God forbid anyone else eats.”
Without thinking too much of it, you swipe a tiny bit of peanut butter from your toast onto Mason’s lip.
Robby glances up immediately.
“He likes peanut butter?”
“He likes literally everything,” you snort as Mason happily smacks his lips together. “Tiny garbage disposal. He’d eat drywall if I let him.”
Mason lets out an excited squeal that earns him another microscopic swipe.
Point one mommy.
Robby seemed to finally relax enough to eat once Mason seemed content enough to smear applesauce across most of his face instead of actually eating it.
“Good job,” you told your son with a laugh. “You managed to get none of that in your mouth.”
Mason squealed.
“See, he disagrees,” Robby said around a bite of toast.
“He’s good at that. He’d make a great lawyer.” You say dryly.
You reached over with the napkin and whipped a streak of applesauce from Mason’s cheek. He immediately made grabby hands for the toast in Robby’s hand. He turns on those puppy dog eyes you’re sure are genetic.
“Absolutely not,” you say, scooping him from the high chair and peppering his chubby face with kisses.
Mason protested loudly.
“Oh, now you’re starving?” You ask.
He answers with another indignant squeak.
“Drama queen,” Robby laughs.
The sound surprises both of you.
His smile vanishes almost immediately.
Right. He’s the weird one.
“Gets it from his father.”
Robby opened his mouth to argue before Mason lunges for the lapels of his white coat.
Traitor.
You glance at the clock on the wall. Ten after six. Shit.
“Do you mind putting him in the carrier? I’ve got work in twenty.”
You were already backing towards the bedroom before he could answer.
Distance. Good.
“I can always drop him off, you know,” Robby calls.
You freeze halfway through pulling on your scrub top. He was just being helpful. He was always trying to be helpful.
The house was suddenly so quiet you could hear the neighbors moving around next door.
“It’s on my way.”
“Mine too.”
“Michael.”
Robby looks like he wants to argue before thinking better of it.
“Right.”
You rush into the living room and grab the carrier, propping it in your hip.
“Let me-“ you shove his hands away before he can get near the carrier. You both stare at the other, another stand off.
“I’m just trying to-“ he tries to explain with a huff.
“I know.”
“Then why are you looking at me like I suggested arson?”
“Because every time I turn around, you’re trying to do something for me.”
Robby blinks.
“I was offering to help load our son into your car.”
“Exactly.”
Robby’s eyebrows pinch together as he tries to forks words. Then closes it. Then tries again.
“I genuinely don’t know what that means.”
You carry Mason down the multiple flights of stairs and down to the car, Robby on your heels the whole time.
“I switched his daycare.” You say as you snap the carrier into place.
“Oh?”
“St. Mary’s.” You shut the back door. You toss your bag into the passenger seat.
Robby rests his hand on your car door like he had done that rainy night when he had demanded answers.
“At your work?”
“They had an opening.”
His jaw works for a second.
“PTMC’s daycare had openings too.”
You cross your arms, squinting at him.
So?
“St. Mary’s is cheaper.”
“Okay.”
“It’s closer to home.”
“Okay.”
“And I can get there in two minutes if they call me.”
His shoulders sink slightly as he takes a step back from your car.
“That makes sense.”
It did. You’d only be a moment away. It was practical. Everything in your life was practical. That didn’t mean Robby had to like it.
“We’ll see you at pick up,” you grab your door handle. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Okay.”
Mason quickly settled into the new daycare at St. Mary’s. The daycare workers were nice enough. Truthfully, a weight was lifted off of your shoulders knowing he was only minutes away. The downside apparently was having a hidden baby made you hospital gossip.
Between being the transfer resident no one knew much about and Robby’s lunch performance a few days ago, half the hospital seemed convinced your personal life was public property.
Great.
Apparently, there was a betting pool about who Mason’s father was.
Katie, who had somehow appointed herself your unofficial publishist after the infant seizure case a while back, did her best to intercept the rumors before they reached you.
Unfortunately, Katie was only one woman.
“I’ve got those labs you wanted Doc,” she says, bouncing to your side.
“Thanks Katie,” you mutter, already skimming the results as you headed to Exam 4.
You weren’t trying to be standoffish. Robby had a way of turning your baseline level of irritation into a full-time personality trait.
“Well?” Katie asked.
“Well what?”
“You going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try speeding up.
“Hm,” Katie matched your pace.
You shot her the nastiest look you could muster.
Katie beamed.
“Heard we had a new friend down at the daycare,” she tries, standing way too close. Did she know what a personal bubble was?
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” You snap on a pair of gloves.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe from literally everyone?”
Wonderful.
“I went down there during lunch to see my niece," Katie continued, snapping on a pair of gloves she absolutely did not need. “Cute kid by the way.”
“Thank you.” You lean over the patient, a small kid, to palpate her abdomen.
“Very cute.”
You narrow your eyes.
Katie grinned wider as she grabs the iPad to seem like she was assisting.
“The daycare ladies seem to love him.”
“Mmhm.” You glare at her from over the patient.
Possible bowel obstruction. Wouldn’t that be fun?
“And I remember, from the other day, a very handsome doctor dropping off lunch for you the other day.”
“I’d like to run a few more test-“
“Same puppy eyes.”
You nearly walked into the supply cart.
Katie’s eyes light up.
“WAIT!”
“Katie, I’m with a patient-“
“Is it lunch guy baby daddy?”
“I didn't say anything.” You chuck your gloves in the trash and coat your hands in sanitizer.
“LUNCH GUY IS BABY DADDY!”
“Katie.”
She was practically vibrating from excitement. “The betting pool is going to lose its mind!”
“There’s no betting pool.” You shoulder the door open. Usually, you wouldn't pray for a trauma but it would give her something better to do.
“There absolutely is!”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, “I hate this hospital.”
“Aw, come on,” Katie bumped your shoulder. “He’s cute! Well… not as cute as that graying doctor that sat with you at the PEDS seminar.”
“Jack? Ew!” You slam the chart onto the nursing station.
“No, listen! Help a girl out-“ a blush coats her cheeks as she tears up to make her case.
“That’s gross.” You shake your head immediately backing away.
“Doctor-“
“No!” You call as you turn the corner, leaving her to hopefully get back to work.
It’s usually freezing in the hospital. The whole idea being that diseases can’t exist if you freeze them out. It’s got some merit to it, but really it’s just to make you shake harder than your nerves already are.
Robby is supposed to meet you to pick up Mason from daycare.
Here.
In your hospital.
In front of the people who already knew too much about your life.
He’s been in your territory once, and look at the trouble it’s already caused.
Breathe.
Obviously, you would rather jump out of a plane with no parachute than do this.
Your therapist claimed this would be good for you. Then, after hearing your response, had to backtrack and correct it in a way where it was good for Mason.
It is good for Mason.
You knew that.
Two parents were better than one.
That didn’t mean you had to like it.
Still, you had moved Mason’s daycare to St. Mary’s in an attempt to grasp for some control in your quickly spinning life. Maybe because it was closer. Maybe because it was cheaper. Maybe also to shut up the annoying overly pleasant chirps his old daycare used to send constantly.
Were the updates really bad? Or was it just another spotlight on your private life?
Doesn’t matter.
Unfortunately, hospitals operated like oversized high schools with better parking and significantly more student loan debt.
Everyone knew everything.
Or at least they thought they did.
You glance at the clock as your back presses into the wall across from the daycare.
Five more minutes.
Then Robby would walk through the hospital front doors.
Five more minutes until Katie and all the staff spotted him and cashed in their prize money.
Five more minutes until half the staff accidentally found a reason to walk past daycare.
Five more minutes until your life became a spectator sport.
Awesome.
Your phone buzzes.
Robby: Here.
Your stomach drops.
Ridiculous.
You were co-parenting, not diffusing a bomb.
Still, you glance at the door automatically.
Nothing.
The hospital lobby remained exactly as chaotic as it had been thirty seconds ago.
Visitors wandered past, a volunteer pushing a wheelchair, someone dropped a stack of papers near reception.
Then a familiar voice drifted down the hallway.
“… I’m telling you, no one needs that many forms.”
You closed your eyes.
Fuck.
Robby appeared around the corner carrying a coffee carrier in one hand and a half eaten bagel in the other.
A volunteer was laughing at something he said.
A nurse smiled and held the elevator for him.
Traitorous behavior from everyone involved.
The white coat was gone now, leaving him in his black scrubs and stupid hoodie. His hair was mussed like he’s been running his hands through it all day.
He looked tired.
He also looked entirely too comfortable for a man walking into an active gossip situation.
Then he spotted you.
The soft smile appeared immediately, effortless and automatic.
Like he hadn’t just spent the last twenty-four hours making things painfully awkward.
Like he hadn’t almost kissed you in your son’s nursery.
Like he hadn’t spend breakfast apologizing every five minutes.
Just happy.
Your chest did something painfully unhelpful.
“No.”
Robby slowed as he reached you. He pops a coffee out of the holder for you.
“What?”
“You can’t smile at me like that.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” You huff as you take the coffee like a lifeline.
“Then why are you saying it?”
Because, unfortunately, neither of you knew how to be normal anymore. You’d bring it up in your next therapy session.
“Can we just get Mason?” You don’t wait for an answer as you tuck tail and hurry for the daycare.
Coward.
The daycare was a world of color. Bright clouds adorned the walls, kids played with multicolored blocks, tiny plastic kitchens sat around the abandoned corner. Mason sat in an offensively bright pink chair gnawing on a toy giraffe.
His entire face lit up the second he spotted you.
Both hands shot into the air as he screeches in greeting.
Well, it wasn’t actual words yet, but close enough.
“Hi buddy!” You crouch down just as Mason starts kicking his legs excitedly.
Then his attention shifts.
Brown eyes lock onto the man behind you. The squealing somehow doubles in volume.
The daycare worker behind him laughed.
“Oh good! I’m assuming this is dad.”
You both froze.
Mason, however, was practically vibrating in his chair.
“Yep,” Robby says after half a beat, offering the daycare worker a tight smile. He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder as he extended a hand. “Michael Robinavitch.”
The daycare worker shook it.
“It’s a good thing you’re both here. There are some forms I need you both to fill out.” She quickly hurries off before either of you could respond.
Silence.
You focused very hard on unbuckling Mason from his chair.
Robby focused very hard on Mason.
Neither of you acknowledged the fact that no one had questioned it.
No one asked who he was. No one had looked confused. Just, dad. Like it was obvious.
It probably was.
“Hey, little man,” Robby said, crouching beside you. “How was school?”
Mason immediately launched into an enthusiastic stream of nonsense.
“Really?” Robby asked seriously.
More babbling.
“No way.”
Another squeal.
You rolled your eyes, “he’s lying to you.”
“Is he?”
“Yes.”
Robby nodded thoughtfully.
“That tracks. He does seem dishonest.”
Mason shrieked with delight.
Drama queen.
“You lyin’, Mason?” Robby laughs as he scoops Mason up.
Mason immediately grabbed a fistfull of hoodie strings and shoved them directly towards his mouth.
“See?” Robby said. “Evidence tampering.”
Somehow, Robby managed to balance Mason in one arm while carrying the coffee container in the other.
Effortlessly.
Like he’d been doing it forever.
It had taken you weeks to learn how to juggle a baby and everything else with him. Robby had been a father for barely a month.
Fucking stupid.
“I’ve got the forms here,” the daycare attendant chirped, setting a stack of papers down on a comically small table.
You were already moving.
“I’ll handle it.”
The attendant blinked, “so you’ll both be signing-“
“Yep,” Robby answered easily from behind you.
Your fingers tightened on the pen.
Of course he would.
That was normal.
Fathers signed daycare forms.
Mason chose that moment to smack Robby on the chest.
“Ba!”
“Thank you,” Robby told him gravely. “I thought so too.”
You have half a mind to tell both of them to wait outside.
You dropped into the tiny plastic chair and instantly regretted it. Your knees hit your chin.
Across from you, Robby tried to fill out forms one handed.
“Middle name?” He asked.
“You know his middle name.”
“I know his middle name.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because I’m making conversation.”
“Don’t.”
Mason immediately spotted the half-eaten bagel still sticking out of the paper sleeve in Robby’s hand.
His entire body lunged.
“Oh no,” Robby laughed. “Absolutely not.”
Mason grabbed it anyway. A tiny chunk tore free on Mason’s fist.
You barely looked up from your chunk of paperwork.
“He won?”
“He always wins.”
Mason immediately shoved the bread towards his mouth.
Robby hesitated for all of half a second. Breakfast flashed through his mind.
The peanut butter.
You laughing.
Mason smacking his lips together demanding more.
“He likes literally everything.”
“Tiny garbage disposal,” you mutter.
Robby huffed a laugh. “Fine. One bite.”
Robby swiped a microscopic bit of peanut butter from the bagel onto his finger, letting Mason gum on it.
You signed another form without looking up.
Neither of you thought twice about it.
The forms seem to take ages. Every time you thought you were finished, another page appeared.
Emergency contacts.
Authorized pick ups.
Medical releases.
Finally, the three of you escaped daycare and started down the hallway towards the exit. Or at least attempted to.
“Doctor!”
You pretended not to hear it.
“Doctor!”
Katie’s cheery voice carried across the linoleum floor.
God hated you.
“Faster,” you mutter, quickening your pace.
“I have longer legs than you.” Robby huffed.
Mason was unusually quiet from where his cheek was pressed into Robby’s shoulder. He rubbed his face against the fabric of Robby’s hoodie.
Once.
Then again.
You frowned. “What is he doing?”
Robby glanced down, “Probably tired.”
You don’t have time to overthink it as Katie’s bouncy ponytail stops in front of you. “Doctor!” She beams. “Oh my goodness, and you must be Dr. Robinavitch.”
“Robby is fine,” he mutters, trying to keep you both moving.
“You should swing by the nurses’ station-“
You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “Katie.”
“What? Everyone thought lunch guy was a myth.” She exclaims like that made this whole situation better.
“I hate this hospital.” You groan as you tug your bag higher onto your shoulder.
Robby snorts, “As much as the Pitt?”
Katie points at the three of you then Mason, her mouth falling in an overdramatic gasp. “Okay, wow. He really does look like Dr. Robinavitch.”
“Katie.” You scold.
“Right,” she seems to straighten, “Professionalism.”
She immediately fails at “professionalism” as she wiggles her finger at Mason. “Hi, buddy.”
Mason doesn’t smile back. Weird.
“Aw,” she coos, “Someone is tired.”
You look over at Mason. He was still rubbing his cheek. Not lazily.
Persistently.
His little hand drags across his face before he buries it in Robby’s shoulder. He lets out a wheezing cough.
A knot forms in your stomach.
No.
No, that wasn’t there before.
“Mason?”
Robby shift him high, “Hey, little man.”
Mason turns his head towards his father. That’s when you see it.
A cluster of tiny red bumps around his mouth.
Maybe drool rash.
Maybe from rubbing his face.
Maybe-
“Robby.”
Something in your voice makes him look to you immediately. That’s when his eyes lock on Mason. You reach for Mason’s chin and gently turn his face towards the light.
The bumps extend across one cheek now. They seem darker now.
Angry.
Raised.
The air in the room seems to get heavy.
No.
No no no no.
Not him.
Mason lets out another wheezy cough.
“What did he eat?” Your voice comes out sharper than intended.
Robby’s eyebrows pinch together.
“Nothing abnormal-“
You see it happen. The exact second his face changes. He sees them too.
Not drool rash.
Hives.
“Oh, fuck.”
You both move. Feet pounding against the floor as you rush to the emergency department. Katie startles as Robby shoves past her.
The emergency department was three halls away.
Too far.
Farther than it had ever been before.
“MOVE!”
Heads turn as the doors to the trauma bay are kicked open. Mason’s set down on the gurney as the medical team swarms him.
Mason coughs again.
Not that sound.
You’ve heard that sound before.
And for the first time since he walked back into your life, Robby looked scared.
The air leaves your lungs on a harsh woosh. It’s like you're witnessing everything from outside your own body. All of the horrific traumas you’ve seen, and this is the one that takes you out?
Fucking move!
You faintly hear someone call for respiratory. Someone pulling supplies. Someone holding Robby back.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Every instinct in your body screams at you to move.
“Weight?”
You know his weight.
Of course you know his weight.
Why can’t you remember it?
“Possible allergen?”
You can’t answer. The room is too bright. Too cold. Your son shouldn’t be in a cold room. Why can’t you move?
Strong arms wrap around you, suddenly your feet aren’t on the ground anymore. The doors shut behind you.
No.
They can’t do that.
They can’t close the doors.
You’re a god damned doctor.
Mason is in there.
Mason is in there.
“Hey,” you don’t hear it. Two warm hands grip the sides of your face forcing your eyes away from the doors. “Hey, he’s going to be okay.”
Your eyes meet those brown eyes. Those sad sad brown eyes.
Mason’s eyes
No.
Michael’s.
“He’s going to be okay,” it sounded like you were underwater.
You faintly hear a voice that sounded like your own say, “Doctor’s can’t lie.”
“I’m not,” his voice cracks, “Baby, I’m not.”
A cry you would know everywhere sounds from trauma room three.
Mason.
Thank fuck.
The sound only lasts for a second before a doctor steps out, pulling off her gloves. You recognize her, one of the attendings.
Good.
“We’re going to keep him for observation.” She says, “the reaction responded well.”
Responded well.
Stable.
Observation.
Words you used everyday.
Words you had said to parents a thousand times.
Words that meant absolutely nothing.
The attending says something else, but you don’t hear it.
Beside you, Robby’s grip tightened on your hand. Neither of you let go.
You’d spent years learning how to save children.
Countless shifts, boards, sacrifices, and missed holidays. Every awful thing.
Mason was twenty feet away.
Twenty feet.
Mason had two parents standing twenty feet away.
That’s all.
Twenty fucking feet.
You’d moved his daycare across town because being closer was supposed to matter.
You’d picked the hospital daycare because you could get there in two minutes.
Two minutes.
Turns out twenty feet wasn’t close enough either.
All this time you had been trying to protect him. And none of it mattered.
Because the worst thing to ever happen to him happened while you were holding the other end of a pen signing daycare paperwork.
You spend years learning how to save children.
Standing outside trauma room three, it didn’t mean jack shit.
He’d been sleeping too deeply, and you… Yeah, you had always been good at being quiet. The mattress beside him dipped ever so slightly, your soft footsteps disappearing into the hallway. It was only the faint feeling that something had shifted that finally pulled Ryland awake.
He rubbed his eyes and looked around. Dim lighting filled the dormitory, just like it always did whenever the Hail Mary switched into night mode. The low hum of machinery echoed through the ship, steady and familiar, nothing alarming. Certainly nothing serious enough to make you get out of bed.
Still, Grace listened for another moment before pushing himself upright. Somewhere on the floor he found his glasses, then tugged on a pair of sweatpants and headed after you. The ship was quiet. Terrifyingly quiet. Without a word, he checked the control room first, then the lab, but there was no sign of you anywhere.
“Hey?” he called softly. “Where are you?”
Nothing. Silence.
Now he was genuinely worried. He walked the corridor again, more alert this time, listening for even the smallest movement or sound. Then his eyes caught the storage room door, slightly ajar. Ryland pushed it open further.
And saw you.
You were sitting against the wall with your knees pulled tightly to your chest, arms wrapped around them so hard it looked painful. And your eyes…
“Oh no.”
You looked up immediately at the sound of his voice, glassy-eyed and full of panic.
“I’m fine,” you said instantly.
Maybe you could’ve convinced him if your hands hadn’t been shaking so badly. Ryland slipped inside and crouched down in front of you without hesitation.
“No,” he said gently. “No, you’re not.”
Your breathing hitched again.
“I just… I wanted to calm down first,” you whispered helplessly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you…”
“Hey, hey.” His voice softened immediately. “Don’t think about me right now. Look at me.”
You tried. Your eyes filled with even more tears, your lips trembling before you looked away again. Ryland’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs.
“What happened?” he asked carefully.
“I don’t know.” The answer came out painfully honest. “Something woke me up… just this weird feeling, and then…” You sucked in a sharp breath. “Everything hit me at once. I didn’t want you to see me like this. Like I’m… broken.”
Something heavy dropped into Grace’s stomach.
“Jesus,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “I would never think that about you.”
Because he understood exactly what you meant.
The ship. The mission. The isolation. The stress.
All of it together was a dangerous combination, and eventually people cracked under that kind of pressure. You’d been strong for too long. Been the support he needed for too long. This day had been coming. When his warm hands finally touched yours, you flinched like a frightened animal. God, that hurt to see.
“Can I?” he asked quietly. “Is this okay?”
You nodded. Your fingers tightened around his almost immediately, like you were clinging to the only stable thing left in your world.
“We’re gonna breathe together, okay?” he said softly. “I know it sounds stupid, but scientifically speaking, steady breathing actually works. Can you do that for me?”
Your voice was so quiet he barely heard it. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Yes, you can,” he assured you instantly. “I’ve got you.”
Another tiny nod.
Ryland inhaled slowly through his nose, deep into his lungs. He noticed you trying to copy him, a little too fast at first, but you did it. When he exhaled through parted lips, you followed again. And again. And again.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “Seriously.”
“Ryland…” Your voice cracked. “I think I’m dying.”
He shifted even closer, close enough that all you could really see was him. Close enough to pull your focus away from the walls around you, from the endless emptiness outside the ship.
“You’re not dying,” he promised gently. “Your body’s panicking. Your brain’s trying to protect you. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
Something flickered across your face then - relief mixed with exhaustion, with surrender. You trusted him completely because, right now, you didn’t know what else to do. Your hands were still gripping his tightly. You were still trying to breathe.
“This’ll pass, okay?” he murmured. “The worst part’s already behind you.”
“We can stay here as long as you need.”
“Although our backs are probably gonna hate us later.”
“Maybe we should file a complaint with mission control. Unsafe working conditions. We deserve compensation.”
The broken laugh that escaped you was probably the most beautiful sound Ryland had heard in weeks.
“There she is,” he said with a relieved smile. “If I can still make you laugh, we’re gonna be okay.”
You tried to smile back. God, you tried so hard, but your muscles still wouldn’t cooperate. You didn’t know how long you stayed there on that cold floor with Ryland beside you. Not once did he say he was tired. Not once did he tell you to pull yourself together or act like this was ridiculous. His quiet, steady voice kept grounding you.
And when you finally closed your eyes and let your head rest against the wall, he felt your body slowly start to unclench.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered eventually.
Ryland looked at you, genuinely startled. “What? No. Don’t say that.”
“I woke you up and…”
“You had a panic attack,” he interrupted softly. “You were alone in a storage closet.” His expression gentled even more. “I’m glad I found you.”
You looked at him then, but after a second it was Grace who broke eye contact first. Like there’d been something too honest in his own words. Something dangerously intimate. Something that might reveal more than he was ready to say. Still, after a moment, he spoke again.
“You don’t have to disappear whenever things get bad, okay?” he said quietly. “I’m here for you.”
Your fingers tightened around his again, and he felt it instantly. A simple gesture. One that said more than words ever could.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered. “You will.”
And then he did something that felt both completely natural and somehow surprising all at once. Before he could overthink it, Ryland lifted your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. The second he realized what he’d just done, his brain short-circuited completely. Instinct, maybe.
But when he looked back at you, fear flickering behind his blue eyes, he didn’t find judgment there. You were looking at him gently now, the corners of your lips lifting into the faintest smile.
“Thank you, Ryland,” you whispered.
“Next time, wake me up, deal?” he said softly. “I don’t want you going through this alone.”
You nodded, but then your teeth caught your lower lip hesitantly.
“Am I…” Your voice faltered. “Am I weak?”
The question had clearly been haunting you for a while. Ryland felt the weight of it the second it left your mouth.
“No,” he answered immediately. “No, you’re not.”
He leaned back slightly against the wall beside you.
“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and it suddenly hits me where we are. What’s around us. And it’s overwhelming. I get it.” He glanced at you carefully. “But here, on this ship, we have each other, right? We’re not robots. We’re not machines. Human brains and bodies just… sometimes they…”
“Break,” you finished quietly.
Ryland nodded. Today it had been you. Tomorrow it could just as easily be him.
“Ryland?”
He looked over at you.
“I’m glad you’re here,” you admitted softly. “You make me feel like I’m not losing my mind.”
He smiled at that. Because he’d been thinking the exact same thing.
Having you here beside him felt like some impossible stroke of luck — like the universe had decided to give him one miraculous thing in the middle of all this disaster. Someone who had somehow become so important to him without him even noticing when it happened.
One day, he’d tell you. One day, maybe he’d finally find the courage.
But for now, he’d just hold onto moments like this for as long as the two of you were willing to let them exist.
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Simon 'Ghost' Riley who has never touched alcohol in his adult life. The even idea of it terrifies him, becoming his father. Regardless, he still goes to the bar with his team, usually just sits with a Dr. Pepper and ignores the anxiety.
Simon sat at the back table, stirring his drink mindlessly, watching Johnny try and sweet talk the bartender into a free shot. You were sitting next to Johnny, laughing, smiling, Simon's partner for a few years now.
Simon adored you. His bird, the one who always got his favorite snacks without asking, the one who got him something beside a gun holster for Christmas, the one who knew his birthday of the top of your head.
And he saw you holding a beer.
The same beer his father would drink. The same one that had been smashed over his head, the same one thrown at him. And you were drinking it. And you were smiling. Suddenly that smile didn't feel as beautiful.
When Johnny finally got his shot (which you paid for) you looked over. And you saw Simon, sitting in his chair. The straw crumpled in his hand. You could see the tremors from here. You put your drink down and walked over.
He could smell it on you. That scent that Simon had dreaded for his whole life. And it was on you.
Simon couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the sight of you, so he did the only thing he knew worked.
