guilty as sin

it’s a been a long week. your body is completely exhausted from your incoming period; shaky and drained, your emotions totally heightened. all you wanted was for sammy to come home and just… lay into you– like really give it to you before you both cuddled up and slept the wednesday away.

dishes were cleaned, leftovers away, the house locked up for the night by the time sammy gets home. it was a flurry of movement throughout your warm, amber lit home. standing from the couch, you curl and uncurl your toes excitedly as the door jingles with sammy’s key.

you can hear the rush of blood in your ears, tongue feeling swollen as the nerve endings on your lobes roar to life. itchy, itchy, itchy. your body is yearning for sammy as you try and cover your pout.

stepping into your shared home, sammy finally sighs in relief at the warm vanilla scent & the sight in front of him. his girl, his sweet baby, standing at the couch waiting for him, cozy sweats & t-shirt making her the picture of comfort.

fuck, he feels too far away already. his green eyes catch on the slight shudder of your body at the sight of him, too.

“hi baby” he tiredly supplies, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door and slipping his shoes off. truthfully, it takes everything in you not to fall to your knees and help him. not to press your cheek against the side of his knee and hug at his calf while he scratches at your scalp. another shudder, his poor baby.

“what’s goin on honey?” sammy coos, voice light and airy as he makes his way over to you. his large palms cradle your cheeks, his own red from being overworked.

you don’t want him to worry, it’s a torment to think that you have caused him more stress just because you’re feeling needy. he doesn’t need more expectations, right?

so you nod and plaster a smile, nuzzling into his hand with a cheery “‘m okay! just really missed you sammy!”

it’s not a lie, you did really miss him. especially when you were wearing his t-shirt and bucking into your fingers unsuccessfully an hour earlier. there was no weight, no hold on top of you that sammy’s thick body always provided.

his thumb runs softly under your eye as he agrees, “okay,” soft and sweet. and the rest of the night goes without a hitch.

dinner, though you are essentially sitting on top of him, is finished pretty quickly.

because sammy sees right through you, always has. it’s no surprise that you, very quickly, find your knees touching your earrings only 15 minutes later.

and it’s filthy. sammy’s tummy warm against the backs of your thighs as pushes in slowly, your toes once again curling and uncurling. his hand stabilizes his lower back a bit, as he wraps the other underneath your knee. “keep ‘em spread. atta girl. good girl, baby.”

it’s all so much, the rocking of your gorgeous wooden bedframe against the wall, the little bead of sweat sliding down sammy’s forehead, the incessant squelching of you & him, the sound of puffy, soft skin slapping. if you weren’t so fucked out, you’d reach out to crush him to your chest in a hug.

his lips are bitten, gel loosening out of his hair as it first happens. “so wet, too fuckin’ wet baby hang on, ah fuck.” he babbles, trying to slip his cock back through your folds as you whine. your chest feels so heavy, the room feeling smaller as you dig your nails into his planted wrist; needing him to feel stable.

he finds his rhythm again, wet plaps & wiggled hips pressing up into your belly. both hands underneath your knees, you’re a total mess, whining and squealing “sammysammysammy” as his speed picks up. puffy cunt sucking him in, binding him to you.

sammy’s own whines pick up “fuck, doin’ so good, so so good mmmm” as he spreads you further. again, the loss of his thick cock causes a loud gasp to escape you.

this time, he wordlessly pumps himself quickly, tapping the tip against your weepy clit before stuffing himself back in as you claw at him.

gritted teeth, you’re almost too loud as you beg “sammy don’t stop, fuckin’ me so good sammy please!” your eyes squeeze shut, so so close as he yanks you forward with two strong hands on your hips. the metal of his silver watch digs into your skin as he moves to lay on top of you, sandwiching your legs between your torsos.

again, the dreaded, agonizing feeling of loss. his cock comes sliding out, and sammy initially chuckles before he looks up at you. it’s the final straw before a long, menstrual cycle.

you’re let out a hysterical cry, hands shaking as you desperately try and stuff him back inside of you. chanting in bratty delirium “no no no!”

he belongs inside, want him inside, need him inside.

“b-baby, hey, hey. whatsa matter princess?” he stops, sitting back up to pull you up with him. that same, comforting coo that makes you feel even emptier right now. you don’t move though, dumb and needy for your man. your man.

“oh god sammy i just fucking need you” you sob, having sammy help sit you up for more air in your lungs.

lightly blowing cold air on your face, he nods along to your sobbing complaints and fights the urge to tuck at his cock. a part of him loves when you cry, and it’s especially doing it for him that you’re crying over a 3 second loss of his cock in your cunt.

frantically you weep, “it’s just been such a long day, and i’m getting my period, and your shift is so long, and i’ve missed you so much, and i’m so tired, and i wanna cum so bad, and i want you to cum in me, and my heart hurts i want it so bad, and i-“

shushing you, sammy’s heart nearly shatters at your need. it’s so basic, so primal, it feels like your chemical make-up could’ve never existed without him filling you every. single. day.

“lotta big feelings, it’s alright, okay i’ll help you. let your sammy help you.” he tuts, laying you back down as your hands stretch to grab him. “too far sammy” “okay, okay, i got you. i have you, ‘s okay.”

sitting back on his haunches, sammy’s cock stands so proudly that you can barely look at it. sniffling and whining, you don’t even recognize yourself as you plead “oh god sammy please” “shhh, ‘m comin, it’s all good”

pulling your hips flush against his, your thighs are thrown over his own as he slides in again. chubby fingers pumping the base until he’s seated so comfortably in you that you’re huffing in relief.

slow fucking, that’s sammy’s favorite. the kind where he can feel the intrinsic chill you get when his tip kisses your cervix. the kind where he can hear your huffs and pouty sobs from how good it feels from the movement and simple knowledge that sammy is as close as he physically can be.

“never gonna slip out again, okay?” he huffs pushing into you in a grind, his hands pressing your arms down into your sides as you tremble.

there’s something so special about your husband seeing your need to let go, and leaving no room for you to do anything but take it. take him. the thought alone has both of you spiraling.

mushy & sweet, like your love for sammy, your cunt swallows him. over and over and over. and sammy finds himself collapsing over top of you. tummy pressed into yours, big biceps wrapping around your head to cradle you as you wail.

“im givin it- i’m givin it to you baby. fuck! milkin’ me dry, ‘s all for you, ‘s all my love” he huffs, his own eyes squeezing shut as he whispers into your ear.

soon the sobs turn to near screams, your hand almost pounding on his back in pleasure. “i love you! sammy, sammy i love you!”

his hips stutter, speeding up his thrusts as his mouth hangs open. breath after breath, his cock keeps coming “i love you baby. never leaving this sweet pussy. never ever, oh my god. full ‘a me forever i promise, always gonna keep you filled up. c’mon baby cum, cum for daddy, that’s it.”

sammy’s gentle voice sends you over the edge, a slobbery open mouth sob leaving your lips as you clutch him closer to you. “that’s it. ‘s good, so good. oh fuck, i’m cumming, so wet.. fuck-fuck!” he shudders, spilling into you and laying his full weight on top of you.

“Hey!” said Samira falling at your side at the counter.

You were still too distracted by the two to even tear your gaze away and look at her. “Hey.”

Samira followed your eyeline. “You're staring, you know that?”

You nodded.

Robby rubbed at the side of his face as his cheeks flushed, Noelle shifted her weight onto her other heeled foot- apparently getting herself comfortable.

“Who is that, again?” asked Doctor Mohan.

“Noelle. She's from insurance.”

Samira nodded. “Noelle from insurance. Annnd do we like Noelle, from insurance?”

At that you realised just how transparent your glares might have been.

“Oh, you know,” you mumbled, finally looking back down to your tablet that had grown dark in the absence of movement. “It's our job to like everyone.”

Santos passed by you then, dropping herself down into your favourite chair in exhaustion. “Not everyone.”

“So we're all having a great day, I see,” you commented, sarcastically. However the sardonic tone of your voice was over-saturated with a loud laugh.

Your head practically snapped up to see Noelle laughing at something Robby had said. Even his face was scrunched up at his joke. You watched as Noelle's hand darted to his bicep, playfully hitting him in a way that could only be recognised as flirting.

You watched as Robby looked down to her hand on him and then he looked up, finding you and finding your watchful gaze. Only then did the pink in his cheeks subside and the wrinkles of amusement die.

“Didn't they have a thing before you and him got together?” asked Santos.

You sighed. “Yes, they did, thank you, Trinity.”

“Hey, just trying to be helpful.”

“Save it for the patients,” you said.

Robby took one step in your direction but you'd already dismissed yourself from Santos and Mohan, walking the ward like it was a battle field.

But you could hear your boyfriends heavy boots close behind you.

“Don't do that,” he said, calling after you.

“Do what? See a patient?”

“It's not what you think,” he said.

“Of course it's not,” you said, trying your best to be indifferent.

You knew about Noelle and Robby's history, just as you knew about his and Heathers, and his and the pathologist from upstairs, and the one from ortho. You knew and you understood, heck you'd even been around to joke about with Landon. Robby's famous seven-week itch.

Rumour had it before he finally got to hold your hand and kiss you whenever he liked he'd been trying to nail you down for years, but you weren't sure how much you believed.

It had been nine months, maybe closer to ten since you and Robby had officially started seeing each other. It was the real boyfriend-girlfriend deal where you could call each other at any moments of the day, could get take out together and discuss the boring things together.

Yet, you did none of that.

Robby and you didn't talk.

You fucked- but only each other. You worked on cases together- strictly professional. On the days where you were desperate there was an on-call room Robby could book out and steal time away with you.

But you didn't remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him.

“It's not,” said Robby again.

“Of course it's not.”

Robby sighed, falling closer behind you. “Well, it doesn't really sound like you believe me.”

“I believe you,” you said. “Do I believe Noelle...”

“Oh, c'mon,” Robby chuckled, like the very idea of them was ridiculous. Like the two of you didn't begin where they ended. “You seriously gonna be hung up on that?”

“Don't,” you warn, shaking your head.

You reached for an exam room door, where a sixteen year old boy was complaining of migraines but Robby grabbed your wrist and stirred you away.

“You wanna argue, not here,” he said.

“I don't want to argue.”

Robby led you out to the ambulance bay. Any nurses stealing a couple minutes of peace quickly diverted back in and even ambulances seemed to divert away. He let go of you, standing away and folding his arms over his chest, defensive. “So come on, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You're mad because I was talking to Noelle- about a case, might I add,” he said. There was nothing soft in his tone, nothing that calmed your nerves on edge. He said it all like it was a joke that he already knew the punchline to.

You rubbed at your temple. “You can talk to Noelle about cases, of course you can-”

“- Oh, thank you, glad I have your permission,” he chuckled.

“Can you just not be a dick about this, for once!” you snapped.

Robby's brows rose to his head, almost shocked at your snap at him. He held out his hands. “Okay, I'm not being a dick.”

“You are, and it's like sometimes you don't even realise.”

His hands were worn with the mornings patients and you could see the stress he tried to hide away as he wiped up and down his face.

You took a deep breath. “Robby, if you don't want this to work out all you have to do is say.” You said it, un-sure if you even meant it. Un-sure that you could ever go back to who you were before meeting Robby, let alone sharing in his life. In the small moments grabbing take out together and eating it on his sofa. In the mornings where you both naturally woke up early enough to just admire each other before you had to get to work.

Robby chuckled dryly, hands on his hips. “Oh my god, all of this because I spoke to another woman?”

“Because you laughed with her like you haven't with me for weeks!” you argued.

For once, Robby was silent.

You told yourself after the seven week mark that it would be any day now, that he'd tell you you were better off friends; colleagues. Every day and week it didn't come, every month he got more comfortable in your bed you figured you'd easily get rid of him in your life as easily as you welcomed him.

Now you stood across from him in the early morning light of the ambulance bay knowing if he left you now you'd never get back on your feet again.

“I see the way Noelle looks at you, how the others from upstairs do to,” you begin.

Robby shook his head, something earnest in his gaze. “They're not- they don't-”

“- I know, I know,” you said, cutting him off with a grimace of a smile. “ ”I know you don't love them, Robby. I'm just not sure you love me either.”

As un-cultured as you were with your own relationships you weren't sure when the right time to say I love you was. You knew Santos had said it to Garcia drunk one night and woke up with regret pinning her to the bed. You knew Dana and Benji had said it to each other a week in. You knew you loved Robby before you even kissed him.

Robby looked down to his boots, shaking his head. “That's not fair.”

Your heart pinched. “I know I love you, Robby. But I can't watch all these woman over you and-and wonder.”

“Your insecurities are not my fault!” Robby snapped.

You knew he didn't mean it, or hoped he didn't. You knew in the very small arguments you'd had that he spoke without thinking and came grovelling back.

Maybe it was worse this time because you knew it was the truth. You knew these women- his ex something's- didn't get to see Robby in the early mornings and be the last thing he spoke to at night. You knew Robby wasn't inviting them into his self, but he wasn't pushing them away either.

They'd all been quick, snaps of bands on wrists. You were supposed to be something more.

Maybe you weren't.

Biting on the inside of your cheek, you felt the familiar burning in your chest, rising up to your neck.

“Okay.” You held yourself tight, heading past him and to the doors that were already welcoming you back.

Robby was hot on your heels, quicker even as he pushed himself ahead of you. “No, no, no- hey- wait, no I-I didn't mean that.” His eyes were wide, hands held out in front of you, not quite clasped together, pointing to the sky but pleading none the less.

“We shouldn't talk about this now, Robby-”

“- I- we... honey, please.”

He stood in between you and the doors. Beyond him you saw the chaos of the room, the charts being passed, the labs being reported. The world still turned.

Robby's hands fell to your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. “Let me- jus' let me-let me-”

“Hey! You two!”

Robby didn't jump apart from you, he squeezed your arms tighter as the two of you looked back to Dana who rushed out, wisps of grey hair falling around her. “What is it?”

“There's been a crash down the docks, all hands on deck!”

You thought you knew chaos, having seen all sorts of terror and oddities in the Pitt but the scenes at the dock were nothing like it. A complication with a boat, an explosion- small enough- rattled ferries and had them crashing into one another like terrible scene of dominoes.

Heck, you weren't even sure if the docks were safe to be standing on.

There were fire trucks and ambulances that didn't just respond to PTMC but Presby too. Police were corning off the area, talking to any witnesses but everyone blurred in one as you weaved in and out of them.

You'd been sent as an emergency respondent thanks to how level-headed and sturdy you were in the Pittfest. You still remembered how Robby nominated you as well as Whitaker to go with some from surgery, his eyes dark on you, a trusting nod passed before you were handed a jacket and pushed into an ambulance.

You'd already pulled a sheet over three bodies, one of them too small for your liking.

“Any for me?” asked a first emergency responder, you think his name was Spencer, catching it in the rig you caught a ride in. “We can take two.”

“Yeah!” you yelled and led him away. “This guy, approximately in his thirties, head lack to the right, needs to go to surgery immediately. This woman, late twenties, lost consciousness, possible pelvic bleed but she's stabilised, need's a ultrasound.”

“Got it!”

You'd gone through almost all the gloves you had in your pockets. There was blood seeping into your scrub uniform at your knees. You'd forgone your coat to a little girl who took an ambulance back with her mother, trembling from the cold.

A steady, firm hand settled between your shoulder blades.

“How you holding on, Slugger?”

Your heart soared in relief when you recognised Jack's voice, felt his steady hand and saw his easy smile in the middle of all the pain.

“Jack, thank god. Are you here with your team?” you asked, eying the uniform he was in.

“Yeah, we came to secure the area, doing everything I can to help,” he said, the two of you nudging your way through the people, stepping over the rubble and pools of water or blood. “How you holding up?”

“Lost three,” you told him.

Jack looked down at you, the weight of his gaze always heavy. “And how many you saved, huh? Focus on that number.”

The wind picked up, sending a chill over your bones.

“Hey, where's your jacket?” asked Jack, a frown taking over his features.

You chuckled. “Probably half way to Presby by now, think we've handed off all the traumas PTMC can take.”

Jack tutted and shook his head aside. “I reckon they've got one more in them.”

You didn't know how you and Jack had got so close, somewhere along the lines of hand-offs and covering night shifts you just always gravitated toward each other, working well and saving lives. Every daring procedure you'd taken was with him over your shoulder only for him to go and boast about you to Robby later.

Jack led you to Robby, for that you always had to be thankful.

“Hey! I've got a guy seizing over here!”

With your case in hand the two of you rushed off.

The man seemed middle-aged with no obvious wound to him as you and Jack took either side. The man was at the edge of the docks, the crashing of the waves fighting against you as you worked to stablilse him.

Jack steadied him. “Check if there's any medication on him! It might be a disorder!”

You checked, coming up empty pocketed. You fumbled in your bag and tried your pockets before finding the vial and clean needle. “Pushing diazepam!”

With five cc's in his seizing slowed to dull twitches.

“We need a back board and neck brace,” said Jack, looking around to try and flag down anyone.

Nobody was catching your eyes. This close to the water you were out of the way of most of the chaos.

“Go!” you told Jack. “I'll stay with him, make sure he doesn't sieze again.”

Jack's brows pinched together for a second. “You sure?”

You nodded. Your hands remained on your patient, feeling his tremors and already timing his pulse with your watch. “I've got it, go!”

In hind sight you should have thought about the implications. You'd been grabbed and yelled at and spat at in the ED by less sever patients but once you'd been attacked by a man who just woke up from a seizure, dazed and confused and naming you his enemy.

Robby had never been so close to murder.

It took weeks for the bruises to go down, for your hand to heal properly from the fall and you were on bed rest for a week.

You knew what it meant to be alone with a patient, but sometimes you supposed it couldn't be helped.

The diazepam should have helped- you've seen it help- but soon enough the man started twitching, slow at first, before it started to fit and his whole body moved.

He was a strong man. You weren't.

“It's okay, sir- sir!” you threw your weight against him to hold him still, wonder what you can do to stop him biting down on his tongue with the little equipment you had.

The man was mumbling to himself, thrashing violently.

“C'mon Jack, c'mon-”

It only took a wide sweep of the mans arm to send you hurtling back and crashing into the icy water.

The sky was darkening by the time Robby counted off his thirtieth patient of the day. Twenty-five of them had been from the incident at the docks. Only one he couldn't save, two sent up to the OR.

He counted the patients, counted the hours that ticked by, counted every ambulance that came by not carrying you. He'd expected you back by now, expected to have a little piece of mind with seeing you back in his eyeline.

Robby's heart was being squeezed progressively as the day went on, ever since he'd snapped and said words he never even meant.

Every second, passing from patient to patient and tearing off gloves to replace them with clean ones he checked his phone for any update from you.

Nothing.

You must have been busy down there.

But just three ambulances ago Whitaker returned saying he lost sight of you practically immediately.

So where the hell were you?

“Hey, Dana-” he called, rounding on the nurses station.

She looked as dishevelled as he felt, wisps of hair, dark circles under her eyes.

“Can you get a hold of transport, ask where the hell is my resident.”

“I just got off the phone with them, Robby-” she reached over and placed a hand on his, the one that had been tapping relentlessly. “She's on her way in now.”

Before Robby could even wonder why Dana had to hold his hand to tell him, why her eyes were glassed over and her voice trembled to tell him the doors bust open.

“Robby!” Jack yelled out.

He turned, catching sight of his old friend, the greying hair damp and sticking to his skin. He was half dressed in SWAT gear, his jacket discarded and bits of tinfoil falling from his shoulders. Jack was set over a gurney, hammering down on a chest and going in for CPR the old fashioned way.

“What happened? You fall in-”

Robby got to the other side of the gurney and breath caught in his chest.

“She's been down thirty- thirty-five minutes, I dunno, man,” said Jack as he continued hammering down on your chest.

It was you. Blue in the face and eyes closed, droplets of water at your lashes. Your hair was turning to ice fanned out underneath you. He'd been running his hand through your hair just that morning, had he not. There was a blanket, maybe two, thrown over you but your body only reacted to the thumping Jack delivered on your chest, pinching your nose to breath down your open mouth.

This morning you'd been warm, so warm, with a leg thrown over his hips in attempts to keep him in your bed. And he'd been close, so close to burying himself in your warmth.

He didn't even have to touch you to know you were cold.

“I found her- in the water- pulled her out-” gasped Jack as he continued compressions.

“What do you mean in the water?” asked Robby, surprising himself by how calm he sounded.

“She- she fell, or-or something, I dunno man-”

“You don't know?” he snapped. “Why isn't she bagged?”

“We ran out,” said the paramedic pushing you in.

“You ran out?!”

“Robby- Robby!” Dana's hands were on his chest, keeping him at bay before Robby even knew what he was going to do.

Robby shook her off. “What's open?”

“Trauma two just got cleaned up-”

He grabbed the gurney and pushed you into the room. The weight of Jack on top of you trying to save your life squeaking the wheels against the floor not long wiped from blood. Robby was aware of other voices, of people wondering if that was Jack and was it... no... it couldn't have been.

The doors closed behind a team of people all teaming in, stuttering when they saw you.

“Hook her up!” ordered Robby, ignoring any protocol of gowns and gloves. If he was going to get you back he was going to feel the beat of your heart under his palms. “Jack, move!”

Jack slowly climbed down and Robby jumped up next, quickly taking over compressions.

He remembered kissing down your chest, hiding himself there on mornings he wanted to steal away five minutes, pulling the covers up past the two of you. How he was breaking ribs to keep you alive. “Somebody get a bag on her, now!”

“She's- she's been down a long time,” said Jack, catching his breath.

Robby thumped down on your chest, kidding himself with the dull flutter of your eyelashes, knowing it was only through the force of his hammering down on you. “She's alive.”

“Jesus, Jack, you're as cold as ice,” said Dana from somewhere behind Robby.

“I'm fine,” he dismissed. “Robby, you shouldn't be working on her, brother.”

Others in the room stopped, hearing that.

It was protocol family waited outside, that if family or friends ever came in demanding help the same DNA did not attend. They were too emotionally clouded. To invested to think straight. The last time Robby found himself in this situation: blood pumping in his ears, chest tight was trying to save Jake's girlfriends life.

He'd failed.

The only person to pull him back from that was you.

There'd be nobody if you didn't pull through. He'd be left in that pedes room, never to leave.

“Robby!” Jack tried again.

“Shut up and get me some warm saline!”

“Oh, no,” said Jack, walking around till he was on the other side of your gurney. “No, I'm not going anywhere.”

Robby was still pressing his hands down on your chest when Jack reached over, past the bag they'd finally clamped over on you, and stroked back your hair.

“We're gonna get you through this,” he uttered in an oddly tender moment.

“We need to get a central line in her,” said Matteo.

Jack looked at Robby. “Brother.”

“No.”

“You have to move, we need to get a line in her.”

Robby knew that. He knew so much as a doctor, as chief attending. But he couldn't stop, he physically couldn't bring himself to.

“Robby, man, you gotta let go.”

“I can't... I can't... I can't...” he said. The only thing keeping him sane was the one, two, three, four count in his head, was the cold feeling of your flesh under his hands. “Push three milligrams of epi.”

Jack huffed in frustration, probably the only thing keeping him warm. He marched around your bed to his side. “Robby, so help me god I will drag you out of here if you don't let her go!”

“I can't!” he yelled.

It was selfish but Robby had some how convinced himself he could be selfish with you. He could hold on tighter in the mornings and let you go for the rest of the day. He could watch patients get close to you because he knew it was him who got to kiss you. He could hold back the worst parts of himself to keep you, no matter how much it tore him apart to push you away on the days he wanted to be closest.

No, Robby could never let you go.

If you ever tried to leave him, he'd hold on tighter.

Robby dropped his voice low. “I can't.”

Jack took in a slow breath, a gentle hand on Robby's bicep. “Okay. Okay. You don't have to let her go... but to save her you have to move aside.”

A monitor somewhere in the room beeped.

Slowly, Robby moved from your chest.

The people swarmed you. Someone cut into you, getting a central line in on your other side.

Robby stayed where he was, a hand holding yours tightly as if he could squeeze his own life into yours. He cried- maybe loudly- at the feel of how cold you were.

“What's her temp?” asked Jack.

“Eighty.”

Robby looked up to the monitor reading your vitals. “That's- that's too low.”

“We're getting her warmed up.”

“Get the warm saline.”

“We are.”

Robby leaned over you once the line was placed, brushing back your hair and trying desperately to ignore how cold you were. “You're not dead, you're not,” he said, low for you. Your vitals may have been saying different. “You're not dead.”

“Doctor Robby-”

“Please,” he begged with trembling lips. “Please, don't do this to me.”

A monitor sung low and dry. The classic song of a flatline.

His head jerked up.

Jack caught his stupor and pushed him from you, sending him into Dana's ready hold. “She's going into V-fib!”

Dana held Robby. Physically she wasn't strong enough to hold him back but Robby wasn't strong enough to fight against her. “Robby... Robby, c'mon, let's wait outside.”

He was shaking his head.

“Panels, charge to three hundred!” called out Jack.

Dana had just managed to push him out the doors as he shouted clear!

Through the glass Robby watched your body jerk but not respond.

“Please, please, please,” he uttered. His back hit the nurses station, his knees giving out as he slowly slid and sank to the floor.

“Okay, okay,” muttered Dana, falling with him and holding him there.

The Pitt seemed to stand still at the sight of their boss, white faced and hands trembling, brushing back his hair. Noise travelled quick, that it was you in the bed, ribs breaking from compressions, chest hurting from the shock.

Robby's hands clasped in front of him, his star of David chain clenched in his hands. “Please.... she can't do this to me, please.”

Dana tugged on his body, bringing him in closer. With her sharp gaze she pushed everyone else that dared try and get closer away. “C'mon, Robby, she's strong, you know that. And stubborn like hell, huh?”

Robby nodded along with her words, un-sure if he could believe it.

“Charge again, three hundred, let's go!” called Jack, rubbing the panels before everyone backed up. “Clear!”

There was a small beep, a pick up in the line.

“There! Resume compressions!”

“Doctor Robby!” Santos ran up, her gown like a cape around her. She slowed to a stop in front of the two slumped. “Dana. Dana, is it- is it true, is it?”

Robby looked up, tear stained cheeks red.

“Yeah, kid,” said Dana, sadly.

Santo's jaw trembled before she shook her head in resolute, saying one simple word. No. Then she stormed into the room.

Robby knew you favoured Santos and somewhere along the way Robby had come to look for her when an interesting case came in. He came to favour the way you smiled at Santos when she did things right and Robby searched for any smile he could get from you.

So, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and followed her in- back into the chaos that was your room. The blankets had slipped from your body in the shocks and he desperately tried to hold himself back from fixing them.

“Doctor Abbot-” said a nurse or a intern or someone in the room. “It's been thirty minutes.”

“Hold compressions.”

Robby knew it was to check your pulse but he winced when they paused, when your body didn't respond.

“Still asystole, resume compressions.” Jack caught Robby's gaze.

He'd seen that look on Jack's face. Had seen the hopelessness and the devastation at losing a patient not only in his face but in his own reflection. “Don't-”

Jack lowered his head. “Robby.”

“No, Jack, her temp is not up! She's cold,” he said, walking back around the room. He rolled his shoulders back, pulling on gloves. If nobody else was going to save you he would. “She is not dead! She's not- She's not dead till she's warm and dead! Push another round of epi!”

Matteo jumped at the chance.

Jack stood by Robby's side. “Just... prepare yourself, okay? She's been down a long time. She might not come back from this.”

Robby glanced back at him. “She will.”

“And even if she did-”

Robby cut him off. “She will.”

They couldn't send you up to the OR- there was nothing surgical to do. They couldn't send you to the ICU- you weren't stable. They could work on you for hours, in the pitts of hell.

Robby didn't stop Jesse from compressions but he leant over you, leaning his lips into your forehead. “You'll come back, you have to come back.”

“What's her temp?”

“We're up to eighty-eight.”

“When was our last epi?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“Push again.”

At some point Santos pushed her through the crowd, taking compressions from Jesse who she deemed weak-armed.

“Doctor Santos-” said Jack, the only one seeing this for what it was. A disaster. One more emotional person in the room wasn't going to help. If you woke you might just choke on tears from them all.

“I can do it,” she argued, nodding to the night attending. “I can do it.”

Santos was as stubborn as you. If anyone might have been able to beat her heart into beating, it would be her.

Robby leant over you. Robby could feel your skin cold against his lips and he pet back any bit of you he could reach, trying to warm you. He caught Jack's tired gaze, his lifeless stare like he was already grieving you. “I never told her I love her, Jack.”

“Get an APG,” said Santos.

Jack clasped his shoulder. “Tell her now.”

Robby looked back down to you, past the bag pushing your breath, through Santos keeping your heart beat. He kissed your forehead. “I-” he chocked on the words. He couldn't remember a time where he'd said it and meant it like he does now.

He knew Jack was giving him a way out. He knew Jack was giving him the chance to live with no regrets.

But Robby would regret not dying with you if you didn't make it.

There was a silence throughout the room, not even the beating of a monitor keeping him sane.

Robby's hot tears hit your cheeks.

“Temp?”

“Up to neinty.”

“Halt compressions.”

Santos paused.

Nothing.

Then a shrill beeping.

If Robby thought it was life he was going to be souly mistaken.

“She's in V-fib again!”

Robby backed away, tucking his head down to his chest as he watched Jack get the panels, rub the gel on.

“Charge to three hundred- clear!”

Your body jolted again, blankets slipping down your bare body and Robby suddenly wanted to cover you, wanted to pull every tube keeping you alive out and just hold you. Warm or cold. He just wanted to hold you.

“Again, charge. Clear!”

There was a silence. Maybe you were so angry at him you were proving a point by dying. You were a good swimmer. Why didn't you swim?

Everyone in the room paused, seeming to wait for someone to call it.

Jack looked at Robby.

“No,” he said, pushing past everyone.

“Robby-” interjected Jack.

He snatched the panels from Jack. “Charge again, three hundred-”

“-Robby-”

“I said charge again!”

The room was heavy as Jesse moved to do so, charging them up.

“Clear!”

Your body jerked again, violent. Your face remained peaceful, Santos remained off to the side, waiting for orders, waiting to know. Everyone else was looking to each other, silently deciding who would be the one to drag Robby away from your body.

“Wait- there!”

In the middle of them all there sat a pick up in your heart.

The room jumped into discussion about how to carry on, about how to keep the momentum going while Robby pressed his stethoscope into his ears and the other down on you. He listened, catching the beat of your heart.

“She's warm, she's warm and she's alive,” said Jack with a smile.

You were dreaming. It was a sweet sort of thing.

It was a warm body blanketing you and hands holding you. It was lips you knew pressing along you and drawing out pleasure. There were three tiny words spoken into flesh.

It was Robby, his head laid upon your chest in your bed and mumbling the words, tracing every letter over your ribs. When you reached for his hair, when you tried to say the words again you coughed up water instead. You clawed at your throat. You chocked in panic-

Then there was a beeping bringing you out of sweet dreams.

“Hey, hey. Honey? Honey, can you look at me?” a warm hand was running over your head, pushing back your hair. “Open your eyes.”

You tried to. They felt heavy. Sleep heavy.

But someone was coaxing you through it, holding your hand and brushing back your hair.

“Yeah, there we go... there we go, hey.”

The lights were bright, almost painfully so as they blared in your eyes. It took you a couple blinks to get them right but when you did there was a dark shadow looming over you, blocking out the lights.

There was the ragged pull of a beard and the slope of a well known nose.

You breathed in and smelt burnt coffee and hand sanitiser. “Robby?”

He smiled, crows feet at his eyes. “Hey, honey.”

You pushed up your arm, finding it oddly weak like it had been weighted down. You found an IV down in your arm. The white lights... the white walls and the IV all made slow sense.

“Wh-what?”

“Easy, easy.” Robby grabbed at your arms, holding you. He helped you sit up, reaching over and plumping your pillow and holding you there.

Only when you heard the monitor calming down and felt the pain lessen did Robby let you go, perching close on the bed next to you and grabbing your hand again.

“What happened?” you asked, finding your throat parched.

Robby sighed, pulling your hand into your lap. “There was an accident at the docks. You went with the responders to help. Your patient had a seizure and...”

You remembered the dock, the wind cold and the yells. You remembered Jack was there and the patient, he was seizing. “What happened to him?” you asked.

Robby stared at you, a small shake in his head as his brows pinched together.

“The seizing, the patient.”

There was a small look of disbelief, a soft smile creasing his chapped lips.

“What?”

His smile turned sharp with affection as he looked down. Your hand, engulfed in his, was pressed to his lips. He stayed like that as the scenes played in his head and the smile slowly started to fall. “You were brought in, your body temp was eighty. Jack was- was doing compressions. We- we had to shock you, so much, you don't- ” Robby sighed out a shaky breath. “You don't know what it was like.”

The dock, the bodies, Jack. The bite of cold water like a thousand daggers piercing into your skin. You had gasped for breath, limbs flailing.

It had felt like dying.

“Oh.”

You rubbed at your chest, pain blooming.

“You might be a bit burnt, from the shocks. And we were- we did compressions for a while so you broke a rib,” he said, chocking down a cry.

You squeezed his hand. “We?”

He nodded, chin tucked into his chest. His lips were pursed.

You'd seen Robby cry before, in shades of red face and clenched palms and always trying to hide it away. But you'd never seen him try to hide away as much as he was now. Your hand escaped his hold, caressing down his cheek.

“Robby.... hey....”

His lips puckered to your palm, pressing a kiss there. His palm was large as he held your hand up to his cheek.

“Hey,” you cooed.

Robby glanced up at you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“No, no it's not, it's not okay,” Robby took a shaky breath and scooted closer. His arm came over you, bracing himself on the bed. “You almost died.”

You searched his eyes but only found pain and defeat. He looked tired. Really tired. “But I didn't.”

“That's not the point,” he said. He brushed back strands of your hair, kept petting it down in a way you guessed comforted him more. “Jack was doing compressions for almost an hour. Your temp was down the whole time. We shocked you four times. Four.”

Robby's voice broke.

“You almost died and the last thing we did was argue.”

You didn't know what to say to that. The words I'm sorry were already rising and like he sensed it, Robby gave a small shake of his head. “Yeah... probably wasn't the best timing.”

“We're never arguing again, you understand?”

You smirked, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You could feel the race of his pulse. “Give us a week.”

“No,” said Robby. “Never.”

Something sour tasted it your mouth.

“Because we- are we, broken up?”

“No. No. We are not,” he said sternly.

You let out a breath. “Good. Good. I'd have hated to wake up from near death to that.”

“I should have listened to you,” he uttered. “Noelle is nothing, everyone else is nothing, nobody means anything to me, only you. Only ever you. And I am never letting you go again, ever.” He kissed your hand again.

You smiled at him. “What if I need to pee?”

“You can hold my hand.”

“And on mornings where I have really bad morning breath?” you teased.

“That doesn't happen, you know that,” Robby smiled.

Without any arguments left you gave up, sinking into your sheets with a shiver.

Robby frowned. “Are you cold?” he was up at once, pulling at the covers over you and the blankets. He was all but tucking you in as you laid there, taking it.

“Robby.”

“Yeah?” he hummed.

You tugged at his arm, pulling him down.

“What are you- what are you doing?” he chuckled, lightly.

“I'm cold, you're a human furnace, hold me.”

Robby was on the verge of complaining even as you pulled him down on the bed. He grunted at the squeak of the bed, was careful of the monitors assessing you. He squeezed in, pulling the rail back up as you curled up to the side to give him space. “These beds are not made for two.”

“You'll have to get onto the attending about that,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, first thing tomorrow.”

“Meh, I can persuade him, if you like.”

Robby smirked. “He'll do whatever you say.”

His arm slung over your shoulder and rested there, holding your body into him till your head was on his chest and you could feel the beat of his heart. It was just like you dream. Of comfort and warmth.

Robby said your name in a whisper.

You looked up at him to see his eyes screwed shut before releasing them.

“I...”

You watched the move of his lips. “Robby, you don't have to-”

“No, I want to,” he said. Robby's hand was careful as he cupped your face.

“You don't have to say it just because of what happened.”

“I'm not, believe me, I'm not,” he said. “I love you.”

It was the words you wanted to hear, the words you needed to know, the very thing to finish off your dream.

“Robby-” you interjected.

“I love you,” he smiled, grinning wide at you. “I've said it now, I don't think you'll get me to shut up.” There was fake remorse in his voice, a feigned sort of sorry.

“I can think of a few ways.”

Robby's lips were warm and giving as you puckered your up to his, kissing him slow. If you lost your breath kissing him it'd be a hell of a way to go.

Robby smiled against your lips. “That might work.”

His body half rolled onto yours, the bed creaking in protest. Only when your monitor warned of you losing breath did he pull away and check the machine.

“Get some rest, Robby, you look like you need it,” you said, kissing his cheek slow.

There was fight of protest in him that quickly gave up.

Robby looked up at you, wide eyed. “Can I stay?”

You nodded.

“I love you.”

The words he'd given you, the words he'd never forget to say. The words he'd spoken and would never take back.

If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one. 

There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.  

You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t. 

When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list. 

It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you. 

Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them. 

You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything. 

The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you. 

As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock. 

Three hours and twelve minutes.

God, you’re a fucking loser. 

Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame. 

But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that. 

Three hours, thirteen minutes. 

You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then. 

Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink. 

Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her. 

Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find. 

While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper. 

You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner. 

Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward. 

You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it. 

It’s not like you feel it anyway. 

The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck. 

That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter. 

What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks. 

You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care. 

The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.

You’re a fucking mess. 

“Jackie,” you slur. 

You try to get up, but your muscles protest. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses. 

He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter. 

“Baby, what the fuck happened?”

You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby. 

“Oopsie,” you whisper. 

Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.  For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. 

You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”

He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.  You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again. 

“Stop,” Jack yells.  His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.

Jack’s expression falls. 

“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”

He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin. 

“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.  Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell. 

Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything. 

“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”

Oh, that one blows.  On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.

You giggle so hard your throat hurts. 

“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”

It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity. 

 His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning. 

“Yeah,” you say.  Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.

Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.

You shift your weight and wince softly. 

Jack’s eyes widen.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  His voice comes out rough. 

“No,” you murmur. 

Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.  You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red. 

“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”

Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins. 

“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.

He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.  The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter. 

“Hold still,” he instructs.  His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance. “Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler. 

Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.

 He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand. 

“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why. 

“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer. 

Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.

You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip. 

“Ow, what the—?” you hiss. 

Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Not for that.”

The air in the room grows cold.  Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again. 

“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.  He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand. 

“No,” you bite out sharply.

For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face. 

“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.  You shake your head vehemently. 

“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you. 

“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble. 

Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.  He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down. 

“Shit, baby,” Jack curses. He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice. 

It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.  As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing. 

The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving. 

Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out. 

“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly. 

“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.” It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice. 

“Get out,” you rasp. Your throat might as well be on fire.

“No,” he snaps. 

“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse. 

His grip on your arm tightens. “Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”

You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again. 

“Then why are you never here?”

The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching. 

Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers. 

He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you. 

“Can you stand?” he asks.  You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh. 

Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall. 

“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly. 

Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.  Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower. 

The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours. 

“You love me?” you whisper. 

Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours. 

“I do,” he murmurs. 

You swallow hard. “Then why do you never choose me?”

after the- to put it plainly- shitty fourth of July shift yourself and many of your coworkers had suffered through last year, a surprisingly large group of staff (whom you were fairly certain had been led by trinity) had swindled Gloria into giving a ridiculous amount of people the day off. usually at least a quarter of the people who were currently crammed into Dana's backyard were on call, if they weren't already in the trenches of a shift. but your coworkers at the Pitt were nothing if not persistent, trinity the most of all. and so here you all were, at the evening that had been advertised as a "casual staff barbecue" but was indeed a full blown holiday party with tablecloths and little sparkly blue and red decorations at each place setting and papers plates with fireworks on them.

you were very glad that you'd made the executive decision to bring more than the single bowl of potato salad that you'd been signed up for- opting instead for two large dishes (you knew your coworkers could eat) along with a few packs of beer that you'd picked up on the way. half of the attendees were still in the i'm a resident that can barely afford to feed myself one meal a day phase, and you'd been there not too long ago. you enjoyed being able to do things like this now that you weren't drowning in your own loans. and if you just so happened to know that the beer was a certain attending's favorite, well that was just a happy accident, wasn't it?

the heat was blissfully light, brushing against your face and through your hair in the way that made you happy it was summer, thankful to feel the warmth shining on your skin but not too hot, not too sweaty. you were wearing birkenstocks, a choice that made you laugh a bit to yourself when you'd walked out of the door and thought of how little your coworkers saw of you in regular clothes, and a gingham sundress that swished around above your knees. dana had told everyone to feel free to bring their swim suits, but something about splashing around half dressed in a pool with the adults you worked in a grueling emergency department with wasn't appealing to you.

you drove up to dana's gorgeous white home, which you'd been to only once before. it was a bit far from your apartment, a bit outside of the city. there was a big paper sign tacked to her fence that read come on in with a bold arrow toward the open gate. you could hear the distant thrum of voices as you ducked out of your car, then frowned at the piled full front passenger seat. there was no way you'd be able to carry all this in one trip. you grabbed the two large containers of potato salad, bumping the car door closed with your hip and making you way up the driveway and into the backyard.

cassie sees you first, and from behind her legs a head of wild brown hair peeks out too. harrison smiles at you brightly and bounds over, throwing his arms around your middle in greeting.

"hi buddy." you grunt at the impact but smile down at the boy softly. you'd babysat for cassie a handful of times over the past few years, usually when she needed some last minute help or her regular sitter fell through.

"hi honey." he grinned up at you, and you couldn't help but laugh softly at the nickname. the young boy hadn't been able to remember your name the first few times you'd hung out with him, but his mom always came home and relieved you with a thank you honey or you're a life saver honey, so harrison had decided that was close enough. you didn't want him to stop thinking you were cool, so you always tried to hide how the endearing name made your heart swell.

from a few feet away cassie gestured for harrison to take one of the bowls from you and he did, leading the way toward the table of food across the yard while trying to peek under the plastic lid to see what you'd brought. distracted and preoccupied, harrison misses the divot in the grass and goes tumbling, knees and face smacking down to the ground and potato salad flying.

quite literally flying. you watch as your prized vintage pyrex arches through the air and goes tumbling across the lawn. you vaguely register the lid popping off a few bumps in, but your eyes are fixed on harrison as you rush over to where he’s sprawled on the floor.

“OW!” the boy shouts dramatically, rolling over and looking down at a pair of bloody hands and knees. he’s also sporting a gnarly gash on his chin.

“you okay?” you ask with concern, though you must admit your stifling a laugh at the absolute commotion he’s caused. it was like something out of cheaper by the dozen; and a handful of your coworkers were now crowding around you.

“what the hell dude?” cassie’s voice calls from behind you as she jogs up.

“i fell!” he huffs at his mom, but you can see the tears the boy is desperately trying to keep in as he looks hopelessly at your ruined potato salad and his sore knees.

“hey, it’s okay bud.” you hum, a gentle hand coming to his back. “that’s why i brought two.” you give harrison a quiet smile and nod of reassurance, then lift him up gently by his tender scraped up hand. “i have some bandaids in my car, want to come with me?” his head bobs up and down a few times and you nod again, quickly standing to stow the bowl you’d been carrying on the table a few feet away and then doubling back with a wave for harrison to follow you. cassie give you a soft smile and silent thank you as you go, to which you simply shake your head. you loved harrison, and getting to care for a kid outside the often terrible circumstances of your workplace was something that truly brought you joy. you’d considered going into pedes for most of your rotation period before you’d landed in the pitt.

the two of you tread back out through the open gate and down dana's driveway, and you can hear harrison's faint sniffs from behind you.

"m'sorry." he calls, and you shake your head again.

"don't worry about it dude. it's just potatoes." your sandals skid against the sidewalk as you come to a stop at you car, popping the trunk to retrieve the small first aid kit stowed there. you nod your head in a gesture for him to sit, and he hops up to rest in the trunk with his bloody legs swinging below.

you stay like that for a few minutes, humming and nodding in attention as harrison tells you about school, and skateboarding with mateo yesterday, and the movie he went to see with his dad (who you hate, but continue nodding along with a smile anyway) last weekend. once you've washed the cuts on his hands and knees off, and dabbed his chin with hydrogen peroxide, you hand him a box of bandaids to put on as you go about tenderly taping some gauze to his still bleeding chin. the momentary silence, as you work in concentration and harrison creates a pile of crumpled up bandaid wrappers in your car trunk, is broken by a voice speaking up from behind you.

"woah. you get in a fight killer?"

doctor abbot.

your head jerks up over your shoulder, hands stalling by harrison's jaw as your eyes land on the man approaching. jack abbot is walking toward you in a faded grey t-shirt and jeans, which would be a completely boring and ordinary outfit if anyone else was wearing it. you have to tear your gaze away quickly, feigning focus on your task to hide the blush flaring as abbot comes up behind you.

"no." harrison says with a bashful laugh.

"you should see the other guy." you mutter, smirking up at him slyly and making the boy laugh again. from the corner of your eye you see jack sporting his own curious smile. "alright." you add with a huff, brushing your hands on your legs as you stand. "all patched up."

harrison hops down from his seat in your car. "thanks honey." he grins, turning to jog back up to the yard without missing a beat. you huff a quiet laugh at the pile of bandaid trash he'd left behind, tossing the first aid kit back in with it and slamming the trunk shut. dr. abbot is still standing there. you, though you know it likely comes across as completely rude, turn and make your way to the passenger side door of your car in silence. you don't mean to be unfriendly, but where jack abbot was concerned, you were not the one in control of how you acted.

"what happened?" he asks, taking a few leisurely steps to follow you around the car. you glance at him again as he tucks his hands into his jeans pockets.

"oh, nothing. he took a tumble carrying a big container of potato salad." you wave a hand in the air as you explain, ducking into you car to fetch the cases of beer you'd left behind. "the salad had it much worse to be honest." you say jokingly, standing up straight again and smiling shyly over at abbot. his gaze makes your skin prickle a bit, and it all but erupts in flames when he reaches out, knuckles brushing your bare arms as he takes the boxes wordlessly. "oh- you really don't have to do that." you stutter, shaking your head a bit. abbot doesn't even respond, just smiles at you. unable to keep standing there staring at his stupidly handsome smiling face, you quickly reach back into the car and retrieve the final case of beer, then shut the door.

"this is my favorite." abbot hums, lifting one of the boxes a bit as the two of you begin walking up the driveway. you're both going slow, nearly dragging your feet in the kind of way that makes it obvious neither of you want the opportunity to be alone together to end too quickly.

"oh, really? that's great!" you smile in response, voice a bit too high. dr. abbot just laughs softly.

"how are you doing? haven't seen you in a while." he goes on.

"i'm fine. i'm good." you nod. "things have been pretty normal. working too much, not doing anything else enough." you laugh quietly. abbot joins you. "how have you been doctor abbot?"

"please call me jack, we're not at the hospital." he says kindly, and you know you're blushing again. you could call him jack. no big deal. for sure. "by the way... honey? a nickname, or?" he trails off in curiosity. you laugh a bit, and explain the origin of the silly title. jack smiles fondly as you do. you both slow to a stop as you round the corner and reenter the festivity. you can already see robby approaching to greet his friend in your peripheral. before parting, jack speaks softly.

"it's fitting."

your eyes dart up, wide and surprised, to see him smiling down at you warmly.

"cause you're so sweet." the smile pulls up into a cheeky smirk, and he silently lifts the case of beer from your hand and leaves you standing there in stunned silence, cheeks burning.

you're thankfully pulled out of your trance by victoria, who comes up beside you and pulls you by the arm toward a group across the lawn. you settle down on a beach towel with her, along with mel, dennis, langdon, samira, and mateo- who offers you a seltzer that is apparently "firecracker flavored". you take it with a hesitant laugh, though have to admit it's much better than you'd expect.

it's nice than you would think to hang out with your coworkers outside of work. you truly did enjoy being with all of them, though the ED was obviously not an ideal social environment. you'd roomed with harper for a bit after med school, but ever since she'd moved to Oregon your social life outside of work had been nearly non-existent aside from events like this, which were few and far between. you were pretty sure the last time more than a handful of you had had time off together and were energized enough to actually utilize it was trinity's birthday a few months ago- and you honestly couldn't remember much at all from that night. it was really nice.

dana's husband was grilling more hot dogs and burger patties than you'd ever seen in one place, and people were even starting to jump in the pool. harrison had led the charge, unsurprisingly, and it only took a few seconds of convincing for mateo to jump in after him. the rest of you group was quick to either follow or wander off toward the food table, and you were now left sitting at the pool edge, legs dangling languidly in the water as your friends splashed around. you laughed as mateo performed a particularly dramatic canon ball, which of course prompted harrison to attempt to outdo him. it went on in a cycle of ridiculous jumps and poses, and you really weren't sure who was having the most fun.

you're alerted by someone coming up behind you, and turn to see sneakers and jeans and your eyes keep trailing up and up and up until you meet the eyes of jack abbot staring down at you.

"hi." you greet softly.

"hi."

you realize all at once that he likely doesn't want to sit here, the logistics of the pool and his prosthetic and the terrible sensation of wet jeans all working together, and push to stand. water droplets pool around the ground from your legs.

"not getting in on the canon ball competition?" he asks smoothly, and your brain is still trying to catch up to having a second conversation with him as you try to formulate a response.

"i'm taking my role as a judge very seriously." you say back, and your heart skips an embarrassing beat as he laughs softly.

"of course." jack nods, taking a sip of his beer. another skip of satisfaction as you realize it's the one you brought. you almost think he can tell. "can I get you a drink?"

"oh, i'm fine. I drank one of mateo's weird concoctions and it was way stronger than I expected." you laugh a bit.

"a water then?" he asks with a smile.

"sure, actually. that'd be great." you nod, and the two of you make your way over to the ice chest near the deck. there are groups of conversation and even some lawn games sprawled out all across the yard, but you feel as if you're alone in a room with jack abbot as he cracks the cap of a water bottle off and hands it to you, the icy condensation dripping. "thank you." you hum quietly. he just nods.

after taking a sip he hands the cap over, and you screw it on with slightly shaky hands.

"so." you hum. you really needed to work on your ability to sit in awkward silence.

"so?" he asks in amusement. that stupid smirk was going to make you pass out in dana's backyard.

"soo... what's new with you?" you laugh at your own clunky delivery and jack laughs too, but graciously moves on and answers.

"not much. night shift, swat shifts, the usual." you nod, brows pinching a bit when he mentions his insane hobby in a way that he can't help but notice. "you don't approve?" jack asks with a chuckle. you feel your face heating again.

"oh, no, sorry. sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, I just... it just worries me is all. I mean, it doesn't worry me it's just- it's worrisome, like-" he cuts you off, thank God.

"you're fine." the man laughs, hand tapping your shoulder gently. "worrisome is one of the nicest things people have had to say about it." it trails of with a sigh, looking away for a moment. his face grazes over with something serious and far away that you haven't seen on the man before. "I don't know. keeps me busy." he hums quietly, taking another slow sip of his drink.

you nod. it must be hard, you know, being jack abbot. having lived a life so full of things you can never truly put down, never leave in your past. his time in the service, his youth, his wife... he carried those memories every day- they were as much a part of him as his leg or the wedding ring he still wore. it couldn't be easy to go from active service in the military to trying something dumb like golf or fishing on his days off. just because you didn't love the idea of him running around in a swat uniform (not that it was your place to think anything about it at all) didn't mean you didn't get it.

you understand, you really do. and you know jack abbot is a smart man, it's not as if he doesn't understand the danger and risk in what he does, as if he doesn't understand his own life. you tell him as much.

"I know it's not my place to have any sort of opinion. I just meant it seems...very hard. all of it." you say decidedly, and his deep, thoughtful gaze is back on you.

"it's your place to have an opinion on whatever you want." jack says, and it's casual and matter of fact but he's looking at you like he really means it. "and I care." he adds, and you look up at him in question. "I care what you think."

this gives you pause, gets the words stuck in your mouth as you blink up at the man. you aren't sure what to make of the words, just as you commonly weren't sure to make of jack abbot and his warm smiles and lingering touches and too kind eyes.

"that's nice." is all you can manage, and you feel stupid hearing your own voice. he just smiles down at you and laughs, a short soft thing.

"you're nice." he hums. "honey."

he adds the name quietly, as if in afterthought, something he was only speaking in his mind for himself, something you weren't sure you were even supposed to hear. you pretend you didn't.

you sit together for dinner and smile to yourself when your knees bump under the table. you blush when jack rests his arm on the back of his chair as he talks to robby. your chest burns fondly when he offers you the watermelon he doesn't finish but keeps stealing chips from your plate. you breath deeply and think that you could live a life full of moments just like this and nothing could make you happier.

a/n: thank you for reading lovies!! I love writing shorter fluffy stuff like this .. I think I'll do more one shots of jack and this (honey) reader every so often because why have the become so very precious to me in the span of writing this!! please let me know what you thought! love youuUUUuu - reef <3

anyway, happy lana del ray miss americana steve rogers superman jack abbot day girlies. here's a little shortie of your favorite sexy veteran. times are very sad but grateful for everyone who truly represents the values of love and acceptance and belonging and freedom for ALLLLL!

The sun dawns on a new day, a new environment. This is the first thing you register. Then it's long, thick limbs wrapping around you. Light snores are next, a woodsy cologne shortly following.

You're with Robby. Officially. As of yesterday, he's your new roommate.

A smile pulls at your tired muscles at the thought, the joy far outweighing the trudges of sleep trying to pull you back.

Your arm's alive next, fingers gently scraping the nape of his neck. It seems you're just as wrapped up in him.

A low growl vibrates his chest, a small laugh escaping your lips. He shakes his head against you, not unlike a dog, another huff rocking him.

"Good morning, old man," you tease, pinching the bare skin of his side.

The extra pudge there is kind to you, relaxed and folded over the waistband of his boxers. He's not conscious enough to tense away from you just yet, to hide himself.

You're slightly worried that your fingertips will bring unwanted attention to the area, but the soft scrape of your nails against him is comforting enough that you simply just don't care.

He seems to feel the same, thankfully, his eyes fluttering closed once more, a breathy shudder shaking him. You press your fingertips deeper into his skin at the sound, a cute little squeeze to remind him where he is.

He jumps a little at your pinch, a sweet smile on his sweet face. He snuggles in closer to you, head planted firmly in your neck as you both come back to life.

"When are you going to the store, baby?" You rasp, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

"After I have my coffee," he grumbles. "Store probably doesn't open until 8 anyway."

You hum, glancing over at the alarm clock on Robby's side of the bed, 6:38 a.m.

You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Mornings are not your best time of day.

"So dramatic," Robby teases, stretching his long form around you.

"What else is left for you to get for today?" You poise, and he twists his lips in thought.

"I need to pick up the cake, plus some extra snacks, maybe some more soda…" he lists off, and you smile.

"We have plenty, baby, don't overextend yourself. You're going to be grilling all afternoon," you point out.

He considers this, rocking his head from side to side.

"Is it weird that I'm nervous?" He admits, eyes flitting from yours towards his duvet.

"No, it's not weird, baby," your nails graze his jawline, he still won't look at you. "Your emotions are never weird. Let's talk about it, though.""

"You're sweet, y'know that?" He grumbles, eyes finally finding yours again.

You smile at what greets you, his wide, vulnerable eyes, parted lips and rosy cheeks. The perfect picture of the frazzled doctor you'd fallen in love with. Though you were concussed and freezing, he was pretty from minute one.

"I don't know, I just want today to be perfect. Want you to be happy," he grumbles, raking his fingertips up and down your arm. "

His touch erupts a trail of goosebumps in its wake, his words freeing reckless butterflies in your tummy.

"It'll be amazing," you promise, a small smile on your face. "We'll make it amazing, just by being us."

You place a palm on his belly, jiggling the loose skin there. He chuckles, low and self deprecating. You kiss his neck, soft little pecks that leave him shivering.

"Jack keeps teasing me," he grumbles, "telling me I'm 'down bad'?" The unfamiliar lingo scooping up at the end.

You throw your head back and cackle, squeezing his forearm in your fingertips.

"Well, picture yourself a year ago. Did you ever think you'd be hosting a housewarming barbecue with a girl who just moved into your place?" You poise, and he shakes the question around in his head.

"No," he admits, you both knowing full well where he was a year ago. You're coming up on the Fourth of July, nearly a year since his sabbatical, a year since you'd first met. "I honestly didn't know where I'd end up."

The implication of his words weigh heavy between you, his fingers fiddling with yours. Your fateful E.R. trip happened to fall on the day before Robby's sabbatical started, the start of your relationship blooming in his newfound free time.

"I'm proud of you," you mutter, and this seems to do the trick.

He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. He then releases you from his grip, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

You train your gaze along the expanse of his back, counting all the freckles you've traced along the skin.

His joints crack as he stands, a soft groan falling from him as he stretches his back, chest puffing out.

He turns back to you, face softening at your pout.

"Ooh, what is it, angel?" He coos, and you snuggle deeper into the sheets.

"Missing you," you mutter, and he tsks.

"Dramatic girl," he tuts, maneuvering around your newly shared room, throwing an old shirt over his head. "Want some coffee, baby?"

You nod, your gaze following him around the space. Robby in the mornings is a sight you're gleefully getting used to.

"Vanilla?" He asks, trailing his fingertips along the edge of your bed, waiting for your confirmation.

You grumble a soft 'yes', before your eyes start to drift closed. He taps your butt, a reminder to stay awake, before exiting to the kitchen.

The strong aroma of coffee beans fill your shared space, wafting in from the other room. The soft hint of vanilla is nearly Pavlovian. alerting your senses before any caffeine has actually entered your bloodstream.

It's not long until Robby comes back, a forest green mug in his left hand, a soft pink one in his right. You gratefully accept, sitting up and giving him your prettiest 'thank you' eyes.

He smiles, reaching down to give you another kiss.

It's sweet domesticity for the next hour, sitting between his legs, his free hand in your hair as you aimlessly talk. It's your first morning together as roommates. and you wouldn't be mad if all your mornings got to look like this.

He's true to his word, though, and at 8 o'clock, he promptly slips out of your grasp.

"Mmph!" You groan, flopping back onto the pillows. "Come baack!" You whine.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, love," he calls, teasing from the walk in closet.

"Agree to disagree," you respond, though all your gusto is promptly knocked out of you at the sight of him.

The buttery athletic shorts you got him for his birthday cling and flow around him, and he's pulling an old band tee over his head as he walks out of the closet.

Your jaw drops slightly, not used to seeing him like this. He's scruffy, hair and beard mussy and untouched.

"What…?" He asks, slowing down at the door.

"Just pretty," you respond, snuggling into his pillow. "Love you."

He melts at this, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips.

"Love you too, my angel girl. I'll be back, okay? Rest up," he mutters, and then he's out the door.

You're out of bed before he comes back, denim shorts hugging your hips and thighs, a red tank top to match.

It's his turn to stop when he comes back, balancing a large sheet cake in his big hands. You turn at the waist to see him, arching your back at an angle you know drives him crazy.

The company is hours away from arriving, so why not start your teasing early?

"Hi honey! Have any luck with the extras?" You chirp, walking over to help him set the cake on your kitchen island.

Your heart warms at the red writing that spans across the white icing— "Our First Housewarming."

You smile, looking up at him through now damp lashes.

"You anticipate on having more housewarmings together?" You tease, sipping your third mug of coffee and not really expecting much of an answer.

"Of course," he says. It's nonchalant, like he doesn't have a care in the world. "We're gonna want to get a bigger house when we're ready to have kids, no?"

You choke, the caffeinated liquid sputtering from your lips. Turning away in an attempt to preserve the cake, you bend over and allow your cough to rack your body.

"Woah! You good there, angel?" He asks, rubbing soothing circles over your back. "Don't wanna have kids with me, eh?" He teases, and your heart hurts at his self--deprecation.

"You know that's not it, baby," you quip back, taking deep breaths to settle yourself. "Just surprised me, is all."

"Okay, honey," he mutters, his touch never leaving your body.

You turn to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a sweet hug. His hands find your waist, greedily running against the skin peeking out between your top and your shorts.

"We'll have kids one day, for sure," you say into his neck. He squeezes your waist at your words, and you smile. "Let's just get through this first housewarming though, okay?"

You pull your head back and he nods, pecking you on the lips.

"Let's get set up baby," he quips, pinching your side before moving around you. "Get your suit on, gonna be a hot one."

You smile at his obvious attempt to see you in your bikini all day. Regardless, you oblige. Flitting to your room, you wiggle on the new red and white polka dot bikini he surprised you with last night.

It's a scorching day, the early July heat relentless. You can tell by the way the sun beats down out the window, illuminating the backyard deck, the pool glimmering a quenching blue.

You do a 360 in the full length mirror, twisting and turning your body for the best angles. You pinch and squeeze at the extra skin of your sides, the pudge of your tummy.

You're unsure, but if Robby thinks you're beautiful, that's all that matters for today.

You grab a matching sarong, sliding it on for a bit more coverage. This helps your feelings of uncertainty, turning to find Robby leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, gosh!" You squeal in surprise. "How long have you been there?"

He shrugs, walking closer to you.

"Since you pulled the bottoms over your cute ass," he replies, hands immediately finding your ass beneath the thin fabric.

Heat blooms in your stomach as you fall into him, groaning into the great expanse of his chest.

"Don't do this to me right now, the backyard isn't even close to being ready," you mumble, and he gives you a teasing squeeze.

"Go ahead, baby," he starts, the point of his nose pressed against your temple. "I have it all set up for you, just need to put it all out."

A wave of gratitude washes over you, your relief a sigh escaping your chest.

"Thank you, bub," you reply. "Don't know how I got so lucky."

You look back up at him for this, making sure the words really sink in. He just nods, his own little confirmation. You squeeze his hands in yours before you make your way to the yard.

He's right, and you're taken aback. Various pool floats lay there, already blown up in full. Tablecloth packages line the bar, as well as multiple soda, seltzer, and beer packages resting against the drink fridge, the extra coolers he bought 'just in case'.

Half the work you thought you had to do is now slashed in half, thanks to the big teddy bear currently preparing the world's largest charcuterie behind the sliding glass door.

You smile, and get to work.

The pool floats go in first, as this is your favorite part. It's the best thing to see— reds and pinks and white littering the blue water. You stare down to the bottom, at the crystal blue paint lining the bottom.

One day you'll convince Robby to paint it pink. But for now, you decide it's time to set up the patio furniture. Unwrapping the tablecloths, you lay them out, moving to the endless Dollar Tree bags, full of different table toppers and themed plastic cups.

Your heart swells at the thought of Robby, glasses on, brows furrowed, wandering aimlessly through your local dollar store, plopping anything red, white, and blue into the cart.

There's a whole separate bag of pink decorations, too. Something that most definitely can be attributed to his desire to please you.

You smile, eyes nearly tearing up when the glass door slides open. Darting your head up, you give him a sweet smile. He revels in this, maneuvering quietly past you to grab a Dr. Pepper from one of the coolers.

"Ah! Dr. Robinavitch!" You scold, swatting his backside as he's bent over.

He doesn't even react anymore, your affinity for his ass the exact opposite of a secret. He does respond to the title, though, whipping around to face you.

His brows are wild, eyes bugging out.

"I'm sorry…WHO?" He demands, cracking open the can with one hand.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip at this, the reminder of how large his hands are not doing you any favors.

"Is that not your name?" You play into his attitude, swaying your hips as you walk towards the bar.

Popping behind it, you grab a Diet Coke for yourself. You hold it out for him, knowing he'll help you open it. Neither of you want you to break a nail.

He copies his previous motion in the other hand, your tongue now darting out to lick your lips.

"Thanks, Mikey," you murmur, and he eases at that.

"Good girl," he whispers, nose to your temple once more, before going back into the house.

It's scary how well you guys work around each other, the way you seamlessly fit into Robby's life, his space. Your heart pounds as you watch him through the door, the relentless beat of something very real echoing in your ears.

The mid morning flits past, full of you darting around every inch of the yard, stretching streamers over the wooden fence, topping each table with a cute summery centerpiece.

It's jarring how quickly you've felt at home in Robby's place, the little adjusting you've had to do. While this might change over time, you've surprised yourself today, at how perfectly you've blended in with the hosting duties.

They're split pretty evenly between the two of you, you assuming most of the decor, Robby the food. You were worried about throwing such a lavish party the day after your move, but you haven't really had to lift a finger throughout this whole process.

You recall the weeks beforehand, spent curled up next to Robby while he looked over expenses, the best places to find hot dogs and hamburgers in bulk, the cutest decorations. You got to have most of the say there, thankfully.

The one thought that persists. is how badly you want to do this again. How badly you want to merge your friends and his friends, how badly you want to work parallel to each other, to promote this place as your own.

Squinting your eyes, you walk inside, adjusting to the indoor lighting. Your vision focuses on the large man in the kitchen, cutting up watermelon and defrosting the meat.

You walk around him to the cupboards, reaching up to get pitchers for your drinks. Piling the glass with various fruits, you bump hips with him before heading back outside.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk past, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder before sliding the door shut with your foot.

A lot of juicing, blending, and mixing later, you're tucking different concoctions into the outdoor fridge. Colorful mocktails resting alongside the alcoholic beverages, and you only close the door once you're satisfied with your work.

Looking at your phone, your heart drops at the time that appears.

By the time you run through the kitchen, wash your face, and dab it with a little bit of makeup, you hear Robby welcoming in the first guests.

He'd changed in the meantime, a half buttoned linen shirt flowing over swim shorts. You have to bite your lip to hold back the moan, and approach the group that's gathered at the stoop.

It's so easy being on his arm, smiling and welcoming in your loved ones. Hospital people you recognize begin to float in, the first staggered members of the Pitt making their appearance.

A quick hour of introductions and cracked beer cans rolls by, and soon enough, the sun has warmed you inside out, a soft bead of sweat picking at your brow.

The clack of your kitten heels echo around the deck as you flit from guest to guest, refilling drinks and pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

Robby's done a pleasant job at keeping your own glass filled, as well. Over the course of your relationship, he's mastered the art of keeping you perfectly tipsy, without over-serving.

You feel these effects ever so slightly, a pleasant buzz ringing in your ears, as you float around the party.

You're eventually corralled into a break by some of your girlfriends, who have, undoubtedly, linked up with Trinity, Dennis, and Victoria. While this combination can only spell trouble, you're eager to slide off your sandals for just a moment.

You sink into the couch decorating the patio, legs hanging over its arm. The new position allows your shoes to dangle, falling to the concrete with a soft 'thud'.

A certain flick, hiss, fills your ears, and your head turns to find Robby, twisting the knobs of your grill, a pile of raw burgers and hot dogs stacked a mile high.

You pause for a moment to take in the sight. He's in his same outfit from earlier, his tummy on full display, though now it's partially covered with a 'Kiss The Cook' apron— a gag gift from Jack.

Your heart flutters in your chest at the domesticity, the ease with which he mans the open flame, dropping searing meat onto the charred racks. It's so masculine, in that old fashioned way Robby is, heat blooming warm within your belly.

A group of doctors soon fill your line of vision, and you allow yourself a few more minutes of reprieve until you snap back into host mode. You silently analyze the bunch, attributing the sharp cheekbones and defined muscles to…orthopedics, you're pretty sure.

There's one in particular-- a significantly large man with huge arms crossed over his chest, eyeing you like prey. A nervous thread stitches itself in your chest, unraveling the longer he leers.

"Oh, God," you hear Trinity groan, and you turn to look at her, brows knit in confusion.

"What?" You ask, tongue darting out to wrap around your straw, slurping the fruity, slushy drink Robby had made you moments before.

The three Pittlings all exchange a look, and you sit up, heart beating in your chest.

"Park the Shark's got his eye on you," Dennis supplements, and the gears turn in your hazy mind. "He's harmless, but he's most definitely going to try and flirt with you."

From the other side of the couch, your friends sit up at this news, heavily tuned in to this new development. You roll your eyes at them, and they can only shrug, in a way that says, 'can you blame me?'

Unfortunately, you can't.

"That's harmless?" You poise, and they exchange understanding looks. "Does he not know who I am?" Normally, you'd feel embarrassed for asking such a selfish question, but it's your party, dammit.

"It really doesn't matter either way," Victoria mutters, lips twisted in an awkward purse. "He will still try. He's relentless."

"And you look bomb as fuck," Trinity adds, and your cheeks heat up, reveling in the complimentary agreements from the other people there.

"That's true!" your best friend, Susie, chimes in. "Your old man's gonna hate that, though," she adds, nodding to Park.

You twist your lips, his eyes still glued to you. Swinging your legs over the couch, you decide to take the bait. Swinging your hips, you approach the group. Features lighting up, a smooth 'hi!' spills from your lips.

"How are you all?" You're diplomatic, a sweet smile painting your lips, shaking hands and making eye contact. "Do any of you need anything? Everybody have something to drink?"

You look at each of their cups, confirming your question before their pleasantries float around, reassurance in each syllable.

"I mean, I could be better," a smooth, low voice drawls. "You available?" This elicits an eye roll from the rest of the crew, some scoffs echoing out.

"You're digging yourself a deep hole, Park," mutters one of them, who you're pretty sure is Garcia, if the way Trinity was gazing at her was any indication.

You play ignorant, smiling and nodding, though your fingers grip your cup even tighter.

"How could I not?" He smirks to his colleague, lifting a hand up as if to say, 'what else am I expected to do?'

"You know, one day, Park, you're going to make some lucky girl very uncomfortable," you smile, "but it's not me."

He pouts at this, and you can't help but roll your eyes. The others around you begin to disperse, and you very quickly regret your actions. The bravado that got you on your feet moments earlier is dwindling by the second, cowering under his heavy gaze.

"That's not fair," he murmurs, taking a step closer. "You don't even know me."

"I don't know if I want to, given that relationship status is suggestive for you," you cross your arms over your chest, immediately regretting the way it pushes up your boobs.

Park's eyes immediately flit there, and you drop your arms. He pouts again, but still, doesn't tear his gaze away.

"If I was in a relationship with you, I'd never stray, beautiful," he croons, his attempt to be smooth nearly making you gag.

The gazes of your friends burn into your back, and you know they're hanging on to every word. You think you even hear a 'gross!' from Trinity.

"You know, I have to admire how openly you're flirting with the host of this party, who's actively living with your colleague," you remark, and one of them sputters on their drink.

Park cocks a brow at this, and your tummy rumbles with anxiety. The gleam in his eye lodges itself under your skin, making a home there. Robby's never looked at you this way, thank God.

"Well, I'm always open for a challenge," he sidles up closer to you, completely ignoring the others surrounding you. "Never really understood what you were doing with Robinavitch. anyway. Too pretty for that sad sack."

Stomach curdling with disgust, you offer him your best tight lipped, irritated smile.

"I'm not a challenge, I'm a person," you quip. "A person who is never going to sleep with you. Don't hold your breath."

"Hm, i might," he hums, "only if you're into it," he smirks, before walking away.

Your gaze follows him, watching him traipse through the party like he pays rent. Your heart pounds as he makes his way closer to the grill, clapping Robby on the back before leaning in to whisper something.

Robby's eyes find yours, his face falling the more he talks. Confusion and anxiety a perfect storm raging your insides. It feels as if a grater is running through your stomach, shredding until you're nothing left but scraps.

Your fears are confirmed when he finds Jack, handing him the apron and tongs, running inside. Tears sting the back of your eyes, and you dart your gaze back to the group of your friends.

Their faces mirror your emotions almost exactly, wide eyes, raised brows, and slacked jaws. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and you nearly trip over yourself on your way into the house.

It's a sad attempt to maintain your smile as you greet the partygoers floating in and out of the house. There's not many, just people using the bathroom or refilling waters.

You hastily make your way to the other side of the house, the voices of the party-goers fading into the background. Heart pounding in your ears, you find the bedroom door cracked.

Inside you find Robby, tucked away in the en suite bathroom. He's planted in front of the mirror, left hand propped on his hip, right smoothing down his neck.

You instantly recognize this regulation tactic, one you've frequently seen him use in your time with him. Heart breaking, you push the door the rest of the way open.

The creak catches his attention, and his head snaps toward you. He relaxes only slightly when he realizes it's you, but shame soon takes over. Turning to you, he wraps himself in his open shirt.

You don't let him get very far, meeting him where he's at and stopping his arms from moving.

"Hey," you whisper, mouth ghosting his. "You know I wasn't giving into him, right?"

He nods, though he's avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, 'f course, not that I was worried about," he grumbles, and you tilt your head.

"What are you worried about, then, my love?" You smooth your hands up and down his forearms, reveling in his little shiver.

"Worried that maybe he's right," he responds, face fully parallel to the ground now. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, hands covering his reddening face.

Tucking a finger under his chin, you pull until he's looking at you. Upon seeing his face, you almost regret it.

His eyes are big and shiny, droopy in a way they only get when he's truly heartbroken. He's biting his lip to stop him from trembling, and his cheeks are rosy.

You can't help but cup them, running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Giving him a sweet pout, you ask, "what's wrong, hm? What did he say to you, angel?"

He tries to look down, you only grip him firmer. He lets out a huffy exhale, as if he's annoyed— which, to be fair, he probably is. You simply don't care, his well-being is more important than his intense dislike for talking about his feelings.

"C'mon," you whisper, sinking into him. Looping your arms around his neck, you smile when he grips your waist. "Talk to me, Mikey."

He sighs, and you know the name got him. He has never been able to resist the way you purr the nickname, one he hadn't been called since early childhood. You feel a twinge of guilt for playing so dirty, though you justify it for your cause.

"Said he could tell you were thinking about his offer," he starts, an your blood is instantly on fire. "That I need to satisfy you more. That I must not be doing a good job if his girl is willingly approaching him."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You scoff, rearing your head back. "Baby, I need you to know that when I first approached him, he was in a group. He'd been staring me down for like, ten minutes, and I thought I could polite my way out of it," you roll your eyes at what looks, in hindsight, like a confirmation of his stares.

"I'm so sorry, honey," you kiss his cheek. "I should've ignored him, should've listened to my gut," you kiss his other cheek. "How are you feeling about that?"

This is a newer question for the two of you, as you find it yields better answers from him than 'how are you doing?' Robby proves your point, another sigh accompanying what he says next.

"Ashamed," is the first word, and he's successful in this attempt to avoid your eyes. You pout, but let him continue. "Embarrassed, disgusting," he continues, and you're not sure how much more of this your poor heart can take. "Like you'd maybe be happier with someone like him."

This breaks you, and you pull him into a sweet hug. He clings to you, his head resting on your bicep as he desperately quells the cries that shake his body. Dotting kisses along his head, you scrape your nails down the back of his neck.

He lets out another sob at that, though you can tell it's from the relief you're providing. This eases your heart, but only slightly.

"I love you, Mikey. Yeah?" You're desperate in your search of his confirmation. Enclosing his cheeks once more, your hands pull him back to you, heart clutching as the streaks rolling down his face.

He nods, and you lean down to kiss his lips.

"I don't know why," he whispers, lips ghosting yours. "I don't know what I've done for you to love me, I don't get it."

Your heart clutches, and you plop yourself on his lap. You revel in the newfound closeness, pulling him to you as you straddle him. He backs up on the bed so you can have some more stability, a large hand splaying over the small of your back.

Dysregulation be damned, he waits to continue until you're settled back on him, fully bracketed in his arms. He clings to you for dear life, the point of his nose resting on your temple.

"You protect me," you tell him, "even when your brain is being mean to you." You tap two gentle fingers onto his temple. "You made sure I was nice and safe and cozy, even when I know what you're telling yourself right now."

You don't want to go to deep into that thought spiral, afraid you'll be the one to start crying. Though, you do always have a pretty solid guess of the thoughts swirling around his mind in times like these.

You'd dealt with it yourself, feelings of self hatred so deep it feels like you want to rip your skin apart. It's partially why you connect so well with Robby— buried, past traumas blooming into the bouquet of your relationship.

The first hand understanding of these moments has benefited your relationship multiple times, for both parties. It's not work when it's him, helping him heal his heart has never once felt like work.

"You…open my doors," you plant a kiss on his forehead, eyes trailing over every inch of his pretty face. "Pull out my chairs," kiss to his cheek, "pay for my food," kiss to his other cheek, "you cherish me, baby."

You punctuate this with a sweet kiss to his nose, but, to his everlasting dismay, you're not done.

"You have a good heart," your lips ghost over his, your voice dropping to a whisper. "A good soul," you peck his lips. "I see you, Michael. I know who you are, I know what I've gotten myself into."

Tears are flowing down his cheeks once more, though this time it's a silent stream, not a violent river. He nods, taking in your words. His hands smooth up and down his favorite spot— the small of your back, over the curve of your ass, rest for a moment at the tops of your thighs, rinse, repeat.

"You take care of me," you mutter, giving him another peck, then another. "You make me feel seen, heard, loved," another kiss. "Just by being you, y'hear me?"

He nods.

"Good," you coo.

His lips smash onto yours without another moment's notice.

The two of you positively melt into each other, his teeth nearly gnashing against yours at the intensity. The Robby-induced haze is immediate, going dizzy for his lips, the way they trail down your cheek, your neck.

You give your hips a little rock, arching your back and letting out a little whine.

"I love you, Michael," you whisper, his hand traveling up your body, your waist.

He rests his head on the peak of your chest, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes. His adjacent hand creeps up to cup you through your bikini top. He gives you a light squeeze, and you squeal in delight.

"I don't think I can say enough times how beautiful you look, honey," he mutters, lips pursing, nearly slotting onto your skin below him. "So fucking insane, you're fucking insane."

He punctuates his compliments with a deep roll of his hips, his hard length evident in his swim shorts. You kiss the apples of his cheeks, the scruff peppering his jaw, dragging your lips over the Adam's apple in his neck.

"I could say the same thing to you," you respond, smoothing your hands over his still exposed tummy. "Love this belly so much, baby, you don't even know."

Tears spring to his eyes once more, the heels of his own hands catching them before they fall this time.

"Fffuucck!" He growls, a sardonic laugh following. "Y'gotta stop making me cry, princess. Can't take it," he wraps an arm around you, flipping you over so your back is on the bed.

"Michael!" You squeal, bouncing a little from the impact. You don't miss the way he pauses to watch your body adjust to the new position. He then crawls between your legs, eyes on you the entire way there.

"Wait, baby, wait," you sit up on your elbows to get a better look at him. "I wanna get you off first, please?"

"Fffuuuccckkk," he exhales, his forehead pressing against the bed. "Never thought I'd say no to your begging, baby," he presses a kiss to your tummy before untying your pretty skirt.

"Guess there's a first time for everything," he ponders, sliding your bikini bottoms down next. "Especially when my other option is to eat this pretty pussy," he presses a kiss to your clit, and you jump. "I love your mouth, but there's nothing I want more right now than to be the one to make you cum, please?"

You can't help but nod, his mouth immediately attaching to you. The kisses and licks he provides are messy, desperate, a strangled noise wrestling from his throat at your taste.

"Always so fucking sweet," he pulls away a tad, a glob of spit falling from his lips.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as it drops on your clit, rolling down your slit, your ass, onto the bed. His gaze follows the journey, jaw going slack, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Your breath hitches, biting back a moan as he gets back to work. The hand that's not holding your legs open slides up your tummy, fingertips tugging on the string tying together your bikini top

With a swift tug, the bow comes undone, the nylon falling to reveal your tits. They bounce slightly at the release, and he whines into his meal. The vibrations make your skin prickle, a whine falling from your lips.

"So perfect, baby," his large hand grabs as much of both tits as he can, his long fingers stretching as far as they'll allow.

He gives them a rough squeeze, letting them go with a loving slap. You whine at that, too.

"Such a whiny girl today," he murmurs into you, and you nod, legs shaking around his shoulders. "Have I not paid enough attention to you baby?" He asks. It's soft, a sweet question that has you keening. You nod, chest heaving with deep breaths.

"'m sorry, honey, that's so mean of me," he's so genuine, it makes your heart ache. "No wonder you went lookin' for Park, this pussy needed some attention, yeah?"

You swallow hard at his words, belly blooming with a bright heat. You wiggle your core against him, catching his nose on your clit.

"But it's only for me, though, right?" He asks, and you nod. "Nuh-uh," he gives your inner thigh a little pinch, a little kiss. "Tell me. Tell me you need me to make you cum, tell me it's only going to be me."

"Fuck!" You squeal, grinding harder onto his face. "It's only you, Michael," you scrape your nails against his scalp, eliciting a whine into your sopping cunt.

"You're the only one I want like this, the only arm I want to be on, the only man I've ever loved," this confession pushes you over the edge, a white hot sensation rolling over you like an electric shock.

"Fuuuccckkk," he groans into you, tongue never leaving your clit. "Love this pussy so much, c'mon, know you got more…"

A fresh wave hits you, your body going tense at the extra stimulation. Pleasure is all around you as you come down, a sudden sharp sensitivity popping the bubble once it all becomes too much.

You push his head out from between your thighs, and he crawls up your body. Resting his forehead on yours, you run a thumb along his glistening bottom lip.

Bringing it to your mouth, you suck it in, down to your knuckle. Letting it go with a 'pop!', you rest the pad of your thumb on your lips, giving your upper lip the perfect pouty push.

He caves at the sight, and you use his vulnerability to maneuver his body, climbing off the bed and sinking down to your knees on the floor. You beckon him, and he sits up, wiggling his hips until his feet are planted around you on the ground.

You smile up at him, at home between his thick, muscly thighs.

"You should know better than to try and deprive me of your dick in my mouth," you purr, wrapping your fingers around his length.

Tongue lolling out of your mouth, you tap his head against it, his pre-cum sticking to the muscle. The salty taste is immediate on your buds, and you swallow it down greedily.

It's not enough, of course it's not enough. Your lips part in a pretty 'o', closing around his mushroom head. He cries out, head falling back onto the pillows.

Hollowing you cheeks, you take him in deeper, and you hear his breath stutter.

"Oh," he starts, sinking his hands into your hair, "my fucking God."

He punctuates his cry with a tug, the ache in your scalp eliciting a whine. He massages the same spot in a sweet sorry, puling you off his length.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his head, and you go dizzy at the sight. You pout, missing the weight of him on your tongue. He smiles, pinching your cheek, giving it a soft pat.

"Sorry, angel," he starts. "I was gonna come, need to be inside you for that."

Your cheeks heat at this, climbing back onto the bed, reminiscent of the position you'd first started in. He scoots the both of you back to the pillows, slipping his red, angry length into your pussy without warning.

Your breath catches as his head breaches your entrance, the initial split taking the air from your lungs. Robby's gasping, barely getting a breath in as he fully sinks in his tip.

Your pussy swallows him up, tight and eager. Sinking down further, you start to create a rhythm, wiggling your hips, bouncing, just a little, to see what feels good.

With a certain swivel, the hook of his cock reaches a specific spot inside that has you lurching into him. He catches you, the sudden movement shoving him further inside you.

"Ffuuucckkk," you whisper, allowing yourself to seat yourself fully. "God, fuck," you throw your head back, pressing your hand into his knee. "You feel so good," you use the leverage to move your hips, circling his cock.

"Motherfucker," he groans, "so good to me, you're so good to me, baby."

Raising up on your knees, you lift slowly off him, to sink all the way back down again. You begin to bounce, your breasts moving in time with your thrusts.

His expression is cartoonish— wide and dazed, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Your thigh muscles work as you bounce, his cock pistoning deep inside you.

"Don't know what I did to deserve you," he mutters, almost lost in thought. His free hand cups your breast, thumb running over your nipple. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect…happily bouncing on 50 year old dick, yeah?"

Your cheeks burn at his words, a shameful nod rocking your head.

"Yeah, 's what I thought," his thumb picks up speed on your nub. "My girl doesn't need someone younger, doesn't need fucking Park," he growls that last part, and you press a quick kiss to his lips. "Needs me, hm?"

You nod, nose brushing against his.

"Yeah," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Need your cock, honey," your smile is sweet, despite the depravity of your words. The juxtaposition makes him groan. "It's so big, so fucking deep inside me, fuck!"

You pick up speed, bouncing at a rate your thighs will come to regret tomorrow. Robby's head falls back, mouth parted in an 'O'.

"Fuck," he groans, his thumb finding your clit. "Tight little pussy is gonna make me cum, honey," he squeezes his eyes shut, a loose tear rolling down his cheek. "Fuck, thank you for making me feel so good, honey, thank you."

Bending over, you lick up the tear, kissing the dampness that's dotting his crow's feet. It's not long until the coil in your belly tightens once more, his thumb unrelenting on your button.

"Feels so good, gonna cum too, wanna cum together, please," you beg, feeling drunk off the intense thrusting.

Your blood is buzzing as you fall over the edge once again. This one is more overwhelming, more explosive as you tighten, squeeze around Robby in a way that has him finishing, too.

You feel him twitch, the relief of his own orgasm softening his cock. He nestles deep inside as you both come down, his thighs against your ass as you snuggle into each other.

Deep breaths rock the two of you, bodies moving with each heave. Pressing your forehead against his, you take a big gulp of air before you say, "I love you."

You press a kiss to his lips, and keep talking.

"I never want you to compare yourself to anyone, let alone Park," you spit the name out like it tastes bad. "I love you just the way you are, m'kay?"

He rolls his eyes, but you pinch the skin of his bicep.

"Hey! It's cliche, but it's true. Bruno Mars wrote that song for a reason," this gets him to smile, and you pinch his cheek.

"I hate to break it to you, old man, but we do have a party to get back to," you say, and his face falls at the reminder.

"Damn, do you think anyone noticed we were gone?" He asks, finger tips running up and down your arms.

"Probably," you smirk, lifting your hips off of his.

You both whine at the loss of each other, swinging your leg over his lap so you can make your way to the bathroom. He follows, holding your hand while you pee, a tradition born from your post-sex sensitivity.

He lets you finish your business on your own, but makes sure to pat you down with a wet wash cloth before re-tying your bottoms, your skirt. He situates your top for you, too, placing a kiss to the parts of your breasts that peek out of your swimsuit.

You're fixing your hair when you walk back outside, knees fluid, cheeks aflame, a huge smile on your face. Your friends are right where you left them, a knowing smile on each of their faces as they take in your rumpled form.

Susie slides you a fresh glass, a margarita, and you gratefully accept. Hiding your face with the large, plastic cup, you avert your gaze from your friends.

You find Robby, sheepish as he accepts his apron and tongs back from Jack. From across the deck, you hear him say,

“Have you ever thought about swapping to the night shift?” Jack asks as you walk together to your next patient,

“Uhm… I don’t know. I’ve never really thought of it actually.” you’re unable to read Jack’s face as he pulls you to the side,

“You should really consider it, I think you’d be great on the team.” he says quietly, trying to keep the conversation between the two of you. your brows furrow in confusion at his sudden approach, sensing an ulterior motive behind,

“Look, he’s my best friend but I see the way he talks to you. I’m not trying to make up shit to excuse whatever's going on with him, but you know how he is. I just think maybe you need a break, a change in teams, y’know.” you flash Jack a sympathetic smile as he speaks,

“Doctor Abbot, I’m fine, really. I appreciate your concern though.” you say as you hold the tablet out to pass to him. he takes a deep breath as he takes it from you, letting you walk away to finish your handoffs. 

Jack wants to throw a lifeline to you. change your shifts without your permission, let you see what you’ve been missing out on firsthand and ask for forgiveness later. he doesn’t care about whether you might resent him for it or not, he just knows that you’re too ambitious, too smart and too keen to let it be diminished by the other attending.

as you type out your final chart of the day, Robby taps your shoulder, 

“Mind if we chat?” he says, tilting his head to indicate he wants to pull you aside. Dana stands nearby, watching carefully. her and Jack have talked about it numerous times and not even Dana can get through to you or Robby. though, neither of them really understand, and you know that they wouldn’t,

“I trust my residents, all of them. I trust that whatever undergrad program you’ve done has taught you the value of thorough charting and why we do it,” you nod as Robby starts, “So, I would love an explanation on why I see that your charts from earlier this morning are half done. They’re sloppy, disorganized and there are typos that could lead to wrong prescriptions.” he has that same slight condescending smile on his face that Dana recognizes even from afar. 

“I got caught up with helping on a peds case, then that overdose came in and then Langdon asked me to help in triage— I’m sorry —they’ll be fixed before I go.” you tell your attending with your head low. 

“They should be done properly after every single patient. I expect better from you, not excuses.” he says, arms crossed. you stare at the lines of the beige coloured floor, waiting for this to be over so you can get back to work. it goes quiet between the two of you and you miss seeing his eyes softening suddenly after scolding you, 

“Hey,” Robby says softly, grabbing your attention. when you look up, his expression is entirely different. he no longer looks at you as your attending but with a face pleading with desperation. it’s the kind of face only you get to see in private and no one else. 

“Same time tonight?” he says. If Jack was around, he’d argue that Robby sounds like he’s borderline begging,

“Of course.” you reply with the smallest of smiles. he nods, silently dismissing you from the room. Jack sighs as he watches you leave the room, quickly walking back to your station to continue your charts. Dana stands beside him, putting her hand on his back

“I tried talking to her again today. Still isn’t budging.” Jack says in disappointment

“Some people just don’t wanna be helped. You know that better than anyone.” Dana says sympathetically. Jack however strongly disagrees with her and is newly motivated by his need to prove Dana and Robby wrong about you. he might finally follow through with his idea of changing your shifts and begging for forgiveness later, for one week at least. 

your arrangement with Robby happened fast and out of nowhere. it started the way all messy, casual relationships do; at a bar, drunk, and with a little bit of playful flirting. 

you stared at the other residents scattered across the bar. some were in line for more drinks, some playing pool and others even dancing on a nonexistent dancefloor. you always like people watching and it was sweet to see them let loose after work. you sat quietly, and close beside Robby, knees brushing against one another every so often.

“So, have you applied to any fellowships for next year?” he starts as he takes a casual sip of his beer,

“I’m thinking of neurology right now and I know what you’re gonna say, it’s competitive, it’s for the best of the best and—” Robby cuts you off,

“I think it’s great, it’s perfect for you,” Robby looks at you smiling. No caveat, no sneaky comments, he stops with that. “You’re incredibly good at what you do in the ER, I think neuro would be very lucky to have you.” you smile at the praise from your attending, feeling yourself getting shyer by the second. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying to ignore the lustful way Robby looks at your lips, then back up to your eyes. maybe it’s the liquor but the words continue spilling out of you, “You’ve taught me a lot over the years and I don’t think ‘thank you’ will ever be enough. I never take anything you teach me for granted.”

Robby thinks of closing the distance between the two of you, kissing you right then and there in front of everyone and dealing with the consequences tomorrow. he’s so damn close to it but before he can make a move, you check the time on your phone, 

“Fuck, it’s late. I should head home.” you shuffle around to grab your bags and chug the last bit of your drink down. you know you might regret it later, but getting your money's worth from the last bit of alcohol outweighs the potential hangover or bad decisions you’ll make,

“Let me drive you.” Robby offers, desperate to keep you longer.

“Oh, no. Please, it’s okay!” you plead.

“I’ll drive you, it’s okay. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re home safely.” Robby is already standing up from the booth with his hand reaching out to help you stand. neither of you say goodbye to the rest of the day shift and quickly slip out the bar doors.

the car ride was a comfortable kind of quiet. the radio played at a low volume, and you’d hum some bits of a song you heard one too many times. he parks his car outside your apartment building, leaving the engine running. Robby still wants to kiss you, but feared that he’d come off too strong or like he’d been expecting something if he turns the car off,

“Thank you, Doctor Robby, I really appreciate it.” you say turning to look at him. he smiles softly, acknowledging your thank you with a nod. he looks at your lips again, then back at your eyes, similar to what he did in the bar before leaning in slowly. you don’t stop him, if anything you lean in to meet him halfway over the center console. he kisses you softly and with hesitation, as if he’s testing to see if what he’s doing is okay. when you don’t pull away, he puts his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer and kissing you deeper and deeper. your lips taste like a mix of vodka and the cherry lipgloss he always sees you wear, tempting him constantly. he’s always wanted to taste it and now he’s dizzy with lust and only continues to kiss you harder and deeper. he can’t hold back any longer and pulls away for a second,

“Can I come upstairs?” he asks with his hand still on your cheek making small circles. you hesitate for a second before nodding. Robby shuts the engine off before the two of you head up to your apartment. 

in hindsight, you should have said no. you should have told him that what you two were doing violated pages worth of HR guidelines and that your medical career wasn’t worth putting on the line for him. but the way Robby praised you earlier that night, the mentorship he’s given you for years, confiding in him felt natural to you but it wasn’t necessarily love. 

you could argue that you wanted him just as bad but in a different way. Robby was infatuated, desperate to feel your love, call you his and only his. on the other hand, you craved his validation, his leadership, his guidance. his desire for you to be wanted and needed by him was so strong, it made for a horrible combination. you, highly ambitious but docile, combined with his overbearing mentorship, your relationship or whatever you wanted to call it, was made to crash and burn. 

he towered over you, looking down at you as you stared up with big eyes, waiting for instructions. he always found that you were especially pretty to him like this; waiting for his instructions, only acting when he commanded. even in the bedroom, he naturally fell into a leadership role for you,

“So pretty.” he purred as he put his hand on your cheek again, leaning down to kiss you again. 

you never addressed your arrangement to each other but sleeping together became a routine most days after work. Robby only ever came over to your place, never his, and part of you is convinced that because of that, you have control over your arrangement; that you have the control to stop it whenever you want.

you laid in bed with your head on his bare chest, unable to rid your mind of the conversation you had with Jack that day. it replayed over and over in your head. maybe it was a ploy to poach you and have you join the night shift, or maybe he was genuinely concerned about the way Robby spoke to you. now that Jack mentioned it, you have noticed Robby has been a bit meaner to you than usual, and unfortunately it only made his rare praises more desirable,

“You were a little mean today.” you blurt out, not thinking your words through. there's a small moment of silence while Robby processes your sudden thought,

“You understand why I have to though, right?” Robby responds calmly. of course you know the answer. it was something he reiterated to you only ever in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I know.” 

“Say it.” there’s a tinge of Robby’s usual condescending tone. 

“You’re pushing me to do my best and you want me to be the best. Better than you.” your voice suddenly goes monotone, as if you’re reading from a memorized script.

“And?” he says with no change in tone. 

“And because it’s not fair to everyone else if you’re easy on me.” you say increasingly quieter.

“That’s right,” Robby says. the lack of an apology leaves you feeling empty and he can tell that’s exactly what you were looking for, 

“You know I started on your letter of recommendation for your fellowship next year,” your eyes look up at him with a sudden new sparkle, something he hasn’t seen in a while. it was close enough to an apology that was never coming, and you were taking what you could get.

𝜗ৎ 

the following week, you noticed a change in your schedule. for the first time during your residency, you were working nights. something about the change made you nervous; would Robby be upset? would it affect your letter of recommendation? you silently reminded yourself the schedule change is out of your control, but you can’t help but feel at fault for it. 

as you walk into PTMC, Jack and Shen stand together at the workstation,

“Here comes our newest Nightcrawler! How does it feel?” Doctor Shen says with a smile and his usual iced coffee in hand. 

“Really weird, I think it’s gonna take me a sec to adjust to the sleep schedule.” you say a bit on edge. even though you know everyone on the night shift, it still feels like you’re in unknown territory,

“I’m surprised you managed to almost avoid being on nights your entire residency,” John says as he passes you an energy drink, 

“As a welcome gift.” you smile as you take it, cracking it open before heading to your locker. 

as you put your things away, Robby approaches from behind, putting his hand on the small of your back to grab your attention. you turn to see him with slightly worried eyes, 

“So you’re working nights, huh?” he starts.

“I didn’t ask anyone to swap me to nights.” your defensiveness catches him off guard. 

“I know. And I know you’re smart, just don’t forget everything I’ve taught you,” he says, shaking his head slightly, 

“I would hate for this to affect your recommendation letter.” Robby feels ashamed to hold the letter above your head, but how else could he remind you where you belonged and who taught you everything you knew? Jack rounds the corner suddenly, seeing Robby speaking with you. there’s a notable shift in your energy from the way you were speaking with Shen minutes ago, 

“Hey,” Jack’s voice grabs both you and Robby’s attention, 

“Why don’t you catch up with Lena? We’re gonna huddle in a few minutes.” you scramble to lock everything away and head back towards the central area of the ER. Robby stays back, expecting Jack to confront him on the sudden shift in your energy,

“Did you ask to have her on nights?” Robby starts before Jack can say anything, 

“Because she was doing perfectly fine on the day shift.”

“She’s in her last year of her residency and hasn’t worked a single night shift. Don’t you think she should have an opportunity to see what it’s like?” Jack avoids his question but Robby already knows the answer. he’s too tired to fight, the day was already gruelling and exhausting enough on him,

“Just don’t go easy on her. She’s talented and she’s got a real shot at this neuro fellowship she wants for next year.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck up your protégé.” Jack says with his sarcastic flair. though he fails to mention that he’s serious on planning to show you what proper leadership looks like to him. 

𝜗ৎ 

Robby leaves PTMC right as he hears the usual HOOAH! from the nightcrawlers. he thinks the way Jack leads them is too laid back and filled with too many opportunities to bend the rules. he silently prays it doesn’t rub off on you. months worth of progress he’s made with you would all go to waste. 

“Eric Lake, twenty nine years old, had a bottle hit over his head at a bar tonight. multiple lacerations on the skull, possible skull fracture. BP, one thirty over seventy, heart rate, one twenty.” the paramedics call out as they pull the gurney towards trauma two. you look up to see Jack waving you over towards the room. 

as you enter trauma two, Jack is already working to get a gown on you,

“You’re going to need to make an incision on his skull. Neuro is on their way but there's a larger piece of glass that’s too deep. If we don’t do it now, it might press into his frontal lobe.” Jack says calmly as he can sense your panic set in.

“Doctor Abbot, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” you say with a shaky voice.

“I’ll walk you through it,” he says decisively. you walk over and he passes you a scalpel,

“Deep breath, go slow and gentle.” you take a deep breath in and follow his instructions exactly. once you make the incision, Jack takes the scalpel from your hand and passes you a set of tweezers next. you carefully remove the piece of glass and it feels like you can finally breathe properly again,

“Atta girl, let’s get him up for a CT scan next.” Jack says as he moves to take his gown and gloves off. you feel your cheeks heat up at his praise, following the same motions as him and removing your disposable gear. 

there’s a noticeable difference in the way Jack walks you through traumas. Robby was much less gentle, he would have reminded you of your neuro fellowship application a dozen times before you got to making an incision. he would’ve probably scolded you for taking your time, whereas Jack was calm, he trusted you and in turn you trusted yourself. 

the rest of the shift goes by as smoothly as possible. by the last hour or so, you’ve managed to finish most of your charts with your shaky, over caffeinated hands,

“You got a second to talk?” Jack says as he passes by you, waiting for you to follow. anxiety begins bubbling in your stomach, it’s a usual routine for Robby to put your mistakes on blast but it never fails to make you uneasy. Jack pulls you aside in one of the empty trauma rooms,

“You did good today, really good. You should be proud of how you handled that head laceration,” Jack starts. you look up at him nervously waiting for whatever caveat he has. he can see the nervousness in your eyes and something about the way you look at him makes him feel a sense of pity, 

“Mind if I give you some advice? Nothing bad, I promise,” you nod at his request, 

“You’ve got all the answers in you. All the right ideas and you need to own them more. Your technique, your approach with patients, it’s all great, but you need to be more confident in yourself.” you nod again at his advice. you’ve got all the answers in you repeats in your head like a new mantra,

“Thank you, Doctor Abbot. I appreciate it.” Jack nods in acknowledgement. 

from afar, Robby watches as Jack and you leave the trauma bay. he turns to Lena who is already carefully examining his every move,

“How’d she do tonight?” Lena already knows who he’s referring to,

“She did perfectly fine without you, Robinavitch.” Robby laughs dryly in response to Lena, shaking his head. perfectly fine without him sounds like an exaggeration. he wants to ask you how your first night went; were you pushing yourself hard enough still? are you learning better things from Jack than what he could’ve taught you? did you miss him? the questions continue popping up as he watches the way you interact with the night shift attending from afar. 

𝜗ৎ 

the end of your first week on nights was merciless– a mass crowd crush at a concert forced some of the day shift to come back in early, including Robby,

“He’s experiencing hyperkalemia, let’s administer nebulized albuterol now please!” you call out. Jack watches close by, nodding in agreement with each order you make. as Jack passes you by he quickly says,

“You’re doing great, keep calling orders just like that.” Robby watches as your eyes squint slightly, indicating a smile coming from under your mask. Jack leaves the crowded trauma room and heads towards the ambulance bay, Robby is quick to follow, grabbing his arm as the automatic sliding doors open, 

“She should’ve seen those hyperkalemia symptoms earlier, she didn’t deserve that win.” Robby says in a low and firm tone. Jack stops to face the other attending fully,

“But she still ended up identifying it, and that man is alive because of that,” Jack defends you quickly. Robby stares back with a deadpan expression, 

“Just because she doesn’t do it the way you would, doesn’t mean she’s not capable, Robby. A win is a win, and I’m still her attending on shift.” Robby is taken aback by Jack’s response, leaving him to walk back to the ambulance bay. 

you watch the two interact from afar as your patient is pushed out of the trauma room. you can’t make out their exact exchange but can only assume it’s about the way you’ve handed trauma after trauma tonight. 

as Robby turns to head back inside the ER, your eyes briefly meet. neither of you have spoken since you started on nights, nor has he tried to come over. Robby’s eyes have a familiar softness to them as you look at each other. part of you is torn between feeling guilty about not seeing him, but the other half is relieved to have your space, even if its temporary. you quickly look away, tearing your gown off and heading out of the trauma room through the rear door. there are silent prayers in your head hoping he isn’t following after you. 

the ER finally slows as the majority of the crowd crush patients either rest or head up to surgery. Jack watches as you type quickly to get through each chart. he can sense your fear of falling behind and having to pick up another patient so he rolls his chair beside you, casually looking at his watch,

“Down to the last hour,” you smile at his comment, still typing relentlessly. it had felt like there was no end in sight to today and you didn’t want to stop until then. Jack puts his hand on your forearm, finally putting a stop to your typing, “I’m really noticing improvement in your confidence especially in your verbal orders. Keep it up.” for the first time all day, you feel your shoulders drop and body begin to relax,

“Thank you, I’m really trying.” you say as your turn your body towards him.

“And I see it.” Jack holds his eye contact with you as he tries to continue emphasizing his praise to you,

“If you want, we could go for breakfast to celebrate your first week on nights?” heat spreads across your face quickly before you start frantically nodding. he flashes a smile, unable to hide his overwhelming excitement. 

the way Jack looks at you and treats you feels different than what you’re used to. you feel like a deer in headlights whenever he compliments you and this time, it felt genuine, authentic, like there isn’t some trick behind his words. the walls you put up to protect yourself from getting hurt are slowly coming down around him and you’re fucking terrified. 

he doesn’t tell you where you’re going, except that he knows you’ll enjoy it. the car ride together is quiet, he doesn’t push for conversations nor do you. it’s comfortable, there’s no pressure to talk about work or anything else, it’s a mutual space to silently decompress. Jack pulls into the parking lot of a small breakfast diner, looking over at you as he pulls the keys from the ignition,

“You okay?” he says with raised eyebrows, waiting on confirmation. you nod and head in together. 

it’s your traditional breakfast diner, a time capsule stuck in the 60s with posters reminiscent of those times. the floors have the usual black and white checker print with contrasting bright red booth chairs and tables. Jack guides you to a seat as a server passes you both menus,

“Did you pick this place ‘cause it reminds you of when you were a teenager?” you tease. it’s the first time he’s heard you make a joke in a while and he doesn’t care it’s at the expense of his age,

“Yeah, and sometimes I like to go to those renaissance fairs to remind me of my childhood.” he replies, smirking. you let out a laugh and he’s willing to do or say anything to hear it again. 

you both place your orders and it’s quiet again. you stare out at the window, still trying to decipher what him and Robby were talking about earlier,

“What’s on your mind?” Jack says, grabbing your attention away from the passing cars on the road. you stare back at him in hesitation,

“Can I ask you something?” Jack lets out a hum, opening the floor to you,

“What were you and Robby talking about earlier? When we were dealing with the crowd crush.” Jack breathes in deeply, shifting in discomfort,

“We just disagree sometimes on how we approach things.”

“Approach… Me?” you ask, still hesitant to continue. 

“Yeah, sort of.” Jack answers. it goes quiet again between the two of you,

“I heard you’re applying for a neuro fellowship next year?” he says, trying to steer the conversation away from Robby. he knows he’s failed when you’re suddenly the one shifting uncomfortably,

“I’m trying, yeah.” 

“Good for you. You’re great at what you do, neuro would be very lucky to have you.” Word for word, Jack repeats the exact same thing Robby said when you first told him about your plans to apply. something about hearing it again from Jack instead makes it sting,

“Is Robby writing your letter of recommendation?”

“He’s trying to apparently. Not sure he’s happy with me being on nights though so I haven’t really heard much about it.” Jack hums at your response, not pushing further. 

“Y’know for a while, I thought about changing to something else. I don’t know, maybe I felt burnt out but I just didn’t feel like I was good enough for it anymore.” there’s another small pause, Jack knows you aren’t finished yet,

“But that kinda changed recently, after being on the night shift. It reminded me why I’m here and that I’m good at what I do.” you say, looking at Jack. he tries to keep a straight face, feeling his chest swell with pride.

“You’re more than welcome to stay on nights.” he replies. you might just take him up on that. 

𝜗ৎ 

Can I come see you tomorrow? Saw you’re off. 

your half awake eyes scan over the text from Robby again. it’s been a few weeks since you’ve started on the night shift and neither of you have really spoken to each other outside of the usual patient hand offs. it was too early (or too late now that you worked nights) to be thinking about Robby and what your relationship meant. 

when you enter PTMC that evening, Robby is quick to follow you to your locker,

“Didn’t know we were ignoring each other now.” he starts with a slight bitterness,

“I haven’t had a chance to respond to anyone, Robby.” you say as you struggle to clip your badge to your scrub. it’s a half truth, you’ve been tired from the sleep schedule change but he didn’t need to know that. 

“I get it, you’re busy, I just didn’t—” he stops mid sentence to gently grab your badge and clip it on you. your arms drop as a click noise confirms that he’s secured it, 

“I didn’t think you swapping to the night shift would mean I wouldn’t see you anymore.” he says a bit quieter. you’re not sure how to respond to him. it’s not that you didn’t want to see him, you just didn’t want to deal with all the criticism and baggage that came with seeing him. Robby can tell you’re at a loss for words,

“How about I come over tomorrow, cook some dinner for you and show you the first draft of the recommendation letter I wrote?” before you can respond, Parker rounds the corner,

“Hey, that patient with dementia from last night is here again. She’s asking for you.” your attention is brought back to reality suddenly, remembering the events of your previous shift,

“Right, Mrs. Williams, I remember her. I’ll be there in a second.” you start to walk back towards the ER but Robby is quick to stop you,

“Let me know, okay?” you nod, trying to hurry back. 

𝜗ৎ 

the rest of the night passes by quickly. it’s a friday night and you learned quickly that weekend night shifts mostly included stitching up frat guys or tending to bar hoppers who drank too much. 

by the time the morning rolls around, you’ve already forgotten about Robby asking to come over. you had been preoccupied with whatever assignment Jack was throwing your way and for some reason that night, he was insistent on putting you on as many as possible. 

“Can we talk?” Jack says, interrupting you mid-chart. you follow Jack to a vacant room and there’s suddenly a familiar anxiety in your stomach that never goes away when you’re singled out by either attendings. 

“Here,” Jack says as he pulls out an envelope and hands it to you, 

“Open it.” he steps back with his arms behind his back, watching you carefully open the PTMC branded envelope up, eyes quickly skimming across the paper inside,

“To whom it may concern,

… A fantastic fit for a neurology fellowship…

… Extremely detailed in her work, highly competent, all while approaching every case with kindness and empathy…

… Knows all the answers within herself…

… I highly recommend her… she would benefit the team greatly…

Signed,

Dr. Jack Abbot

Attending Physician, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre”

“Whatever you choose to do, I just hope you get to stay in Pittsburgh.” Jack says with a quieter voice, filling the silence. you stare in awe at the letter,

“You didn’t have to.” you managed to get out,

“I wanted to. It’s the least I could do.” the ‘least he could do’ had possibly changed the trajectory of your medical career. 

you’re not sure what to do with yourself but your body naturally goes in to wrap your arms around Jack’s neck. he holds you close, putting his chin on your shoulders. the smell of your light perfume mixed with your skin consumes him. you pull away first, your hands still around his neck and his hands suddenly on your waist. 

neither of you have spoken but the longer you look at one another, you swear you can hear each other's thoughts.Jack just hopes he isn’t misreading anything as he slowly leans closer to your face kissing you hesitantly but softly. you don’t move, you don’t pull away, instead letting him pull away first,

“Jack, I don’t wanna mess this up.” you say in an almost whisper. it’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name and he wants to hear it again and again, 

“I know.” 

“And I need you to know I’m not doing all of this because you gave me that letter.”

“I know,” he reiterates again. “We can take it slow.” you look at him before awkwardly leaning up to give him a small kiss. Jack smiles,

“We can start with breakfast again?” 

outside in the ER, Robby walks in starting every shift the same way; staring at the portrait of Doctor Adamson. his need to continue his legacy and be half as good of a mentor is constantly consuming him and the portrait was a reminder of it. Dana walks in a few minutes later, standing next to Robby. 

“He woulda been proud of what you’ve done with the place.” Dana starts.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” Robby huffs shaking his head. 

“A bit of advice?” Robby looks over at Dana before reluctantly nodding.

“Some of the best mentors I’ve had are the ones who trust their mentees to make the right decisions. I know he did with you,” Dana says, motioning at the portrait. she leans in a bit closer, “It also helps when there are no feelings attached.” Dana leaves Robby with her thoughts and heads towards the nurses station. 

in the corner of his eye, you and Jack exit a room and Robby immediately notices the bright smile on your face. it looks out of place for someone who just worked a twelve almost thirteen hour shift. he watches you walk together and notices a bright white envelope in your hands that he can only assume is your letter of recommendation. the two attending’s eyes meet and Jack gives Robby a sly smile— a smile that reads you’re too late. Robby sighs as he looks back up at Adamson’s portrait for one more moment. Jack, on the other hand, has you both exactly where he wants; Robby feeling sorry for his mistakes and you on the night shift with him for the reminder of your residency.

When Jack sees your hands shaking while trying to open a granola bar, he jumps at the opportunity to be close to you. He comes over to you, offering, “Let me,” while deft hands try to replace yours.

You flinch and try the plastic again. “It’s fine.”

He exhales through his nose, reaching another time. He tries to keep his hands guided toward the snack in your hands and not you. “I can—”

“I said it’s fine, Jack,” you snap, finally meeting his eye after a long while. You look exhausted and wrung out, and he knows it’s his fault. To Jack, you still look as beautiful as the day you walked out on him, leaving your heart in pieces for him to pick up. 

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright,” he concedes, but he doesn’t walk away yet.

You manage to tear the plastic and take a bite, but now you’re annoyed, angry, sad, or a combination of three from Jack’s insistence. He broke your heart weeks ago, and now he has the gall to show up? 

You try to push back the thought that insists it means he cares. 

He keeps staring, and you huff. Chewing impatiently, you grumble, “What?”

Jack clears his throat and ghosts a hand over your back. “You just look tired—you're doing okay, right?”

Your spine straightens. “Nothing for you to worry about, Abbot.”

Abbot. Not Jack, or Jackie, or any other of the lovely names you call him. The sudden change paralyzes him, and he’s dumbfounded as you saunter off. 

Watching you walk away, a piece of him goes with you. The aching, burning feeling in his chest roars, and while Jack is realizing he misses you, he’s also realizing that he needs you, too. He’s restless because you’re not in his apartment with him, laughing life into his kitchen and kissing him sweetly. That you’re not giving him knowing looks across the ER or brushing against his shoulder to ground him after hard traumas. He feels equally the fool for not grasping his feelings earlier, and now you’re slipping out of his hands like sand.