Light My Way

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!

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

“Motherfucker!”

You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black. 

Great. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast. 

You miss the night shift.

It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out. 

Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea. 

He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind. 

“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”

Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips. 

“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”

Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.

“You sound like Jack.”

You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments. 

“Have you talked to Jack recently?”

Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.

“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”

Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.

“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”

Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence. 

It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with. 

“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”

“Mhm.”

That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.

“A little help here?”

You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other. 

“What’s the story here?”

You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.

“Bar argument gone ugly.”

The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.

“Is that glass?”

Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face. 

“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”

You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs. 

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”

Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground. 

“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”

You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance. 

“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”

Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.

“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”

“Oh, shit.”

Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.

“We need some help in here! You good?”

Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.

“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”

Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.

“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”

Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.

“Woah, what can I do?”

Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.

“Give them a hand, will ya?”

Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon. 

“Absolutely not!”

You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision. 

Fuck, that hurt. 

You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back. 

“What the hell is going on in h—?”

Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.

“Knock it off before I knock you out.”

Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.

“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”

Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.

“How you doing, Slugger?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”

Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient. 

This day can’t get any worse. 

Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.

“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”

His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.

“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”

You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.

“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”

You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.

Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s  a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.

Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him. 

“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”

Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.

“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”

If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.

“Abbot.”

Of course he is.

“I can’t get a hold of him.”

Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning. 

“He’s gone fishing.”

Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.

“Abbot is fishing?”

“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”

Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.

Oh. 

The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders. 

“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”

Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.

“I think I can manage that.”

Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage. 

“Where is she?”

Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity. 

“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”

Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you. 

“Exam room 11.”

Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You are a horrible patient.”

“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”

Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.

“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”

Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.

“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”

Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.

“Langdon. Out. Now.”

Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries. 

“It looks worse than it is.”

It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch. 

“Do me a favor?”

You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.

“Don’t lie to me.”

You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.  

“How are you here?”

Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to be fishing.”

His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.

“I got a call.”

“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”

“To everyone other than you.”

Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with. 

“But how… Perlah.”

Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell. 

“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”

Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again. 

“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”

Jack’s brow furrows at your words.

“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”

You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.

“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”

You almost smile at that.

“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”

You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.

“Two weeks is too long.”

“You’re not my boss, Jack.”

Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this. 

“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”

A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you. 

“Do what?”

Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.

“Get through the fucking night.”

A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.

“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”

Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart. 

“Why would you want that?”

“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”

Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.

“You don’t know where you stand with me?”

You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?

He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”

You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face. 

“You never said anything.”

Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.

“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”

You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.

“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”

You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.

“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”

Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows. 

“Him being here was unnecessary.”

You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.

“You were jealous.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“I have no reason to be jealous.”

You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.

“What makes you so confident?”

“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.

You jerked up, looking at him. 

Robby leant over the counter, sliding on his glasses and looked closer. 

He was too close to you to be studying you like a patient, but just close enough for his wife. 

“You eat anything today?” he asked. 

You squinted at him. “We literally got breakfast this morning.”

“Okay, okay.”

There were darkening circles under your eyes and your lips were chapped which was his first sign something was wrong: you treated moisturising your lips like some do religion. Other than that your body was slumped over a computer. You were far more active than this. 

“You sleep okay last night?” he asked.

You smirked. “Well no, not really, someone kept me up.”

Robby smirked right back, leaning back just enough to give you space. “Are you complaining?”

“No.”

Flashbacks of last night came to mind in searing heat. The sweat of your bodies, the grip he held on your hand as he fucked you into the mattress like he did most nights. 

They said your libido goes down the older you get but Robby was going through another one. His box of blue pills sat abandoned in his bedside draw- thank god. 

Robby nodded once. “Good.”

“But that saying,” you continued, swivelling in your chair to face him. Still, he didn't move. He could smell the shampoo you'd bathed yourself in this morning and his mouth salivated like a dog with his favourite treat. “Four rounds?”

Robby took a quick sweep of the area, making sure nobody was missing him and his wife as they flirted shamelessly. “You asked for it.”

You frowned. “Did I?”

“Hey!” called Dana. “Mr and Mrs Adams, we could use your help here!”

You playfully rolled your eyes and Robby backed away slowly, hands up in surrender. He watched Dana turn to at least give them a second to finish up their flirting before digging into his pocket. 

“Here- for your lips.”

A small, practically un-used tube of chap-stick fell from the palm of his hand to yours. He carried it for you, always. If you'd asked you'd know he carried an extra pack of nuts and hand cream too. 

He'd been doing so secretly since your first dates years ago. 

Of course the supplies were different but the sentiment the same.

You blushed, a bright smile coming to your face. “You are so adorable.”

Robby shook off the word like it was splash of cold water. “Yeah, don't let onto anyone, okay? Got a cold exterior to keep up.”

“Oh- of course.”

He could have stood there and watched you all day but he already felt Dana's gaze, un-wavering. He squeezed your shoulders and pressed a kiss on your forehead before slipping away with a quiet promise to himself that he'd get his hands on you later.

“You don't look so well, you know,” said Dana once the coast was clear of Robby. 

“Don't you start,” you said. “I've had enough of this the last couple days from Robby.”

“Oh yeah, you got something?” Dana's hand was gentle on your back. If you weren't careful she'd push you onto a bed, have you in a gown with a chart written up herself. She'd mother you; smother you in her care even if she wasn't a doctor. Even if you were the attending around the place. 

You shook your head and flashed her a un-convincing smile. 

You were sure it was a bug, or burn out.

You'd caught burn out like some do colds or flus. As the second attending it was your job- with Robby's- to make sure everyone was taught, that patients were satisfied (you found you were doing that part for your husband as well) and you were saving as many lives as you could. 

The careful art of delegation and avoidance was lost on you. You threw yourself into traumas like you were still a med student with something to prove.

“Okay, if you say so,” said Dana with a purse of her lips. 

“I do say so.”

“If you need anything.”

“Am I married to you or Robinavitch?” you teased, tugging on gloves and readying yourself for a room of hustle. 

Dana chuckled, backing away slowly to her station. “You should be so lucky, Robinavitch.”

Using the weight of your back you pushed into trauma two. 

“Okay, kids- what have we got?”

“Fetal heart rate one-two-eight.”

Whitaker was at your side in an instant, handing you the chart. “Woman in her late twenties, came in complaining of cramping and migraines, twenty-nine weeks along.”

“BP is one-seventy, over one-nineteen.”

The woman was on her side, a whole score of nurses and doctors around her. It was always double the team for pregnant ladies. When there were two patients to care for in a package of one.

“Six grams of magnesium going in.”

You floated around the room, Whitaker following you like some guard dog. You took in everything going on, reading stats and taking in numbers everyone gave to you. “Okay, ma'am, I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robin. It seems you have a medical condition called preeclamsia.”

The woman's eyes were teary and dark as they looked up to you in fear. “Wh-what?”

“Preeclampsia. Now that we know what it is we can help you.”

“But it was- it was just a headache,” she cried, hand cradling her stomach on instinct. “Is my baby going to be okay?”

“We are doing everything to make sure you and the baby do just fine,” you assured her, speaking a language you'd become fluent in. Diagnosis and comfort. Sometimes, when the job got tough, you wondered if you even really believed the words you were saying. They just floated from your tongue typically. 

“The thing is with your condition we have to take you up to OB and deliver this baby,” you told her. 

“OB's been paged,” Santos informed you. 

“But it's too early,” the woman sobbed, clutching at her rounded stomach like she could keep the baby there. 

“I know but the baby's pulse is strong which is good,” you told her. “And if we want to keep the ball rolling in the right direction we have to got to get to it now, okay?”

“Doctor Robin,” said Whitaker. “Labs are back in.”

“Read them to me.” You were still holding the lady's hand over her stomach, trying to comfort her. 

“Hemoglobin seven-point-five, platelets forty. LFT's are... woah-”

“Don't hold out on us Huckleberry, what's going on?” asked Santos. 

“They're high- real high-”

“Which can mean?” you ask out to the room, remembering the hundreds of times Gloria reminded you off your status as a 'teaching hospital,'. 

“HELLP syndrome,” said Denis. 

“Point to you.”

Under your hand the patient began to tremble. A quick glance at the monitor showed her blood pressure rising. Panic, most likely, something else it could have been entirely. 

“Hey, boy or a girl?” you asked, watching her eyes flicker. “Do you know what you're having?”

She blinked slow. “Boy.”

“Any name ideas?”

Her mouth had opened to say something but instead of a name vomit spewed, rolling down the gurney and splashing your scrubs- the one time you didn't put on a gown. 

“Oh shit- she's seizing!”

Everyone and you reacted quickly in holding her, trying to calm her shakes. 

It had never happened before, you'd never had so many senses tuning it an once but the smell of her breakfast wafted up to your nose. An un-familiar roll in your stomach curdled and you pursed your lips shut, turning away and burying your nose into the still fresh part of your scrubs. 

“Fifteen litres on by mask!” Whitaker yelled. “Intubation?”

He was looking to you. 

You shook your head, unable to speak with half your focus going on calming the insides of your stomach.

“With all the seizing we can't get a read on the baby's status,” said Santos. 

Fuck- you'd have to say something. You couldn't leave a fresh doctor and student into clampsia blind. “Ultrasound,” you breathed out, still unable to face where the sick started to soak into your scrubs. “Check on baby!” 

If Santos and Whitaker thought it was strange they said nothing, following you orders and relaying what they found. 

“Doctor Robin- do we intubate?”

Another set of hands came up to help steady her and you could back away. 

Even your shoes hadn't been spared the mercy of the vomit. 

“Not yet, push keppra, four grams.”

Grabbing clothes cutters you quickly sliced at your scrub top, thankful you were wearing something long sleeved and covering more of you then a simple vest. 

With the top in shreds you could finally breath but your stomach didn't get the memo.

“Pulse Ox eighty-eight!”

Groaning, you pulled the tray out for intubation, handing it to Santos. 

She glanced at you. “Hey, you look a bit-”

“- don't say sick or I'll throw up on you,” you warned, following her around like she was your new human shield. You wondered if she'd be flattered or pissed if you admitted she was. “Push probofal.”

“Pushing.”

Eventually the seizing stopped with everything you pushed to get her stable and you moved quick. It was like putting everything else on aeroplane mode, shutting off your own systems to get hers stable.

“Intubate, get an EEG to check her brain levels. She's paralysed now but her brain could still be seizing.”

You slipped in sick, grabbing yourself on the nearest doctor and thanking them. You stayed for the intubation only then knew you couldn't hack it anymore. 

You fled the room, bumping into Samira on your way out. 

Dana jolted up. “Hey, what're you-”

“-get Robby in trauma one.”

You found the nearest bathroom, locked it and threw up everything. You hugged the toilet like it was your anchor, your body curling into the movements. Time escaped you, it could have been minutes it could have been hours but finally you fell back and flushed, wiping away everything. 

You were young, you weren't as old as your husband. You'd had less experience in traumas all together, however you were a good doctor, capable enough to be a fellow attending. 

Several substances had been chucked over you in your time. Blood, vomit, piss- some you didn't even know the name off. 

Why had today been any different?

Clearing yourself up: re-tying your hair, washing out your mouth and applying Chapstick, cleaning your shoes and wiping tears from under your eyes, you blamed it on the bagels you'd had that morning. 

It was the only logical explanation.

Leaving the bathroom you felt momentary guilt and fleeing but spotted Robby already taking your place in the trauma. 

“Hey, hun,” Dana was at your side quick, gentle and peering at you closely. “What was that about? You doin alright?”

“Yeah,” you hummed. 

“You throw up? You sick?”

“No, I-” you thought of every other time you'd lied to Dana and how it never went well. “Yes but it's probably just food poisoning. Don't tell Robby.”

If Robby knew you were sick- after already having been worried this morning- you'd be driven home in twenty minutes flat. 

“Robby always finds out,” said Dana. 

You ignored her and pushed open the door to the lounge. She didn't follow and you were left with spare seconds to yourself. 

Your hands shook slightly as you fetched a glass to fill with water. To cool yourself down you ran your hands under, splashing the back of your neck with some. You gargled water and spit it back, ready to drain the glass and wet your sudden parched mouth when Langdon appeared in the door. 

“Hey, I've got a head lac I need you to take a look at.”

Because you were an attending. Because of the kind of person you are you put down the glass and followed him.

“She just ran out?”

There was the all too familiar buzz of the sanitiser dispenser as Robby helped himself to a generous blob before rubbing it into his hands. A beat behind, Denis did the same, following in his footsteps- literally. 

“Er-yeah,” he said, working fast to absorb every bit of hand sanitiser. “She ordered the EEG and bolted.”

Robby nodded, taking it all in clinically. “You said she looked pale?”

“Yeah but, she had just been thrown up on.” 

Being thrown up on wasn't a pleasant experience but he hadn't known you to run from bodily fluids. 

“Where is she now?” Robby asked, as if Denis was the soul person to look out for you. Well, Robby trusted Denis, a gift he didn't bestow on many so he did expect Denis to keep an eye on you at all times. 

“She went to the bathroom but I don't know now.”

Robby checked the bathrooms, finding you void of those spaces. He checked the lounge where nothing but a deserted glass of water sat.

He was almost panicking when he saw the back of you and Frank in a room. 

He paused. 

You were sat next to a young girl, holding her hand. Although he couldn't hear you he imagined the softness of your voice as it always became when dealing with a pedes case. You'd always joked that if the ED wasn't so in need of two attendings at a time you'd have left his ass for pedes upstairs at once. 

Robby didn't think so. For one, you'd miss his face, for the second thing- you liked bouncing from one emergency to another, switching off and relying only on your skills. 

You hadn't been bouncing around as quick as usual the last couple days. He realised it only in that moment.

Frank was standing with his arms folded over his chest, pitching in every now and then and also getting the girl to smile. 

He didn't want to go in, break the concentration and trust you'd formed with the small child. He'd find you later. 

Whatever was going on, the two of you clearly had it handled. 

Your dreams came to you in fades. 

There was first an annoyingly weird dream about a animal circus finding it's home in the Pitt. They said work followed you home, but it even followed you into dreams which seemed just un-fair. Then there was a stork on an elephants back. How would an elephant even get in to the place?

They turned to some much more enjoyable memories that had your body warming un-consciously. 

Robby's weight pressed down into yours on the couch in your living room. You'd begged him to put everything on you, to not hold himself up and with-hold his moans. 

And because you'd asked, he did. 

Robby wasn't a light guy and you liked him like that. The weight of him crushing you, his spit swapped with yours, sweat of his body being shared and the fingerprints you could feel at your hips. 

“Oh fuck sweetheart, oh fuck!” he'd groaned out loud. 

You felt parts of him deep in you you didn't know you could feel and still you wanted more. Your locked your ankles around his backside, keeping him into you in short and sweet thrusts. 

“Oh, you like that? Jesus Christ,” he grunted into your neck, unable to hold himself up even if he wanted to. “So greedy. Fuckin' so greedy!”

“Please, Robby, please!”

Steady hands were sudden at your shoulders and a body pressed up to yours, decidedly unlike how one did in the dream. 

“Go home,” said Robby. 

You picked yourself up from where you'd dozed off, your head in your arms folded over on the counter. In front of you, the computer was blank. “Hm?”

Robby's eyes bored into yours. “Go home, you're sick.”

“It's only twelve. I'm not sick- I'm fine,” you said, waving off his hand as it came up to test your temperature in the very medical practise of hand on forehead. 

Robby shook his head. “You were dozing this morning, you're asleep now, you threw up-”

“Dana, I told her not to say anything!” You cursed under your breath. 

“Not Dana, Whitaker,” said Robby, looking at you with brows draw in, somewhere between anger (or as angry as he could get at you) and concern. “Did you tell Dana not to tell me?”

“Because you worry.” You used your secret trick of overwhelming affection to try to starve off Robby. Your hands were clammy as they held his cheeks, fingertips grazing over his beard just how he liked. He was kneeling at your side, melting into your touch. “I'm fine.”

For extra measures you pressed a kiss to his forehead and walked away. 

There was a split second of head spinning blur. The sort that had you reaching out to balance yourself. It lasted maybe two seconds but enough to worry you. 

If you hadn't taken such care in tending to Robby's own distraction he'd have clocked it and dragged you home himself. 

You maybe weren't so fine. It wasn't every day you felt as tired as you did now, and however good the night before had been Robby had given you more. Plenty. You'd surpassed twenty-fours working in the ED with no sleep so nothing could phase you. 

But being phased you were. 

The lack of sleep.... the throwing up... maybe you were coming down with something. 

You'd thrown up last week too, so it couldn't be food poisoning like you were trying to convince yourself it was. 

Robby hurried after you, the jingle of his keys and ID card and such jangling. “I'm keeping my eyes on you.”

“Sexy.”

In trauma one the two of you worked together with a score of doctors and nurses. Mrs Albany- the pregnant lady with clampsia- demanded attention. Perhaps it was a waste of two attendings working on the same patient. 

The emergency c-section you had to perform made the one patient two and as Robby worked to keep the mother alive you worked on the child, stimulating the baby boy till he breathed, wiping off the fluids and bloods and sighing when he cried out. 

Under the gown and mask you could see Robby's own dimples at you as you both saved lives. 

But the tang of iron from the uterus and child filled your nostrils and upset you close enough to tears. You were glad Esme had cleaned up the sick from early and equally as glad you had the chance to throw up your breakfast so you couldn't do it again. 

“Holy shit!” Santos celebrated, yanking off her gown and gloves next to you as you did the same, “That was crazy!”

The baby was pushed by you, heading up to the NICU, the mother following, a pulse low but steady, heading up to the OR.

You ducked away from Robby as he followed the pair out. You took Santos with you, a pushing hand on her back. “Yeah, it was- listen I've got a patient that needs blood results quick, you think if I get it you can rush it up to labs, on an ASAP basis.”

Santos frowned. You knew what she was thinking before she even had to say it. It was a boring job, her skills were better off etc. 

“Please?” you asked. 

It took a roll of her eyes but she agreed to. 

Five minutes later you had a vial of your own blood handed to her. 

An hour later Santos found you, Ipad in hand. 

“Hey, got the results for your patient,” she said. “Where are they? What room? I couldn't see them on the board?”

Dana would have had something to say about taking your own blood and getting it to labs without telling anyone. Robby too. As attending you should have been chastising yourself but there was no time for that. No need, either. 

Doctors made the worst sort of patients, especially when they felt they didn't need to be one. 

“Er, she left, discharged herself,” you lied quickly, trying to get a gage on the results that were cradled in your arm.

“Bummer. I wanted to give her good news. Or bad.”

“What?”

“She's pregnant.”

You stopped in you tracks. 

It took Trinity at least four more paces before she realised you had. 

The blood works showed just that. High HCG levels, you red blood cell count was high. Along with the nausea, vomiting, dizzy spells it made sense. 

You were pregnant. 

Inside the stomach that had been churning all day sat a life fully depending on you to take care of it. Suddenly none of your med school training mattered. Nothing you'd ever down before mattered. Looking after patients was one thing. You didn't have to go home with them, check they drank enough or ate enough, didn't have to check in with their boss they were taking it easy. 

You struggled to look after yourself. 

Throw a baby in the mix and you were doomed. 

Chuck in Robby and you were-

Robby. 

Jesus Fuck. You'd never spoken about kids. You'd only been married a year and were still in what some considered the 'honeymoon' phase.

“Everything okay?” asked Santos. “Did I miss something in the results?”

You cleared your throat. “No. No, that all... looks good. I'm just gonna take a small break. Quick one. Thanks.” 

“Hey, Robby!” Denis called as he walked out from the ambulance bay. “Congratulations!” 

“Thanks, Whitaker.”

It took Robby seconds to pause and think. What was he being congratulated for? The fact he went outside for some air? It wasn't impressive. Was it the quick life saving procedures they'd made on mother and son that sent them both upstairs alive? That was over an hour ago and Denis had been in the room. 

Robby back tracked to Whitaker. “What am I being congratulated on, exactly?” he asked. 

Whitaker looked at him like he was crazy. “The good news.”

Good news? The last good news he had was marrying you a year ago, and Whitaker had been at the damn wedding crying more than his own grandmother. 

Robby shook his head. 

“The good news, you'll be a great dad.”

Robby chocked on his breath, leaning on the counter. “Wh-what?” he chuckled in a breath. 

“You're pregnant? I mean, not you, obviously, I-I know how it works. But you're having a baby, that's-that's what they say and I just wanted to say well done. Or not well done! No, that came out wrong, jus-”

Robby had let him stumble on his words as he tried to figure out what he was saying. The baby? What baby? “Denis, what are you talking about?”

He looked around quickly for you but couldn't see you. 

“Oh my god, you didn't know, you didn't know did you?” Whitaker's face paled, his entire body sinking. “Santos told me, she told me not to tell anyone but I-I figured I could tell you! I guessed- oh god, did I just tell you your wife is pregnant?”

His wife...

Pregnant...

And Robby was finding out from Huckleberry!

Robby took a step around the counter and Denis stumbled back into his chair. “Are you telling me she's...”

Whitaker nodded when the words failed him. 

Robby thought back to the sickness you thought he'd missed last week, the way you fell asleep at the computer earlier and the general exhaustion. He tried to think back to what night could have been 'the one' but somewhere along the line you'd both stopped being careful. Condoms were abandoned in draws and your pack of contraceptive pills were still full.

“Doctor- Doctor Robby? Do you need to sit down?” Denis asked. 

Robby waved him off and gave himself one minute to compose himself. He knew panic, it was an old friend he'd lost contact with over the years, yet it returned to him then. 

“Where is she now?” he asked. 

“Oh, I don't- I don't-”

“Huckleberry!” he tried not to expose his fondness of the nickname Santos had given him but it slipped out in the most desperate of times. 

Denis gulped, knowing this. “Exam room three.”

Robby nodded and made a be-line, Casey was asking him a question as he passed but he held up a hand, ignoring her. 

Santos stepped out the room, closing the door and stopping when Robby almost collided with her. “You can't go in there.”

Robby inhaled a deep breath. It was one thing having Whitaker be the one to tell him you were pregnant. It was another to have Santos blocking him from seeing you. “Doctor Santos if you don't let me through you will miss every trauma that comes through those doors.”

Luckily, he knew how to work Santos. 

Her arms budged over her chest. “For how long?”

Whatever you had promised her to keep him out must have been just as grand a prize. “Till I see fit now let me in.”

It was like a western stand off for longer than Robby would have liked. Every second he spent out of your room was longer you were spending alone. 

Eventually, Trinity sighed and gave up. “Okay, fine, whatever, but she promised me first dibs at a REBOA for doing this. I expect that to still stand.”

Robby pushed through the room and snapped back the curtains finding you at the edge of a bed, the wand of an ultrasound hidden under your top and the grey scale picture of a baby on the monitor. 

To your credit you didn't flinch or move as he stood there.

“Lets be real this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing.”

In five minutes Robby had wiped down your stomach of the gel, had helped pull your top down and sat with you on the edge of the patient bed, the curtain back to being pulled over and hiding the two of you from traumas and agitated patients and doctors alike. 

“How long have you known?” asked Robby. 

There was no anger, no mean undertones. It was frightening rather blank, the way he spoke. You'd always prided yourself on knowing how to tell when he was in a good mood or bad from the smallest of tics he had. 

He'd trained them out of himself apparently. 

Yet- he'd given you his hand and you'd pulled it into your lap, holding it and trailing your own fingers over his. 

“The time's now-” you peeked over him at the clock over the door. “- about an hour and thirteen minutes.”

He shook his head, scoffing out a smile that pronounced his wrinkles. “Why didn't you come to me?”

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought I was just sick, you know? So I thought I'd get some bloods and see.”

“Did you do the bloods yourself?”

You looked at him and that was telling enough. With the hand that wasn't with yours he rubbed at his temple in aggravation. So far there'd been little to no talk about the baby growing in your stomach but more concern about how you'd gone to finding out. 

“You should've got me,” he said. 

“Well if I thought I was pregnant I probably would have.” You tried to joke but it fell flat. 

“Probably?” he repeated quietly. 

Silence went by with only the ticking of the clock as company. 

You held onto his hand, readying yourself for the question yet to be asked. “Are you mad at me?”

Robby shook his head but didn't look at you.

“Annnnd are you mad at...” you couldn't say baby yet. Didn't know if giving the clump of cells in your stomach a name would scare him off. 

With the hand in your lap his fingers entwined with yours and clutched tight. 

“I know we never talked about kids and this wasn't planned in the slightest,” you said even if you knew Robby had stopped pulling out months ago, favouring the way you felt when your walls swallowed him up. “You can be angry.”

“You keep asking if I'm angry, do you want me to be?” he asked, finally a touch of emotion in his voice as it rose an octave. “Are you mad?”

That was the question. It wasn't planned, but it wasn't unwanted. You couldn't say that seeing the way mothers caressed their stomachs when they came in with spotting or concerns didn't have you thinking of your own child one day. That talking to that little girl with the head lac earlier with Frank didn't cause a pang of longing in your heart. 

You'd never tried to pretend you didn't want everything with Robby. Even if you've never discussed what everything was to each other. 

“When I was in med school I thought I'd have it all worked out long before now,” said Robby. “Marriage and kids. Maybe on my second marriage by now.”

You dug your elbow into his ribs, rewarded with a quick, breathless laugh. 

His eyes creased as his face scrunched up. “Didn't work out. Guess I... gave up thinking it could.”

“Then you met me, right?”

Robby looked at you. His eyes were like glass as he looked you over, his lips titled, cheeks red under his beard. He looked- if you didn't mind saying so- like a man mesmerised. He nodded. 

“I thought you didn't want kids,” you said. 

“Do you?” he asked, eyes boring into yours. 

“Do you?” you threw back to him. 

He squeezed your hand and gave you a look. 

“I think I do,” you admitted, quietly, as if you could take it back if it displeased him. “I don't know if I'll be good at it. I hardly have time to look after myself, let alone a baby. And I don't want to be one of those people that gives up work for kids cause I love my job but... I think I could love a kid, too.”

Robby nodded along with what you were saying, a smile brightening everything you thought looked dark in him.

“Do you want kids?” you asked. 

“Oh, kids?” he teased. “You're so sure its twins already?”

You rolled your eyes as he nudged his shoulder with yours, rocking the both of your bodies. 

“I want everything with you, I said so much in my vows, didn't I? You thought I was lying, Doctor Robin?”

You couldn't help but smile at the nickname he gave you and was proud to call you. After all, calling out for two Robinavitch's in an emergency proved difficult quickly. “I don't believe your vows included, I want to fuck you so hard and deep you get pregnant within the first year of marriage.' ”

“Dirty mouth, cussing like that,” said Robby, his eyes drifting down your lips as he bit down on his own. “Have to sort that out before the baby gets here.”

“Lucky we have eight months to train it out of me.”

Robby's nose had just brushed yours before he was pulling back, studying you again. His gaze drifted to your stomach, wondering if the manifestation of your nights had started to show. “You're a month along, already?”

You clocked your head side to side. “Give or take a week or two.”

“Eight months it is.”

Robby kissed you, licking into your mouth and breathing you in with deep breaths. His large hands held your cheeks and kept you in, all but drowning you in lips and touch and love. He tilted his head aside, kissing you deeper. 

At once the doors banged open and arguing voices drifted in. 

Robby pulled back with his head lowered in disappointment while you licked the taste of him off your lips. “I swear to god, these kids-” he grumbled as Denis and Trinity stumbled in. 

“Seems like you got the dad thing down already,” you said, hand rubbing up and down in his back. 

The intruders had a hoard of things in arms. Denis was carrying a large bear in hand that almost drowned him as he struggled to hold him. The bear was holding a blue heart sewen into its paws while Trinity was struggling in pulling the pink balloons in. 

It seemed they'd already made bets on what baby they wanted you to have.

“We er, wanted to get you these,” said Denis. “Sorry for ruining the surprise.”

“I'm not sorry, I didn't do anything,” said Santos with a scoff. 

“You told me,” pointed out Whitaker. 

“Yeah and I told you not to tell anyone, fuckleberry then you tell the dad!”

“I thought he knew!”

“I told you in confidence!”

“You were laughing while you were telling me! That wasn't every confident!”

“Oh my god, it's a figure of speech!”

You laughed at the two of them, hiding your face in Robby's scrubs as he leant his head back toward you. 

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” you joked. One of his gloved hands cupped your chin, nudging your gaze up. The other dabbed gently at the cut to your forehead. “Am I gonna make it?”

There was a line of displeasure in his lips. “Not funny,” he mumbled.

“Sure it is.”

“No, it's not.”

You rolled your eyes before going back to focusing on him.

It was rare you got to watch him in his concentration. Usually you were in the middle of a trauma when he pulled out the serious face and things were moving too fast for you to even catch a glimpse. Now- his focus was all on you. You could study the creases at his brows and the flecks of grey in his beard.

“You ever notice you have these deep lines between your eyebrows when you're concentrating?”

“It's called age,” he said but there was the smallest hint of a smile there.

“Aren't you twenty-seven?”

This time he couldn't stop the smirk of amusement and finally you won.

Robby dabbed away the blood at your cut, changing the gauze. “Don't think you're distracting me.”

You hummed as he tilted your head into the light. “Distracting you from what?”

“Reporting him.”

You grew silent and looked away.

It was Robby's turn to stare at you, eyes without warmth, stern in ways he was with patients that didn't want to listen to good advice. You may be sitting on a bed in exam room four and you may have a chart written up but you were not a patient. “He was scared and confused-”

“ - he pushed you.”

“And I was the one that tripped and bashed my head.”

“He threw you down!”

You winced at his snap and then winced at the pain your wincing brought you.

Robby sighed with some sort of regret. His fingertips brushed your skin as he finished cleaning the cut and you couldn't help but think it was a deliberate move. He'd been so careful not to touch or apply pressure but suddenly the callous of his fingers were there.. “If we don't take care of ourselves nobody else will do it.”

It was the same thing Dana had said to you when she saw the patient push you down and run out the room in distress, hospital gown slipping on his shoulders. She'd taken you under her arm, stirred you to a chair. She was firm in both checking you were okay and that you were going to report him for hurting you.

You look past Robby, trying to see through the glass door. The Pitt carried on it's usual bustle but Dana kept a close eye out on you in the room. “Where is he now?”

“None of your concern,” he said. “The cut's clean, looks like you won't need stitches.”

“You've restrained him haven't you?”

Robby frowned. His head shook slightly in disbelief- like he couldn't believe you. “He hurt you. Jesus- you think I was gonna just tuck him back in bed- you think Dana was!”

You were used to the rise in Robby's voice, as attending it was his job to command everyone. You just didn't like to hear it risen at you. “He woke up, confused and startled.”

The patient was brought in un-conscious at the side of the road, a gash in his arm. Nobody knew his name but you'd admitted him and ran some tests while he was semi-conscious. He'd woken up as you were checking his IV and the next thing you knew hard hands were pushing you away. You'd taken the tray down with you and smacked your head in the process. Then he'd ran and then Robby had you in his arms, willing to pick you up and carry you off if it weren't for your insistence to walk to an exam room.

Robby's body heaved in a sigh as he put his hands on his thighs. “He hurt you,” he repeated, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

You slowly met his gaze as he got closer on the stall in front of you. “I've had worse.”

It wasn't supposed to be a dig but as his eyes met yours in a haze of dark anxiety you figured it came off that way.

Really what happened between you and Robby was ancient history. A whole six months since you'd stopped seeing each other; if that's what it could be called. It was really only one stupid kiss and several flirts that created the thick tension between you two. Nothing had ever been done to encourage it further, yet nothing had also been done to squash it.

Whilst his gaze remained on you, Robby got out his penlight and checked your pupil reaction.

“Any pain?”

“Well, the light's a bit bright.”

He put it down and with his gloved hands he slowly pressed around the small cut on your forehead, hands cupping your face tenderly. “Any pain?”

“No, you've done all this twice now.”

“It's procedure for any patient.”

“It's special treatment,” you grumbled.

Robby grabbed a bandage from the tray. “You're a special patient.”

The heat crept up your cheeks before you stared at the bandage.

“Robby-”

In one hand he held a bandage, in the other a small spider-man plaster that he so obviously got from pedes.

You stared at him. “Really?”

His cheeks tilted in a small teasing grin. “All we have, I'm afraid.”

You seriously doubted it but tapped the spider-man plaster nonetheless. “I'm sure I could have done this myself, you know,” you said as he peeled away the plaster. “Or at least got one of the nurses to do it. I'm sure you're needed somewhere more important.”

He frowned again. “More important?”

“There's a guy that came in with a GSW to the chest ten minutes ago and you're saying you don't need to be there?”

Robby's hands fell to either side of your face, gently taking your cheeks. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek bone. He could feign he was checking your pupils but you both knew better. “There's nowhere else I need to be.”

Six months ago you'd kissed in a bar ten minutes away from the Pitt. Every day since- you'd been fighting the urge to kiss him again.

At that moment, with his gentle touch and soft gaze, you wondered if he'd been fighting to.

“Look up,” Robby said with a clear of his throat.

You weren't sure what he was trying to check for anymore. Maybe he was just looking for an easy way out.

“I still want you to get a CT scan.”

“Now that's dramatic, I didn't expect that from you.”

“Any nasuea?”

You shook your head as Robby steadied you, sliding the plaster in place.

“Have you been drinking enough today?”

“Two cups of coffee count?”

Robby gave you a plain look as he yanked off the latex gloves, throwing them into a corner of the room. “Ten minutes rest, I'll bring you some food and water.”

You sighed dramatically. “Robby!”

He pushed himself up from his stool. “As you're attending I'm not asking, I'm-”

“Telling?” you guessed.

Robby hovered as you pushed yourself up back on the bed. You wouldn't say it but your head was hurting from the fall. Nothing more than a headache that some painkillers couldn't stop. If you told Robby that yes, you were in pain, you were sure he'd pull the curtain, change you into a gown and play doctor all day.

You lied back on the pillow as Robby plumped it and smoothed out the sheets under you. He was lingering and for a moment you thought of asking him to stay.

Your mouth had opened to ask when the door was nudged open.

“Robby, we got a car crash coming in five,” said Dana. She looked at you then, eyes crinkled in worry. “How you feeling, hun?”

“I'm fine, thanks Dana.”

She nodded once, offering you a small smile before leaving.

You looked up at Robby as his body lingered over yours, one arm stretched high above your head, the other lower. Your gaze flickered up and you could feel the warmth of his breath fan over you. “Ten minutes?” you asked.

“On the clock.”

“Then I'm free to go?”

His head tilted, a sly smirk playing around his thin beard. “I'm not keeping you a prisoner.”

You folded your arms over your chest, glancing away. “Feels like it.”

He chuckled lightly. For a moment his breath lingered over your forehead, closer than before.

When you glanced up he froze, hands clenched on the bed, his jaw taunt. It was as if you'd caught him in the act.

Suddenly you wished you hadn't looked up. You wished you'd let him do whatever he was going to do. Because once he'd been caught he straightened up and threw you an awkward thumbs up. “Ten minutes.”

You trace your finger over the plaster as you slowly left your room, creeping out like you were a teenager sneaking out of your parents to meet a guy. Except you were trying to avoid the guy.

“That was eight minutes!”

You looked up and found Robby at the nurses station, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Were you timing me?”

Robby held up his phone, showing you the timer he had counting down as next to him, Dana snorted. “Have you had something to drink? Or eat?” he asked as you leant over the counter. He was still watching you eagerly, waiting for any sign you were in more pain then you let on so he could send you back to bed.

“Thought you were getting me a drink?”

He rolled his eyes before obliging, sliding away to get you a drink. He turned back only once. “Don't go near him!” he called, the both of you knowing who the he was.

You saluted him, watching him go before turning to Dana. “How is he?”

She peered at you over her glasses. “Terrible. He's been worried sick, was practically watching you through those windows. Didn't blink for a minute!”

“Not Robby, my patient. The John Doe.”

“Well that ain't your concern anymore," she said.

“I want to treat him.”

“He's awake now, we've restrained him in twelve but Robby wants you nowhere near him.”

“Robby is over-reacting,” you sighed.

Dana lifted her shoulders. “Of course he is, it's you. You think he's gonna react rationally?”

Nobody was supposed to know about you and Robby and the thing that lingered in the middle. But somehow, Dana always ended up knowing everything.

You backed away from the counter, assuring Robby was nowhere to be seen. “Twelve, you said right?”

Dana huffed but lucky for you there were a dozen more things she needed to do. “Fine! Go! But take security with you!”

You saluted and headed that way. Outside the door, Ahmed was already there.

“Hey, doc,” he greeted. “He's been asking about you, said he wants to apologise.”

You weren't scared like you thought you'd be, stepping into the room while Ahmed promised to stay outside, just a shout away of you needed him. Your heart wasn't pounding as you slowly moved the curtain, finding the patient lying on the bed, restraints around his wrists and tied down. He wasn't thrashing about. He was calm, clocking you as you walked in.

“You're the nurse?” he said.

“Doctor, actually,” you said, introducing yourself.

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes or add colour to his face. There was nothing in his eyes anyhow. He was pale and the thin bandaging that had been done for his arm while he struggled was bleeding through. “I-I pushed you, I am so sorry.”

You were about to say it was fine, but it wasn't you shouldn't tell him it was. You could accept the apology but still acknowledge that whatever state he was in, you shouldn't have been hurt. “Do you know where you are?”

“The hospital?”

“That's right, PTMC. Can you tell me your name?”

He nodded, gulping. There was a thin layer of sweat over his skin. “David Brown.”

“And do you know what month it is?”

“M-March.”

“Okay, good,” you said, making a quick note of his name in his chart. You sat down on the stool, shuffling to the side of his bed. “Mr Brown-”

“David,” he corrected you.

“David,” you said. “You were brought in just under an hour ago with a pretty bad laceration to your lower right arm. You were found un-conscious. Do you remember anything?”

You watched the sweat bead at his forehead, his eyes scrunched as he tried to think. His breathing grew heavier, face morphed into pain as he tried to think. “It's okay if you don't.”

“I-I don't,” a stray tear fell down his cheek.

“That's okay,” you assured him. “I'm gonna order you a CT and a toxic screening just to rule out any drugs or alcohol in your system. Is that okay?”

David's head jerked in something like a nod before you door swung open, clattering on the other side of the wall.

Robby stood at the end of the bed, face red, hands at his hips. “What are you doing in here?” he snapped.

“Doctor Robby-”

He gave you no time to explain, jutting his head back. “Step outside please, doctor.”

You stood, slowly and walked out slower.

David called out after you. “I really am sorry!”

Robby looked back like he didn't believe him.

The two of you stepped out and you spoke before he could, beating him by a second. “I'm ordering him a CT and toxicity test. That gash on his arms needs to be cleaned and stitched up, it's bleeding out.”

Robby didn't care to hear it. He pulled the curtains over and closed the door as he followed you out. “What did you think you were doing in there?”

“Tending to my patient.”

“I told you to leave him.”

“He wanted to say sorry. Ahmed, didn't he want to apologise?” you said, looking to security for some help.

Ahmed held up his hands. “Oh- I want nothing in this!”

“If he wanted to apologise he could've wrote a letter. Told me to apologise to you,” he said, still holding onto his anger. “I told you to leave it, the guy attacked you!”

“Lightly shoved me from shock!”

“Have you seen what he did to your head?”

“Yeah, a small cut, doesn't even need stitches- that's what you said!”

“It's a wound! There was blood!” he yelled. “You are not to go anywhere near him from now on, do you understand?”

There was a new anger in Robby then, something you saw rarely in him. Dana had said he was worried about you but you saw none of that concern in him now, only anger. Anger because you hadn't listened to him not because of well fair.

“I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to be helping people,” you defended, your own anger not rising to his.

His hands balled into fists. “Help someone who's asking for it. I see you in with that guy again and you're on triage for a week, you understand?”

Where was that softness in his eyes? Where was that care he tended to you in the room all alone?

“You understand?” he snapped again when you didn't answer.

You knew if you turned there'd be several pairs of eyes on the pair of you. Watching, assessing, see how you reacted. Nobody had ever heard Robby speak to you like that because he'd never shouted at you before. “I understand, Doctor Robinavitch.”

“So you yelled at her.”

Robby thought he'd find solace on the roof, that with only him and the night sky he stood a chance at thinking things through logically, for once on the right side of the rail.

Then Jack's voice sounded behind him and the peace he was searching for fell further out of reach.

“Who told you?” he asked, head falling.

“Oh, you know,” he mumbled, shoes shuffling over the roof as he got closer to him. “Just everybody that was in attendance to your little show.”

Jack leant next to him on the rail, staring at him.

Robby could feel his eyes but looked out on the skyline that was more favourable to him. Jacks eyes felt like everybody else that watched him yell at you. He could call it worry- it didn't change the way your face dropped the louder his voice rose.

“You wanna talk about it?” asked Jack.

“No.”

“I heard she got attacked.”

“Or lightly pushed as she'd put it.”

“She's a soldier.”

Robby shook his head. “No, she's a doctor. Today she could have been neither if that man-” the words chocked in his throat. What if he had hurt you even more? Punched you? Strangled you? He'd seen it all in the ER and yes, you'd been hurt before but that didn't mean he needed to have you hurt again.

“I saw her when I was coming up, she seemed fine,” said Jack. “About to clock off, you sure you want to end the day on such a bad note.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me.”

“Come on, she always wants to talk to you,” said Jack. “And I only know that cause you always want to talk to her.”

Robby wished he could say that telling Jack about the kiss so many months ago was a mistake but he couldn't because that would mean kissing you was a mistake. The only mistake made with that kiss is that he hadn't pulled you back in, kissed you every day since. But he'd told Jack on one of those lonely nights when they'd each had one too many beers how much he missed you even if he saw you every day.

“I was so fucking scared, brother,” he admitted with a long exhale of breath. Robby slumped over the rail, catching himself. “Code hula-hoop was called and her name and I- I didn't know...”

Jack's hand was firm on his back. “I know.”

Robby nodded, head tucked down. He wouldn't cry, he wasn't sure how these days but he sure as hell felt like it. It had been a hell of day, worse when he couldn't join your side without you walking off.

“You were worried, you don't know what to do with that,” said Jack.

He could admit that much.

“You go home now, she goes home, you're carrying this weight to the next day and it'll continue,” he said, therapizing him. “You were scared you might have lost her?”

Robby glanced Jack's way. There was never any judgment, only a keen understanding he sometimes didn't like.

“You might lose her if you don't do something about it.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Jack shrugged. “Apologise.”

Robby hesitated, the words 'I'm sorry' foreign on his tongue.

Jack chuckled low in his throat. “Is that really so hard for you?”

He nodded and Jack carried on laughing. By the end, even Robby was chuckling through watery eyes.

“Okay, okay, let's try,” said Jack, straightening up, encouraging him to do the same. “Repeat after me, I'm sorry.”

“Jesus-”

“Jesus, you can't even say it-listen we'll go slow, I'm-”

Robby's phone rung in his pocket, thankfully saving him from the embarrassment. “Dana-” he answered as he spotted Jack's phone going too.

“Get down here, now!”

“What's going on?” he asked, though his feet were already moving.

He didn't see the way Jack looked at him, he hardly heard how Dana said your name because when she did Robby dropped his phone and ran.

“Robby!” Jack called but he was off the roof and furiously pressing the elevator button. He managed to slide past the doors before they closed on him. “What did Dana say?”

But Robby couldn't speak. He heard Dana's voice re-play in his head again and again. That you had been attacked, that they needed him. He couldn't think beyond that. Beyond you and attacked there was nothing.

Jack was watching him closely. “Okay-” he must've known it was bad too. “Okay, Robby, we don't know what's going on down there but you gotta stay cool, okay? You gotta stay cool or leave us to it.”

He should've kept a closer eye on you, should've sent you home.

“Robby if you get in our way I'm taking you out of there, understand?”

The doors slid open and Robby ran out, Jack quick on his heels.

“Where?” he barked out. There were no faces around him he could figure out, no Dana, no Langdon- so everyone must have been in with you-

“Trauma one!”

Robby burst through the doors.

The chaos was everywhere and he paused. There were more bodies in the trauma room then he'd ever seen. In between them all a body that he could vaguely re-call as yours. Your trainers- usually white- were seeping in blood.

“Can you open your eyes?”

“No respond to command!”

“Two stab wounds to the left flank! First one L-two, second L-five.”

“Is it the spinal chord?” asked Whitaker.

“Can't tell it depends on the angle!” said Langdon. “Jesus- there's too much blood, I can't see a thing!”

You lied on the bed, blood splattered around your clothes, un-responsive to everyone around you. You were letting them prod, push and pull when you'd hardly let him asses your cut just hours ago.

Hours when you were teasing him and he was thinking about kissing you again.

What had happened.

If it was a papercut you'd be feigning death.

This was the closest you'd ever looked to dying and Robby couldn't feel his legs.

"Doctor Robby?" someone called in the room but it wasn't you. You weren't responding to anyone. “Doctor Robby!”

Jack moved past him, body knocking his. “I'm here!”

“BP seventy over fifty, pulse one-twenty.”

Jack moved around you, pressing the chest piece of the stethoscope to your chest. “Push in two litres of O-neg. Good breath sounds bilaterally.”

Robby's ears were ringing but he could feel himself shake his head. “She's not-she's not O-neg, she's B-positive,” he heard himself mumble.

There was a sharp beeping through the room and Robby thought it was a strange sound for his heart breaking.

“Pulse ox ninety-three!”

“Do we intubate?” asked Mohan.

Your body jerked and as if you were the puppet master tugging on his strings, Robby found his feet and moved to your side.

He moved around until he was the closest to you, replacing anyone else at your side. Others watched, un-sure if they should've told him to wait outside like he was family.

Jack gave them the nod and the room moved again.

“Give me ten by mask, no intubation. Send a trauma panel!” ordered Robby.

“We need X-ray for a chest!” yelled Jack.

“X-ray can come to us! I am not moving her!” he shouted. “Help me roll, let me see!”

The blood on the front of your scrubs was splashed but as they turned you, leaning you on your side Robby's body slumped, something like a chocked sob wracking through his body.

He couldn't see the puncture wounds through the blood that soaked you. Just as Langdon had said it was a mess. “Jesus chr- oh god.”

“Pressure's up to ninety palp!”

“Who did this?” he yelled out as they gently set you back.

“The guy who came in un-conscious earlier!”

Jack looked over at Robby.

Robby felt the muscles in his jaws work and he grunted. “I'll kill him,” he grumbled.

“Robby!” lectured Jack.

But he wasn't going to take back his words. “He's fucking dead.”

“He fled the hospital,” Langdon told him. “Left his knife in the room though, they'll find him.”

It couldn't have been a scalpel, it couldn't have been scissors. The guy came in, found a knife- or brought one from home- to harm you. If Robby ever saw him again he'd kill the guy and deal with the consequences that came.

“Toes are down going, no spinal injury,” said someone else in the room but he was losing all focus that wasn't you.

Garcia walked through the doors, joining the crowd of people around you.

“Tell me you've got an OR booked!” said Jack.

“With her name on it! How we doing in here?”

Santos pushed her way ahead, a small and un-characteristic tremble to her hands. There was another unit of blood pushed into your bloodstream and Robby was seconds away from hooking himself up and giving you his very blood. “Pressure's up!” she reported, lingering over you with a light. “Right pupil five millimetres and reactive -”

Suddenly your body jerked at the light. Your head thrashed side to side as you slowly returned to consciousness.

“Huh... I-wha-”

“Hey! Hey!” Robby pushed his way to you, looming over you and catching your eyes.

They were wild, looking around before settling on him.

“Robby?” you uttered, lips dry, dried blood at your neck. Your eyes were looking around like you couldn't quite see.

“Yeah- yeah it's me.” His hand flew to your hair, brushing it back as your eyes were going from him to around you, panic rising in your eyes. “Look at me, focus on me.”

“What-what?”

“You were stabbed,” he uttered.

Your eyes widened and he brushed back your hair again, doctors moving around the two of you. They could've been right on his back or a thousand miles away. All he focused on was you. Your hands waved around, getting in the way of tubes and the doctors.

Robby grabbed your hand, squeezing.

You focused on him and he tried to smile, tried to make himself convinced everything would be alright. He knew it was a grimace.

He'd never hated his medical training more. Because he knew this amount of blood loss was bad, he knew stabbing so close to the spinal chords was dangerous. He knew you were strong and hated staying still for too long and now you'd be forced to recover.

“My pressure?”

“It's up.” He watched as your eyes teared up, looking away from him again. “Good, that's good.”

Your hair sprawled out as you shook your head. “Am I gonna.... will I walk again?”

Robby hesitated. “Yeah- yeah we think it missed your spinal chord.”

Robby knew that but he couldn't help the tears that fell, couldn't help the small sob that ripped through his throat. You'd been calm at the cut with your head, damn right comedic. Now- you were quiet, whimpering and crying in pain and there wasn't anything he could do.

He was a doctor, he could help and check vitals and squeeze the bag of blood slow.

But he couldn't move from your side.

You nod before your back arched in pain and you yelled out.

“BP eighty palp!”

Robby got up, ignoring the ache in his knees as he loomed over you, trying to calm the pain. “Do something!”

“Robby!”

He looked.

You'd drained the blood dry.

“What?” you uttered, voice trembled in terror.

“Okay she needs to go up, now!” Jack called out.

“Let's get her moving!” yelled Garcia.

You groaned in pain. “What's going on?”

Robby didn't know what to do. It wasn't a conversation of telling a patient what was going on or what wasn't. It was telling you. He stuttered lamely, lost as another tear slid down his cheek. You hadn't even cried yet and he was close to blubbering.

His head bowed to you. He was mumbling, he thinks he was praying.

“Robby-” your hand waved out in front of him and he grabbed it, squeezing. “It hurts.”

“Okay, okay, we're gonna-” what was he gonna do? He pressed your hand to his lips, holding it there.

“Hey, honey,” Jack appeared at your other side and your eyes moved to see him but Robby didn't let go. “Hell of a way to get into the night shift.”

“Jack-” you winced.

Jack looked from you to Robby, the same way he looked at the family of unfortunate patients. “We're taking her up to the OR now.”

Your fingers wiggled in Robby's grasp and he looked back to you. “It's bad huh?”

“No, no,” said Robby smoothing back your hair again.

“Your losing a lot of blood, and your foley output is bright red,” said Jack. “But we're gonna sort it and you'll be fine. You trust me?”

Your breathing was shallow, hard breaths hardly coming out. Still, you tried to smile. “Do I- do I have a choice?” your voice came out through seethes of breath.

Robby closed his eyes tight, as if he could feel the own stabbing in his heart.

“Robb-Robby?”

He glanced at you, your eyes fluttering shut. The little hold you had on his hand weakening. He fumbled up, hands holding your cheeks. “Woah-woah- open your eyes! Look at me- look at me!”

You mumbled, head lulling.

“Going up!”

“Look at me, open your eyes!” he all but shouted at you as your eyes were still rolling to the back of his head, wavering between waking and whatever else was on the other side.

“Robby!”

Robby held onto the side of your bed as the team around you wheeled you away and through. There was a stutter of shock waving through the crowd, fear chocking them, shock eating at them. There was police around, all trying to get a look.

“Talk to her, Robinavitch!” said Garcia.

He didn't talk to patients, he evaluated them, stitched them up when he could.

Robby looked up at Jack, hoping for help. He looked grave, watching Robby un-sure but people came back from worse. You'd come back. “Hey, hey look at me,” he uttered and squeezed your hand. When that didn't work he pulled at your eyelids and finally you responded with a grumble.

The elevator doors slid open and you were hauled in, Robby squeezed in too.

“Wh-what?”

He got a flash of your eyes before they closed again.

Your lips were dry and chapped but Robby kissed you anyway, pressing his lips to yours soft, not pushing afraid he'd hurt you but he wanted you to know he was there.

He smiled. He'd never seen you first thing in the morning, he imagined this is what it was. Groggy eyes, words hardly there but with less pain and blood. Robby pulled back and ignored the blood drying in splatters on your neck. “Are you with me, honey?”

You blinked and groaned in pain. “I don't-I don't know.”

“You're with me, yeah you are, you're with me,” Robby mumbled. “You look very pretty, even covered in blood, you know that?” he mumbled, trying to say it so only you could hear.

There was a huff of a smile followed by pain.

“You can't flirt with me while I'm dying, Robinavitch.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Robby grabbed your face, smooching your cheek maybe a bit too harsh. “You're not going anywhere.”

“You've pushed four bags,” you whispered. “You're gonna push a five.”

There was a huff of laugh from Jack.

Robby sniffed. You were too good at your job sometimes, ignoring the ache in his back as he leant over you. “You shouldn't be counting.”

“What can I say I'm over-qualified,” your eyes shut again but your lips moved in mumbles.

“What is it? What are you saying?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “What? Tell me.... tell me.”

But you weren't really there anymore. You were incoherent, eyes not really there. None of you was really there. “Robby.... Rob.... please, Robby.”

“What? I'm here, I'm right here, okay? Okay, honey?” Robby felt his chest cave in. “What's taking this elevator so long?” he snapped.

“It's bad, I know,” you said, fingers drifting soft over his arm before it dropped. “I can't- I can't-”

The doors slid open, a team waited on the other side.

Garcia pushed you ahead into the team, spouting who she wanted to scrub in, telling them all who she wanted out front watching. Your condition was a perfect teaching sort.

You weren't for teaching. You were for saving!

Robby wanted to tell as much as the team wheeled you away and Jack's arm came out to stop him.

“You can't go in there man,” he said.

“Like hell I can't!”

“No, you can't!” said Jack.

Any other time Robby would have argued more but he had nothing to say. He needed to be there, he wanted to be there but as soon as they cut you open he'd break. As soon as he saw inside your body he'd tie himself to you.

He'd seen over a hundred bodies cut open in his time but yours might break him.

Robby nodded, hands going to the back of his head.

Someone in the room cried and it took him a moment to realise it was him.

“Hey-hey-” Jack embraced him and Robby couldn't reach to hug him back but he could let himself down. “I will go in, I will be there, you know I will do everything to save her. We will save her.”

“Abbott!” Garcia shouted. “If we're moving, we're moving now!”

To save your life, Robby let him go and stood alone. He looked down at his hand as if he could feel the ghost hold of you still there. When he looked down, all he saw was the hair on the back and the tremble of his fingers.

Robby- for the first time since he was a boy- learnt how to cry.

He tried- boy did he try- to get back into the swing of things. Robby walked into the Pitt with red, blotchy eyes and a waver in his voice. He looked at the board, picked up a sixty year old patient with migraines.

“Hello I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robby. What seems to be the problem today?”

That was as far as he got before Dana walked in.

“No, no, no, no!” she said, putting the chart down and dragging him out. “I am so sorry Mrs Klepton, we'll get Doctor Shen with you in just a moment. Come with me.”

He was dragged out like a scolded child and shoved into the lounge.

“What do you think you're doing?” she'd snapped.

Robby had put himself in the corner, crowding himself in, arms over his head. What was he doing? Trying to be useful. You'd be up in the OR lord knew how long. If he sat and waited he'd go mad.

Dana leant on the counter. “What'd you think you're doing here, Robinavitch? Get outta here, go home! Better yet go wait for her.”

“I-I can't.”

“Robby.”

He could feel the tears start again. Didn't the human run out of tears eventually? They didn't teach that in med school. “I- I can't. I'm useful in-in here, I'm not- I'm not-”

“Right now there's only one person you can be useful to, so go to her.”

That's how he ended up in the OR waiting room, alone, not flicking through the magazines provided, not even watching the fish in the tank. He was just sitting.

Waiting.

At some point he'd taken the clock down to not watch the hands turn but eventually the sun rose and he was terrified like no other day.

It was going on 05:00 am when the door slowly pushed open. It wasn't with a rattle of relief or with a cheer, it was a slow push.

Robby thought his heart was broken before.

He was hunched over himself, elbows balanced on his knees as he hid his face in his hands and slowly rocked himself. “No... no... no...”

“Robby,” Jack said quietly. His steps were slow but he felt his hand on his back.

Robby flinched, shrinking into himself.

Where was the knife so he could stab himself?

“Robby- she's okay.”

There was a crack in his neck from how quick he looked up. It wasn't enough to convince him, his clinical trained mind wondering all the what would comes? Had it got into your spine? How much blood had you lost.

But Jack listed it off like he knew what Robby needed to hear first. It hadn't hit an aorta, it got an artery hence the bleeding but they'd stabilised it with more blood than they would have liked. But you were alive, though sleeping and they had no worries for you at the moment.

Robby nodded when Jack finished. He must have come right from the OR to tell him because he was still in scrubs and covered in blood. Your blood. “Can I see her?”

You didn't look peaceful. Robby had never thought how uncomfortable the hospital gowns must have been until he saw you lying in one. There was oxygen tube in your nose and an IV in your hand. There was some bruising he hadn't noticed before on your arms from the fall you took.

“What do I do now?” Robby mumbled. He was good at the saving lives part, he just wasn't sure what to do when they hung in limbo.

Jack patted his back, leading the way in the room. “For a doctor you're pretty clueless. You sit with her.”

Robby followed in, un-sure what to do with himself so he held onto either end of his stethoscope.

There was a chair already pulled up to your side as Jack busied himself on the other, checking your IV and BP- all looked good.

Robby had caught you napping at your desk once, fallen asleep while charting. He'd admired you for a moment before slowly waking you with a pen poked in your head. You'd looked so peaceful then- nothing like it now.

“Is she cold?”

“No- I don't think so.”

Robby slowly sank down in the chair and picked up your hand again. It stopped the trembling in his at once.

“I gotta get off, I'll cover the day, do something about the nights. Stay with her, call me if there's any changes,” said Jack.

“Thank you, brother,” said Robby.

There was a dull drumming in your head. Your back was aching and even moving your eyes hurt. Beyond all of that there was something else, something heavier.

Your eyes opened slowly and you found the lights ahead. They burned brighter than the sun, like every morning when you walked into PCMT. You tried to hide, to shield yourself with your hand but you couldn't move it.

Panic coursed through you. Why couldn't you move it? Why could you hardly feel your hand? Dear god-

“Hey,” a gentle voice greeted and you searched for them.

Jack stood over you, leaning at you bed.

Your mouth was parched as you tried to speak.

“You're okay,” said Jack in a whisper. “You remember what happened?”

Step by step you thought back. You were leaving, only checking on David once more before sharp pain hit you in the back and you were shoved. When you came too again faces blurred together and pain blinded you to them all.

There was Robby. Somewhere in all of that.

“I was... stabbed?”

Jack nodded, a small trembled in his chin. “Yeah you were. But you're gonna be okay, there was no injury to your spine.”

“I'll walk?”

“Twelve hours time we'll get you up.”

When you focused you could feel the ache in your arm as if someone was pulling it. There was something heavy at the end like someone was holding it, tight.

Robby was at your other side, lying on your arm and holding you down. His body was curved over, head turned away as his back moved in soft breaths.

“Thought I'd let him sleep. He's been up watching you since you came out the OR,” said Jack.

Robby. He'd stayed.

Had you asked him to? You'd wanted him to. Maybe he understood that.

“Thank you, Jack.”

Jack shook his head. There was no need to thank him, you knew that, but you were thanking him for the life you'd put in his hands and that he'd let Robby be at your side. “You want some time?”

You nodded stiff, feeling the ache in your back more and more. You knew you had months ahead of you of pain but you didn't want to dull it with drugs just yet.

Jack petted down your hair once before taking his hoodie off the back of the chair and leaving, closing the door gently.

In the silence you watched Robby a moment longer, matching your new breaths with his. The weight of him on your hand made you tingle as you slowly worked your fingertips back to life.

You tried to move your hand out from his weight but he stirred.

Groggily he turned and looked around the room, waking up more confused then you were.

“Robby?”

His eyes widened.

Robby moved up at once, looming over your bed as you tried to push yourself up. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” he fretted, eyes raking over your body like he was checking all of you were there. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“Robby-” you tried to protest.

“BP is hundred over eighty.”

You tried to entertain him, just as you had with the cut on your head. If you let him go through the motions just might just end up holding his hand again. So you let him try your nerves, let him ask if you were in pain. You let him ask you to wiggle your fingers and toes. You let him lift one leg and the other as high as he could before you winced in pain.

“Can you stop being my doctor for a second and sit back down?”

Robby seemed startled but hid it quickly. He realised Jack was out the room. “He should've woke me, checked you over.”

“You were resting, he said you'd stayed.”

He looked at you, astonished you'd think he'd go anywhere else.

You watched him sink into his chair, clasping his hands together and wedging them between his knees. Your fingers ached to hold him but your body was weak even talking. “You look tired.”

He chuckled low and smiled. His face was pale, eyes red, hair a mess. His entire body was slumped. “I look tired?”

“A nice tired, a handsome tired.”

You focused on your hand, lifting it enough. You watched as Robby looked down and took it without hesitation, he held it tight, grasping it between his big hands and bringing it to his lips.

You felt him kiss your palm.

“I was stabbed?”

Robby nodded, slowly. “Two puncture wounds, missed the spinal chords, nicked an aorta, bled out. That was our biggest worry but-”

“But I'm okay now?”

Slowly, he nodded.

You groaned, shifting your head aside. You'd have rolled over to show your protest but you had a feeling you'd be putting as little pressure on your back for a while. “Is Mr Brown?”

“The police are looking for him,” said Robby, without letting you even work out just what it is you were trying to ask about.

You nodded slowly, looking down to where your hand disappeared in his. “I'll report him this time, I promise.”

Robby stared at you, eyes wide with something you couldn't name. “I just want you to focus on getting better. On coming back... coming back to me.”

You didn't think, even coming out of an op and the haze of pain, that you could ever be where he wasn't. You think, no matter how terrible it seemed, that it was meant to happen this way. The stabbing and scarring that would no doubt end up on your back might have been the best thing to ever happen to you.

“Robby,” you whispered.

He must have heard something in your voice as he slowly stood and hunched over you, a hand lying on the top of your head.

His eyes were watering with tears.

You could remember faint images of this happening before, as you were slowly lulled to sleep by drugs. His hand combing back your hair felt like it had always been doing it. Like you'd always woken to him.

“Did you kiss me?” You didn't know where the memory came from, or even if it was a memory. It could've been a dream.

To his credit Robby didn't startle or flinch. He slowly nodded, leaving room for objection. He leaned over close to you, another hand cradling your cheek. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Robby inhaled sharply. “I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you months before I did. I wanted to kiss you last week and two minutes ago when you woke. I wanted to kiss you covered in blood and... I want to kiss you now.”

You smiled and it brought you no pain. “If my back wasn't in pain I'd be kissing you right now,” you chuckled and then the pain came.

Robby leant down to you, his eyes searching yours. Close enough you could see what was in his eyes, what he'd been hiding. Warmth. Admiration.

His large nose brushed yours as he kissed you slow with no rush of need. His hand was soft as he angled you so he could explore every line and curve if your lip.

Your own hand slowly wound up, around his head, stroking the back of his hair and resting there. He didn't mind the oxygen tube or that she couldn't reach up to meet him. In fact he kissed her like he'd planned it like this a hundred times.

When there was an alarming beep from the machines Robby pulled away quick, studdying them.

“It's just my heartrate,” you said. “Might have been beating a little faster there.”

He agreed but seemed solemn to do so.

You watched the crease between his brows appear again. “You know, if I knew I just needed to be stabbed to have you kiss me again I'd have-”

“Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

For the sake of his nerves, you didn't.

“You know if I'd have known that it was just gonna take me getting stabbed for you to sell that motorbike, I'd have got stabbed a lot sooner,” you said teasingly as Robby pulled into his new designated parking space outside the ED.

It had been a month since the incident but you were still reaping the small benefits that came with it. Like Robby insisting you stay with him to get the best care, like him getting rid of his motorbike to get a better car that was more comfortable on your back.

Like having so much time with him.

Mornings where he dedicated time in messaging the sore spots of your back and spreading an oil that was going to help the scaring. Like the dinner times when you read him a recipe that he never followed to the t. Like the kisses you stole in the night when he'd watch you and kiss you without straining to go forward.

Robby parked the car and turned off the engine. “If I had a dollar every time you said that,” he grumbled, picking up his bag and exiting.

You were still moving slower, still kept a crutch with you to keep weight off your back. You were coming back to work with a much lighter work load and you were sure Robby would be glued to your side all day like he practically had the month you'd took to recover.

Even before you could open the door Robby was there doing it for you, your own bag in his hand.

“You think anyone's gonna want to see the cool scars I've got, they kind of look like stars,” you said as Robby stayed close by your side, walking in with you.

“You sent them all pictures,” he said, mildly irritated. You and everyone around you seemed to try to crack jokes about the thing. He felt sometimes he was the only one who saw the near death wound for what it was.

“Excuse me- most of them asked for pictures.”

“Completely inappropriate.”

A few ambulance workers saw you, greeting you with smiles you returned while Robby waited next to you, holding up a polite hand in greeting.

It dropped, grazed yours and picked it up, holding on as the two of you walked in.

Usually Robby liked to walk in through triage, get a feel of what was happening but he wasn't risking that many foreign bodies next to you even though they caught David Brown and he was being charged.

Robby had something to live for, had something to protect. Nothing was happening to it. To you.

“It's good to have you back,” said Lupe as the two of you passed her at the door.

“Do you think that was a pun?” you uttered to him, rewarded with the smallest tint of his lips as he pushed open the door.

Loud clapping greeted you with some cheap, paper, party poppers when you walked in. Thee was cheering to and a large banner was hooked up, saying 'welcome home!'.

A place that could have held such terrible memories was brightened up as you jumped from one smiling face, to another.

Next to you, Robby stepped back, blending into the admiring crowd and started to clap too with something more than fondness in his smile. Love. A word that had woven its way into your vocab since moving in with him to get help for your wounds.

A word that summed up so much of what you had.

“You did this for me?” you asked.

“It was all Robby's idea,” said Jack, leading the cheering.

You didn't have to even move. Like he knew what you wanted Robby stepped over to you and kissed you. He always kept his lips irritatingly light, encouraging you to stretch out muscles in your back to join meet him.

You grinned against his lips. “I should be stabbed more often.”

“I said five minutes,” said Princess.

“I thought you would get to lunch, at least,” said Dana.

“I knew you'd do an hour, exact!” Santos cheered. She clasped her hands in front of her as if in prayer. “Thank you!”

When Robby got back from his sabbatical he fully expected to be unleashed to chaos. He thought his doctors and nurses would fall to their knees, elated to have him back. He expected chairs to be overflowing out the door and patients that had been in beds when he left to still be there. He expected you to be in the same room he left you.

Instead everyone welcomed him back with smiles, pats on the back and 'happy to have you back, boss.'

There were no tears, no fire.

And apparently, no you.

“You must really have had nothing going on.” He pushed himself up from the counter, peering at Santos. “How much money have you just made?”

“Five-hundred and fifty dollars,” she said, proudly.

Had the whole hospital and patients bet on him?

Robby pushed himself up from the counter, lazily walking around it as if he wasn't looking for you. He'd given himself an hour, wasn't that enough? In the three months he was away he'd only text you a handful of times, asking how you were? How was work? If his one singular, pathetic, house plant he brought just so you had an excuse to go to his house and house sit was doing ok?

Your answers were kept curt. Polite. Half the time he waited most of the day for a reply, which was expected, he knew the demands of the job.

But a vacation that was originally for him to find peace and self reflect only brought him thoughts of you.

“Does anyone want to tell me where she is?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He wasn't doing a good enough job.

“She's with her new Robby,” said Doctor McKay.

His head clocked to her slowly. “Her what?”

“New med student, started three days ago,” said Dana, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. “Name's John Carter, been practically attached to the hip since.”

“I didn't know we were getting a new med student.”

“Transfer from Westbridge.”

“He's good,” said McKay with an approving nod. “Super young. Cute too.” Her legs were kicked up on the desk as she clicked a pen repeatedly, watching Robby with a sly smile.

“Yeah, y/l/n has him started in triage,” said Whitaker.

“Reminds me of you,” said Dana.

Robby nodded short and held himself still for a second. Then he started moving, past them all as they all laughed between themselves as he bee-lined for triage. On the way through he plucked twenty dollars from the roll Santos counted from.

“Hey!”

“Okay, that's good. Now close it up.”

“Yes ma'am,” said John as he pulled at the stitches at Mrs Doyle's scalp.

“Ma'am,” said Mrs Doyle. “You've got this one trained well.”

John chuckled, focused intently on the stitches as you loomed close behind him, watching his sutures as you had for almost three days. “That she does.”

You smiled to yourself. When John Carter walked in three days ago, lingering at the counter un-sure where to go with his impressively clean and pressed scrubs you were dubious. He seemed too clean, too pure to be in the ED. You'd basically said as much. But you showed him to chairs and you talked him through stitching and he stitched up every wound on the first day.

On the second you let him order CT's and Blood tests.

Today you were thinking of taking him into some of your cases in the ED, getting him in the dirt of it all.

You'd been working hard all three months to not think about Robby. Med student John Carter was just what you needed. A surprise distraction to focus your brain on a new body and not an absence.

“Okay, Mrs Doyle,” you said, stepping away from John to look through her chart. “As it's the scalp we only ask you to keep the bandage on for twenty-four hours. Other than that keep it as dry as you can and John, how long till she can come back to get them removed?”

John's hair was dark and looked incredibly soft. It flopped over sometimes and he'd blow up to move it in a strange, endearing move. “Er, a couple days? Three?”

You waited for him to correct himself when another voice spoke up at the door.

“Face is five, scalp and head is a week.”

You wished you hadn't turned as quick as you did, wish your body didn't warm at the voice. But you did.

Michael Robinavitch stood in the doorway, rubbing sanitiser into his hands.

“You're back.”

He nodded.

For a moment you stared, trying to gage how you should react. Was he well-rested? Worse then before he left? Was he hiding everything behind a mask again?

Behind you, John Carter cleared his throat.

“Oh er-” your world that seemed so focused on training John the last few days suddenly shrunk and kicked him out. All she saw was Robby. “Doctor Robby, this is Med student John Carter, third year. John this is our attending Doctor Robinavitch.”

John put out his hand. He was still wearing his gloves.

Robby didn't move to shake his hand and after a painful moment, John lowered it, tugging off the blue gloves. He looked over the two's head to Mrs Doyle sitting at the chair as Donnie hovered around. “Come back if there's any irritation or swelling. Keep it dry and we'll see you in five days to see how it goes.”

It was not just dismission for her but you and Carter too.

You fell into step behind Robby, Carter falling into step behind you.

“Carter, Dana tells me you've been on triage and suturing the last three days,” said Robby.

“I thought it best to ease him in,” you said.

“You'd never done them before?”

“No, sir,” said Carter, quick on your heels and eager to follow the two of you.

“What did you do at Westbridge?”

“Dermatology and Psychiatry.”

You could see the irritated smile creeping in. “Be nice.”

Robby glanced down at you with a classic look of disbelief. It was the same looked many of them had at the desk, which was mainly why you stepped in. Everyone had to start somewhere.

“You done an IV before Carter?”

“Er... as of yesterday. With Doctor y/l/n's help.”

The three of you ended up in the main work area, others eyes being drawn up to you.

“Perfect, Doctor McKay you've got a patient north two, I want you to teach Carter here everything you know!” ordered Robby.

There was little room for movement in his order as McKay stood, gesturing on Carter who seemed frozen in place, like a lost puppy being took away from it's owner.

You had to nod at him to send him away.

Robby folded his arms over his chest, rocking lightly on his heels. “I thought we didn't coddle Med students.”

“I haven't coddled him, I've been teaching him. What did you want me to do? Throw him into GSW's and Spinal taps when he can't stitch up a cut?”

“Throw them in the deep end and they learn, you did.”

“Not everyone can be as good as me.”

“No they cannot but I don't like all the time you've been spending with Carter the last three days.”

Your eyes rolled. “You've been here what? An hour and you're already getting on my ass.”

“New world record or so I've heard,” he said. “Get back to picking up patients, Carter can trail everyone else.”

“But me?”

“But you.”

“Gee, nice to have you back, Doctor Robby.”

You walked away.

You'd promised in the three months he's been gone you'd do better on his arrival. You wouldn't rise to his taunts, you'd go to anyone else before him and you would certainly stop sleeping with the guy every time one of you needed a release.

The first month you threw yourself into work, picking up doubles and taking on more cases than anyone else. By the second month you'd almost crashed and gone back to moping that Robby had up and left you without so much a kiss. The third things settled, work got normal (or as normal as possible) things were looking up.

He just had to come back.

But you'd stopped counting since Carter came in. All smooth skin and dimpled smile and soft hair.

You'd been at the desk surrounded by Emma, Dana, Princess, Perlah and Javadi when you all spotted him.

“He's cute,” you commented.

“He kind of reminds me of someone,” said Dana, head clocked.

“Who?”

Everyone was silent, waiting for you to catch on. Three days later you were still trying to figure out who.

As you walked away you heard Robby follow, steps heavy. “You're not even gonna ask me how my trip was?”

“Clearly you lots of sleep cause you're up and at them this morning!”

“It was great, just me and my thoughts. Didn't kill myself, know you were worried about that.”

“Can't think why now.”

“You know your life would be boring without me.”

“And yet I'm so full of joy to have you back.”

“I know it's practically radiating from you.”

When you turned to face him- adamant your three months or progress go down the drain- you hadn't realised how close he stopped to you. You collided with his chest.

“You saying you haven't missed me?” he asked, voice low.

Of course you had. Every morning you walked into work and realised you wouldn't see him. Every night when you went to sleep without talking to him.

“I've been a bit too busy to miss you.”

“Busy with Carter, is that it?”

“I thought you were self reflecting on that motorcycle trip?” you asked. “You come in here sounding jealous.”

Quickly he shook his head. “Not jealous just... concerned with how much time you and this student have been spending together.”

You could've said something about how you were a student when you and Robby first slept together, but you were supposed to be doing better. It wasn't exactly a show of that if you implanted the idea of sleeping together again in his head. And you knew it would.

Instead, you patted him on the shoulder once. “Then he's all yours.”

You'd successfully avoided both Carter and Robby the last hour, you'd admitted a patient with lower abdominal pain in for CT's and an ultrasound, awaiting bloods. Whilst waiting, you bugged Dana.

“Alright, I give up. Who does Carter remind you of?”

Dana laughed. “Geez, kid, you still haven't figured it out?”

You shook your head.

Dana was still laughing as she pulled out her phone, scrolling while you took a seat, filling your time with charts. She scrolled far down. “Here.”

On her phone she had a picture pulled up. You knew it was Robby, as in your mind registered that but this was a younger Robby. His head of hair was fuller and longer. His skin was clearer and smoother. His eyes were the same dark warmth but he had a growing beard. It was Robby, just as handsome, only less worn by life.

“Why do you have an old picture of Robby on your phone?”

“That's not the point, the point is you're not seeing what's right in front of you.”

As an answer Dana pulled you up and held up her phone. On one side was the phone, the young picture of Robby. Over to the left you saw John Carter in the flesh, putting an IV in a patient. His face was moved in concentration.

You looked back and forth. Back and forth, then the two started to blur and you were seeing nothing. “I don't get it.”

“Oh my god,” groaned Dana, slamming her phone down.

“Are you trying to say they look alike?” you asked, chasing her down as she left your side. “Dana?”

“Of course that's what I'm saying. Jesus, they could be brothers!”

“I've really never noticed.”

“Maybe cause you're trying so hard to forget Robby you're ignoring the obvious. You've picked up another one!”

You laughed away the idea. You had not gone through three months of self-torture for this revelation. “That's not what I'm doing I was just... I'm just-”

“Filling that empty void in your heart.”

“Robby has no place in my heart.”

A lie and Dana was like a hound dog when it came to lies. She could smell them a mile away.

“Oh sweetie, you can lie all you like,” said Dana, grasping your hand and squeezing. “But you can't kid me. You were heartbroken when he left because you love the guy. You love who you love and sometimes it's not the easiest person but you can't kid yourself.”

You were doing rather well kidding yourself. Sleeping in his bed at his place on the nights you told yourself you were too tired to drive back to yours. Only replying simply to his texts as a way of keeping your distance despite the hundreds of miles between you two.

All you had to do was keep it together for the foreseeable future.

Dana left you with her words of wisdom and leaving you to look at Carter. Maybe there was some resemblance in the looks. If someone put Robby in a time machine and de-aged him then maybe you could see it.

But Carter was patient, kind, gentle in ways you knew Robby to be short tempered, hard at times and rough. That was how you'd grown to know him. Just because Carter was different didn't make you want him any less.

Annoyingly.

Doctor Robby hadn't chosen to keep himself busy but after being away for three months there was much work that apparently required his attention.

Another deposition had taken place on Santos, the programme he'd put Langdon through needed a letter of recommendation, along with the general patients he had to deal with and the traumas. There was also everyone who wanted to know about the trip but what was he supposed to say other than he slept, swam in the lake, drove around and thought about you.

All he wanted was to take cases with you, ask if you were coming to his tonight, ask if he could see you the next day and the next and for the rest of his life. He'd been away for three months, thinking. He didn't want to be away from you ever again.

Instead he was asking about the bowel movements of an eighty-six year old.

By the time he'd come out, slinging off his gloves, the only person waiting for him was that young John Carter.

“Doctor McKay ordered labs and bloods for our patient, until them am I okay to go with Doctor y/l/n?” he asked with a voice soft and innocent.

Was that what you were into? Soft and innocent after three months?

Robby knew he'd done wrong. Knew he'd wanted you close- impossibly so- but pushed you away, maybe too far. Too hard.

In the three months away he'd tried to think of a million ways of winning you back. All grand ideas that you'd hate.

“No,” said Robby. “There's a trauma in, waiting for the OR. You can join Jesse, watch their vitals. Then you can check in with Doctor Santos, she's got a eleven year old laceration to the leg and rash, go find out what that is.”

Carter stood there, slowly taking in everything he had said. “Doctor Robby-”

“Robinavitch,” he corrected.

“McKay said everyone calls you Robby?”

“Everyone does, you can call me Robinavitch,” he said, peering at him through his glasses.

“Doctor Robinavitch, I think I work well under Doctor y/l/n and I see she's on the board with a suspected cyst on the ovary in south two, could I possibly-”

“No you cannot,” said Robby. “Med students do not get to pick and chose their cases, especially dermatology types.”

There was a huff but Robby elected to ignore him for his sake.

“Okay.” Slowly, as if hoping he'd change his mind, Carter walked off.

Robby watched him walk, then looked to the board where your name was written. “Carter!” he called.

The kid turned.

“Twenty minutes I'll need you on the eighth floor, east wing, room three.”

Carter nodded and walked off.

That gave Robby ten minutes to find you.

Next to him, Dana chortled. “Like looking in a mirror.”

He was too aggravated to ask what she meant, he only caught her phone rising as he snapped a picture or him and the shuffling away Carter.

When Robby pulled you off of charting you could only assume it was for something urgent, but he took up up the floors, diving further into the hospital than you usually went till you were in the abandoned eighth floor. There were still beds and equipment littered around, just nobody to use it all.

“Robby, what are we doing?” you asked, a borderline complaint.

He pushed open a door, urging you in.

The two of you stood in a room of dust, empty begs and curtains pulled over a window. He nudged the door close, keeping it open with just a slit of light from the corridor.

“Robby?”

You'd known him long enough- and well enough- that you could see the tension in his back and shoulders. They were pulled as his arms flexed as he cupped the back of his head, smoothing down the hair there.

“Okay,” he sighed, as if gearing himself up to something. “I had a lot of time for self reflection on my trip. Too much of it.”

“I can only imagine how rough that was.”

He held up a hand, face scrunched, basically begging for a chance to talk. Usually you wouldn't give it but you shut up and listened.

“I'm a mess, that's not changed. I'll always say things I don't mean and do things I regret. But I don't want to regret you,” he said. “What we had before I left: It was casual, it was a fling. I want it to be more.”

Your heart stuttered. Your entire body jerked in response. How many times had you dreamt about words just like that? You dug your fingernails into your palms, begging it not to be a dream now.

“When I text you saying I miss you, that wasn't a lie. I did. I have. And I will if you say you don't want to see me again. I'm not saying it'll be easy, I am not easy, I know. But I- I want to try to be better. For you.”

There was no rush of emotion pushing you into his arms, no rush of blood. Only a quiet disbelief.

“But before you left,” you gulped. “Before you said you could never be anything more.”

“I know, I know,” said Robby quietly. His steps were light as he dared a step next closer. “I was messed up. I was scared. I thought you'd be better off without me but the truth is... I'm not better without you and I have no hope of being.”

You stared at the man. He looked just like the Michael Robinavitch that left the ED three months ago. But he was changed, it was in the softer lines around his eyes and the small warmth in his eyes. It was in the way he stood in front of you, earnest and complete with a hand stretched out to the small gap between your bodies.

“How do I know you won't get bored of this?” you asked, uttering the words like you couldn't believe you were saying anything but yes. “You've only been back a couple hours, when it gets tough again how do I know you won't just shut down on us all again?”

Robby's finger traced the back of your hand, a feather light touch. “Because you won't let me.”

You could taste the mint on his breath as he leant down and kissed you, softly. It was a gentle brush of his lips, testing the taste of you and the weight of his affections. His lips ran over yours a couple times, remembering the shape before he pulled back.

You only got a quick look at him before you collided.

Your lips pressed to his hard and un-forgiving. Trying to meld them into one and tattoo yourself there. His arms were strong around you, keeping you into him as his tongue invaded your mouth. Your arms went around his shoulders, body aching into him.

“God-” he mumbled against your lips. His hands ventured down, running over the curve of your backside and squeezing till your pelvis was flush with his.

“I missed you,” you admitted against his lips, the words lost in his mouth.

You could feel the grin against you. “Yeah?”

“Mmh-mm.”

He kissed you openly, tongue getting the taste of you as another hand curled in between your bodies, groping a breast as he trailed his lips down the side of your neck leaving a wet path down.

You were breathless, gasping for the freshest of air with him when a crash sounded outside the door.

Robby was still attached to you as he bit on your neck as you whipped around, facing the noise.

There was a flash of scrubs and brown hair before it was gone before your eyes, darting down the corridor. But you'd spent enough time around that face to know it.

“Was that Carter?”

Slowly Robby rose up and looked at the desolate corridor. He shrugged, a large hand spread over your back.

But when you glanced back at him you caught the bite back of a smirk.

“Honestly, Huckleberry, if there’s a fifty‑fifty chance of disaster, you’ll hit the disaster ninety‑nine percent of the time. It’s a real talent.” Trinity’s jab snapped your attentions back to the group.

Whitaker squinted at her, then nodded with the solemnity of a man accepting his fate.

A laugh escapes you, the kind that comes as naturally as breathing. “Trinity that cant be true.”  

“It is,” she insisted. “I’m pretty sure if he bought a lottery ticket and won, he’d still end up bankrupt.”

“Well don’t worry Whitaker I would help take care of you if that happened.” You pat his hand with a small smile.

Jack would have something to say about that. Probably some dry teasing comment about you wanting to take care of everyone. But you knew he would do it if you asked. He had a hard time saying no after you smiled at him.

And that thought, that soft truth, made the empty space where he should’ve been feel even heavier. Another five minutes passed before you excused yourself with a soft smile and slipped through the crowd, weaving between tables and tipsy strangers. You wanted to go back to Jacks place—curl up in his bed, breathe in the scent of his laundry detergent, and let the world quiet down.

The cool night air washed over you as soon as you pushed the door open. It was a welcome contrast to the suffocating warmth inside. You inhaled deeply, letting the quiet settle around you like a blanket.

Jack wasn’t on the patio like you expected. No familiar silhouette leaning against the railing. No soft glow from his phone screen. No low laugh shared with Robby.

They were at the end of the patio, a streetlight outlining their figures. They didn’t turn toward you. Didn’t notice you at all.

 You froze mid‑step.

Something in their posture told you the conversation wasn’t casual. That it wasn’t light joking. It wasn’t anything you were meant to walk into.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You didn’t even think you could—until Jack’s voice cut through the air, sharp and tired in a way you’d never heard directed at you.

“I can’t do it any more Robby. She talks nonstop all the time.”

Your breath stilled. Completely.

Like your lungs forgot how to work.

Robby exhaled. “Have you tried to tell her?”

“Yes, but I can never get a word in.”

The words hit like a punch you weren’t braced for. They were Clean. Precise. Brutal.

They confirmed every fear you’d ever whispered to yourself at three in the morning, every insecurity you’d tried to smother with optimism, and the hope that love made your quirks endearing instead of exhausting.

You knew you talked a lot. God, you knew.

You’d even gone to therapy hoping someone could teach your brain how to slow down. To be able to survive in normal silence instead of fearing it might swallow you whole. Instead, they handed you an ADHD diagnosis and told you it was okay. A quirk. A part of you. Something that made you you.

But hearing Jack say it like that, like it drained him, felt like someone had taken all your insecurities and carved it into your ribs with deliberate, merciless precision.

Your eyes burned, and throat tightened. You swallowed hard, forcing a breath to stay quiet as you backed away, slipping inside before either of them could see you. Your body was moving on autopilot.  

You knew you couldn’t go back the table. If you sat down, Trinity would take one look at you and know something was wrong. Then Mel would smile at you with some encouraging words, and you would break. You would start crying right then and there. And then she would tell jack. It would become a whole thing.

So, you ducked into the bathroom, pushing the door open with trembling fingers. You leaned against the sink, palms flat on the cool granite, trying to breathe through the sudden ache in your chest. Jacks’ words echoed, and with slinking certainty you realize you were as easy to love as you had hoped.

A cruel laugh escapes you. Your father had warned you—Men don’t like when woman talk a lot. They will leave you. You thought he was cruel, and hated you. But he was right. You talked to much and now jack wanted to leave you.

Fuck. You thought everything was going well.  You had been together just over six months, it had been filled with laughter, feeding him all your baking experiments, of you rambling about everything. He always listened earnestly, whether it was about childhood movies, or the new recipe you were perfecting. Or, you thought he did.

Now you felt small and unwanted. Like every happy moment had been a misunderstanding you’d build a future on.

You wanted to go back to your home, and crawl into bed. Pretend this was all simply a nightmare you could wake up from. Pretend that the man you were irrevocably in love with didn’t secretly resent the way your brain worked.

Another cruel laugh escapes. When the thought occurs to you that he could have told you. That was the part that sung the most. He could have said something—anything—before it became a complaint whispered to his befriend on a street corner.

With a small pep talk and a promise that you could cry as soon as you got out of the building, your forced your legs to move. Each step you took felt like it belonged to someone braver than you.

You plastered on a smile when the group looked up, the expression stretching too tight across your face.

“Hey I can’t find Jack, can you let him know I walked home. I don’t want to take him away from his friends on his one night off.”  You rushed out, desperate to escape before anyone could ask anything that might crack you open.

Trinity’s eyes narrowed, sharp and preceptive. “Are you okay?”

You grabbed your coat, shrugging it on like a piece of armor. You needed to leave before Jack came back and saw the truth written all over your face. Because he would. That man could read you like a book. Every gesture, every shift in your voice, every tiny hesitation—he noticed all of it.

“Yeah,” you lied, voice light. “Just need some sleep, I’ve got to finish a massive order for an engagement party coming up.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look ok.” Mel cut in.

You took a second to breathe then forced your smile to widen. “I promise. I just need sleep or my deserts will suffer.”

“Are you making those triple berry macarons again?” Melissa asked, brightening at the mention of your baking.

Warmth flickered through your chest. Mel adored your treats, and half the time you made extra for her in particular. She was one of the few people who understood you without making you feel like you were too much. Maybe it was because of her sister, maybe it was just who she was, but you adored her even more for it.

“I am,” you said softly. “I’ll send some over.”

You waved, turned, and made your way outside. Purposefully avoiding the are you knew jack and Robby were standing.  

Five minutes in to the walk home, a sob finally rips out of you. It’s loud, ugly and impossible to swallow. A person passing on the street glances over, curious, but keeps walking. You pressed shaking fingers to your lips, trying to hold the next one in, trying to keep yourself from unraveling right there on the street.

God, you hated crying. It felt humiliating between the blotchy skin and the snot that built up slowly suffocating you.  

Your phone vibrated incessantly in your pocket. First two calls. Then a string of messages, one after another.

Jack: I would have driven you home love Let me know when you’re safe Love you  

Love you.  

Those words felt mocking to read. They made your chest cave in, because he didn’t mean them. They were just words coming from him. He tolerated you. He merely put up with you. He must have only been with you because he was lonely and he didn’t have to do much to entertain you. You did most of the work by talking all the time.

Part of you wanted to ignore him. Let him sit with the silence he wanted so much. But you knew Jack, if you didn’t respond, he’d show up at your door, and you couldn’t face him right now. Not with your nose red and your heart cracked open.

So, you typed the shortest message you’d ever sent him.

Got home don’t worry.

No warmth.

No rambling.

No I’m home, going to shower then head to bed. Early morning tomorrow, love you bunches.

If it bothered Jack, he didn’t say a word.

The bakery was already warm by seven a.m., the air was thick with the smell of sugar and butter, wrapping itself around you like a familiar hug. Normally you would fill the space with chatter; updates about your latest recipe experiments, stories about customers, random facts you’d learned at three in the morning. You were the heartbeat of the kitchen, the one who made the early shift feel less like work and more like a cozy, chaotic family.

But today you were silent.

You didn’t hum.

You didn’t ramble. You didn’t even comment on the new shipment of vanilla beans, which was practically a red flag in itself.

Brianna was the first to notice how the quiet clung to you. Like someone turned down the volume on your entire personality. She kept glancing at you at from the mixer, brows pinched waiting for you to speak.

Oliver caught on next, his eyes narrowing as he watched you pipe filling whipped ganache with mechanical precision. He shared a look with Bri.

“Hey,” Bri said finally, wiping her hands on a towel as she approached. “You good?”

You nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Just… focusing.”

It wasn’t convincing. Not in the slightest. The lie hung in the warm bakery air, thin and fragile, and everyone could see straight through it.

Oliver stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re never this quiet.”

You kept your eyes on the pastry bag, squeezing out perfect spirals like your life depended on it. “Just tired.”

Brianna exchanged another glance with Oliver, then gently nudged your elbow. “Sweetheart, you’re piping like you’re trying to win a Michelin star. What happened?”

Grant arrived, cheerful as always. “Morning!-“ The moment he saw you, his smile faltered. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

You forced a tiny smile. “Yep.”

You didn’t. But they didn’t need to know that.

Everyone in the kitchen shared a concerned look. The kind of look that meant they were about two seconds from staging an intervention.

“Babes do you want to take a break? You have been here since 5 a.m.” Oliver tried to grab the tray of macrons’ s from you.

“No.” you responded immediately. “I have to keep moving.”

“Okay…” Bri tried a different angle. “What’s the plan for the engagement party? I know the cake bases are prepped.”

You loved talking about recipes. Loved it. It brought you joy to share them with people.

“It’s on the clipboard by the stove.” You mumble.

You wanted to cry again, Jacks words were still at the front of your mind. But you were pretty sure one more tear would dehydrate you completely. Besides cookies with a side of salty tears were not professional. Nor delicious. And absolutely against your brand.

Jack had tried to call you that morning, and you ignored it. Facing him would make everything hit harder, and you weren’t ready for that. You would have to face him sooner or later.

While you weren’t looking, Grant quietly swiped the clipboard and tucked it behind a stack of sheet pans. “It’s not there, chef. So, you gotta tell us what the plan is.”

“It was literally just there.”

Brianna, Grant, Oliver all just stared at you waiting.

With a deep breath, you set the piping bag to the side.

“So the bride mentioned she likes tart flavors. We’re going to make a lemon‑raspberry cake filling and keep the decorating easy, clean.” You didn’t even realize it, but for a moment you felt… okay. “Then the macarons—we’re making strawberry, chocolate, and key lime. I wanted to do triple berry, but maybe it’s too sweet, and I don’t want it to be too much. Which reminds me, we should experiment with a pomegranate flavor in a—”

You stopped.

Mid‑sentence.

Mid‑you.

Your throat closed up. Your stomach dropped. Speaking suddenly felt dangerous. Like you were annoying everyone in the room without meaning too.

“Sorry,” you whispered, stepping back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… talk so much.”

The room went still.

Grant blinked. “Honey…What?”

But you were already moving. You set the tray down, wiped your hands on your apron, and headed straight for the walk‑in freezer.

You slipped inside, letting the heavy door seal shut behind you. The cold air grounding you. You leaned back against the metal shelving, pressing your palms to your eyes as the chill seeped into your bones. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold in the hurt, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling back to Jack’s voice, Jack’s words, Jack’s exhaustion.

You’d always talked too much. You had warned him when you first started dating.

Just a minute, you told yourself. Just one minute to fall apart before you had to go back out there and pretend everything was fine.

Your phone vibrated. Jacks name flashing on your screen for what felt like the 50th time.

He knew you were up. You were always at your bakery ridiculously early.  

You hit a button declining it.

A message came through immediately.

Jack: Are you ok sweetheart? Call me back please.

You squeezed your eyes. You would not cry again. You would not let this effect you. Not here. Not in front of your team. Not when you were supposed to be the steady one, the cheerful one, the one who made mornings feel lighter.

You typed out a quick, clipped reply.

I’m ok, just busy making cakes.

No emojis.

No warmth.

You shoved your phone back into your apron pocket and stepped out of the freezer before you were taken to the ED for hypothermia. Then you would really have to face jack.

Midafternoon the bell over the door rang.

You didn’t look up too focused on smoothing frosting over a cake layer. Grant was hired to deal with the customers anyway. You trusted him to charm anyone who walked in.

“Is she in the kitchen? I brought her lunch.”

Your heart lurched. You froze mid‑swipe of your spatula.

Jack was there. With food and probably expecting to see you. Maybe he was here to finally break up with you, which really would be fucked. He knew this order was a big deal.

Oliver caught the panic on your face instantly. He didn’t hesitate to slip out to the front, cutting Grant off mid‑greeting.

“She’s not here.”

“She said you guys were busy?” Jack sounded confused, worried, trying to make sense of something he couldn’t see.

Grant jumped in with a smooth lie. “She came in early, but she wasn’t feeling great. Went home to sleep it off.”

A beat of silence.

You could picture Jack’s face, brows drawn, mouth tight, that worried crease forming between his eyes.

“She didn’t tell me,” Jacks voice softened.

Oliver’s tone softened too, but only slightly. “She probably didn’t want to bother you.”  

That line felt like a bruise being pressed on.

Because it was true.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be true.

“Did he do something?” Brianna whispered, suddenly appearing beside you.

You jumped back.

“It’s… a long story.” you murmured, marking off the delivery checklist with shaky hands.

Brianna didn’t push. She just stepped closer. “Well, We’ve got you whatever is happening, you aren’t alone.”

A burning rose behind your eyelids. This team you built had become a family. You all worked together so well. You loved them more than anything.

“Thank you, Bri,” you whispered. “I think I’m going to take a few days off. I know you three can run things.”

She nodded immediately, no hesitation, no doubt. “We’ve got it.”

You exhaled, shaky but relieved.

For the first time all day, you didn’t feel like you were drowning alone.

Jack texted you shortly after he left your bakery.

Jack: Sweetheart, are you doing ok? Grant just told me you went home sick. Do you need anything?

You didn’t respond just started at the messages, thumb hovering. You couldn’t come up with a response that didn’t feel like a lie or came across as snarky.

Another text came through after about ten minutes of just staring at it.

Jack: Please call me. I am starting to worry. I miss your voice.

You let out a scoff while your stomach twisted so hard you thought you were going to vomit. You knew those words weren’t true. Not after last night.

He doesn’t get to say that after complaining to Robby.

You started typing out a response but stopped deleting the message. It was to mean and you couldn’t bring yourself to be rude to him. He was still a really nice guy who brought lunch to work.

Your phone buzzed again, lighting up the dim kitchen.

Jack: Sweetheart? Please… just tell me you’re okay.

He was probably watching the text chain, waiting for those three little dots to pop up—waiting for proof you were alive, reachable, still his.

You did as he asked and typed:

I’m fine. Just trying to rest.

It wasn’t a complete lie. You were about to head home—Bri had left with the order, and Grant had practically shoved you out the door, telling you to “go find inner peace or whatever chefs do.”

Outside your front door there was a bag neatly placed. It was filled with medicine that would take care of any problem you could possibly have like cold and flu tablets, throat lozenges, electrolyte packets. A container of soup from your favorite café. And a bouquet of flowers soft pink peonies—your favorite.

Your throat tightened.

Because if he didn’t like you, and found you to be exhausting enough to gripe about behind your back then why was he being so nice? Why did he bring flowers?  Why did he bring your favorite soup?

You sank onto your couch. The flowers trembling in your hands as you traced your fingers over the petals. Part of you wanted to throw them straight in the trash and the other part wanted to selfishly hold on to him.

Your phone buzzed again.

Jack: Sweetheart, please call me. I’m really worried. I don’t understand what’s going on. Just… let me hear your voice.

The words blurred and you chewed on the skin by your fingernails. Because now he wanted to hear your voice, not he missed it. When not even twenty-four hours ago he said it never stopped.

You turned the phone face down on the cushion. You would eventually deal with this, but not tonight. You deserved better than another night of tears.

The phone began to go off again. You ignored it. Then it rang again, and again, and again.

You curled up on the couch, flowers pressed to your chest, trying to find a way to breathe through all the self-doubt.

Your phone vibrated once more letting you know he left a voice mail.

You didn’t listen. You couldn’t.

The first morning off felt strange.

There was no alarm dragging you out of bed before dawn. No rush to preheat ovens. No mental checklist of pastries and deliveries. You just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying Jack’s words over and over until they blurred together. Like one of those catchy songs that got stuck in your head.

I can’t do it anymore. She talks nonstop.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Jack: Morning sweetheart, I hope you slept well. How are you feeling? Do you need anything else?

You stared at the message until the screen dimmed, the glow fading like your ability to pretend everything was fine.

Finally, you typed the smallest truth you could manage:

I just need some space. I will call you when I can.

The moment you hit send; you turned your phone off. Space felt like the only thing you could ask for and the only thing you could control.

You turned onto your side and pulled your comforter up to your chin. Hoping the quiet apartment would let you sleep some more. It didn’t.

Instead, more questions crept in, sharp and unwanted.

What other part of you was Jack choosing to endure? Was there anything to like about you?

The day stretched on, slow and heavy. Every passing second breathing felt like work. You stayed curled in bed, letting the silence settle around you, trying to figure out how to move forward when the person you trusted most had unknowingly broken something fragile inside you.

For the first time since that night, you didn’t cry. You simply were.

You just lay there, letting the space you asked for expand between you and Jack, hoping it would give you clarity.

Hoping the solution, you came up with wouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

You spent the next day off cleaning your apartment. Like aggressively cleaning your apartment. Scrubbing the counters like they had personally offended you. You moved everything off the shelves dusting and taking photos of Jack down. Anything to keep your hands busy while you tried not to spiral.  

This all started after you turned your phone on to make sure your bakery was still in one piece and not up in flames. Grant liked to “help” in kitchen sometimes. It was a whole thing.  

There was a set of messages from Jack.

Jack: Okay. I’ll give you space. But please tell me if you need anything. I’m here. Always.

So here you were attacking your tub with a scrub brush like it owed you money. And as you scrubbed you debated on the future of your relationship. It was the kind of debate that felt like you were pacing inside your own skull.

Should we take a break? Maybe we should end things. I could pretend nothing happened…. because maybe my dad was right, I was hard to love.

The thought felt like it was going to rip your heart out, and leave it right there on your bathroom floor. you paused your scrubbing, gripping the edge of the tub, breath shaking.

You knew you couldn’t avoid Jack forever. He would eventually show up at your door eventually trying to fix this. To fix something he unknowingly broke.

The toxic part of you wanted to ghost him. Pack up and move. Not tell him where you were. Change your number too. He would show up at the bakery though. You could use the whole mess as an excuse to expand your bakery like your team had been talking about—find a new place for you and Brianna to renovate. Start fresh somewhere else.

He would forget about you eventually. 

But you weren’t that person. You had to see things through. So you stood in your bathroom, sponge in hand, wondering how one trivial sentence could unravel you.

Day three you sat on the couch, blanket pulled around your shoulders, staring at the Soft pink peonies he’d left. They were opening beautifully, petals curling like they were reaching for you.

You wished you didn’t love them. You wished you didn’t love him.

It would make everything so much easier if you didn’t love him. Because at four a.m., after hours of tossing and turning, you came to the conclusion that it was time to break up. You just didn’t know how to do it. People usually dumped you. You didn’t have practice in being the one who walked away.

Jack tried to give you space. It took thirty‑six hours before you heard from him again.

Jack: Baby, please… I’m really worried. I don’t know what’s going on.

You stared at the message blinking.

You knew it was shitty to break up with someone over text. Someone had done it to you once with a voice note. A thirty‑second recording that shattered you for weeks.

But the idea of seeing Jack made your stomach burn.

Made your hands shake.

Made you furious.

And now you really wanted to punch him. To make him feel the pain you have been going through. You wouldn’t though, you weren’t a violent person. But the anger was still there, running hot through your veins.

And it wasn’t like he wanted to hear you talk anyway.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, breath shaking, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise your ribs from the inside.

I think we should end things.

You weren’t what part hurt more—losing him, or realizing this was reaching an end for him way before you heard the words.

Your phone rang, and like every time before it, you declined it.

Jack: Can we talk about this please? I cant lose you. I can fix this I promise I can fix this. Sweetheart please let me fix this.

Then another call.

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall.

Twenty minutes later there was frantic knocking at your door.

“Sweetheart?” His voice cracked on the word. “Please open the door.”

Your throat tightened painfully. But you didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

There was thump at the door—what you assumed was his forehead hitting it in defeat. “Please. I don’t— I don’t understand what’s happening. Just talk to me.”

You scoff at the word talk. Thought I did too much of that for you.

He knocked again, harder this time, panic bleeding into every movement. “Baby, please. I’m begging you. Just let me see you.”

Inside, you sat frozen on the couch, staring at the peonies like they might tell you what to do.

“I love you. I don’t know what I did, but please… please don’t shut me out.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Because you loved him too. He sounded so wrecked like he was breaking the same way you were.

His voice came again, barely audible. I’ll stay out here all night if I have to. I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”

He wasn’t yelling.

He wasn’t defensive.

He was scared.

And that made everything harder.

You stood slowly, legs trembling, blanket still around your shoulders. You walked toward the door, each step feeling like you were wading through wet cement.

Your hand hovered over the lock. I can do this, I can talk to him. 

You turned the lock. The click echoed through the apartment like a gunshot. You sucked in a breath, reminding yourself again that you could get through this, and then you opened the door.

Jack was only a few feet away. It was the first time you had seen him in days, and he looked like a mess. His curls looked like he’d been running his hands through them for days now.  There was a tenseness in his shoulders like he was being held together by sheer force.  

He stepped forward instinctively, then stopped himself, hands hovering like he wanted to touch you. But he remembered he couldn’t. Not right now.

The two of you stare at each other, wrecked and shaking, neither of you spoke.

Jack stepped forward again, and you took a step back keeping the space between you two. “Sweetheart, please—”

Something inside you snapped.

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice came out sharp, louder than you meant. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Jack flinched as if you slapped him. “Okay. Okay. I won’t. Just—please talk to me.”

“Oh, now you want me to talk?” Your laugh was bitter, broken. “Funny, considering you were bitching about it the other day.”

You started at the wall over his shoulder refusing to look at him.  

Jack moved so you were forced to look at him. His forehead creased, “What are you talking about?”

You scoffed, wiping angrily at your cheeks as tears started falling. “Don’t- don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Jacks hand twitched like he wanted to wipe your tears away and comfort you, but one look at your body language he knew you didn’t want that. You were still shut off to him.

“I don’t know!” Jack’s voice rose.

“You said you couldn’t do it anymore!” you yelled, chest tight, breath shaking. “You said I talk nonstop. You said I exhaust you.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “I—what? No. No, sweetheart, no, I didn’t—”

There was that nickname again. The one you normally loved to hear but now it filled your stomach with acid.

“Don’t call me that!” you snapped again, voice cracking. “Just tell the truth. Tell me what you really think about me Jack!”

Jack ran his hands through his hair tugging at it hard, pacing the length of you entryway.

“I love you!”

You shook your head frantically, taking three more steps back that he mirrored. He wasn’t letting you escape.

“I heard you Jack,” A sob tore out of you. “I heard you say it!” 

“Whan?” Jack demanded voice cracking. “When did I say something so cruel?”

“The night at the bar. You were talking to Robby.”

Jack froze. Eyes widening, and his breathing stilled. It looked as if the ground had dropped out from under him.

Checkmate you thought bitterly.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Oh my God, no. No, no, no. Baby, that wasn’t about you.”

“You don’t have to lie to me Jack. I know I am a lot. I told you I talked a lot at our first date. So, I don’t get why you have to be so cruel about it. You could have told me!” You wipe more tears from your face, your bottom lip trembling. “That’s what’s killing me you could have told me. Instead, you have made me feel pathetic. Like I was a burden.”

You collapsed on to your couch, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“You made my dad right. ‘I can’t do it any more Robby. She talks nonstop all the time.’ That’s what you said. And every insecurity I ever had of myself became the only thing I saw Jack. That’s what you did to me. So, we need to break up.”

Jack was kneeling on the floor in front of you now. And because you still cared for him, you worried about his leg.

“I need you to listen to me, please. If you still hate me, I’ll leave. I promise.” Jack’s voice was even despite the tears falling.

Maybe because you needed to hear Jack say he hated you out loud, or because a part of you hoped you two could save this, you nodded.  

“There’s a new resident,” Jack said quietly. “She was switched from day shift for insubordination.” He held up a hand when you opened your mouth. “They ignore everything I try to teach them. They talk over me. They think they know better than everyone. I was venting to Robby about them. I didn’t want to get HR involved.”

You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. You didn’t know what to believe. It seemed too convenient. But then again… you had heard about a know‑it‑all resident from Trinity.

Jack kept going,” I would never say that about you. Never. You’re—God you are my favorite person to talk to. You are the one I want to talk to the one I want to listen to. I love your voice sweetheart. And not hearing it has killed me.”

You shook your head, tears falling harder. “But you said—”

“I said it about them.” Jack’s voice cracked. “I swear to you. I swear on everything. I wasn’t talking about you.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, sobbing. “I thought— Jack I thought you hated me,  that you were just putting up with me.”

“No, never. I love you. I love you so much. I was ready to have Trinity and Whitacker come barge in to get answers.”  

You cried harder, shoulders shaking. “I’m a lot I know. My brain works different than most peoples, so I would get it if you told me to stop.”

Jack reached forward, placing a shaking hand on your knee. Silently begging you to look at him. “You’re not too much. You are never too much. I want to marry you one day. I love everything about you.”

You let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a gasp. “I want to forgive you. But I hurt so much. You may have not meant me, but my brain was convinced you meant me.”

“Then don’t forgive me,” Jack said softly. “Let me grovel. Let me take care of you the way you’re meant to be taken care of, let me buy you a bouquet of flowers every day.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips

“Theres my pretty girl.” Jack teases. “I will spend every day making sure you know you are not too much, and honestly? You don’t talk enough if I am being honest.”

You snort. “Yeah right.”

“You don’t. I still have time to talk so-“

You grabbed his shirt, pulling him forward, and snot‑nosed, tear‑streaked, you kissed him. It was quick, messy, but enough to tell both of you that you were okay. That you were going to make it through this.

“Shut up and hold me.” You whispered.

And jack didn’t have to be told twice. He got up on the couch and pulled you in to his lap, holding you like he’d been drowning for days and finally reached air. You sighed burying your face in his shirt. You could feel quiet, shaking breaths against your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry you thought that. I’m so sorry you were hurting alone.”

You shook your head against him. “I should’ve asked. I should’ve talked to you.”

“New rule,” Jack murmured, tightening his arms around you. “We always talk about our problems. No regressing. Both our therapists would be upset with us right now.”

You laugh breathing him in.

His lips press to the top of your head.

You held onto him harder, the weight of the last three days finally breaking open. “I love you, Jack.”

He'd watched you do it for the better part of a year now. Suture a kid's eyebrow while the mother sobbed in the doorway. Call a time of death in a voice that didn't waver once. Walk out of a trauma — that would've put most second-years on the floor — like it didn't do anything of significance to you.

He'd told Robby once, that one's gonna outlast all of us. Robby had just hummed, like he already knew. Like everybody already knew except maybe you.

He didn't know what to do with that. With you. Two decades of learning exactly how much a person could survive before they gave, and you'd never given. Not once, not in any way he'd been close enough to catch — and he had been close. 

Closer than he'd let himself admit, most nights. The sound you made when you were concentrating, he could pick it out with his eyes closed, how you could never stay down, even if anyone else in your position would've quit.

None of that should've mattered to a man who'd buried more people than he'd saved and still wore another woman's ring, solely because taking it off felt like one more door he didn't get to walk through.

Turning it without meaning to, he was thinking about the ring then, sitting three stools down from you at the bar nobody bothered to name, the place where everyone went to confirm they'd survived another shift.

It had been ugly that night. You'd handled it like you always did. Sunshine, somebody on the floor had called you once, not unkindly, and it had stuck.

You are sunshine. 

And Jack knew he wasn't someone who got to keep something like that for himself.

"Another round?" Mateo was flagging down the bartender down without waiting for an answer.

Jack shook his head before anyone could pour him one. "I'm good." One beer in, he had no plans to go further. Somebody at this table had to drive, and it was not going to be Mateo.

You said something about him always being good, warm enough that it caught somewhere he'd rather it didn't.

He looked at you a beat too long before he could stop himself. "Most days." The truest thing he'd said all night. 

Jack willed himself to look away, back toward whatever Ellis was saying about the new schedule, looking at you any longer was him being the opposite of good.

So many months spent looking sideways, stopping before the thought went anywhere it shouldn't. Whether that counted as discipline or cowardice, he hadn't decided.

Sixteen hours on feet would do that to anyone, let alone him, so Jack stretched his bad leg out under the table. 

Nobody here treated it like news anymore. You'd asked him about it once, early on. Lost it overseas, he'd told you.

You hadn't pushed. He was grateful for that. Most people pushed, prodded him with questions, or completely ignored it. 

You, once again, had fallen in the middle, his desired side. 

The jukebox was playing a song old enough that he could sing along if he wanted to embarrass himself in front of the entire bar, which he didn't.

Javadi was muttering under her breath and you laughed at it, and Jack watched. 

He'd noticed he liked watching you laugh more than was probably healthy for a man his age with his own collection of scars. But noticing it and doing anything about it were two very different problems, and he'd spent a year successfully keeping them that way.

He was still congratulating himself on that, more or less, when you said his name, followed by your slurry question, "Y'know what's stupid?" 

Jack already knew this wasn't going anywhere good. You only led with y'know what's stupid when you were three drinks past the point where you usually stopped yourself.

"Don't know." He leaned back against the bar, arms crossed, tried to look casual and probably failed. "You're gonna tell me though."

"Don't be smart with me right now. I'm fragile." You weren't fragile. In the period of watching you and knowing you, he'd never once gotten the sense that the word applied to you. But you'd moved closer, not bothering to keep your voice down.

"Oh, here we go," Santos muttered into her glass.

"What's stupid," you went on, leaning forward like the table had gotten further away in the last ten seconds, "is loving somebody who is never, ever gonna let himself be loved back. That's a stupid way to spend a Friday. A stupid way to spend a year, a whole life, actually, if we're being honest."

"Who?" Whitaker leaned in like this was the best thing to happen to him all week. "You gotta say who, you can't just throw a thing like that into a bar and walk away from it—"

Jack thought you didn't need any persuasion or encouragement to blurt out whatever was on your mind.

"You know who," you said, still not looking away from Jack.

He felt that burrow under his ribs and live there. Only thing he knew how to do and he did that, try to joke his way out before it turned into something heavier. "Let's take a break, shall we?"

"No, I wanna say." The no and say came out long and drawn, each syllable stretched with stubborn insistence.

"Say it, then." Whittaker's voice once again spurred you on.

You said the older man's name like it had been sitting behind your teeth longer than just tonight, no laugh in it to hide behind this time. Jack felt the table go quiet, listening even with their eyes pointed somewhere else.

"It's you," you whispered, then laughed, a sound so beautiful, Jack wanted to keep hearing it. "It's so obviously you I don't know why I bothered being subtle about it. Everybody already knows. Mateo has watched me watch you for — for — I dunno how long —"

From the far end of the booth came Mateo's voice. "No, I haven't."

"You're not subtle, Mateo."

"I —"

"It's okay." Your concentration came back to Jack, like the rest of the table had stopped existing, which — fair, he'd been doing the same thing since you opened your mouth. "It's been you for embarrassingly long. Professionally embarrassing. I should lose my license over how long it's been."

That earned a few laughs around the table and Jack wanted to pull you in, shield you from the attention you'd suddenly become the center of.

But he couldn't. 

The honest answer — the one that would never see daylight, if he had any say in it — was that he understood. More than he should've.

Long back, he'd started noticing what door you came through at the start of each shift. Your coffee. How you only remembered to eat if someone put food in your eyeline. None of that was the kind of attention an attending was supposed to pay a resident. 

That also extended to you'd been watching him, mostly when you'd thought he wasn't looking. So he knew. 

All that watching and he'd never once let himself do anything with it except stand in the same room and be relieved you weren't paying attention. 

He should've laughed it off clean. That was the move, the one he'd used on a hundred things he didn't want to look at directly for longer than a second. What came out instead was softer and more revealing. "Let's get some water into you."

"Don't wan' water. Want an answer." You sighed and plopped your head on the table, not caring about what had been on it before. Sober you would chastise this version. 

Crescents dug into his palm with the effort of not reaching to you. "You're gonna want the water in about twenty minutes. Trust me on this one."

"Is this happening?" Whitaker didn't bother lowering his voice, even though the question was only meant for Santos. "Are we just gonna sit here and watch this happen?"

"We are absolutely sitting here watching this happen," Santos deadpanned.

"I'm bein' serious, Jack." Your voice came as a whine.

"Yeah," he said. "That's what worries me." He was careful to keep it low, not let it carry. 

"I am serious. I'm the most serious person in this entire building, ask literally anyone —" The apparently serious effect you were going for was lost with the way you hiccupped at the middle of your sentence.

"Not wrong about that part," Whitaker offered, unhelpfully.

"Thank you, Huckleberry." 

Whitaker sighed, probably wishing he hadn't chimed in. 

"C'mon." Jack stood. The room tipped half a degree, byproduct of one beer and sixteen hours upright. His weight settled wrong into the leg for a second before it found the floor right, a half-beat nobody at this table had ever clocked because he'd gotten good at not letting them. "I'm taking you home."

"You're not listenin' to me." Your arms flailed before slotting themselves on his biceps for support.

"Listening fine. Up you get."

Robby caught his eye over the top of your head while Jack hauled you up by the elbow, the two of you doing the slow shuffle toward the door that he was not, under any circumstances, going to call a stagger out loud.

Unconscious weight trusting the near solid thing, your body went slump against his. He kept a hand at your back. Told himself it was practical. Perks of telling himself the same thing for God knows how long, he wasn't going to stop now.

Robby's lips played a smirk, the one he used to get back in residency whenever Jack tried to pretend a bad shift hadn't gotten to him. Said he saw exactly what this was and was choosing, out of something resembling mercy, not to say it yet.

"Don't," Jack said anyway, covering his bases.

"Didn't say a thing."

You didn't mean it. He held onto that the whole walk to the car, the whole drive, your head against the window and your eyes closing somewhere around the second red light.

You'd had — what, four? Five? Jack had counted without meaning to. The number added upto something you'd be embarrassed the next day. 

He got you up the stairs to your apartment with an arm under yours, and you went easy, pliant. The drinks had stripped you off any careful consideration you'd worn like a badge, now going loose, like you trusted him with holding you up. 

He got you water. He got you to the couch, because you point-blank refused the bed, something about if I lie down the room's gonna dance, Jackie, and Jack didn't ask. Couch should be fine. But he knew he'd never recover from the Jackie. 

"Jackie."

Of course. 

"Yeah."

"I meant it." Your eyes were already closing again. "Jus' so you know. For later. I meant it."

"Go to sleep."

"'M not gonna remember saying that."

"Probably not."

"'Kay," you mumbled, which undercut the whole I meant it pretty thoroughly.

Jack pulled a blanket up over you and told himself that settled it. He stood there longer than he needed to and just looked at you. 

He'd watched enough of you being one with the couch, only this was not the break room, and there weren't a myriad of factors fighting for his attention. 

But, not like this. 

He'd never quite let himself look at you when you were awake, openly, without the practiced distance he'd built between watching something and wanting it.

Whatever you wore through every shift had gone quiet. What was left was just you.

You were drunk. You didn't mean it.

That and how you said his name replayed in his head the whole drive home. He'd always been Dr. Abbot to you, and there was no recovering from either Jack or Jackie, especially the latter. Even drunk, your voice didn't waver, like you'd practiced it somewhere private long before that night gave you the nerve. He decided, somewhere around his third red light, that it didn't matter how you said it.

People said things drunk they wouldn't survive saying sober, and the kindest thing he could do, maybe the only thing he was actually allowed to do, was leave it exactly where it fell. At a bar. Five drinks in. Gone by morning.

It wasn't gone by morning.

He had a whole speech, something that would let the two of you step around this without either one having to look at it head-on. He never got the chance to use it though. 

You found him first, outside trauma two. Eyebrows drawn together, a small pout playing at your lips, a look he hadn't seen on you, having watched this place fail to touch you for months. 

Seemed like you'd already decided how to take whatever he was going to say. 

"Hey." You not so much looked at him as over him. "So — I wanted to say sorry. About last night. I had a lot to drink and I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that, in front of everybody."

He wanted to tell you not to apologise, that you didn't put him on the spot at all, only yourself, and he would do anything to make you forget it, his one good deed. 

"It's fine," he said, already half-turned back toward the chart in his hand. "Don't worry about it."

The absolute silence from you made him look back up. There was a small tilt to your mouth, like the start of a frown that got called off halfway through. "Oh," you said. "Okay."

"Hey —" He didn't love the sound that came out of you on those two words — worse than anger, a gentle resignation — opened his mouth to walk it back, except you got there first.

"Why didn't you take it seriously?"

"What?"

"Last night. You just… nothing — told me to drink water. Why didn't you take it seriously?"

"Because you'd had a lot to drink," he said like it was obvious. To him it had been, even if his subconscious would never agree with that. "You didn't mean it."

"No — no, that's — " You were shaking your head like you were trying to get the right words to fall into the right order. "I did mean it. Fuck it—" he'd never once heard you curse. "I'll say it now, even if saying it in daylight — I mean, it's nighttime, but — sober. Sober's the word I'm looking for. It's just me. Standing here. Telling you that I —"

"Trauma two minutes out," Lena called from the desk. "GSW, unresponsive."

"Bed three." Shen moved past the two of you like neither of you were rooted to the ground like statues. "Let's go, people."

Jack's hand found your shoulder without his permission, gone almost as soon as it landed, and then he was moving too, falling into step beside Shen like the last ten seconds hadn't just happened at all.

He was good at not thinking about things when there was something else that needed doing, probably his most transferable skill if anyone ever asked.

The case took eleven minutes to crash and another forty to claw back. His hands knew what to do faster than his head did, which was usually the only thing keeping him upright through one of these.

Until minute thirty, he didn't think about the hallway again, when he looked up across the bed for a clamp and caught you on the other side of it. Gloved hands steady. Voice steady, calling out vitals.

He'd watched you call a death and then go check on the family with nothing on you but patience. In all these months, the job had never once gotten anywhere near your eyes. Now it had.

And he knew exactly whose fault it was, looking at you over a man's open chest, and the knowing sat in him like something swallowed wrong, heavy and a little sick, the rest of the case.

With the adrenaline gone, and nothing left to cower behind, Jack followed you to the ambulance bay. 

"Hey."

Rushing a silence never made it shorter in his experience, and you needed a beat more than he did. He gave it to you.

"Hey." You didn't look at him.

"You good?"

"I don't know, Jack. Am I supposed to be good?" Now you looked at him, and it wasn't soft anymore. He hadn't expected the fire even though he probably should've. "You're the one who decided what I'm allowed to feel about any of this."

"That's not what I was trying to do."

"That's exactly what you did. You stood there and told me you didn't think much of it. Like I was a chart you forgot to sign."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how'd you mean it?"

Practised, rehearsed speech was sitting somewhere behind his tongue, not one word of it came to his aid, happy with watching him scramble.

A gurney rattled somewhere behind him, two sets of footsteps moving fast toward bay four, somebody calling out a name he didn't catch. He registered none of it. 

The whole building could've gone up and he wouldn't have noticed, not with you looking at him like that, waiting on something he should've had ready an hour ago. A day ago. A year, probably, if he was being honest.

He thought about lying. Old habit, reaching for the smooth thing instead of the true one. But you'd see it. You always saw it, that was half the problem with you — you'd gotten too good at reading him for him to get away with the easy version anymore.

"I was scared." Jack hated how it sounded coming out of him, unfinished. 

He almost wished you would say something. Silence from you was worse than any yelling, than the fire from a second ago. At least the fire told him where he stood.

"I — I was trying to make it easy for you." He heard himself say it and knew, even as the words came out, that they weren't going to do what he wanted them to do. "So you didn't have to carry it."

"I don't want easy!" Your voice cranked at the end of it, loud enough that a passing tech glanced over before deciding very quickly to keep walking. "When have I ever once asked you for easy?"

"I don't know, maybe never, maybe that's the problem—"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't ask for anything." He hadn't meant to get into this here, hadn't meant to get into it at all, but it was coming out now whether he wanted it to or not. Two decades of watching people swallow things finally finding somewhere to go. "You take whatever the night throws at you and you swallow it and you smile and you call it fine. I figured you'd do the same with this."

Out loud, it sounded exactly as cowardly as it was.

"This isn't a trauma, Jack. You don't get to triage me."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because it really doesn't feel like you do."

"I know it, alright?" His voice was louder than he'd meant it to be, and he caught himself, brought it back down. You, of all people, didn't deserve to be the one who got it loud. "I've known since the second you said my name at that bar, and I — I told you it was fine. Because—"

"Because what?"

The easy thing resurfaced, sat right there in his mouth, but he looked at your face and it went nowhere. Again.

He thought of the ring. How he'd been using it, as an argument with himself. It stopped holding a long time ago. "Because if I told you the truth, I didn't know what I was gonna do with it."

"So you lied to me instead?" A sniffle worked up to your words, he hated it more than he'd hated most things this job had shown him. "That's worse, Jack. That's so much worse than just saying nothing."

"I know." Jack sighed. 

"Then why'd you do it?"

He'd had this conversation in his head half a dozen times. In his version he'd been more articulate, and you'd let him get through a full sentence. But you were looking at him like you actually wanted the answer and weren't going to let him get away without giving it.

"Because I look at you and I see somebody who's never once let this place touch you," he said. "Not all the way down — and I keep thinking, if I let myself want that, I'm gonna end up being the thing that finally does."

You went quiet, thrown enough that for a second you forgot to be angry at him. "What?"

He'd turned it over in his head so many times it had worn smooth, but that wasn't the same as saying it. Saying it made it actual. Made it a thing that existed outside of him, in the cold, between the two of you.

"I'm sorry."

"You think you'd ruin me." Softest person in this building and the most stubborn, and those weren't contradictions, you weren't going to let him off the hook.

The cold was getting into him through his scrubs and he didn't care. Some part of him thought he deserved to stand out here and freeze a little, penance for a thing he hadn't even committed yet, just the threat of it. 

He'd buried a marriage he didn't talk about, and somewhere along the way he'd decided that meant he didn't get a second one, didn't get to want it, like the universe only handed a man one shot at being soft with somebody and his had already come and gone.

"I think I've ruined plenty already." He'd thought he'd made peace with it a long time ago but he apparently hadn't. "I'm not in a hurry to find out if you're next on that list."

"That's not fair. You don't get to decide that for me either."

"Probably not."

"So stop deciding it!"

"I'm —"

"Don't say you're trying. You're not. You're standing there doing the exact same thing you did last night, you're just using better words this time."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop being so sure you already know how this ends before it's even started!" You tried to swallow a sob back down and failed. "I'm so tired of being the strong one. I don't — I don't want to be the strong one with you too."

It was awful watching you cry. He'd sat with families through the worst things this city could do to them and he knew that language — knew where to put his hands, what to say and how to be useful inside someone else's worst moment.

His own fault, and none of that applied here. The only useful thing would start with him closing the distance.

"Sweetheart." It came out before he'd decided to say anything at all. "Hey — c'mere."

Jack pulled you in before you could argue your way out of it, one arm coming around you, your face landing against his chest like it had been aiming for that exact spot the whole time.

Imagining this had been forbidden too him, he'd been disciplined about keeping the things he wasn't allowed to want in a place he didn't go.

But, the warmth of your body was real, and you fit against him perfectly. Absurd, if he had to think about it then, absurd that he'd wasted time. A very long time to have waited for something that felt this right.

His hand found the back of your head without him telling it to. He felt you shake once, just once, like your body was testing whether it was allowed.

Tighter, then. Just enough.

"Why won't you just let this be easy?" Your words were muffled, wrecked, into the fabric of his scrubs.

The same question he'd been asking himself, end of bad shifts, in the car, in all the hours he'd spent deciding not to do exactly this. He didn't have a good answer.

"Because nothing about me is easy." He said it into your hair. "You're—" He found a different way to say it, ended up going for the most obvious one. "You're sunshine. You don't even know you're doing it half the time. And I'm not that. I've got two decades of stuff in me that doesn't burn off, it just sits there. I didn't think it was fair to put that next to you."

"That's not your call to make."

"I'm not good for you."

"I don't care."

"You —"

"Stop." It was so much like you to cut him off.

He let out a breath that had been sitting in his chest since the bar the night before. "Okay."

Frozen in place, frozen in hug, the two of you stood there, morning sun peeking out from the clouds. He didn't let go. You didn't ask him to. 

There were things he should probably say, about the leg he didn't talk about, about the wife he talked about even less, about everything he'd carried out of those years that he still hadn't found a place to put down. 

But that felt like a conversation for some dawn that wasn't now.

"You really think I'm sunshine?" you asked eventually, voice still thick, pressed into him like you weren't ready to test your own legs yet.

It was the kind of question asked when you already believed something but needed someone else holding it with you. He'd heard it before, in harder rooms, from people with far less reason for it.

He hadn't expected it from you. You were the one who made every room feel like things were going to be alright. He hadn't known, until then, that you needed someone to do that back.

"You're everything."

“Cefazolin and gent,” you say with the same affect, “we've cleared her chest, abdomen, and pelvis.”

“Clean wound, no crush injury, rapid transport time. Replantation is a go. I'll book an OR. Irrigate the hell out of this with 3 liters.” Shark nods at you, as if you had done the entire case alone.

“3 liters?” Whitaker confirms, confused by the large quantity.

“Of saline, genius.” Shark says, voice flat.

“Thanks, Shark.” Robby says.

“Bye doctor,” Park nods at you. 

“Ok,” you say, not bothering to look up at him as he leaves. 

“I knew he meant saline,” Whitaker looks between you and Robby asking for confirmation that you know he’s not an idiot.

“Ignore him,” you say, still sounding agitated at the whole interaction.

“Yeah, Shark doesn’t really like anyone,” Robby offers the two, slightly shaken, young doctors sitting in front of him.

“He seems to like her just fine,” Ogilvie points a gloved finger to you and you scoff.

“That’s just because he wants to f-” you cut yourself of realizing your chief attending is standing right next to you, “I think I hear someone calling my name out there, yeah no, I gotta-” you push out the door, everyone in the room knowing that no one was calling you.

“She was going to say fuck her,” Ogilvie says.

“Thank you for clarifying Ogilvie,” Robby says, giving a curt nod.

You don’t usually work the day shift but after McKay got a call from Harrison’s school she had to bow out for the day. Robby is certainly excited to work with you and get to know you a little better, you are his best friend's favorite resident, in more ways than one. Robby knows that Jack is seeing you, however the exact parameters of your relationship are unclear to the chief attending. He’s tried to spot slip ups between the two of you during hand-offs, any indication that you two are anything more than co-workers, but you are entirely unflappable and Jack is the same. He assumes the secrecy is because you and Jack want to keep things in your private lives private but the truth is Jack himself is unsure of the exact nature of your relationship.

The two of you are having sex, hot, passionate sex, on a regular basis. He feels like a teenager again, desperate to have his mouth on yours, his hands on your body, his cock in your tight pussy. The first shift after the two of you hooked up Jack could barely look at you, his ears flushing red every time he saw you, thinking of the day before when you were panting and whimpering beneath him, squeezing him like a vice, letting him come inside you... Over time he got better at staying composed. No one at the hospital had suspected anything, he maintained his cool outer shell without an issue, but for those first couple of weeks he had felt like he was melting inside. More recently the two of you started getting breakfast together after a shift, staying at each other’s places, lingering near one another in the ER…

“Your little resident is fiery, I like her for you,” Robby smirks as Jack stands next to him at the hub, the senior attendings preparing to start hand-offs.

“Oh yeah? What’d she do to get you so wound up?” The corner of Jack’s mouth curves up ever so slightly.

“Just put Shark in his place this afternoon,” Robby says, pushing his glasses up to rest on his head.

“Park? Why? Was he bothering her?” Jack’s mouth drops, imperceptible to a passerby but Robby notices. Shit. He had just meant to tease his friend a little, not wind him up before a shift.

“Nah he’s just- he just seems to be uh, interested, but she shut him down,” Jack gives him a look, waiting for Robby to elaborate, “no he just- he just asked her what she was doing later,”

“Well, what did she say?” Jack crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“Man, you should just talk to her,” Robby sighs, regretting saying anything.

“Robby,” Jack looks at him with a hard stare.

“She said ‘not you,’” Robby shrugs, “‘what are you doing later?’ ‘not you,’ that was it- it was funnier when she said it.”

Jack’s mouth is in a firm line.

“Fuckin’ ortho surgeons,” Jack mumbles.

“I mean… glass houses, brother.” Robby says, again without thinking.

Jack raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, silently prompting Robby to explain himself.

“You, you have been known to try to charm the odd patient… or nurse… or doctor…” Robby tries to placate him.

“That's different.” Jack’s head pulls back slightly.

“Why?” Robby scrunches his eyebrows.

“Because- because I'm seeing her.” Jack says, dropping his voice low.

“You weren’t always seeing her.” Robby pauses, looking in the distance, “actually now that I think about it she’s the only person I haven’t seen you make eyes at."

“What do you mean? You don’t think she’s charmed by me?” Jack cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah but you don’t do the whole Dr.-Jack-Abbot-thing with her, there’s no smoke or mirrors, you’re just… being Jack.”

“Hey,” you slide next to Jack where he stands at the hub, resting your hands on the desk dangerously close to his, “heard you’re taking Dr. Al for a beer, can you put in a good word for me?”

“With Al-Hashimi? Why?” Jack turns away from you, starting to walk towards the ambulance bay.

“Uh, because she’s a smart, assertive attending with a cool, humanitarian background? I mean the AI shit is lame but I don't know, I feel like I could learn some stuff from her,” you chatter away, following him closely, not entirely picking up on his foul mood. “Not that I don’t love to learn from you but- I don't know, men have been in charge of me my whole life, it would be nice to have another woman be a mentor figure. And I wanna do a slash trach.”

“Why don’t you ask Shark to teach you?” Jack says with a little bite once the two of you step outside.

“Shark? Yeah I’ll ask him for help if I ever need to use a hammer,” you breathe out a laugh, “He’s… how do i say this professionally….” you purse your lips and tap your chin, pretending to think, “he’s the worst.”

“Yeah well he thinks very highly of you,” Jack mutters.

“Oh my god. Has Robby been whispering in your ear? Jack, it was a non-event. He does it all the time. I’m used to brushing him off.” You say sympathetically.

“He does it all the time?” Jack head snaps to you.

“Not literally,” you sigh, “you have no reason to worry about Shark, I can't stand him, there’s nothing to be jealous about,”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s jealous,” Jack turns away from you slightly, his comment prompting you to let out a sharp breath as a laugh.

“Who am I supposed to be jealous of?” You say incredulously.

“I’m not having this conversation right now,” Jack rubs his hands over his face.

“Oh my god.” you let out a breathy laugh, “you want me to be jealous. Why?”

“You’re acting like a child.” He turns to you.

“Me? Are you serious right now?” You cross your arms, staring at him with your eyebrows raised. Jack says nothing, starting to turn back into the hospital.

“Jack,” you grab onto his arm, keeping him from walking inside, “talk. It's just me.”

“Yeah that’s the problem," Jack snaps, "you’re the problem."

Your face falls at his words.

“Wh-what did I do?” You say suddenly seeming very small. 

“No- you didn’t-” Jack lets out a frustrated breath, rubbing his hands down his face, “look- you’re young- god- you’re so young, and I know dating has changed since I was doing it twenty years ago but I don’t know how to do this with you- I don’t know how to see more than one person-”

“I’m not seeing more than one person-” you cut Jack off from his spiral. 

“What?” He looks at you blankly.

“I’m not seeing more than one person,” you say again, sounding a little more bold, a little more like yourself, “I'm only seeing you. I only want to see you. You thought I was seeing other people? Are you?”

“No- I don’t- I don’t know-” Jack stammers.

“You don’t know if you’re seeing other people?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No- of course I’m not- I just didn’t know if-” Jack struggles to articulate himself.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” You say gently.

“You seriously need to ask me that?” Jack finally turns to look at you, “I’m a widower, I’m a vet, I’m an amputee. I’m a night shift ER doctor, you should know what that says about me, better than most people. I’m twenty years older than you… I’m punching above my weight here… I- I figured I’d take what I could get.”

You don’t say anything. You can’t think of anything to say. That’s how he thinks of himself? Damaged goods? He is the most confident, borderline arrogant, doctor you know and he ought to be, he really is that good. And he’s just as good of a person. Sure, he had some walls up but slowly he was letting you in, showing you his entire self, something you felt privileged to have access to...

“Come with me,” you take his arm pulling him back towards the hospital. He pauses slightly, not exactly sure what you’re about to do, “Jack, can you just- please?” 

He follows you silently to the elevator which takes the pair of you to the third floor where the orthopedics department is located. The ride up is silent as you tap your foot, arms crossed tightly across your chest. The elevator dings and you step out with a determined stride, scanning the floor. You spot Park standing with two other ortho surgeons.

“Park!” you shout across the room, “we need to talk.”

Park smirks as you beeline towards him. The poor sucker, Jack thinks, slowly following you at a safe distance, stopping at the nurses station, resting his elbows on the counter, not even bothering trying to hide his interest in this interaction. The other two surgeons skulk away, god, Jack wishes he could see your face right now

“Stop smiling,” you say as you stand in front of him and his smile immediately drops, “you need to stop asking me out. First, I’m with someone, and I’m not sure he’d like it if he knew you were bothering me every time you’re in the ER. Second, even if I was single it would never happen with you and me. If we were the last two people alive it wouldn’t happen. And third, it’s fucking unprofessional. I’m a doctor, not your groupie. Am I making myself clear?”

He swallows hard, then nods.

“Say: yes doctor,” you say, looking him right in the eyes.

“Yes, doctor, it won’t happen again,” Park looks almost sheepish. Jack can’t think of a time he’s seen him look like this… ever. Despite his imposing frame, Park seems so small right now.

“Good,” you smile and turn on your heels walking back towards the elevator where Jack stands with his mouth agape. You take his hand pulling him towards the stairwell, the door dropping shut behind you. 

“Can I get in trouble for that?” You turn to Jack with a slightly anxious expression.

“I was with you for the last hour and didn’t even see you go up to Ortho.” Jack smirks at you.

“Hm,” you smirk back, grabbing the back of his neck, placing a quick kiss on his lips. He keeps leaning towards you as you pull back.

“Jack,” you smile, pushing him away lightly, stepping down one stair so he towers over you. 

“So who’s this mysterious person you’re ‘with’?” He gazes down at you with his hands in his pockets as you bite your lip.

“Mm,” you hum, toying with his ID that sits against his hip, “he’s just this older guy, really fuckin’ smart, measured, competent…” you pull his badge toward you examining the photo, “he’s sexy, even when he gets a little jealous,” you let go of his ID badge letting it snap against him sharply, he winces slightly at the stinging sensation but keeps gazing down at you with adoration. Your eyes flick up to his. 

“And I really like him,” you finish, a small smile on the corner of your lips. Jack takes a step down so you’re eye to eye. 

“Am I allowed to just say we’re dating? All these code words ‘seeing,’ ‘with,’ ‘exclusive…’ I just-” Jack cuts himself off with a shake of his head.

“Mm it depends,” you hum, a playful grin on your face, “are we dating?” 

“Yes,” he squeezes your hip.

“Then you’re allowed to say it,” you say, looking up and then down the stairs, seeing that you’re still alone, placing another more lingering kiss on his mouth, your lips soft against his. You pull back and see the tips of his ears turn bright red, making you blush as well.

“But we’re not telling anyone down there,” you clarify. 

📝 currently writing for: all the Pedroboys, especially Joel and Din. But honestly, how can one truly choose?

📚 consuming fics about: all the Pedroboys :D but also digging some Ryland Grace fluff atm. Project Hail Mary still has me in a chokehold (actually it had since reading the book 3 years back 🤭)

💕 favorite tropes and tags: enemies to lovers 😭 there is something about hating a man until he pins you down, also sunshine & grumpy, forced proximity, tending to wounds, drunk confessions, everything that promises yearning and angst (but turns out good)

🚫 tropes and tags that give me the ick: infidelity, too heavy ddlg, stupid female reader, misogyny poorly hidden behind "masculine" tropes, pregnancy tropes (😬 sorry not sorry, I don't get the romance behind it), enemies to lovers that fuck in chapter 3 (this needs build up!), instant love

🎭 most fun to write: tension and banter, love it when you can feel the chemistry through the lines and want to scream "KISS NOW" at them.

😩 always struggling to write: smut 🙈 just because I want to get it just right, not cringe but not too shallow either.

🏆 fic i'm most proud of: Take a Sip 🥹 just finished it and I love everything about it, the tension, the tropes, the storyline. It was a blast to write. Finishing it just this week leaves an empty spot (that needs replacement faaaast)

☕ writing fuel: Royal Milk Tea or a simple Earl Grey with oatmilk

🌙 typical writing time: I am a night owl 🦉 but when inspiration hits daytime is not a dealbreaker.

📂 number of wips i'm pretending are under control: four or five...ish 😬? Got so many ideas and not enough time :D

🔎 most ridiculous thing i've researched for a fic: for an upcoming assassin fic how far sniper rifles work 🙈 for "Not so tough now, Darlin'" self defense tactics, time travel paradox for a fic I never finished (cowboy Joel finds his way in the now time in deepest winter, reader has to take care of him... like the idea still, but the spark is missing...)

🫠 character type i fall for every time: hard/witty exterior and soft core, sunshine and grumpy without one of them being naive or stupid

💫 latest fandom obsession: dark!joel 😬 can you tell by the latest fics I created? (Raider Joel and Father Joel)

🎉 fun fact: I dance pole since 5 years, learning Japanese since one year and my closest friends and my partner actually know about my tumblr 😂

to all my new followers: i dont know if you like to be tagged, but please feel free to use this template to share something about you (every answer is optional of course!). I would love to see what you consume and/or create and who all these beautiful people behind the usernames are.

To all my fellows and mutuals, feel tagged as well, even if i did forget to tag you myself 💕